Absolutely Done written by Dominae Primus is a fiction release that blends adrenaline fuelled action sequences, adventure, humour, wit, spirituality and mythology. Light enough for the casual reader, engaging for audiences looking beyond flash and explosions and intense enough in action for those who wish to have a cinematic feel of brawn and adrenaline.
ABSOLUTELY DONE
ISBN 978-967-5785-01-6 (international)
ASIN: B004X29URA (Amazon.com and all Amazon digital stores)
By Dominae Primus
ASIN: B004X29URA (Amazon.com and all Amazon digital stores)
By Dominae Primus
Absolute, a rebel Angel is recruited for the unenviable task of stepping into the Grim Reaper’s shoes for the time being. Absolute wants for nothing of this world, but the divine right of earning his keep as a competent enforcer of order in a world wracked by chaos & greed. An Angel serves his God not only by saving, at times he too must kill to even up the scales of crime & retribution. Presented in frame after frame of action interspersed with humour, Absolute’s adventures lead him to bloodshed, discovery & personal triumph. In his role as the Angel of Death, Absolute is determined in an unpleasant trade, finds ample room for his mischievous wit while being thorough in his execution of duty.
ABSOLUTELY DONE is a book with vivid scenes that can be adapted as a feature film.
Johnny fancied himself as the fastest gun in the west and even faster than the fastest fist from the east. Johnny’s an assassin for hire. His price is always at a premium. But he gets the job done. To Johnny everyone and anyone can be put away for a price that fattens his bank balance. When other assassins have failed, most desperate parties turn to Johnny, as their last resort.
“So what do you want me to do, pack him and her off with a bullet each?”
“If that’s what it takes or just use one for the price of two heads if that is possible.”
“It’s possible…but…”
“But what?”
“But it’s going to cost you…. more.”
“One bullet for two heads and it will cost me more?”
“Hey, if you want economy prices, I suggest you get some common hoodlums you got last time.”
“Okay, okay…. I know you’re good. So will that be another 10 percent extra?”
“15 percent.”
“Alright. You got it. One bullet for two heads.”
“Read the headlines tomorrow then.”
Johnny observed from his side just as the car passed by quickly as he viewed from the rear view mirrors the sedan that carried his intended victims back to the luxurious apartment block. He could barely make out two figures at the back and two in front as it passed. But that was enough for him. “Mr. & Mrs. Barrow I presume. Too bad the amateurs a week back shot the wrong couple with the same model at another fancy block. I’ll give them time to get back.”
Johnny made his way into the luxurious apartment block. He easily made it through as a courier with an important package. That made it easier to hide his weapon. He had his bags checked and even a body search but no one checked the package. That made the obvious the easiest to slip pass.
He carried on to the block where he was met by the butler who met him at the door.
“A package for Mr. & Mrs. Barrow from Smith & Wesson.”
“A package eh? Let me have it. I’ll take it to them.”
“You will take it to them I’m sure.”
“What did you say?”
Johnny closes the door behind him so no one who passes sees anything after this and whips out his automatic with a silencer from the package.
“Special delivery. Take me to them both or I’ll blow you off right now.”
He shoves the butler and seethes menacingly, “Take me to Barrow now!”
They both make their way through the spacious penthouse. Just as a maid chances to pass, Johnny shoots her squarely on the neck. She goes backwards and crumples.
Swift, brutal and effective.
“Try anything man, and I won’t spare a thought of blowing you just like that. Now get going.”
Seeing his butler approach from an angle, Barrow did not notice Johnny.
“Clive, what is it?”
Just at that moment Clive had outlived his usefulness.
A muffled shot behind the head, a quick shove and Clive fell forward.
Johnny springs in front of his intended victim.
“This!”
A slightly warm silencer is pressed between Barrow’s brows.
“Who the devil are you?”
“Another devil. What does it matter?”
“What do you want?”
“Call Mrs. Barrow now, if you want to live.”
“So your business is with her? Look we can work this out.”
