Author Topic: Mr Mole's Personal Journal  (Read 234 times)

faceknives

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Mr Mole's Personal Journal
« on: October 18, 2018, 03:40:48 PM »
(Note: Mr Mole's spelling and grammar is far worse than this. I've cleaned it up)

This will not stand.

This is my kingdom and interlopers are not welcome here.  The sheer cheek of it. To send the boys from the City to murder my people. With no rhyme or reason.

And they had the sheer nerve to shoot me.  It is all about respect and they showed not a jot.

Who sent these orders? I must know. This was a planned attack, not merely a bit of argy bargy that got out of hand. There is a rival behind this, directing from the shadows. And he will have a name and an address. And I will find him and we will talk. Oh, how we will talk.
 
Where to start?

The local blue bellies should know something.  This was not one of their operations. Normally the locals are very sensible.  They will tell me if not from local pride then from necessity.

This will not stand.

(These notes are scrawled throughout the entry).

Teach Salad without his bombs. Seemed scared.

Urchin Did well.  Clever little tyke.  Could go places.

Dwarf Bit trigger happy but good strategy. Pleased.

Gun Show Shot people.  Good at it.  Not a big strategist.

Doc Good squirt, but overly sentimental. Jack a Nory, there?

Pratfall Carney? Clown/strongman?  Strong but incompetent.  Maybe has thug potential.
And you look like a star but you're still on the dole

Captain Shortworth

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Re: Mr Mole's Personal Journal
« Reply #1 on: July 16, 2019, 02:07:18 PM »
I was looking for a receipt and found this. One page filled in, months back like it was gonna matter.

None of it mattered. The scum's still floating at the top, and apart for some more bodies rotting somewhere, nothing's changed.

I was thinking about filling in the gaps, maybe putting down what I know that the gutter press don't, but like I said, nothing matters.

I got paid, that's for sure. The tailor's a man of his word, and that begins and ends the things we've in common, and the laundry list of reasons why I worked for him.

The last job is worth sharing though, the toff who knew too much.

He'd been done over and cut up by the time I got there, and hadn't spilled shit of worth, but they were paying me, so I gave it my best.

Honestly, from the moment I took his eye lids off with a small pair of sharp scissors, and the cunt did little more than breathe a bit heavier, I knew he would die before he gave anything up. A jobs a job though.

So there he sat, eye balls still in the sockets, but looking loose like. Nails next, and he cried then, but between the gasps, he'd repeat the same shit of never having heard of the lad they were looking for, the people who set it all up, or anything of value.

He spoke all right, but just bollocks. Threats, abuse, promises of what he'd do the wee slip of the girl with the fucked up face, but once he had no skin left on one hand, he'd stopped crying and started laughing.

I don't know why I bothered doing anything else to his face. Doesn't hurt as much as people think - apart from the lips, but that's only ever a last resort - and's mainly just to fuck with their day, but he wasn't pretty anymore anyway, and there was no way he was gonna see the sun again.

Opening up his stomach got him mad at me for the first time, but if they were expecting rage at the world and me in particular, they'd not go a read on their man at all.

Apart from the breathing being so heavy, spit flecking out as he tried to keep talking without saying anything, I've seen folks get more pissed off at to much head on their ale.

I've known hard men, women too for that matter, but this was something else.

With nothing else left, I opened his lips. Like I said, saving that bit. Punch a cunt in the mouth, smash his lips against broken teeth and watch the blood flow, and he'll scream like hell. Don't know why it hurts so much, but it does.

You'd think taking a pairing knife to his lips, opening half an inch down, a dozen time, top and bottom, then stretching his smile would have done something.

Aye, hard men and women, but not like that shite.
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