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by Hunte



It had been about a month ever since Brian and his thugs had beat me up in his basement. My gut had been sore for about a week after the beating, and for a while longer I’d been looking over my shoulder for anything that might tell me that Brian hadn’t been satisfied with getting me beaten up by a pair of muscleheads for supposedly leaking whatever secret he had. He might come back for round two.
After a while though, as my gut healed and no one came knocking on my door looking to beat me up again, I started to relax. Maybe he’d forgiven me? Maybe I’d eventually see him and he’d say we were cool.
I really shouldn’t have gotten complacent, as I found out that Saturday morning. It had been an ordinary day so far. The previous night I’d found a receipt taped to my door, one of those “sorry we missed you” pieces of paper that the post office used if they didn’t deliver your stuff ‘cause you weren’t there to answer the door. I’d signed it and everything, leaving it there for them to get next time they came by.
A little while later, someone knocked on the door. I was actually kind of puzzled as I got to the door; I hadn’t ordered anything, and wasn’t expecting anyone, but it would be rude to keep someone waiting.
I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited outside the guy’s door. It wasn’t really out of annoyance; it was more just impatience. I’d already missed the guy at the door once, and he’d signed the work order. If he was gone again I was going to have to break in and wait for him and just beat him up, and that wasn’t how I did things. I assaulted people, but I assaulted them legally.
I could hear him coming to the door though, so thankfully that wouldn’t be the case. I stopped tapping my foot, doing my best to appear professional. He wasn’t the first blabbermouth that I’d been asked to beat up, and he wouldn’t be the last. So, with luck, he would also be a future client.
The door opened and I saw the guy. He didn’t look like much, and from what I’d been told by the guy that had paid me two hundred dollars to beat him up (apparently they were friends, but for some reason this kid had let slip something he shouldn’t have) he would be easy for me to deal with. “Can I help you?” he said.
I nodded. “Good afternoon. I assume you’re the person that signed this work order, right?” I held up the slip of paper.
“Yep,” he replied. “Can I…ask what it was for?”
I shrugged, clenching and unclenching my fists as I looked at his stomach, covered by his shirt. “Eh, nothing much. You see, my name’s Bob. I’m with Rent-A-Thug Incorporated, and I’m here to beat you up.”
I saw his face change and he managed to get out a confused “What?” right before I slugged him in the gut. He jackknifed with a loud “Oomph!” noise and hopped back slightly. He looked up at me, that confused expression still on his face as I took a step forward and slugged him again, making him let out another loud “WHOOMPH!” as he hopped slightly again. Next I slammed a left hook into his cheek, spraying drool across one wall before punching the other cheek and spraying drool across the opposite wall. As that punch hit him he staggered backward, managing to catch himself on a doorframe as he gasped for air.
“I…” he spluttered. “I…I don’t…”
An uppercut to the chin sent his head flying backwards, spit flying into the air as he staggered backwards. His hand slid futilely down the wall as I went after him, grabbing him by the shoulder and standing him up straight before I impaled his belly on my knee. He jackknifed around it, spraying drool onto my shirt as his feet came back down onto the ground. I spun him a few times with a right hook to the jaw, then shoved him backwards several steps before slamming him against a wall.
“D…don’t…” he wheezed, right before I dropped down and slammed a punch into his navel. He heaved and bent forward but I shoved my head into his chest, propping him up as his arms hung limply over my back. I pummeled his belly good with my fists, each one sinking in deep as he slammed against the wall over and over again with each punch.
He jerked and twitched with each punch, his cheeks inflating hugely as he bent over my back, his gut arching into a U-shape that was perfect for catching the punches I was hitting him with. Finally I let loose with a hard uppercut that hit him and sank wrist-deep even as it lifted him to his toes and a loud “Ooooooooouuuugh!” left his lips. He fell forward, draping over me, but I backed up and got him straightened up as I manhandled him over to the stairs next to us.
The guy wobbled in place, his eyes half-open and fluttering slightly as I straightened him up. I looked up past him; there were about ten steps between the landing, and us. I smiled, an idea forming.
An uppercut slammed into the guy’s gut, sinking in deep as his eyes bulged and his cheeks puffed out. He let out a loud “OOOOOOOOOOFFF!” as he actually hopped up the stairs to the next one, my hand still on his shoulder as I took his spot. Now that I knew it would work, I decided to continue. Clenching my fist I slammed it into his belly again and again, each punch knocking him up another step.
The ninth uppercut threw him up onto the landing, and I threw a final hard straight into his navel, making him jackknife around the punch as he staggered backwards and left me room to get up on the landing. The next punch I hit him with was a left hook to his cheek that threw his head to the side, spraying drool across the floor before I threw a right hook to his other cheek. I let go of him for this one, leaving him to spin a few times before he fell facedown on the floor with a groan.
As he lay there, groaning, I decided that it was high time that I put him out. Walking over to him I grabbed him by his shirt collar, ignoring his weak struggling as I hauled him into the bedroom. I stood him up in front of the bed, watching him sway from side to side as he looked at me, his eyes fluttering as he tried to focus on me.
“Wh…wh…why?” he wheezed softly, staring at me helplessly as I cocked a fist back. I shrugged.
“Nothing personal,” I said truthfully. “It’s just business.”
The uppercut thundered forward and slammed right onto his chin, lifting him off his feet and throwing him backward onto the bed as saliva sprayed from his lips along with the sound of a loud “UGH!” from the impact. He landed heavily on the bed, bouncing a few times before laying there, flat on his back with all four limbs splayed out limply. I watched him lay there for a bit, unconscious, then nodded in satisfaction. I took out my phone, flipping it open to the number of my contact.
“Hello?” Brian’s voice on the other side said.
“It’s done. He’s out cold.”
“Good. Two hundred dollars, right?”
“Sweet. Meet me where we agreed and I’ll give you your money.”
“Sounds good to me. Thanks for your business.” With that I hung up and looked back at my victim. I nodded at the sight of a job well done, then left his house, making sure that I shut the door behind me.