“Call her now.”
“Jane. Come here please.”
“Yes, what is it that you …”
She stops in mid sentence. Seeing the stranger with a silencer to Barrow’s head.
“Sit down Mrs. Barrow.”
“Do as he says, Jane.”
She sits on the vanity chair.
“Just take half the chair Mrs. Barrow.”
“Now Mr. Barrow, I want you to step backwards and join Mrs. Barrow on the other half of the chair.”
“Look if this is a robbery, I can give you what you want now. There’s a safe in here, I’ll give you all the money that’s inside and you can just take it.”
“Step backwards and stop talking Mr. Barrow.”
Johnny shoves Barrow backwards and he plops down to the chair.
“Good. Now Mr. Barrow place your head right behind the back of Mrs. Barrow’s head.”
He does as asked.
“You have been good. Now it’s going to get better.”
“Look stranger, I don’t know who you are. You can still get away with all the money in the safe.”
“You’re worth more than that Mr. Barrow and I’m packing you off with a dose of luxury. Goodbye.”
He presses the trigger. It’s a point blank shot between Barrow’s eyebrows through his head as it then passes through Mrs. Barrow’s back of the head and out again. The bullet finally makes a slug mark on the teak cabinet opposite.
Two heads with one high-powered bullet.
Mind blowing ballistics.
Johnny calmly makes his way out of the block with his bag in hand. This time no one bothers to check him anymore. He had been checked before he went in.
Johnny would have been proud of himself if he had seen the papers the next day. If.
For what happened shortly after is a classic case of crime and punishment.
Johnny Badseed makes his way back to his apartment.
There as he flicks on the light, ready to luxuriate in his big hit, but on his usual seat another is in his place.
Instinctively, Johnny whips out his weapon and begins to fire. He fires a brief volley of shots and observes what happens next. To his horror, the figure rises and walks towards him.
Clutching his firearm tightly Johnny takes careful aim.
“Time’s up Johnny. You’ve been a bad boy.”
“I don’t know what suit you’re wearing but no suit can save you from this!”
Johnny aims at Absolute’s face and fires 3 rounds. This time it’s between the brows.
“Impeccable aim Johnny. Then again you never miss at that range and neither do I.”
Absolute whips out his swords and gores him through to the heart.
Gasping Johnny drops his weapon and clutches his chest.
“Who are you, who sent you and why can’t you die?”
“I cannot be killed by bullets Johnny. God sent me. It’s time for you to go.”
“If this is retribution for my past, why did you allow me to kill the Barrow couple?”
“Well they had their share of sins as well through dubious financial dealings, left a lot of people impoverished, caused suicides and you were just an instrument of their fate as I am now for yours. It’s over now Johnny Badseed.”
Absolute flicks his blades as blood drops off like dew drops on a leaf.
He sheathes them back and turns away.
As Johnny lay dying, the circling flames of the netherworld envelop him.
Johnny died a rich man on paper. But he never lived to spend on his last big hit.
...............................................................
“Rascal, your time is up!”
“I’m not going yet punk!”
Out steps a cloaked figure with a grim expression and scythes in both hands.
“You fancy punk, think you can take me out with that?”
“You have sinned enough Rascal. Time to burn.”
“Burn yourself with lead punk!”
A rash of bullets discharged by the automatic submachine gun, rattles off its firepower.
The scythed figure weaves past the wave of bullets, moving his arms in a slicing motion and manages to turn the barrel sideways at close range. A follow up scythe attempts to slice Rascal’s neck, when Rascal pulls out a pistol from behind his back and fires point blank. The cloaked figure is momentarily surprised and the loss of momentum results in a small gash on Rascal’s right arm.
Rascal steps backwards and re-aims his automatic weapon fired from the left arm at the cloaked figure. “Die, you fancy vermin!”
Again the cloaked figure sidesteps the gunfire and rushes backwards with the grace of an ice skater.
