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Cameron Filas
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mrmcfadden.jpg
Art by Steve Cartwright 2014

Mr. McFadden

 

by Cameron Filas

 

As if these fucks didn’t know that I ran this part of town. Everybody knows that from the bridge to South Street, seven blocks away, you gotta go through me to do shit. Sixteen years I’ve run this part of town, half of that time spent in slamville. Now I’ve got other guys who get their hands dirty for me. Other guys who’ll make people wish they weren’t born. Still, every now and then when some nasty little punks stick their noses where they don’t belong I gotta intervene so’s my guys know I’m still the boss, in case any of them were thinking of getting smart. These fucking punks were just the kind who push me to do things I ’aint so proud of.

Riley tells me that these kids are selling rocks the size of his nuts. Says that they says they didn’t know they was on my turf. Says that they says, “Who the fuck is Charley McFadden? Your pillow biting boyfriend?” Such disrespect. They was even bold enough to give him the finger.

As if these fucks didn’t know who I was. And that’s why they’re tied up in the warehouse, with their fucking heads knocked together thanks to Riley.

Says I, “Let’s pay these punks a visit.” And we did.

When we get to the warehouse they’re all wrapped in duct tape, tied to these chairs, see. One of them is kinda chubby, looking like a sausage link getting squeezed tight by some string. The other one had some bullshit tribal tattoo on his forearms; an odd fucking couple of street slingers if you ask me. I’m looking at these kids and they’re just sitting there calm like. Kinda pissed me off seeing ’em acting like they’re hot shit or something. I says to Riley, “Get me that drill.”

Now they start sweating, but it’s too late. The fact that I even dragged myself down to the fucking warehouse meant it was too late.

“You know who I am?” I says. They both start nodding, mumbling something through the duct tape on their mouths. “I’m Charley McFadden.” That’s when I took the drill and poked a nice little hole in the fat kid’s sausage leg. The thing about poking holes in people’s legs is they start squirting blood all over the place. I love that copper smell of fresh spilled blood. There’s nothing like it. As I’m pulling the drill out it gets caught in some bone, go figure. So I yank on it and after a couple tries it gives, a big plug of fat guys leg meat stuck to the drill bit. This chubby prick is squirming in his seat, moaning up a storm under his duct tape.

Tattoo guys eyes get real big. He’s scared shitless. “Box cutter, Riley.” Riley and me swap tools.

“You like sticking your dicks where they don’t belong? Come into my neighborhood selling some bullshit and then, youse two have the fucking audacity to insult me and give Riley here the middle finger.” Tattoo was shaking his head and fatty just sat there crying. “Riley here is my right hand guy. Even if youse hadn’t insulted me you’d be in a world of shit just for giving him a hard fucking time. But, I’ll make it easy for you to not be making that mistake twice.” So I take the box cutter and start cutting away at tattoo guy’s middle fingers.

It’s messy work, cutting off fingers with a box cutter; especially when the fuck won’t stop wiggling around in the chair. Duct tape can only hold someone so still, see. But, this weren’t my first time. The trick is you gotta pull the finger a little bit, loosen the joint, then carve out right between the knuckle. Cartilage is a bitch, but it’s easier than bone. But I digress.

So these kids are both bleeding like a leaky fucking hose, squirming around and bawling their eyes out. I’m thinking that I should off at least one of ’em, seeing as they fucked up so bad.

So I says, “Riley, I don’t think these boys should get off so easy. What do you think?”

Now normally Riley’s a pretty quiet guy, I suppose that’s why I like having him around so I can hear myself think. But I turn around and lo and behold this fucker’s vanished like Houdini. That’s when I see the red and blue lights outside the warehouse.

Then I realize I been duped. Backstabbing Riley, fucker. My best fucking guy set me up. Can’t trust no one these days. I guess I don’t blame him. He’d always been number two, Charley’s guy. He never really had a chance to run shit, ’cept when I was in the joint. Maybe that’s why he helped the cops nab me. Turns out those dealers were undercovers, fucking narcs.

So I’m standing in this empty fucking warehouse, covered in blood, holding this box cutter in my hand. Tattoo guys fingers are on the floor and fatty looks like he passed out.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I says, “I’m Charley fucking McFadden!” And I stabbed the fuck with the tattoos right in the eye with the box cutter.

After that I booked it to the back door. Course the place was surrounded see, they know not to fuck around with Charley McFadden. Now in my younger days I would’ve tried to run, maybe fight. I’m too fucking tired to do that bullshit nowadays. So I just walk up to the first cop I see and let him cuff me.

Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, you know, and in all honesty I probably shouldn’t have killed that narc with the tats. Now I’m fucked. I guess if I get lucky I might get twenty-five to life, maybe. Probably get the chair, though.

So to make a long story short, and to answer your question, that’s what I’m in for. How ’bout yourself?

 


5fingerkenny.jpg

Five-Fingered Kenny

 

by Cameron Filas

 

They always stopped by the games and movies aisle when they went to Target. Kenny examined a first-person shoot ’em up game with a big ‘M for Mature’ rating slapped on the cover. His mom panned over a Christmas Classics box set that would cost more than she wanted to spend.

