SharkAttack
Smash Lord
I've completed my 1st WWYP. My main goal is to write an intertaining story and hopefully I succeed. Please critique anything that's incorrect in the aspect of grammar, spelling, sentence structure..etc.
Brother's Keeper
Floyd reread the note for the third time.
This is a stickup. I want $20,000. DON’T make a sound, DON’T draw any attention or I’ll SHOOT your sorry ***.
Floyd Williams was leaning against his motorcycle inside Patterson Woods located a quarter mile from the Orchendale Bank. He was dressed in a rugged gray hooded sweatshirt with ragged jeans. Next to him was a brown bag containing a purple and white biker suit with a white helmet. Before passing away his father gave him the outfit but Floyd refused to wear it because it looked gay.
His plan was simple. First he would arrive at the bank, show the teller the note and then casually walk out. Next he’d move a bit quicker and then book it to the woods where he’d change into the biker suit. Floyd would then drive off to Gúlzoni’s to make the $8,000 payment. Everyone would be looking for a trashy 23 year old, not a biker in a purple suit. With the extra $12,000 he’d try to make a living for himself.
It was Friday at 1:30 in the afternoon. Floyd pulled out the 38 Smith and Wesson from the hoodie and starred at it. “I pray to God I don’t have to draw this out.” Floyd opened up the gun and his draw dropped. “There’s only one bullet in here, one ****ing bullet. What the hell!” Floyd forgot to reload the gun after shooting cans in his backyard a couple weeks ago. He thought about going back to reload but then went against his judgment. The Orchendale bank would close in two hours. Floyd only had one day left to pay Gúlzoni. His intention was only to display it to instill fear anyways; not to harm anyone even though firing a few rounds in the air would induce tremendous panic in the event the teller refused to comply.
Floyd came out of the woods and walked towards the small village of Orchendale. The bank was located near the northern outskirt and only a little over a quarter mile from Patterson Woods. The short distance would make it easy for Floyd to get out of Orchendale fast with little notice from the village people. As Floyd was walking a few feet from the right side of the road he entered a state of reverie.
I really messed up my life. Dropping out of high school junior year, renting an apartment on low income, drugs, alcohol, gambling. Gambling. That was what got him in this mess. Last month Floyd took part in a gambling ring owned by the regional bookie Chet Gúlzoni. He won a few minor bets but when it came to the biggest one of his life of $2,000 he busted. Two double or nothing stints later the deficit rose to $8,000. Now Gúlzoni wanted his payout and would no longer take anymore stalling. Floyd only had $141 on him.
The glare from the sun brought Floyd back to reality but he quickly returned to deep thought. I wish I could run, just run away from all this. Floyd would have fled three days ago but the love for his older brother Garrett held him back. According to Gúlzoni’s betting policy anyone late with a payment of any amount would be assassinated. If the person owing the money fled and couldn’t be found within a week than a close family member would be marked. Gúlzoni didn’t **** around, especially when it came to a big payout.
Floyd never had a family. Other than his mother, father and Garrett that was it. His father Bruce died eight years ago in a snowmobile accident. He loved riding anything from ATV’s to motorcycles. After his death Floyd was given the Harley Davidson, the same one he left back at Patterson Woods. His mother Elaine was a crack ***** and ran off when he was age four and Garrett seven. Floyd had no idea where she was and could burn in hell for all he cared.
With both parents gone Garrett took Floyd in to his apartment while attending his sophomore year at Cantwood Community College. Floyd lived with Garrett for six months and then moved out. He hated his junior year at the new high school. The teacher’s were too demanding and his new classmates razzed Floyd of being poor. With only two brothers going to school and working very little there was no serious income brought in. Garrett thought he could handle college along with taking care of Floyd and himself at the same time.
It was all too much for Floyd and he soon left to pursue a manufacturing job in Orchendale.
Floyd got the job but only worked for four years before the plant closed down and the company moved to China. Embarrassed about the layoff Floyd never told Garrett about it. As of the last three years Floyd had very little money left. Unable to find work he resorted to gambling in hopes of a financial fix.