In a fit, Rascal stirs and cups his face in his hands. Shaking himself awake. Grunting and snarling, he opens his eyes, removes the cupped hands from his face and stares at the ceiling of his room. “A blasted dream that was!”
He senses wetness on his right arm. Switches on the bedside lamp. He sees a slight scratch on his arm with a small trace of blood.
“So it was him, Death himself trying to take me out! Well he failed, that miserable creature, he failed! Rascal lives and he defies Death again!”
He rushes out to the balcony. “You hear that Death! I defied you again. Same way I defied the authorities. Each time they got close I beat them back. You hear that God! I made a pact with the Black Duke! I won’t be killed by Death! I’m untouchable! I’m alive!”
Turning away he mutters. “I can’t be killed in my sleep!”
The Grim Reaper had failed to claim the life of Rascal Common, who had exceeded his threshold of wickedness. Alone he rushes into the dark, disappointed by his failure. God will not be pleased by his weakness. He wanders into the dark, with nowhere to go and hide from the gaze of God who notes once again on his lack of precision and firmness.
But we do not have a God who strikes Death, nor God striking down Rascal Common with a thought though he very well could do so. There will still be those who deserve their fate even though this chain of circumstance drags longer than initially expected.
“Anchorius, scythes are just not my style. I don’t sashay the same way The Grim Reaper does.”
“You mean to weave the same way he does?”
“Yes, Master and also I prefer a sword. A least I know it’s straight to the point!”
“Well you did fine against Johnny Badseed. I wish you well with Rascal Common.
God has seen all possibilities and he is deemed to have expired all lease of life this night.
Remember he cannot be killed in his sleep for he had made an unholy pact!”
“ I bid you well, Master!”
Absolute makes his way to his second mission. No less grim a task to do in his business of death dealing to the death defying.
He makes his way to the Rascal’s Cove, hidden in the maze of alleyways of the city. Known only to those with special passes who wish to have a peek into the playground of the city’s most notorious dealer kingpin, known only as Rascal Common. A moniker after he had built a reputation for skilful sinning.
Rascal Common sits in the upper floor, overlooking all activities, designed like an opera box, where he is able to pick out those he fancies and those he wishes to eliminate. Surrounded by a phalanx of tough looking bouncers and bodyguards, he is every inch a Depression Era gangster kingpin incarnate in an immaculate suit, hat and glass of fine wine. Sophisticated, deadly and sure of his powers of having a mass of well dressed hoodlums at his beck and call. Sure that his Black Duke will uphold the bargain in return for a slice of his soul. He will not be killed by Death, the Grim Reaper.
While smaller hoodlums negotiate deals of smaller stakes, Rascal Common is updated on the successes of his latest larceny and takings. All done on his behalf with no name to tie him to the act. The authorities had tried to prosecute Rascal Common but without witnesses to attest to his orders, no case can be had. But tonight, the authorities will have some help.
Absolute makes his way to the main entrance, a solid wood and metal framed humongous door with the sign of the jolly roger as its door knob. Two large mean looking bouncers man the entrance asking every patron for their passes.
“Where’s your pass?”
Two tough looking tall hoodlums in sharp suits stare at Absolute, towering above him in height. He looks up from the brim of his hat, flutters his lapels and looks them in the eyes.
“That’s my pass.”
For a moment there was nothing. As if the hoodlums will inevitably seize his impudent form and throw him on to the road. Then they were both struck, not with the arms of destruction, but with wrenching shame. Absolute saw through their souls, torn by what they do as a living against what their families expect them to be. It is easy to put on an air of respectability for mortal eyes, but what if the Divine eye were to gaze into your soul and see your every doubt and exposed your shame in the raw?
They continued their duties with a twist by turning away every other patron after Absolute. Patrons dared not question the hard gaze or sturdy forms of the pair of armed bouncers.
He enters the foyer and sees the mass of people who live their lives by sinning well and mutters, “That only takes you that far.”
