Chapter 6 in my ever-expanding self-indulgent exercise in fanfiction. Warning: Bad language and extreme violence featured in this chapter. Proceed with caution.
There are certain laws that apply in the land of celebrity. Crossing at crosswalks is not one of them–at least not when you’re Festus Lindon, world famous photographer of the stars. Festus had singlehandedly unleashed the nether regions of some of America’s greatest up-and-coming starlets. Through the power of his lens and his undying devotion to his craft, he had photographed more than 20 of the most beautiful women in the world exiting their cars sans undergarments. He was a legend. He had gotten his start when he exposed the violent streak that ran through Stan Quill, recieving not only a cool quarter million dollar settlement check, but also another thirty grand for the photos of himself getting bashed in the skull by the star of “Life at Doper High.”
Life had certainly been going well for Festus. He had just sold a couple of photos of Rick “Holdy” Holiday getting into his car with an open bottle of beer in his hand, and he had it on good authority that Eilene Degenerate had been seen sneaking around town holding hands with another woman. He wanted to break the story before she had the chance to use her coming out to boost the ratings on her new sitcom “Eilene.”
Festus stood on the sidewalk, gazing at the small studio across the street. He had heard that there was a new movie being filmed there; the rumour was that some pretty big names in the b-movie industry were involved, and they were usually easy to provoke to violence. He could hardly contain himself when he saw a very angry Killroy Hamm exiting the studio wearing ridiculously thick wrist prosthetics. He was gonna eat well for the next few months.
Remo couldn’t really pound on a jaywalker, it was just a bit too harsh–even for a highly trained assasin who lived the life of a dead man. He couldn’t pound on him, but he could at least give him a stern talking-to. A little verbal beatdown might just be a good release for some of this inexplicable pent up anger he was feeling.
At least the plan was to lecture the jaywalker. As he stepped out of the gate, he saw that the man was approaching him, and raising a camera.
“Sh*t,” thought Remo, “now I’m gonna have to hurt this guy. Wait, he looks familiar…”
“Hey, don’t I know you?” asked the thick wristed gentleman.
“Maybe,” replied Festus, realizing this wasn’t Mr. Hamm, but lifting his camera anyway–maybe it was one of his doubles.
“Yeah, you’re the guy who took those pictures of the Lawson twins,” smiled Remo.
“You like my work? You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to force them to climb up that fire escape. Lucky for me, they were too drunk to realize that *someone* had stolen their britches…”
“That really was you, huh?”
“How’d you get them out of their panties? I mean, those young girls seemed pretty smart.”
“Well, they just played a smart girl on ‘Packed Home’– remember, it took two of them to play the same girl, I guess you could say they had a whole brain between them” grinned the photographer, “plus, the roofies I slipped into their wine coolers didn’t hurt.”
“You drugged them? Classic.” chuckled Remo. “How old were they when you took those pictures?”
“Oh that was the beauty of it all. They were only 16. I could have made a hundred thousand off the pictures of their underaged drinking, but the pantiless pictures secured me an extra fifty grand!” cooed the idiot.
“So, let me get this straight,” asked Remo, “you exploited the beloved, cute little girls of America’s favorite T.V. show, drugged them, and abused their trust for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”
“Pretty much–yeah” responded Festus, realizing something was amiss.
“Thank you,” stated Remo, reaching for the paparazo’s camera.
Before Festus could blink, Remo had grabbed the camera, snapping the strap in two with a quick yank. He looked at the camera, trying to find the release button for the back.
The cocky photographer smiled at Remo.
“It’s one of them new digital cameras. There ain’t no film for you to destroy!”
“Digital, huh? I’ll show you digital,” frowned Remo.
He grabbed Festus’s hand and folded all his fingers back, popping them one by one, save his index and middle finger–These he spread out making a “V” and slowly pushed them into Lindon’s eye sockets.
After thorougly gouging the man’s eyes out, Remo used the hook on the end of one of the camera straps to scoop out the remaining fleshy bits from his sockets.
Remo squeezed the camera until the lens popped off. Then, he meticuously oriented the glass so that it faced outward and shoved the back end of the optical peice into the man’s skull.
Next, he yanked the large flash from the top of the mangled camera and inserted it in Lindon’s other socket, giving it a little twist, causing the man to twitch to a whole new pain.
Remo spotted the test button on the backside of the flash.
“Hmmm… I wonder what this does,” he thought.
He pushed the button.
A hot, bright light shined briefly out of Festus’s mouth, searing his brain and killing him instantly as 250 volts of electricity arced through his skull.
“Smile for the birdy!” quipped Remo.
Remo wiped the blood off his hands, and hummed to himself as he strolled down the street.
He definitely felt better.