Undercovers Ch. 1 (feedback)

Bradley staggered out the bar, as he hung lifelessly upon the shoulders of his “new best” friends. Each of his ivory YSL shoes scraping off the gravel, he swung forward with a drunken momentum as the two samaritans guided him through a back alleyway, turning a normally thirty second walk to the cab into a ten minute ordeal. Bradley prattled off his desperate advances toward the two “leather Daddies” both of whom were more concerned with dropping the responsibility of Bradley off onto somebody else than pursuing anything even remotely close to intimate contact with him.

“I...I… love you guys… so much… you don’t… you don’t (stops to hold back puke) even know.” Bradley spoke as if he were living a real-life self indulgent dream, finally scoring the two scruffy hotties that always managed to get away once he woke from said dream to hurl out the bad decisions from the night prior. Both heavy-set bikers lifted him back to his feet as he stumbled knee-first straight into a puddle. “Alright buddy...let’s just get you to your cab.” The tall scruffy biker to his right chuckled out. “Oh my God! These were like...I don’t know...I forget...but it was a lot of God damn money! Fuck you!...you… stupid fucking...puddle!”

Both men did their best to hold back laughter at Bradleys expense, neither wanting to encourage his ridiculous behavior or accidentally entice a melodramatic tissy-fit. “We’re almost there buddy, just hold on and he’ll get you home.” One of them said professionally.

“And… which of you… fine gents wants a… piece of this when we get there?” An awkward silence cut the air. Both bikers hoping Bradley would forget what he just said and move on to some other random subject.
“Well!? How about you?...you’ve been awfully quiet...I bet I can change that…” Bradley wrestled an arm free from the shorter biker to his left and cupped his tight-leather crotch with a demanding grip. “Whada… ya say? Give me a bed and I’ll… give you heaven.” Bradley’s arm was quickly swatted away. “Hey, cool it kid… not interested”. His arm forcefully went right back over the stocky bikers shoulders, this time, with vice-like constriction.

“Ow! What the fuck! Ow! Let go!...I’m...not a kid!” Another round of smothered chuckles ensued as the taller biker chimed in.
“I pulled ya pants up, Ya threw up on me and ya can’t walk for shit, I’d say you’re a kid right about now.”

Finally reaching the beat up dark yellow Plymouth, the back passenger side-door opened as Bradley felt the force of a size 16 boot on his ass hurl him inside. In a last-ditch attempt of desperation, he lunged forward; wedging his scrawny leg between himself and the closing door. “You sure you don’t want this...Freddie Mercury? Com’ on now, I’ll rock you all night long Daddy…”

Bradley ripped open his fuschia button-down satin shirt, exposing the infancy stages of his pre-toned abs which appeared constricted from any sort of real development; due to years of heavy smoking and excessive drinking. His body in general, suffocated from self-induced malnutrition and destructive vices. Ignoring his advance, “Freddie Mercury” leaned in the cab just enough to toss the driver a thin rubber band wad of cash. “Here’s some extra fa the trouble. Make it quick now, ya hear?” The driver nodded, still facing the windshield as he had the entire time, stone cold in emotionless expression.
Bradley protested even more aggressively this time.
“Fuck you guys! You know who I am? Do you even fucking know who I am!? I bet you...you fucking don’t! Y’all ain’t shit anyway! You ugly; old ass, smelly, fat, Jon Belushi lookin’ motherfucker!”

The biker smirked with amusement, “Oh so now I’m Belushi?” Bradley continued his caddy onslaught of petty insults, kicking the biker heels-first on his massive tree trunks of thighs. “Careful kid, fruit bruises easily.” Now careless as to any part of Brad’s well-being, he slammed the door shut and slapped the trunk twice. Normally one to just take off once business finished, he stood on the sidewalk and watched the broke down taxi attempt to speed off; stalling and squealing for a second as the tailpipe coughed a cloud of black smoke. Both bikers waved at the taxi with huge smiles, like they just sent their annoying kid off to his first day of kindergarten.

