04:34:30 pm on
Tuesday 18 Jun 2024

F***king Salesmen 3
Joe Vitulli

This is part three of a three-part series.

Chapter Eleven

“Holy shit, it’s fuckin' hot.”

“That’s why they got them fuckin’ beaches down here.” Nick scanned the area, looking for a taxi. Finding one, he flagged the guy down, they climbed in, tossing the bags in the trunk and the cab took off, heading to South Beach.

As the cab rolled down the main drag, passing one pastel colored hotel after another Nick and Natch, eyes wide, taking it all in.

“Looks like fruit city down here, what with all the fruity colors on them fuckin’ buildings.”

“It don’t matter, we gonna meet this guy, grab what we gotta’ grab and then we head over to the classy part of this fuckin’ town, where our hotel is.”

The guy they had to meet, to grab what they gotta’ grab, was a local semi involved guy, with a fairly good reputation as a guy who can be counted on to do the right things in all respects, especially with respects to knives and pistols. Jackie “The Nose” knows guns, spent a lot of time in the Army, and spent his time now hustling guns to people who may not want to spent some time down at the gun store filling out the fuckin’ paperwork for them background checks they got now.

Jackie “The Nose” spent his days and some of his nights in the lobby of a fairly fleabag hotel, sometimes at the bar, always with the newspaper opened to the racing form.

Oh yeah, The Nose. Well the nose was large, a Durante type schnozola, with red racing stripes up and down the nostrils, the effects of maybe one too many Cuba Libre’s in the afternoons. But he was known everywhere as the guy to see if you wanted some firepower to toss a few slugs around to settle a long term beef.

A important guy in the trash business up North knew of Jackie “The Nose,” and touted him to Nick and Natch, since carrying heat on an airplane was pretty much frowned on these days.

They exited the cab, paid the driver, who thought, can’t get these schmo’s out of this cab fast enough. Nick parked the bags in the lobby and they went off in search of the guy to let them grab what they gotta’ grab.

“No fuckin’ wise cracks about his fuckin’ nose. That guy up North told me about his fuckin’ nose, so no fuckin’ jokes“.

“Well, he should be easy to spot, since-…fuck, looka that nossle!”


There, sitting in the lobby of the flea bag hotel, a newspaper folded on his lap, was the big nose, red racing stripes and all, Jackie “The Nose.”

They approached Jackie “The Nose”.

“You Jackie? Sal from up North, you know Sal?, the guy in the trash business, Sal?”

“Follow me.” Jackie “The Nose,” stood, smooths out his pants, tosses the paper on the chair and leads Nick and Natch to the elevator.

“You got what we gotta’ get?” Nick thinking, what a fuckin’ nose, you could draw countries on that nose, what with all the fuckin’ lines. Nick worked hard to look away, eyes Natch who was locked onto the nose, his stare glued. Nick kicked Natch in the leg, snapping Natch out of his amazement.

“Get in.”

The doors opened, all three stepped inside, the elevator old, the door slow, the ride up two floors taking for fuckin’ ever.

They walked down a dimly lit hallway, stopped at room 444, Nick thinking, what the fuck, room 444, but this is the third fuckin’ floor.

Jackie “The Nose” using his key opened the door and Nick and Natch stepped into an armaments warehouse.

“Holy shit.”


“You wanted nine mils, right?”


“Follow me.” Jackie “The Nose” moves across the room, opens a door where perhaps a bedroom might been, but is instead is a show room of firepower, pistol section. Nick thinking, holy shit, and the crap he’s got piled up in the other room, fuckin’ bazookas, land mines, machine guns, rocket launchers, shit we could really use up North. Then his eyes fell upon the gleaming, nickel plated pistols, the nine mils.

“Nice selection.” Natch thinking, shit, he’s got more guns that the fuckin shoe store got shoes.

They each picked two, got extra clips, a phone call was made, money was wire transferred, and Nick and Natch, fully armed and ready for their little adventure, left the building, snatching up their bags.

Bags, guns and Nick and Natch were dropped off in front of a pretty snazzy hotel, the bellboys lugging the suitcases to the front desk, tips being bandied about. They got their room keys, sent the luggage up, heavy tipping again, smiles all around, stopped at the bar, Grey Goose on the rocks, slice of lemon, then the elevator up to their room.

