THUMP THUMP

On the second floor, number 103, the door flies open - with debris flying through into the kitchen of the motel, covered in rot and man made filth coating the very walls - two figures emerge from the entranced covered in dust. Both figures, one with a .45, the other with a iron pipe roam through the small room, only for one allows multiple residents to reside. With only two doors on the right side of the room, they split up. The first figure goes through the drawers to the left of the room, near the night-stand opening each one with high velocity - with a sigh exclaiming out of him as it returns empty, looking for something. The second figure walks towards the first door, hearing sounds of tip tatters from a sink of some kind - he kicks the door open, swiftly breaking without any resistance, it swings open with half of the door now embedded with a foot sized hole.

Looking through into the white tiled, black walls that were originally beige and a bath full of water - the tap drips, the ripples of water show a reflection, just as the figure looks behind him, a shot from a silenced customised weapon ends up in-between the eyes as the figure's body fully collapses into the bath, the water slowly turns to red.

The First figure, now looking under the bed, facing the walls finds a box - a brown creased box with near enough two hundred pages worth of information - with a short breath, he begins to speak:

"Wheyey! See Nick, told'ya the stupid bastard would leave it somewhere," With a sudden pause, the figure see's a reflection in a mirror on the night-stand - facing towards the bathroom, the second door wide open without any interruption. The figure stands up, dropping his weapon onto the floor and raising his hands - and turns around as Scratchy begins to speak:

"Who's your boss, I've seen his men following me - not stupid enough to get face to face though.." 

With a slight tug of the tongue, the figure replies, "Okay, okay! I'll give you what-ever information you need.." Slyly putting his hand behind him, grabbing the mirror, throwing it towards Scratchy. Off-guard Scratchy gets hit by the mirror, causing him to lose his grip on his weapon as it flies into the air, as the figure charges him - tackling him to the ground a few punches are thrown - causing Scratchy's lip to bleed and his right cheek cut. Scratchy, throwing his own punches knocks the figure onto the floor, rolling him over as Scratchy gets up quickly, the figure does the same.

Looking at the Iron pipe, Scratchy runs towards it - as he picks it up, a knee is received into Scratchy's stomach, winded yet willing, Scratchy puts his effort in hitting the figures closest leg to no effect - both hands are driven into Scratchy's back as he is sent to the ground. Writhing in pain, Scratchy see's the figure walk over to the silenced gun, stumbling and limping - Scratchy, with a hefty throw targets his legs, making the figure fall to the floor. Scratchy attempting to stand up holds his stomach - stumbling over to the crawling figure, picking up the iron pipe he just through and starts to wail of the figures head. Blood starts to spray onto Scratchy's good suit - the figure starts to gargle and start to become limp spitting out blood, knowing he couldn't get any information on him or his employer any more, Scratchy grabs the silenced weapon and pulls the trigger.

Sitting down on the bed, taking a large breath - taking a few seconds before he picks himself up and puts the files into his pick-up truck, then starts to walk to the nearest phone booth, dialling his informant that's always close by:

"I need you to do some digging," Scratchy pauses, as he slouches onto the glass - in a sitting position, "Come to this address, see what you can find." A couple of minutes pass as the conversation goes back and forth as Scratchy takes a breath, waiting for any familiar faces to help him up.

Tom ran through Chicago's industrial area, not even turning his head as flames shot from chimneys and machines churned out engines. He pulled his collar up protecting his neck when the flames did get a little bit close but he didn't stop running.

He had received a call from Scratchy that some thugs had wrecked his home. He was holed up in a phone booth on Mary Street and sounded rather scared on the phone.

As Tom turned the corner between 7th and misery he saw a dark figure sitting in a squat position against the booth. Tom stopped panting.

"SCRATCHY" Tom yelled.

No answer. Tom started to run again.

As Tom approached the booth Scratchy stood up and shook Toms hand.

"Scratchy what the fuck happened?"

"Light a cigarette in my mouth and i'll tell you the full story," Scratchy replies, giving a slight smirk, "We've come along way's apart haven't we," giving a slight pauses as his eyes droop slightly, getting slapped by Tommy - Scratchy grabs his hand and stands up holding his stomach, trying not to bend as much he lets out a sigh of pain as he begins to speak again, "Take me somewhere I can get fixed up, i'll tell you on the way."

Straightening out his figure he waits for Tommy to reply.

Tom wraps an arm around Scratchy and lets him lean on him. Tom grabs a ciggerete from his pocket and sits it between Scratchys lips, before pulling a zippo from his pocket and lighting it.

"Christ Scratchy. We have come bloody far together. One day one of us is gonna cop more than a beating if we don't start thinking. I mean this situation  shows how close you came"

Tom and Scratchy walked back through the industrial not a word spoken. As they rounded a factory corner a dark man looked up from the coal he was shovelling. He wore blue overalls and paddy cap.

"Hey white boy what appened' to your friend?''

Tom looked at the man suspiciously.

"Hey got a beating"

The man gestured to come inside.

"Shit boy bring him in. We have a doctor of sorts who helps with injuries around the factory"

Following through into the room, trusting Tommy with his injuries. Scratchy is laid onto a table - with three people also in blue overalls, one with glasses, and the others his assistants. As they unravel the upper part of his body of clothes, the inspection begins as they find Scratchy with no serious injuries - sprained wrist, bruised upper torso and minor cuts to his face and back;

"The good news is nothing fatal," The doctor's response after ten minutes of inspecting, "Just rest and some disinfectant will do the trick," with a sigh of relief - Tommy helps scratchy to a sitting position as the doctor opens up a white bottle full of liquid. With every touch of the liquid to the open wounds - the pain makes Scratchy grit his teeth together, holding his stomach with his left arm, clenching both fists.

After the small proceeder is done, the doctor talks to Tommy, as Scratchy stands to his feet - with his suit being splattered with blood - the people throw ragged clothes he used to wear where these circumstances would never of happened. With now bruised skin appearing around his body and face, Scratchy leans against the wall, waiting for Tommy as the conversation continues between him and the doctor.