Psychopath Merit Badge

I could see the angels dancing in his eyes before I blew out his fucking brains. The pistol was pressed firmly against his left temple, sunlight glimmering off the chrome barrel. Although somewhat off key the Fat Lady was singing and not some Reggae song. It was over for this "sapo," the fucking snitch. This Rasta Rat Bastard on his knees in front of me was at the mercy of my omnipotent finger pressed against the trigger. He cost me three years of my life spent in Hell's waiting room a filthy shithole Prison in Bogota, Colombia. Now my name was Karma and death was on the menu. His tongue refrained from requesting mercy, he knew there were no words to detour his fate. A small thunder crackled as the bullet exited the muzzle piercing his skull. It rattled around inside his cranium spitting out his brain matter and red ink spelling the obvious message. I invested seven months tracking down this Son of a Bitch that sold me out to Federal Police to save his own ass from incarceration. You always rat up ya never rat down and evidently he thought it was a necessary ingredient in the Authorities recipe for justice soup. They busted my ass thirty minutes after the boat, ladened with 250 kilos of Cocaine was only six kilometers from shore. We were heading to Costa Rica and after making landfall, points beyond. It was to be my windfall run, my magnum opus of the drug smuggling trade . All the time spent planning , the money that two partners and I had personally invested as well as the bribes and payoffs that were disbursed had all been wasted. The vision of a wealthy epilogue to the undertaking disintegrated into minutes of my life ticking away in jail. I felt no remorse by my act of vengeance nor did I feel I was malevolent or sinister by whacking the Jamaican piece of shit wrapped in skin. I actually did him a favor by not employing the Colombian Cartel brand of street justice. I let his wife and children live. I left his crumpled body lying in the Jungle's Elephant Grass on top of a pile of Banana Tree leaves whose silvery backside were now spotted with Jackson Pollock like splotches of red. It was already starting to draw flies and mosquitos. The process of decay in the Jungle is a quick and an efficent manner of disposing of a corpse. "That's cold blooded Bigotes. I never have seen that Demon inside of you before. I hope to never have you mad at me. Never!" Johnny Rico spoke from behind me as we trudged through the underbrush up the hill to the road. "Here Rico take the gun." I said while passing it back to him without stopping. " Gracias ,I feel safer now carnal. The pistol has blood and tiny pieces of his brain all over it man!" Johnny moaned. "Get rid of the piece Rico! No mistakes. Ya hear me? Entiendas?" (Understand) I yelled. "Ok Carnal but you already make one big mistake." He answers back. "Ya you think so? What was that? What are you saying Rico?" "You didn't kill him twice. Now you are fucked. His spirit will haunt you and visit your dreams. Always kill something twice. You never listen to me. You will never learn." He preached. "Stop with that Caribbean Voo Doo , Black Magic, JuJu bullshit. I don't believe in God and certainly lend no credence to that crap! Shut the fuck up Johnny! I've alot on my mind, give me a break.” "Ok Bigotes, but I too like that band very much forever. “Run through the Jungle. Run through the Jungle." Good song for now, I think Jefe , Creedence." He sings. Sometimes it's just better to let his misunderstood references dissolve than to explain what I meant by credence. It'll save me two hours of frustration. My sweat mixes with the blood that has splattered on my hands and arms forming pink droplets staining my white shorts and also my shoes. Suddenly a feeling of extreme despair runs through my body like a current of electricity. I realize there is only one thing separating me from a Psychopath and it's the emotion of remorse, feeling guilty for what I had done. Even all the years of Catholicism that had been beaten into me by ruler wielding Nuns couldn't compel me to produce a single tear or feel shame. So I've earned my Psychopath Merit Badge. I felt righteously justified in killing the informant and was looking forward to the other motherfucking Sapo, his partner meeting with the same fate. Last information I had on his where 'bouts was Nicaragua. We had absolutely no friends there and few connections. A strict Unitary Government that basically made up laws and restrictions as situations developed would be difficult to operate under. I was going to have to call in a "favor" if we were to achieve any type of success in Managua. We reach the SUV and Johnny hops in the driver's seat and takes command of the vehicle "Turn off the air conditioning Rico I don't want catch a cold." I ask "Yes I am sure you are cold enough already. Off it goes." He jokes The sun was beginning to paste late afternoon shadows on the mountain sides announcing it's departure to the world's other side. I lye in the backseat watching the tops of Palm Trees flash by and one puffy gray cloud following as we head back to the hotel in Quepos. I feel the SUV learch to a stop and then hear a splash. Johnny has just thrown the gun into the estuarey from the bridge near Dominical. "Hey pinche back to the Hotel si o si?" Johnny barks. "Si Hermano a el Hotel. Hey Rico? " "Que quieres Bigotes?" "Tu sabes. Tu sabes" I say "I know, I love you too carnal." He answers "Hey Bigotes we should go out tonight . I will let you buy me dinner, then we can find some womens and get drunk like a hundred Indians. How you thinking about that carnal? You need some crazy party time like in the old days when you get wild and act of a maniac. Remember we back then have fun and be happy." Johnny pleads. "Tienes razon playo.(you’re right girly man) A night we won't remember. Listen to me you lunatic, no fucking Tequila for you Rico and you have to promise that you’ll keep your clothes on. No strip tease shows or painting your cock and displaying it as an Obra de Arte.(work of art) Si o si?" I preach. "Claro Bigotes but you must to do Mick Jagger Stones singer imitation and Michael Jackson dance. Those things make me laugh crazy." He says It would prove to be the perfect therapy to subdue what was beginning to manifest into an obsession. #END# Judge Santiago Burdon ©2014 Word Count 1164