Throughout Floyd’s life Garrett was always there for him. When they were children Garrett had beaten up a few bullies who picked on Floyd. When Floyd was eleven Garrett dove into Dawson’s pond and pulled him out before drowning to death. At age fifteen Floyd attended a party his freshman year where the drinking, sex and noise got out of hand. The neighbors called the police but before they came and arrested several teenagers Garrett arrived in the nick of time to pick him up. Over and over again Garrett came through for Floyd and all Floyd ever did in return was spend money Garrett gave him on drugs and alcohol. Garrett always took time out for Floyd, but Floyd rarely ever returned the favor.
About two thirds of the walk down the road a black Cadillac drove by Floyd slowly and then took off back at the speed limit. The antique car reminded Floyd of Al Capone but the Capone image soon turned into an image of Gúlzoni. He made so many suffer for not paying up over to last five years. There was no way Floyd was going to let him harm Garrett. After speaking to his brother on the phone three weeks ago Floyd learned that Garrett had just recently opened up his own dental firm in Cantwood. Gúlzoni would surely find him if Floyd didn’t pay up. He had to rob the Orchendale bank.
Once Floyd finally arrived he stalled a second, took a deep breath then walked in. There were three tellers. Two of the three were occupied with clients but the third was available. The teller was a female around the age of fifty. Perfect, a weak target. Immediately Floyd walked to the table at the left side of the bank, faked filling out a deposit slip, and then approached the female teller with a smile and hello. The Tellers’ name was Wilma.
“Hello, how are you today sir?” Wilma asked.
Floyd slipped the note with his right hand across the booth and replied. “Good”
Wilma stared at the note then reread it. Taken back a bit with a look of uncertainty she began to tremble.
“Ahmm” Floyd coughed.
Wilma got the message and then went to the back and stuffed a bag full of $100 dollar bills. Twenty seconds later she handed Floyd the bag. Floyd gave her thanks then started walking out slowly. Before he got to the front door he heard a scream.
“He robbed me!” Wilma shrieked. “That man robbed me!”
Once Floyd heard the scream he darted out the door, hooked a right and then dashed towards Patterson Woods. He never ran so fast in his life. After about thirty steps he glanced back and saw two men running his direction.
“Oh ****!” he yelped. “The Orchendale police!”
Instantly he pulled out the gun and tossed it on the grass in an open area with his left hand. Floyd was running on the left side of the road. If he got caught there was no way he was going to be charged with a concealed weapon if the police couldn’t find one. Floyd arrived at Patterson Woods very quickly but the distance never seamed so far in his life. He shot a fast glance back. The two men were still chasing him. “****! I’ve got no time to change.”
Breathing hard and tired he finally breached the getaway point. On the fly Floyd yanked out the key from his right pocket, jammed it in the ignition of the Harley and then turned it to the right. A screeching noise took place over the engine. Floyd turned the key back and tried again. Same result.
“**** it! C’mon start!” Floyd tried again but it wouldn’t run. “Come on you son of a *****!” After a couple more failed attempts Floyd banged his right fist on the dashboard.
Snap! A twig on the ground broke and startled Floyd. He turned around and spotted the two men about twenty-five yards away from him. One was on a cell phone while the other pointed Floyd’s 38. Smith and Wesson at him. Both were wearing black tuxedos. They weren’t police.
Floyd stood still as time seemed to freeze all around him. His plan had backfired big time. Floyd began to think fast of anything he could possibly do to get out of this predicament. “Who are you guys?”
The man with the gun replied “Two law abiding Orchendale citizens. Hand it over right now. “
“Hand what over?”
“Don’t play dumb. Just hand the money over” replied the man on the cell phone.
****! Thought Floyd. He’s calling the police and at any moment they’ll be surrounding these woods. The other guy has my gun and could shoot me. If I surrender the $20,000 Gúlzoni won’t get his money. If I get turned in by these people and don’t have the money I’ll be in custody, which will make it impossible for me to be assassinated. Gúlzoni will target Garrett. These thoughts rapidly blazed through his head in seconds yet the situation felt prolonged.
“Go retrieve the bag Sanford” ordered the man with the gun. “Williams isn’t armed. He tossed his only weapon aside.”
“What a *******, seriously why would you throw away your only protection” Sanford responded. “If he decides to get feisty with me Morrison shoot the white trash.”