Sipping their drinks, the bar tender not too happy they left with the glasses, but the twenty slapped on him calmed down his nerves somewhat.

“Lets go over the fuckin’ plan so we don’t fuck this up.” Nick sat in an easy chair, legs propped up on the large bed. He gazed at his drink, thinking, nice fuckin’ glass, got some heft to it, a guy could get plenty used to this shit.

“Natch had settled by the window, looking out at the swimming pool, the bikini’s at the swimming pool, he turned, facing Nick. “There’s very fuckable babes down stairs at the pool, why not we take a few hours see if we can hose a few of them?”

“Later. We gotta’ do this job, clip that prick then we got time for whatever else we wanna’ do, Joseph says take a few days off.” Nice sip of the ice cold Vodka, sliding down his throat, Nick smiled, watching Natch return to looking out the window.

“Lemme tell ya, something, Nick, they got babes up the ying yang down there at that fuckin’ pool.” Natch sipped his drink, the Vodka cold and nice, sliding across his tongue.

“Drink up, we gotta’ ride.”

Natch turned, Nick stood, gulped down their drinks, snatched up room keys and headed out of the room, walking towards the elevator. They stop, push the fuckin’ button, wait, a honey of a girl arrives with a runt like dog in her arms.

Did I mention she was stunning, slinky dress, deep dark blue eyes, pouting lips, red lipstick, and wooza, a set of tits to knock your socks off?

“Hey, what is that, some kinda rat?” Natch, pointing at the runty dog.

“You two clowns just sneak across the border?” She turned away from them, ignoring them both. A deep, I am offended, sigh.

“My friend is sorry.”

“He is sorry. Now why don’t you two, ahem, fellas, go back to whatever you were doing, pounding each other I assume, and leave me alone.”

“Nice fuckin’ mouth you got on ya, babe.” Natch smiling.

“Drop dead. Tell your moms not to send you out to play with the big folks anymore.” She turned away, and walked back to her hotel room, the dog over her shoulder looking at Nick and Natch.

“Hey, lady, maybe you wanna” I throw that fuckin mutt out the window?”

She enters her room, the door slams.

“What gives with her?” Natch turns facing Nick as the elevator arrives.

“She’s prolly one a them dildo slingin’ dike bitches.”

“Well, I got a real live dildo for her.”

The two well dressed businessmen in the elevator were somewhat aghast at the language of the two “gents” entering. The doors close, the two businessmen move two steps away from Nick and Natch.

“Nice fuckin’ day.” Natch nods to one of the businessmen.

“You fellas guests here?”

“What’s with you, you some kinda jerk off? Of course we’re guests, we paid our fuckin money and yeah, ass wipe we are guests.”

“Probably not a good idea to steam up by friend here. Maybe you two douche bags shut up and get off at the next floor.” Nick punches the button for the next floor, six, not the lobby, but six, the elevator stops, the two businessmen get off, the doors close. “What the fuck kinda’ town is this?”

The taxi was cruising along, the windows closed, the air conditioning keeping everyone nice and cool. Nick had given the driver the address, the driving somewhat familiar with the area.

“What the fuck kinda’ town is this?” Nick thinking, when we do this job, when it’s fuckin’ over, we head back to the hotel and that pool. Maybe we find that bitch with the rat.

“Excuse me, sir?” The driver, not 100% sure of his two passengers, and the thought occurred to him, shit, maybe I don’t get paid, these guys, gamooks, don’t look too solid.

“It’s like they all got some fuckin’ altitude, what with the snappy answers and shit.”

“Not sure what you mean sir.” Are we there yet?

“No fuckin problem, just fuckin drive.” Natch looking out the window as they hit the very nice area, big houses, big slices of property, swimming pools, gleaming luxury cars scattered about.

“This is the block, sir.” Please, I’ll slow down, you can jump out, don’t worry about paying me, just get the hell outta’ my cab.

“Do not stop this hunk of taxi shit, just slow down.” Nick had the address, and as they passed the house, there’s the fuckin’ house, he watched, Natch watched. “Ok, lets get outta’ here.”

“Yes, sirs.” Shit, they ain’t leaving. “Where to sir?”

