Tales From A Bus by jwilson136 (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

to mention noisy thanks to the little ‘bastard child’) I was almost tempted to get off the bus and walk. But I didn’t. For the next few minutes I passed the time looking out at world as it rolled every so slowly past. When a woman in one of those go-karts for old people (who really should be shot when they get that old and useless) passed my window on the inside I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
For a few minutes I’d forgotten about the screaming kid and the sweating man. Bored looking out the window I glanced back to see how their friendship was developing.
It seemed that his indigestion had gotten quite bad, for his face was an odd mixture between pale and flushed and when he touched his side he grimaced and swayed as if he was almost about to faint. I was beginning to think that it was more than indigestion that was bothering him. As I watched he leaned forward and said something that I didn’t quite catch to the woman with the brat on her lap. As I’ve said I didn’t quite catch what he said but it didn’t seem to go down too well with the woman as she pulled the brat closer to her ample chest and gave the man a stern look. The man then nodded his head and obviously to some discomfort to himself reached down and took a silver brief case from the floor by his feet and placed it on his lap, with the opening to himself. I hadn’t noticed the brief case before which is unusual in itself as I’m normally exceptionally observant. I put this down to the sheer volume of alcohol consumed the night before. The briefcase was of a good quality, it was silver but looked as if it was well used but well kept too if you get where I’m coming from. Anyway the man, who first took some time to steady himself, gave the woman a suddenly cold look and tapped his fingers on the briefcase. The woman for her part glanced around the bus and when she made eye contact with me I saw quite clearly that there was fear in her eyes. Some people say that it’s ridiculous to say that you can see fear in peoples’ eyes but I brought enough people into my office to tell them that their fired to know when someone looks scared, and this woman looked that way. This little confrontation had suddenly grabbed my attention.
The child continued to scream out loud and again the man in the trench coat leaned towards the woman, not as far forward as before. As I’ve said I’m fairly observant and I could tell that ‘trenchy’ was having some difficulty even staying upright. If it was indigestion he had then he sure as fuck had a bad dose of it. My own feeling was that it was something much, much worse that a bout of indigestion that he had. This time I strained my head back and listened to what was being said between the two. At first I wasn’t too sure what was said but latter events confirmed what I heard. The man clearly spoke the following words to the woman;
“Lady, if you don’t shut that kid up. I will.”
Christ I figured that this would soon develop into something very interesting so I turned as best as I could in my seat so that I’d have a good view. ‘Fat Bastard’ beside me didn’t seem to mind that I had to rest my left leg almost on top if his right one. And I was content to allow my short skirt to ride up a little more along my tight just to give him something to wank about later that night. The confrontation down the back of the bus was what interested me now. The kid continued to scream and the man, with very slow and with very deliberate movements clicked first one and the then the second lock combinations catches on the brief case. The double click of the case when it opened seemed almost like a gun shot and the fat woman visibly jumped in her seat. The man stopped then and again spoke to the woman. But I wasn’t too sure what he said this time as the bus, now free of traffic, had upped the speed and the noise of the engine drowned out conversation between the two. The woman did speak back to him this time but she stayed in her seat. And as the kid continued to cry, the man opened his brief case. What was inside it was hidden from view form the fat woman as the lid opened away from the man and towards her. But I did manage to get a look inside from my viewpoint and what I saw inside made me take an even greater interest in the way events were unfolding.
You know those films where the profession killer always has a cool gun and a cool case to store it in? Well this guy had exactly that. The case held a gun. Now I’m no expert on guns or the like but I guess that this was some kind of pistol, a semi-automatic as it had an ammo clip. The gun was resting in foam on the left side of the case as I could see it. It was black and a lot bigger than I ever figured a hand gun could be, (in the films don’t they always almost look like toys?). In the centre of the case, again held neatly in place by cut out foam was what I guessed to be a silencer and two separate clips that held the bullets. The man rested on hand on the handle of the pistol and gently ran his fingers across it. It was almost like a lovers caress. He looked back from the case to the woman.