Bradley crossed his legs and folded his arms the entire ride, staring out a window caked in inner-city pollution. Surrounded by Starbucks cups; cigarette butts, wet Seattle Times papers, some weird brown stain in the corner that nobody in their right mind would be brave enough to identify let alone attempt to clean. He was in his in-between stage of intoxication and sobriety, a stage that usually had him pour his feelings out to the nearest strangers at the bar or led him to the karaoke stage to cry out a horrid gay cover of usually something from Madonna or Judy Garland. Now alone in a taxi, he could do nothing but contemplate and reflect on his destructive life. Wondering why he was the way he was, throwing away a life filled with roads of potential for one with roadblocks and dead ends at every turn. An unsuspecting tear trickled down his right cheek, landing in a small dark puddle formation on his shoulder; wiping it away, he did his best to shift his mind elsewhere from his personal demons.


“Is everyone this welcoming in this town?” Bradley managed to choke out.
The driver still acted as a robotic statue; only moving his arms when necessary to turn the wheel, subtly, he moved his head down in the rear-side mirror, just barely exposing the tops of his cold blood-shot eyes over a pair of gold colored aviators. He gave Bradley a slight smirk, just enough to acknowledge his presence and nothing more. Bradley rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the city; attempting to catch the sun rise over an abundance of skyscrapers and half-finished construction projects, when a sudden realization hit him as the driver bounced off a curb. “First off...ow! Learn how to fucking drive, second, did I even give you an address?... Seems like we’ve been going on and on.” The driver remained speechless. “Hello!? Anybody home? You a mute or some shit? I think I have the address here somewhere…” Bradley proceeded to dig around his pockets and search around the back of the cab. “I know it’s here somewhere...I had it on a napkin or some shit… or did I? It’s so gross in here, don’t you clean this fuckin thing ever? I feel like I need a fuckin’ shower just sitting here.”

The driver then swung his car into a narrow alleyway and slowly crept up to a windowless white van. Bradley brought his head up; now frozen to his seat, a sudden panic struck him far too delayed for any chance of escape. “WHAT THE FU-” both passenger side doors flew open as one side grabbed his legs while the other tied a black plastic bag around his head. Bradleys body dropped to the cold concrete, he felt his face take on a different shape as he landed. A heavy knee dug into his back as his hands were duct taped together in blinding speed. Then, just for good measure, his head bounced off the concrete yet again, as somebody’s shoe descended upon his skull with a tremendous force.
“Easy!...easy! Member? Just a message, ya fuckin’ ape.” Bradley recognized the accent as Italian, although, he couldn’t place a face or name to it. It sounded like something he’d hear at a diner in Jersey or cat-called from a construction site. “What the hell are they doing here?” Bradley thought to himself. Dragged up by his once silky smoothe hair, Bradley was then thrown against the rear-tire of the cab; a Penny Loafer rested on his chest, pinning his back up against the cold tire bearings of where a hubcap once used to exist. Bradley spat out teeth and blood that only ricocheted back in his face, his only refuge for oxygen coming from a few tiny rips in the bag from when he was thrown and stomped on the ground.

“Git the bat!” One voice impatiently barked out. “I thought ya had it Frank”, another voice answered back. “Does it look like I have the fuckin’ bat? An don’t say my name ya moron! Git… the fuckin’...bat!” An argumentative banter between the two voices broke out. Bradley tried adjusting his body to ease the tension against his chest but only provoked his attacker to anchor his Penny Loafer down even further. Just then, Bradley could see the exchange of a wooden bat out of a slight tear from his makeshift headwrap, he could start to feel his life coming to an end. He never really settled his personal conflictions with the existence of a God but figured this would be one hell of a time as any to see if a prayer could be answered, whoever the God may be.

Bradley closed his eyes; gridded his teeth, quietly mouthed out prayers of mercy and waited for the inevitable death swing from his grim reaper, which just so happened to take on the form of the Three Stooges.
“Right or left first?”, “the fuck does it matta num’ nuts? Jus bust up this fruit loop alrea… ah shit! Wada fuck!” A series of thunderous gunshots awakened, deafening Bradley as he helplessly endured a surrounding onslaught of repeatedly fired semi-auto handguns. Hot shells bouncing off his skin; smoke engulfing the air, he fell sideways to the ground, trying desperately to free his hands from the duct tape. The gunshots finally ceased after what felt like hours. Laying still, Bradley suddenly felt life return back to his senses as the bag ripped off his head. “Oh Brad.. Brad Brad.. this isn’t the hair product aisle, did you get lost again?”