Pulse

The music pulsated in his veins as he walked, seemingly in slow motion, through the multitude of people. As he walked through the gyrating crowd, a woman in red gave him a smile and a quick wink. He smiled back and continued on. He walked over to the bar, ordered a glass of water, and swallowed it all in one breath. He then proceeded to the back, passing the DJ. As he stepped up onto the official dance floor, which was continuously changing colors, he gave a quick glance up to the office above the floor. He watched as two people entered the office and one man simultaneously closed the blinds. He walked over to the first door, which was being watched by two large guards. Still in stride, he pulled out his wallet and handed each guard one hundred dollars. Without hesitation, they let him pass. He continued up the stairs and looked away from the video-surveillance camera. As he neared the door to the office, he took the fake VIP card that he had made the previous night out of his blue jeans. He showed the card to the guards, they examined it and then opened the door for him. He stepped in to a darkly lit room with a desk in the corner and chairs surrounding what seemed to be a quite expensive glass table. Three people, including Mr. Barborosa, were sniffing lines of cocaine and barely noticed him enter. Mr. Barborosa caught movement from the area near the door and reached for his gun on the table. Too late for you Mr. Barborosa, he thought as he pulled his silencer and put three bullets into Mr. Barborosa’s forehead. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one man scrambling for the door as the other reached for his gun in his coat jacket. He systematically shot the man in the side who went for the door and the other man only managed to fire one poorly aimed shot before receiving two bullets in the heart. With the last sound of the muffled silencer firing in the darkness, the shooting temporarily ceased. The noise created from inside was loud enough to bring the guards from outside the door to burst into the office, weapons drawn. He dove behind the two-inch-thick steel desk as the guards began firing their automatic weapons at him. The expensive tapestry on the wall was filled with countless holes, the glass figurines on the table were shattered, and the paper on the desk was shredded and flew around the room in a storm not unlike a blizzard. He heard the ominous click of an empty clip and coolly raised his head and shot one of the guards between the eyes as he looked up in fear. The other guard ducked behind the chair, reloaded, and began spraying more bullets across the wall. With his back to the desk, he noticed Mr. Barborosa’s hand crafted shotgun adhered to the steel with clips. He pulled the shotgun out of its clips and waited patiently. Once again, he heard the click. He then dove over the desk, rolled over to the chair and as the guard stood up to see, he sprayed the guards chest all over the door. He stood up, put another clip into his silencer, and walked over to the office window. The guards he had handed hundred dollar bills were nowhere in sight. He picked up Mr. Barborosa’s handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and wiped the door handle of the blood. He walked down the hall only to meet the other guards. They raised their guns and fired. One bullet piercing the plaster next to him, temporarily blinding him as the dust shot out of the wall. He shot one guard in the knee and the other in the back, fracturing his spinal cord. The one hit in the knee fell to the ground, only to be shot in the back of the head. He walked out onto the dance floor, wiped the dust from his eyes, and put away his gun. He then proceeded to the woman in red, got her number, and then left the club into the cool, crisp night.