Bloody Mary

 
His name was Ladislav Zoric, small time gangster and big time hustler. The guy was a ticking lunatic and infamous for his violent tendencies. They called him the Toe Cutter, because if you cut a deal with Ladislav and the deal fell like a dead duck, Ladislav would pay you a visit with a pair of bolt cutters… and let’s just say you won’t walk away with a smile on your dial, just a squelching limp and bloody footprint.

I got the call a month ago, about blenders. Yeah, that’s right, fucking blenders. Ladislav had a taste for Bloody Marys and needed a new blender to mix his poison. Except this wasn’t just any deal.

[insert sales pitch here]

We're talking about a shipping container of commercial quality, pulverizing chopper blades. The world's fastest blender on the market, with speeds clocked over 75,000 rpm, designed to perform a heap of functions with ease, like liquefying mobile phones, juicing juices, cracking coconuts, combusting soup and mixing Bloody Mary’s. The inefficient twin turbo carbon brush motor with blackout prevention switch, sledge hammer-forged stainless steel blades were unstoppable, and a choice of unbreakable bulletproof jugs were a testament to the blender’s durability, designed to outlast a nuclear blast.

[/end sales pitch]

Now, the blenders were available in various designs, with the option for a dial or buttons and a range of colours including Red, White, Cream, Black and Silver. There were three things I didn’t know at the time Ladislav showed me the goods at his warehouse:

1. The white jugs were made from Columbian cocaine resin with a street value of $100K per unit;
2. Ladislav was colour blind;
3. He had a fucking short memory and he was never wrong… actually I knew this, but I was too far up my own ass I didn’t know what was coming.

He showed me the silver jugs and told me he’d already sold the goods and arranged for a pick up at the end of the week.

I wasted no time moving the container, making deals, selling the remaining stock, laundering the money, slicing the pie and taking my cut. I thought I did well… but, a week later Ladislav paid me a visit with a bottle of vodka and a silver blender under his arm.

I was relieved there was no sign of his bolt cutters, but I soon found out that the news wasn’t good. He said his client wasn't happy with the blenders, said they didn’t appreciate snorting glass. Ladislav was infuriated. He asked me to make him a Bloody Mary, so he could think… I can remember thinking, “I don't have any tomato juice, I don't have any tomato juice,” I froze, as I watched him drain a bottle of vodka into the blender, emptied the ice bucket, milked the Tabasco, doused with salt and pepper, inserted my hand, felt the blades rotate effortlessly at 75,000 rpm as he drove my arm into the blender… I watched Ladislav drink his Bloody Mary as I bled on the floor of my kitchen, wondering if a copper's life pension would be untouchable, when you’re a corrupt cop with a prosthetic lower arm.

 
 
This short story was written for "the amputees club" comp.