The woman still had the kid crying on her lap and now she did look a bit concerned by the man and the contents of his briefcase. As I’ve said already she couldn’t actually see into the case but she was dividing her efforts into the strain of controlling her child, catching a glimpse of what was in the case and of course retaining that ‘how-dare-you-speak-to-me-that-way’ look in her face. From where I was sitting (as always best seats in the house) she was losing on all counts.
I suppose had I spent the time to think about it I would have asked myself before now ‘why didn’t I do anything ?’ but to be honest with you I saw this as as good a way to pass the time as any. And anyway there was know way I was going to mess with some sick fucker with a gun purely over some fat woman and her shitty little kid. I let things go on, I’m not sure what would have happened if things developed to their natural conclusion or even if things did come to there natural conclusion but that’s’ part of the tale so I’ll get on with it.
The kid continued to cry and his mother stared back to the man with the briefcase with that ridiculous look on her face until the man bent forward again. This time I just had to hear what was said and I literally threw myself back half over ‘fat bastard’ beside me to do so. Never mind about that nights wank, this sweaty bastard would have all his masturbation fantasies sorted for weeks if not months to come. If ‘fat bastard’ seemed in anyway put-out by my actions he didn’t say and I wasn’t really concerned. My aim was to put myself in position where I could hear what was being said and that was exactly what I did.
“Lady, I swear to God, if you don’t shut that little bastard I’ll shut him up for you and I mean permanently.” He finished this with a little cough and this time I was sure that he was going to pass out. His head swayed forward and the hand (that hadn’t moved from his side) tightened its grip. Just when I was sure he would go he bit down hard on his lip, and he seemed to regain some semblance of control. But for a fair few seconds after that his eyes seemed distant. He coughed again, but this time it wasn’t as severe and he wiped his mouth. I could clearly see that his hand came away bloody. And by bloody I don’t mean a small trace of blood from a small cut on the lip, I mean blood blood. He winced, in obvious pain before looking back at the woman and the task at hand. The woman pulled her kid even tighter to her chest, as if she meant to suffocate the poor child, and continued to stare back at the man. She was, I guessed, quite used to getting her way.
The man reached with his left hand into the briefcase and pulled the gun from the foam. With some difficulty he pulled the silencer for its place and screwed it in place on the barrel of the gun. This operation took maybe three minutes to complete and all the time the child cried. Then quite suddenly the man looked across at the woman again. His face was now death pale and he repeated his sentence give or take a word or two. The woman made some answer this time but I couldn’t quite make it out. She just stayed there, eyes locked with the those eyes of the man that sat across from her, holding in his hand a gun that she couldn’t see. She seemed almost daring him to make whatever move he was planning. And all through this the child cried as if he realised the danger he was in more than his mother.
As I’ve said already I’m no expert on guns, on many, many other things yes but guns I’m not up to date on. But I’m telling you now that the gun this guy held in his hand was real. It looked real, bigger than I expected but real none the less.
It seems strange now looking back but I’ve never really thought much about what happened that day. All I saw it as was something to pass the time on a long and overall unnecessary ride home. But the gun, well I’ve thought about that gun on more than one occasion. I’ve thought about what it would feel like to hold, what sensation would the cool metal against my palm give off. And I’ve thought about what it would feel like to put my index finger around the trigger and casually test its pull. And I’ve wondered what it would be like to slowly squeeze (never pull) that trigger and what the ‘kick’ would be like and what my aim would be like and what would happen to my target when the bullet hit it’s mark. I haven’t really given the events of that day too much thought in the two years or so since it happened but the gun...I guess you could say that the gun has been on my mind quite a bit.
Still, I digress yet again. Where was I? Oh yeah, the silencer. The man was getting paler as the journey was going on. He was now almost on death’s door. I say almost because if than guy was not at Death’s Door he was certainly at Death’s neighbours door and making his way down the street if you get my meaning. The long and heavy trench coat he wore was now opened at the side and for the first time I could clearly see where his hand was holding. The whole side of his white shirt was