“Back to the fuckin hotel, and listen, keep your fuckin mouth shut where we went, what we did, you got that Raul?” Nick looking the driver’s hack license posted to the rear of the back seat.

“Yeah, forget we was here, forget where we went, we don’t wanna’ come back and throw you through the nice shiny windshield, you got that?” Natch smiled, the whole plan coming together as he sat and watched the scenery roll by.

Chapter Twelve
The Big Fuckin’ Plan

They were back at the hotel, near the pool, the sun dappling off the water, sun glasses shading their eyes, shirts off, some fruity drink with a fuckin umbrella in sweaty hands.

Natch told Nick the plan, Nick smiled, thinking, it just might fuckin work.

“We know the prick goes to his mother-in-laws for dinner every Sunday. We don’t know when the hell he goes, what fuckin time.”

“Yeah, so that’s my plan, we do what I said and we wait for him.” Natch smiled, the plan was solid gold.

“Take him right in the fuckin’ street, his douche bag wife right next to him.”

“That’s how it rolls. Sorry lady, but we gotta’ plant a few slug into your old man here, seeing as he tried to choke our old man to death. And we start blasting, put a few fuckin holes in the prick.” Natch was tapping his fingers on the frosted glass of the table.

“He’s gonna’ be short a few tics when we get done with him.”

“Yeah, he ticked his last tock, fuck him.”

They signaled for another round of drinks, Nick pinches the cute rear end of the waitress who gave him an icy glare, which shortly brought the hotel manager to their table.

“Mind if I have a word, fellas?” He looked pretty good, nice suit and tie, what the fuck, sneakers? His dark hair was combed straight back, a slight recess in the hair line, brown eyes and a glued on smile, which after a few seconds steamed up Natch pretty more than somewhat.

In normal situations the hotel manager would probably be asked to take a seat, this however, was not a normal situation.

“What’s on your mind, Jose.”

“It’s Joseph, Joseph. The cocktail waitress said one of you fellas might have pinched her rear end.”

“Nobody likes a fuckin stool pigeon.”

“Be that as it may, please, fellas, hotel policy is designed to preclude these types of occurances.

“Whatever the fuck preclude is, we don’t give a rats ass about a fuckin policy, unless it’s one we are running.” Nick smiled, took a sip of his drink. “And these drinks suck.”

“They are on the house, and thanks for your cooperation.”

“Hit the fuckin road, Jose, before we get ourselves steamed up, your dippy fuckin’ smiling face is already got me aggravated.” Natch took a sizable slurp from his drink, made a face. “This is shit, and you shouldn’t charge for this crap any which way.”

“So, if ya don’t fuckin’ mind, why not drive those faggy sneakers of yours outta’ my sight.”

“Thanks again for your cooperation.” The hotel manager, wiping sweat from his forehead, turned and headed back to wherever the fuck hotel managers hang out when they are not annoying peaceable citizens having a nice fuckin’ drink at the pool.

Where he went was the hotel security office. He stopped in, told his Chief of Security about the two barbarians at the pool and please do your very best to find a workable excuse to toss both of then out of the hotel.

Yeah, right.

Chapter Thirteen The Unwelcome Guest Woody Guthrie

Around the rear of the hotel, in the parking lot, the hot afternoon sun beating down on them, the alcohol working it’s way through their systems, Nick and Natch cruised the lot, looking for that one special junker they could boost for the short ride out to where they were going.

“Here, just what we need. A hunk of shit, must be 10 years old.”

“Ugly. I’m not sure I wanna be seen in this shitbox.” Natch rapped his knuckles on the hood of the car, saw rust particles dance away, landing on the black top. “Fuck it, lets take it.”

Nick jimmied the door open, hotwired the car, it fired up, blue smoke belching form a rusted tail pipe, and as the owner was lounging at the poool, his first real vacation in a long time, his rusted hulk took off down the road.

The radio wasn’t working in the car, annoying Natch, who since he wasn’t driving, was fairly bored.

“We close? This fuckin car is drivin’ me crazy.”

“Yeah, we’ll ditch this thing in a bit and walk the rest of the way.” Nick smiled, thinking, what the hell, we got a plan.

They parked the car three blocks from where they wanted to be, which was a block away from the street where Benny “The Tic’s” house was.