“Hey, Mom?” Kenny held up the game for her to see with hopeful eyes.

“You’re grounded, mister.” She said sternly, with just a twinkle of pity in her eyes. “Besides, you’re too young for that kind of stuff.” She put the Christmas Classics back onto the shelf and began pushing the bright red cart down the aisle.

“Well, can’t we just lift my groundation early? Please! I swear I won’t get in trouble at school anymore.” Kenny hated whining; teenagers shouldn’t whine. Though it seemed to be the only way he had a chance at getting past his mom’s defenses.

“No, Kenny. You almost broke that poor kid’s arm. You’re lucky we didn’t get sued by his parents.” She walked further down the aisle.

“I didn’t break his arm!” Kenny shouted in protest. “I just twisted it a little.” His mom had already turned the corner. Kenny sighed and smacked the game back onto the shelf. “Grounded just in time for Christmas. Perfect.” Kenny muttered to himself glancing at the new releases movie section.

As he scanned, a flash of skin and sultry eyes caught his attention. “Holy shit.” Kenny whispered, gently lifting his discovery off the shelf. The cover had three big-breasted blondes on the front. It was Playboy’s “Girls Next Door – Seasons One and Two DVD Set.”

“They actually sell porn at Target?” He felt himself stiffen as his clammy palms gripped the smut. The playboy bunnies eyed him longingly, begging to be taken. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what they might look like naked and sprawled across silk bedsheets.

The cry of a baby a few aisles down snapped Kenny from his trance. He reexamined the cover. One of the bunnies was playfully biting a finger, her juicy red lips pursed in a smile. He wanted to watch it, he needed it.

Kenny pulled his folder knife from his cargo shorts and glanced around. The aisle was clear. He inhaled a sharp breath, gripping the blade tightly. Now or never, he thought. Kenny sliced open the plastic seal and pocketed his knife.

Shaking, he pulled the first slim DVD case from the set and popped it open. There, on the inside, was the security tag, a shoplifter’s doom. He plucked the disc out of its case, quickly stuffing it into his deep cargo shorts pocket.

He looked around again, his chest tight. Customers strolled past the aisle casually, minding their business. Kenny shoved the box set and empty case back on the shelf. He’d lingered too long already. With quick steps he wandered through the Target store back to his mom.

“Maybe if you’re good I’ll unground you a few days early and we’ll go see that new Batman movie you’ve been wanting to see.” His mom smiled at him.

Kenny swallowed. “Um, yeah. That sounds good.”

“Good, good. Did you find any teen games you might want for Christmas?”

“I don’t know, nothing I would buy.” He exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. If security knew he’d just stolen something he would have been nabbed by now. Not bad for his first time. He chuckled nervously at the strange rush he felt.

“What?” His mom glanced at him.

“Eh, I’m just done shopping for today. Let’s get out of here.” He tried to keep his composure as normal as possible. What did he normally act like? It was hard to picture himself acting normally with his heart beating out of his chest.

“Okay, okay. Let me just swing by the half-priced ornaments bin and then we’ll boogey.”

The time seemed to drag by as his mom compared different colored snowflake hangers. Christmas came early this year he thought, reaching into his pocket every minute or so to touch the disc, swallowing hard in his dry throat.

At the checkout line each beep seemed to accuse him of the crime. “Is that everything for you today?” No, it’s not everything, Kenny thought. There’s a porno DVD in my pocket. Too late for that now.

They walked, or crawled it seemed like, to the doors. Kenny exhaled a nervous sigh of relief. He’d done it. They walked past the detectors, no alarm. No beeps, no accusations, nothing.

Kenny smiled. He probably could’ve taken all three discs from the set, no problem. Suddenly, in the double wide automatic sliding glass doors a strange reflection appeared. Two burly men in their twenties were sprinting towards the exit.

The men turned and grabbed Kenny beneath his scrawny pubescent arms. He froze, unable to move, eyes bulging in terror. His mom began screaming, gut wrenching shrieks that knocked the wind out of Kenny.

“Ma’am, ma’am, if I may,” the bigger of the two men said in a very police-like tone. “Is this your son?”

“Yes! What are you doing?! Let go of him!” She had grabbed onto Kenny’s arm, her eyes wide and knuckles white. Kenny’s throat tightened, resisting every urge to cry.

“Ma’am, your son has just shoplifted. We have him on video recording and I witnessed it personally.”

“No he didn’t! You have the wrong person.”

Kenny stared at his shoes, drowning in his shame.

“Ma’am, if I may, the item he stole is in his pocket.” The man reached down. Kenny hoped they would look in the wrong pocket; that he might yet escape.

The disc slipped easily from his oversized cargo pocket, a massive cleavage shot adorning its face. Kenny could hear the disappointment in his mom’s face. He didn’t look up at her.

 

 

Cameron Filas is an avid reader and author of short fiction and other various work. He has been published at Yellow Mama, BULL: Men's Fiction, and 365 tomorrows, among others. Cameron lives in Mesa, AZ, with his dog and a demon cat who he is pretty sure is plotting to kill him. Visit his corner of the web at https://cameronfilas.wordpress.com/.

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