Kurts Last

A room. Small and dark. A broken water pipe dripped waste water into a small, overflowing pan. The walls were stained with a substance which looked suspiciously like blood. The place stank. The carpet, in the places where it was visible, was torn and quite the worse for wear. It’s colour was indeterminable, due to the amount of dirt and grunge that had collected over the years. However the inhabitant of this grungy hovel got around the carpet problem by covering the entire room with papers and clutter. Any normal person would have rendered the room unsafe and hazardous and had it closed and demolished. But, it would appear that the landlord and the inhabitant were perfectly happy with the state of the room. All of a sudden a pile of papers moved.

The inhabitant of the room stirred and woke up. Papers crashed to the floor and flew everywhere. The inhabitant swore violently. It was evident from his expletive that he hadn’t meant to send those papers flying everywhere. However, judging by his actions, they were evidently not really important enough to swear about. He got up, crushed some papers under his feet and trudged sleepily over to a cupboard. He opened the cupboard and withdrew a half empty bottle of whiskey. Without bothering to look for a glass, he unscrewed the cap and downed the lot. He looked in to the mirror on the cupboard door. He was still young. He had let his blond hair grow down to his shoulders. He was extremely thin, due to the lack of money to feed himself.
“Kurt, you’re too thin” he said to himself.
He had a job, he was a drug dealer for the mafia, but he spent his money mainly on more drugs to use for ‘recreational purposes’. He checked his watch and swore violently again. He was late.

Kurt left his one room apartment and got into his old black Transit van. He drove round the back streets of London at about 70 mph because he was late for his drug consignment from the mafia. He arrived in a small alleyway with a dead end. He drove halfway down and took a sharp left turn. He stopped the van and got out. He walked up to a black door, knocked and waited. The door opened. A big man stood just inside the doorway. He welcomed Kurt and led him away up a staircase. Kurt arrived outside a door and was told to knock and wait. The big man left and went back to his station at the door. Kurt entered at the occupants command.

“Aaah. Kurt is finally here. How nice of you to turn up” sneered a small, smartly dressed man.
“ I can..” began Kurt.
“ No! I don’t wanna hear any of your lame, half assed excuses. Just take the Heroin and go.” snapped the small, smartly dressed man.
Kurt picked up a small package and left.
The smartly dressed man picked up the telephone on his desk and dialled a number.
“Tony. I want Kurt killed. Soon.” he put the phone down.
Kurt left the building and got in his transit.
He drove off slower now. He veered into a street with known smack addicts. He got out of his transit and began his usual sale agenda. He knocked on a door. A woman answered. Most people would have run screaming had they have talked to this woman. She had track marks all up both arms. She had deep bags around her eyes. Kurt however was not surprised by this.
“ Jackie. Can I interest you…..” Kurt said.
“Yeah. I haven’t in ages.”
“Usual price then”
“Ok here you are.”
Kurt handed the tinfoil package over and pocketed the money.
He was done with her for know. He left and repeated this process many times.
By about 1 in the afternoon he was almost sold out. Kurt returned to his transit. He would have sold out completely but he needed some for himself. He opened the glove box and withdrew some money which he added to the money for the Heroin. He would have stolen it, but he knew the Mafia would have found out. He drove round to the small building he had visited earlier and posted the money through the door. As he drove away a gun fired and a bullet hit the side of the car. He saw 2 figures dressed in black holding guns. He wound down the window and flipped them the middle finger. Then he drove off before they had a chance to kill him.

Kurt got home and rushed inside. He closed his door, pulled the curtains down and rushed to the cupboard. He rooted at the back and withdrew a needle. He sat in the middle of his clutter and took out his Heroin. He also took out a lighter. He opened the foil package and held it above his lighters flame. He waited. Soon, the Heroin was in liquid form. He took it all in to his needle and found a suitable vein. He injected his Heroin and within seconds he was out of it.

Kurt woke up hours later, to the sound of something being put through his door. After the usual cursing and swearing as he got up, he went to investigate what had been put through the door. He found a small brown package. Confused, he opened it up. It was his pay. £300 pounds. All because he risked imprisonment by selling Heroin to known addicts. He went over to his cupboard and took out a fresh bottle of whiskey. After downing half he went out of the door.  Kurt walked to the tube station and took a tube to the nearest station to Denmark street. He went out into the daylight and walked into Denmark street.

A figure clothed in black stood in an alley way just down Denmark street. He had just received a phone call, informing him that Kurt(the target) had just turned into Denmark Street. He stood ready. As Kurt walked past, he launched himself at him. Kurt yelled but his mouth was quickly covered. The figure dragged him back towards a parked car. He was shoved into the back of the car. A voice he recognised said
“ Kurt!! How nice of you to drop by!!”
Kurt realised it was the small, smartly dressed man.
Kurt tried to shout abuse at him, but he was gagged so it came out as a muffled noise.
“Uh uh Kurt.” the small man said “ don’t waste your last words. For in roughly 30 minutes time, you will be meeting your maker. Kurt, I hate you and I always have. Plus you are a bone idle, stupid junkie. You are never on time for your pick ups and you cannot be trusted. So we are going to kill you. Are you a religious man Kurt?? Well, you shall experience pain like Our Saviour did. I promise that.”

Within half an hour, Kurt was tied up on a lamppost, close to Trafalgar Square. He had been tied up in a cross shape, just like Jesus had been. Stood in front of him was a large crowd. At the forefront of the crowd, stood roughly 50 people, clothed in black. The shortest one in the middle, barked a one word command. As one the people withdrew guns and fired at Kurt. As Kurt felt 50 bullets bite into him he knew he wouldn’t survive. With his last breath, he screamed in agony. As his vision suffused with red he surrendered himself to death and everything went black.