GORILA AS A GRAPHIC NOVEL

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Bodyguards, Mobsters, Eyes-Wide-Shut Parties
It's a New World Order!

Stephan didn’t feel like sleeping anymore. He stood naked in front of the large mirror on the wall noticing his bronzed body. It was remarkably sculpted. His palms brushed over his bare chest, covered with short, curly hair. That was him: the bronzed shapely body with cold, green, catlike eyes; the high forehead, the powerful cheekbones, and the light chestnut hair that fell in restless waves upon his forehead.

He stood there for five more seconds examining his body with amazement. Then he walked to the window, pushed the curtains aside, and flung it wide open . . . the show could begin . . .

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“Listen Milk,” Stephan said, looking at his face as a snake looks at a frog. “If you say a word about this, to anyone or anything, I’ll chop your head off like a chicken. You know how to chop off a chicken’s head?”

“Why are you asking me that?” Milk said.

“Do you know, or don’t you?” Stephan hissed.

“Well . . . you hold a chicken with two fingers . . . like with tweezers,” Milk answered. “With two fingers with the right hand, and with the left, you yank the neck . . . and then . . .  the head is off.”

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“You . . . you loser! You parasite! Blackmailer! You fucking beggar,” Alain was seething.

“Only you could say something like that to me and get away with it. Only you and nobody else. But if you say one more thing, you’ll never make a single movie in your life again,” Stephan said calmly.

“I don’t ask much,” Stephan continued. “Five million. That’s how much you get for a movie. Philippe makes twice as much. Mme de Roche can cash out millions without blinking an eye.  Is it that much . . . for you?”

“You fool . . . “ Alain smiled. “No one will give you a single dime. Rich people love their money. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be rich . . .”

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For a long time, he caressed her soft skin, barely touching it with his palm, until she fell asleep. He didn’t want her. She didn’t want him either.

Stephan gazed for a while at the city lights illuminating Paris. Of course, Yvonne hadn’t said a word to him about Philippe and he hadn’t told her anything about his plans to ransom money from Alain. They loved each other but they did not trust each other.

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“Peppino, we don’t have much time,” said Antonio Pierangeli.

Peppino pulled out a gun. George the Butcher was cutting a hole in a thick piece of cardboard. The bullet would go through the hole. During an autopsy, the doctors would have a hard time discovering the true cause of death; or maybe they wouldn’t find it at all because the bullet would remain lodged in his brain. Everything was ready.

“Close your eyes, Stephan,” Antonio said softly.

But did he close his eyes or are they still wide open . . .

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Copyright © 2012 by Gorila Enterprises, LLC. All Rights Reserved. No part of this English language translation version of the book by Dusan Savkovic, based upon rights granted and assigned to Gorila Enterprises, LLC may be reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from Gorila Enterprises, LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the translator’s and assignee’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

 

 

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