Daniel Polchuli stood at the entrance of the construction site and gazed upon the horrors he saw.
The gallons of blood soaked the dirt. The men he sent to get rid of Greg Duhan’s body were a little bit everywhere. Daniel almost felt what could be considered guilt, he sent them there. Granted he did it to save face. The police of Evergreen City belonged to his family. Hell, the entire city belonged to his family. Both the cops and the Polchuli’s couldn’t let people know what happened to Duhan, he was the glue that held these two noble forces together. The Press would see his mutilated body, they would mention how a beloved detective was brutally slain, it would make smart people think there was a competitor for the city, and it make the blind people not leave their homes, and that means not spending money at businesses that the Polchuli’s had their hands in.
That just wouldn’t do.
Homicide pulled up to the site.
Olivia Cook was another detective that was bought, she drank away that disdain she held for herself every night.
She approached the youngest Polchuli son.
“What in the actual fuck did you do?”
“...I’m just as shocked as everyone else.”
“How many bodies are even in this mess?”
“I sent five men but I was talking about you raising your fucking voice to me. THAT’S what I was shocked about.”
Cook stared at the man. Her eyes told a tale of 41 years of hardship, 41 years of whenever anything got better something else was added to the pile of bullshit resting on her shoulders.
Cook ignored Daniel. She walked around the aftermath of some horrendous carnage.
“What the actual fuck…” she said under her breath.
The night before, the red and lumpy dirt was five goons who had all their parts intact.
One was digging the hole to stuff the remains of Duhan in.
“Boy it sure is nice that you guys are helping”
“You need a look out.”
“All four of you need to look out?”
“Fuck you guys.”
The four lazier goons laughed at the hard working one.
“So what you think happened?”
“I mean the bastard had his organs ripped out. Like...who or what did that?”
“Oh it was nothing really. Duhan stopped doing situps a looooooong time ago.”
“What the fuck? Who the fuck are you, faggot?”
The four men faced the sharply dressed mime. One cocked his gun and pointed it at the clown.
“Best get the fuck outta here.”
“Best I don’t.” Mr. Nobody smiled a toothy grin.
“Alright I ain’t playin no more.” the goon fired at him.
He fired again.
Mr. Nobody kept walking like nothing happened.
The goon looked at his gun. Something must be wrong, he shot him twice and he didn’t even flinch.
Holding the gun in front of his face, he lowered it, and the freak of nature and all that was holy was suddenly in front of him. His toothy grin now wider, teeth sharper, and the craziest look in his eyes.
A few seconds later the four men looked in horror as Mr. Nobody picked the pieces of jugular vein out of his mouth.
He then made quick work of each one.
One he ran through at light speed.
The other had his own arm shoved through his head.
The next was split in two.
The cowering goon who was digging begged for his life.
“I’m not going to kill you my sweet little prince.”
The man sighed a breath of relief.
“But he will”.
Mr. Nobody tossed a reanimated Duhan into the hole, and oh boy was that reanimated corpse hungry.
“Now THAT is how you send a message. Sorry I gotta kill you again Greggy boy, but you were a pretty awful person.”
Mr. Nobody removed zombie-Duhan’s head.
Within Mr. Nobody, the two souls conversed with each other.
“Well what do we do now?”
“We wait. The Polchuli’s had you killed so we topple their empire piece by piece. We just needed to get their attention.”
“Well I’d say this is one hell of an attention getter”.
“My sweet...you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Thank you for reading the third installment of “The Ballad of Mr. Nobody”. I am so excited to see where this story leads to next and it’s such a joy to write. A fun fact about how I planned out the story is that, like I said in an earlier post, this story has taken multiple forms over the years, but the idea of this mafia like familiar being taken down a peg was actually thought of when I was about 16, and I was hooked on this shitty Facebook game where you were a mobster and had to do missions and stuff which really just boiled down to clicking a button. That was the game. I have no idea why I considered that fun but then again they probably spent millions on making people addicted to games like that. There’s a lot to be said about that, but I’m just gonna end this rant here so. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading the third issue of The Ballad of Mr. Nobody, as much as I enjoyed writing it. Remember to follow Boxhead Books on Facebook (avoid shitty games while there), follow @boxheadbooks and @tytyscifi on Instagram, visit www.boxheadbooks.com and maybe shop around a lil. And also I made a TikTok which as you probably guessed is also @boxheadbooks and I’ll try to entertain you all there as well. As always, remember to #ReadOutsideTheBox