How in the hell did they know my name? Then he remembered the black Cadillac. It all started to make sense. These were Gúlzoni’s goons. He had sent them out to watch him just in case he tried to flee. Why don't they have guns of their own? Does Gúlzoni fear his own men betraying him? Even if so why did they chase me to Patterson Woods unarmed? **** it! They thought I was unarmed because I didn't display the Smith and Wesson. Oh ****! Do they plan on taking the money themselves and not delivering to Gúlzoni?
“Look guys I’ve got the money right here. Hey we can work this out. If you work for Gúlzoni he can keep all of this. I…I’ve got $20,000 right here. That’s more than double what I owe him. I won’t confess. Please don’t make an issue of this.”
“No way Williams” replied Morrison. “Your now officially disposable knowing what you know about us, Gúlzoni, and the gambling operation. All we need now is the cash. Get the bag Sanford.”
Sanford began to approach Williams grinning while pounding his right fist into his left hand. Only one thing left to do, thought Floyd. Run like hell! Floyd turned around and began to scamper. There’s only one bullet in that gun. Just one. All he has to do is shoot, miss and I’m clear. Floyd took off five steps down a path leading towards the Jonesville Trail. He had smoked pot in these woods for the past four years and knew them like the back of his hand. All he needed was clearance. Go Go Go and don’t look back.
Within a few seconds of flight the bang went off and the bullet whizzed through the air. Floyd continued running, mushed a few yards more then went down. The bullet caught him in the cerebrum.
Click…..Click….. “****, only one bullet was in this piece of ****?” Morrsion questioned Sanford.
"Ah, you got him anyways. Let's get this money to boss before the cops come."
Money....to the the boss...Gúlzoni.
Williams laid on the ground drenched in his own blood. He only had a few seconds left to live. Floyd would never live to serve a purpose. No wife, no children, nothing. He ended his life as a felon and perished at the hands of a murderer. These thoughts troubled him greatly, but he was relieved to know that because Gúlzoni would get the money he wouldn’t harm his brother who actually made something of his life. Garrett was going to live and do good things. With this in mind Floyd took his last breath and resolved his biggest problem.
Brother's Keeper
Floyd reread the note for the third time.
This is a stickup. I want $20,000. DON’T make a sound, DON’T draw any attention or I’ll SHOOT your sorry ***.
Floyd Williams was leaning against his motorcycle inside Patterson Woods located a quarter mile from the Orchendale Bank. He was dressed in a rugged gray hooded sweatshirt with ragged jeans. Next to him was a brown bag containing a purple and white biker suit with a white helmet. Before passing away his father gave him the outfit but Floyd refused to wear it because it looked gay.
His plan was simple. First he would arrive at the bank, show the teller the note and then casually walk out. Next he’d move a bit quicker and then book it to the woods where he’d change into the biker suit. Floyd would then drive off to Gúlzoni’s to make the $8,000 payment. Everyone would be looking for a trashy 23 year old, not a biker in a purple suit. With the extra $12,000 he’d try to make a living for himself.
It was Friday at 1:30 in the afternoon. Floyd pulled out the 38 Smith and Wesson from the hoodie and starred at it. “I pray to God I don’t have to draw this out.” Floyd opened up the gun and his draw dropped. “There’s only one bullet in here, one ****ing bullet. What the hell!” Floyd forgot to reload the gun after shooting cans in his backyard a couple weeks ago. He thought about going back to reload but then went against his judgment. The Orchendale bank would close in two hours. Floyd only had one day left to pay Gúlzoni. His intention was only to display it to instill fear anyways; not to harm anyone even though firing a few rounds in the air would induce tremendous panic in the event the teller refused to comply.
Floyd came out of the woods and walked towards the small village of Orchendale. The bank was located near the northern outskirt and only a little over a quarter mile from Patterson Woods. The short distance would make it easy for Floyd to get out of Orchendale fast with little notice from the village people. As Floyd was walking a few feet from the right side of the road he entered a state of reverie.