The smoke winding trails and tinkling of glasses lead him to the murmurs of the inner chamber, where music plays in the backdrop amid a glistening sea of sophisticated felony. His gaze follows the trail up to the opera box like top, where Rascal Common is having a briefing with his hoodlum lieutenants.
Absolute makes his way up to the front and is accosted by a woman, whose dress betrays her profession of indulgent pleasure.
“You’re new here. Let me show you around.” She stealthily winds her palm into his breast pocket.
“There is a good book at your bedside, You never got to read it.”
He seizes her wrist and continues in a firmer tone, “I suggest you go home and have a look at it tonight.”
She looks at him and tries to use her charms, then realises that it is useless. She wriggles her palm out of his grip, gives him a quizzical piercing look of irritation and hurries away.
“Not your night, eh?”
She gazes sideways and sees another woman dressed in a similar manner.
“I don’t feel well. I’m going home.”
“Well if you don’t make a killing Molly I will!”, came the response.
She hurries along, not hearing one bit of it in her haste.
Absolute is trailed by Molly’s colleague, a woman dressed in the same manner as she is.
She accosts him and attempts to catch his attention.
“Absolute looks at her. Firmly grasps her arm, and pronounces, “Repent while you still can!”
Absolute walks away.
“You’re not giving me the same drift Holy Joe!”
She runs up and pulls his sleeve.
He turns. Meets her gaze. Pulls her chin up. “You’re not my type. Go home!”
In a huff she storms off, irritated by the firm rebuff.
Absolute disappears from the vantage viewpoint from the box. Distracted by his lieutenant’s briefing, Rascal Common fails to notice the arrival of the determined stranger.
Absolute takes the escalator to the box area. He meets a trio of hoodlums at the top.
They gaze at him menacingly and draw back their coats to reveal firearms in holsters.
“Remove your coat! What business do you have here?”
Absolute obliges them. He removes his great coat and it falls to the ground to reveal a pair of drawn swords that he plunges into the two hoodlums on his flanks. The middle one attempts to draw his weapon and is met with a head butt up his chest. He crashes against the hard wall panelling. His head hits the hard panels and the blow knocks him out. Absolute fishes up the firearm by the trigger guard and throws it into the disposal bin nearby. Sheathing his swords he wears his coat again. Now he props one of the fallen hoodlums near the door, hooks up his jacket lapel, where his form can be seen, appearing to be guarding the place if seen from a small glass panel.
Now he walks into the chamber where the opera box is.
“I’m here to see Rascal.”
Thinking that he had access to the enclosure he is let in.
The sentinel who lets him in thinks that the one propped against the door is still on duty.
Sure of their numbers and their firepower, the burly bodyguards of Rascal Common are seated on plush cushions, sipping on drinks and inhaling fat cigars for their fix of nicotine. They eye Absolute, but since he had cleared at least two lines of defences, they figured that he indeed had some business with Rascal Common. A lieutenant ushers Absolute to the box.
“Someone to see you Rascal.”
Rascal puffing on a cigar, cross-legged with his well polished shoes reflecting a glow from the overhead lights, eyes the newcomer with an air of defiant haughtiness.
“What have you got for me?”
“Judgment.”
Silence. Rascal stops puffing. His bodyguards start to feel their holsters under their jackets.
“Ha..ha..ha…so you think walking up here and telling me that is going to scare me hotshot?”
“I’m no hotshot Rascal. Your time is up!”
Bodyguards and lieutenants flanking Rascal Common whip out their pistols and point their barrels at Absolute. He notices that all of them carry silencers. Unfazed, he looks into the soul of Rascal Common and sees his unholy pact.
“Don’t make me repeat myself Rascal. Your Black Duke’s no help either.”
“What gives you the right to talk like that? I cannot be killed by Death. What does that make you, punk?”
“Uncommon.”
Turning to his henchmen, Rascal puffs his cigars. “Give him the silent send off.”
But it is not Absolute who falls but henchmen standing behind Absolute, gasp and fall forwards, grasping their bloodied chests.
“Next.”
