Fall of Dallas

Here’s part one of todays short story. I’m breaking it into chunks because I don’t know exactly what direction I want to go with this. I’ll hopefully update later tonight or tomorrow morning. Comments, feedback and constructive criticism welcome!


The man in the white satin jacket and black jeans flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground, stomping the embers with his black snakeskin boots. He sticks his hands in his jacket pockets and leans up against the cold red brick of the liquor store.

Dallas Pressly is in a sour mood tonight, as usual, and the mickey of whiskey he downed five minutes ago isn’t making light of the situation. He’s ready for a fight, and he’s come to the right place to find one.

A stocky blonde man inside the liquor store has been dithering about the beer displays for the last 10 minutes, Dallas expects the gun will come out soon.

As if hearing his cue on stage, the blonde man in the store slowly pulls a black baklava out of his jeans pocket and drapes it over his face. He pulls a pistol out of his jacket’s left breast pocket, a grungy beat up police issue nine millimetre.

Before the man reaches the front of the store by the registers, Dallas is opening the door and stepping inside. He watches the blonde man walk down the isles towards the register in the dome shaped mirror hanging from the roof.

Dallas reaches into his jacket pocket and draws a large revolver. He crouches down in the isle next to the stocky blonde man, and trails him to the front of the store.

“I want all the money in a bag!” The blonde man starts shouting as he picks up speed towards the registers. He’s pointing the pistol at the cashier, with a look of grim determination on his face. This has been planned out for weeks, there’s no going back for Ted Gareth.

Before Ted is within 10 feet of the cashier, Dallas emerges behind him with the barrel of his gun in his right hand. A sickening squirting sound erupts in the blonde hair of the man as the butt of the revolver comes down on his head. He crumples down onto the ground.

The tall, pretty cashier looks on in astonishment, her wide open mouth the size of a grapefruit. She begins dialling for the police on the phone.

“No need for that darlin’.” A slow smile spreads across Dallas’s face. “We don’t want him to think he can get away with scaring a pretty thing like you, now do we?”

The cashier, with the nametag reading Susan, blushes bright red. She’s completely taken by this tall stranger with the black curly hair. He’s handsome, as handsome as a man in his forties can be anyways.

“What are you going to do with him?”

“I’m just going to show our pard’ here that Susan doesn’t take kindly to having guns shoved in her face.”

He grabs the man by the cuffs and drags him to the doors. He lifts the man up onto his shoulders and carries him outside. He starts heading towards the harbour. Ted only weighs one-fifty soaking wet, and the walk to the water is no great task.


Dallas flopped ted down onto the cold concrete of the harbour warehouse. His breathing is ragged, and the blood coming from his temple still trickles down his cheek.

He’s dealt with this kind of scum a thousand times. They all have the same story, dad left, mom was a stripper and the man is out to get him. Maybe 10 years ago those stories meant something, but today they just seem like so many excuses.

When he first started protecting the city, he had his reasons. There was so much more hope back then, he envisioned a place where you could get your milk from the corner store and not worry about having your throat slit. His father had always had great plans for Dallas. When he didn’t meet those expectations, he fell into fighting on the streets. It was only when he realized his opponents weren’t getting back up that he saw his path to his fathers redemption. Perhaps he wouldn’t make a difference with a pen and paper, but his fists were something people listened to.

That was so many years ago, and so many scars and beatings ago. He’d been fighting since he was twenty-five, he was forty-seven now. His need for his fathers acceptance had died in his thirties. In his early forties, he began to question his role as protector of the city. Now he fights because it’s what he knows.

He’s never killed before, it was part of his  code. As years went on, he found himself resenting his own rules, feeling rage boil up inside his bones. Why should he protect the ones who have caused so much pain?

Dallas brings the gun up to Ted’s forehead. The foul stink of whisky meets his nostrils, Dallas didn’t leave the liquor store without a bottle.

“Woah! Hey man, you don’t have to do this!”

“Shutup.” The crisp clack of the shot rings into the air. Blood spatters across the white satin jacket as bits of skull fly into every direction.


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