I really messed up my life. Dropping out of high school junior year, renting an apartment on low income, drugs, alcohol, gambling. Gambling. That was what got him in this mess. Last month Floyd took part in a gambling ring owned by the regional bookie Chet Gúlzoni. He won a few minor bets but when it came to the biggest one of his life of $2,000 he busted. Two double or nothing stints later the deficit rose to $8,000. Now Gúlzoni wanted his payout and would no longer take anymore stalling. Floyd only had $141 on him.
The glare from the sun brought Floyd back to reality but he quickly returned to deep thought. I wish I could run, just run away from all this. Floyd would have fled three days ago but the love for his older brother Garrett held him back. According to Gúlzoni’s betting policy anyone late with a payment of any amount would be assassinated. If the person owing the money fled and couldn’t be found within a week than a close family member would be marked. Gúlzoni didn’t **** around, especially when it came to a big payout.
Floyd never had a family. Other than his mother, father and Garrett that was it. His father Bruce died eight years ago in a snowmobile accident. He loved riding anything from ATV’s to motorcycles. After his death Floyd was given the Harley Davidson, the same one he left back at Patterson Woods. His mother Elaine was a crack ***** and ran off when he was age four and Garrett seven. Floyd had no idea where she was and could burn in hell for all he cared.
With both parents gone Garrett took Floyd in to his apartment while attending his sophomore year at Cantwood Community College. Floyd lived with Garrett for six months and then moved out. He hated his junior year at the new high school. The teacher’s were too demanding and his new classmates razzed Floyd of being poor. With only two brothers going to school and working very little there was no serious income brought in. Garrett thought he could handle college along with taking care of Floyd and himself at the same time.
It was all too much for Floyd and he soon left to pursue a manufacturing job in Orchendale.
Floyd got the job but only worked for four years before the plant closed down and the company moved to China. Embarrassed about the layoff Floyd never told Garrett about it. As of the last three years Floyd had very little money left. Unable to find work he resorted to gambling in hopes of a financial fix.
Throughout Floyd’s life Garrett was always there for him. When they were children Garrett had beaten up a few bullies who picked on Floyd. When Floyd was eleven Garrett dove into Dawson’s pond and pulled him out before drowning to death. At age fifteen Floyd attended a party his freshman year where the drinking, sex and noise got out of hand. The neighbors called the police but before they came and arrested several teenagers Garrett arrived in the nick of time to pick him up. Over and over again Garrett came through for Floyd and all Floyd ever did in return was spend money Garrett gave him on drugs and alcohol. Garrett always took time out for Floyd, but Floyd rarely ever returned the favor.
About two thirds of the walk down the road a black Cadillac drove by Floyd slowly and then took off back at the speed limit. The antique car reminded Floyd of Al Capone but the Capone image soon turned into an image of Gúlzoni. He made so many suffer for not paying up over to last five years. There was no way Floyd was going to let him harm Garrett. After speaking to his brother on the phone three weeks ago Floyd learned that Garrett had just recently opened up his own dental firm in Cantwood. Gúlzoni would surely find him if Floyd didn’t pay up. He had to rob the Orchendale bank.
Once Floyd finally arrived he stalled a second, took a deep breath then walked in. There were three tellers. Two of the three were occupied with clients but the third was available. The teller was a female around the age of fifty. Perfect, a weak target. Immediately Floyd walked to the table at the left side of the bank, faked filling out a deposit slip, and then approached the female teller with a smile and hello. The Tellers’ name was Wilma.
“Hello, how are you today sir?” Wilma asked.
Floyd slipped the note with his right hand across the booth and replied. “Good”
Wilma stared at the note then reread it. Taken back a bit with a look of uncertainty she began to tremble.
“Ahmm” Floyd coughed.
Wilma got the message and then went to the back and stuffed a bag full of $100 dollar bills. Twenty seconds later she handed Floyd the bag. Floyd gave her thanks then started walking out slowly. Before he got to the front door he heard a scream.
“He robbed me!” Wilma shrieked. “That man robbed me!”
Once Floyd heard the scream he darted out the door, hooked a right and then dashed towards Patterson Woods. He never ran so fast in his life. After about thirty steps he glanced back and saw two men running his direction.
“Oh ****!” he yelped. “The Orchendale police!”