They exited the car, Natch very happy to be exiting the car, Nick smiling at his best friend, knowing how much it drove him fuckin nuts the radio didn’t work. They made sure the pistols were loaded, tapped the extra clips and headed off down the street.

They hit the street where Benny “The Tic” lived and stopped about four houses away. This little mansion had a hedge around it, Nick and Natch shoving their way through the hedge, and waited there until it got dark.

“Waitin’ sucks.”

The sun dipped behind the horizon, the night sliding over the landscape. Nick and natch pushed their way through the hedge and slowly ambled down the block, heading for the house directly across from their target.

“We just bust in there, tie whoever the fuck is there up, toss ‘em in the basement and wait till that Tic mother fucker heads out for his Sunday meal tomorrow morning.” Natch gazed up at the target home, a fairly large mini mansion, floor to ceiling windows in the front. Awesome. A prety nice fucking Benz parked at the curb, two nice somethings in the drivway. Lexus maybe, Nick not sure, not too sure about Jap cars.

They stood at the curb, thinking, well, maybe this asshole has got company and maybe there’s a ton of fuckin geeks inside, which could complicate shit more than somewhat. They both turned at the same time, as the front door across the street opened, and what the fuck, there’s that prick, him and his two dick head body guards, and they are slowly walking to the curb, where that prick has some big ass, black shit box limo parked.


The both took off, racing across the street, pistols drawn and before the two dick head body guards knew what was happening, they each had nice sized holes in their foreheads. Benny reached for his pistol, and as he yanked it out of his jacket, Natch fired, the slug ripping across Benny “The Tic’s” arm, a shot fired, the pistol dropping, a slug exiting, which somehow found it’s way to Nick’s legs, slicing a pretty nice chunk of skin away. Natch fired again, the shot entering Benny “The Tic’s” chest, exploding his heart and he fell backwards, just as his front door opens and out pops the screaming, crazy wife.


“Shut her up!” Nick fell over, grabbing his tore up leg as Natch aimed, fired, the bullet entering her mouth, tumbling around and exiting near her right ear.

Natch ran to one of the dick head body guards, ripped open his jacket and tore his shirt into strips, which he then used to wrap around the nice slice of Nick’s leg to stop the bleeding.

Natch dragged Nick across the street, He smashed in the glass of the pretty snappy Benz, tossed Nick inside, ran to the drivers side, opened the door, and using his own means, fired up the car and they took off. In the distance, the wail of police sirens.

They ditched the car about two blocks from the hotel.

Natch called a fairly important guy in the trash business up north, told him the tale, and the fairly important guy in the trash business hooked them up with a doctor not too far away, who patched up Nick as best he could, the three martini’s at dinner not doing him any favours.

That night two tickets were purchased from Amtrak, the train leaving fairly soon, they got one of them rooms you can get on a train, the night passing by okay, dinner, a drink, another drink, sleep as best they could and sometime the next day they arrived up north.


Chapter Fourteen
All’s Well That Sorta’ Ends’ Well

The two fairly important guys in the trash business met Nick and Natch at the train station. They took both to a doctor up north who didn’t have two martini’s for dinner and Nick was patched up real good.

Later on they met with Joseph, who gave them the big hello and huggs and kisses, and oh my God, stuffed twenty g’s into each of their pockets, large smiles all around.

Joseph was a bit steamed up they had to clip the wife, thinking, this will cause somewhat of a dust up down there, which if they do their homework could cause some upsetment in and around these parts.

The Old Man, smiled, thinking, it’s better this way.

And that, well, that’s the stuff that happened before the other stuff happened.

The End

Click here to read part one of this three-part series.

Click here to read part two of this three-part series.

Joe Vitulli has two books, "Silver Shores (Arizona, 1867)" and "The Havens Core Horror (Lighthouse)," available on Kindle. "As you might see," Vitulli says, "both my books are the Horror category. I'm not sure if that's the genre or my writing skill." Vitulli lives on the East Coast, of the USA, very near the water, which he thinks is a great inspiration for his writing, "as both my novels have a lot to do with seaside communities. "I have a great family," he says, "that indulge me in my writing. I'm currently hard at work on a third novel. on which 'F***king Salesmen' is based. My new book has special meaning for me, as it stirs memories of my youth..though not exactly!"

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