Instantly he pulled out the gun and tossed it on the grass in an open area with his left hand. Floyd was running on the left side of the road. If he got caught there was no way he was going to be charged with a concealed weapon if the police couldn’t find one. Floyd arrived at Patterson Woods very quickly but the distance never seamed so far in his life. He shot a fast glance back. The two men were still chasing him. “****! I’ve got no time to change.”
Breathing hard and tired he finally breached the getaway point. On the fly Floyd yanked out the key from his right pocket, jammed it in the ignition of the Harley and then turned it to the right. A screeching noise took place over the engine. Floyd turned the key back and tried again. Same result.
“**** it! C’mon start!” Floyd tried again but it wouldn’t run. “Come on you son of a *****!” After a couple more failed attempts Floyd banged his right fist on the dashboard.
Snap! A twig on the ground broke and startled Floyd. He turned around and spotted the two men about twenty-five yards away from him. One was on a cell phone while the other pointed Floyd’s 38. Smith and Wesson at him. Both were wearing black tuxedos. They weren’t police.
Floyd stood still as time seemed to freeze all around him. His plan had backfired big time. Floyd began to think fast of anything he could possibly do to get out of this predicament. “Who are you guys?”
The man with the gun replied “Two law abiding Orchendale citizens. Hand it over right now. “
“Hand what over?”
“Don’t play dumb. Just hand the money over” replied the man on the cell phone.
****! Thought Floyd. He’s calling the police and at any moment they’ll be surrounding these woods. The other guy has my gun and could shoot me. If I surrender the $20,000 Gúlzoni won’t get his money. If I get turned in by these people and don’t have the money I’ll be in custody, which will make it impossible for me to be assassinated. Gúlzoni will target Garrett. These thoughts rapidly blazed through his head in seconds yet the situation felt prolonged.
“Go retrieve the bag Sanford” ordered the man with the gun. “Williams isn’t armed. He tossed his only weapon aside.”
“What a *******, seriously why would you throw away your only protection” Sanford responded. “If he decides to get feisty with me Morrison shoot the white trash.”
How in the hell did they know my name? Then he remembered the black Cadillac. It all started to make sense. These were Gúlzoni’s goons. He had sent them out to watch him just in case he tried to flee. Why don't they have guns of their own? Does Gúlzoni fear his own men betraying him? Even if so why did they chase me to Patterson Woods unarmed? **** it! They thought I was unarmed because I didn't display the Smith and Wesson. Oh ****! Do they plan on taking the money themselves and not delivering to Gúlzoni?
“Look guys I’ve got the money right here. Hey we can work this out. If you work for Gúlzoni he can keep all of this. I…I’ve got $20,000 right here. That’s more than double what I owe him. I won’t confess. Please don’t make an issue of this.”
“No way Williams” replied Morrison. “Your now officially disposable knowing what you know about us, Gúlzoni, and the gambling operation. All we need now is the cash. Get the bag Sanford.”
Sanford began to approach Williams grinning while pounding his right fist into his left hand. Only one thing left to do, thought Floyd. Run like hell! Floyd turned around and began to scamper. There’s only one bullet in that gun. Just one. All he has to do is shoot, miss and I’m clear. Floyd took off five steps down a path leading towards the Jonesville Trail. He had smoked pot in these woods for the past four years and knew them like the back of his hand. All he needed was clearance. Go Go Go and don’t look back.
Within a few seconds of flight the bang went off and the bullet whizzed through the air. Floyd continued running, mushed a few yards more then went down. The bullet caught him in the cerebrum.
Click…..Click….. “****, only one bullet was in this piece of ****?” Morrsion questioned Sanford.
"Ah, you got him anyways. Let's get this money to boss before the cops come."
Money....to the the boss...Gúlzoni.
Williams laid on the ground drenched in his own blood. He only had a few seconds left to live. Floyd would never live to serve a purpose. No wife, no children, nothing. He ended his life as a felon and perished at the hands of a murderer. These thoughts troubled him greatly, but he was relieved to know that because Gúlzoni would get the money he wouldn’t harm his brother who actually made something of his life. Garrett was going to live and do good things. With this in mind Floyd took his last breath and resolved his biggest problem.