Johnny Guns Novels & Stories

Johnny chose to stay in Los Angeles to start working on the album. Standing in the hotel lobby, I asked him, “Do you have a place to stay?” Camilla answered for him. “I have a place he can stay. It’s quiet.” “Johnny,” I said, frowning. “Take off those goddamn glasses and look at me.” He did so. He looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was on something. Heroin, maybe, or some other kind of opiate, but if I knew anything about my friend it’s that he didn’t touch any of that shit. That’s one thing the media got wrong about us after what happened. Drugs had nothing to do with it. I want to set that record straight here and now.

Johnny rocked forward on one foot. He had on one of those beaded chest plates that lay over his chest under a plaid shirt. The Indian name was all for show. A street name. He'd peddled pot back in school, mixing it with over the counter drugs and called it the Indian Smoke Stick. Landed a dozen kids in the ER. Johnny hadn't cared. So long as he made a buck. Marco's gaze skipped over the onlookers. Johnny's people. Chances were, Johnny had set up here some weeks ago, planting a few guys to brag about his product, peddle a few drugs. They'd move through before the local dealers got wind of them, but not before Danny bled as many dry as he could.

“Shit, buddy, lie down. We’ve got this—” “Muller’s chasing Lizzy,” Johnny slurred. “He may have killed her. I need to find them. Give me…gun.” He staggered to his feet. “No. You’re not going out there,” Donnie said. “You won’t be shooting anyone in your state. I’ll find her.” “Fuck it then. Don’t need a gun. Donnie, take my personal rifle, be my backup. In the safe. Cover your asses.” Johnny staggered to the door and Donnie tried to stop him. Shots echoed.

And now he was circling the drain with rats and roaches. I lit a cigarette, drawing in smoke and leaned back in the cracked leather chair my men had dragged in. Outside, my men waited, posted in the shadows, waiting for the word if things went south. The door rattled, metal against metal. I crushed the cigarette under my heel, pulled the gun tight in my hand. Johnny appeared, worst than the motel. Gaunt, pale, hair thinning in patches, shoulders slumped like a man carrying the weight of all his own bad decisions. His eyes flicked around the room, and for a second I thought he might try something. They went wide when they landed on me.

A shot rang out—loud and sharp like lightning breaking the air. Artemis screamed. The gun dropped from his hand as blood exploded from his wrist. I turned sharply and saw him— Johnny. He stepped out from the shadows, gun still aimed, eyes sharp and burning with fire. Artemis stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding hand. “You bastard!” he screamed, before turning and running toward a side door. “GET THEM!” he shouted. Two guards appeared from the dark. Before I could move, Johnny fired again—one shot clean through the first guard’s chest.

Truth be told I was scared, terrified even that in the next moment he would rush through this airport, guns blazing and ready to take me back to hell. "Uhm Miss, I think you need to leave now if you want to catch your flight." My head moved towards the source of these words and my eyes met a beautiful pair of hazel brown eyes. The owner of these eyes was a young man with long chestnut brown hair tied back in a bun. He had on a large backpack and wore black sweatpants with a loose fitting shirt. He was undoubtedly on his way to go backpacking in Asia or something. Nevertheless, this was the first time a man other than peter had spoken to me and i was at loss of words.

I could see that he was unconscious. I took a look, at the waistband of his pants. The man had a gun with him. It was a Glock 19. I took the gun. I checked the chamber to see if it was loaded. The gun was loaded. I looked at Giovanni. He is Giovanni. I was looking right at Giovanni. I said to them "How rounds of the game do you have left?" Giovanni said the number is six. "I have fifteen dollars " I said, holding Vinnys gun in my hand and feeling its weight.

More pressing issues right now like the fact I'm probably a wanted man after that shootout. It was time to give Johnny Deco a call. It may seem like a suicide move and it probably is. Considering the easy mob hit and safe full of drugs turned into a gunslinger firefight with duffel bags full of washing powder i doubt he wants to chat. "Rocco, you've got some balls to be phoning me," he growled lowly. "Johnny, hear me out, I've got the solution for us both just tell me where you meet you. Your terms, no games here."

” Drake ~”He started it. Matthew ~”He carried on.” Jackson ~”You see what I have to work with. I tried getting you two that are a bit cleverer.” Trayton ~”I doubt that anyone could be dumber than that Joseph.” Jackson ~”This is Gunner, his name says it all, and he is lethal with a gun or any other weapon you put in his hand. Fuck he can even kill you with a broomstick.” Gunner ~”Morning boss.” Trayton ~”Boss?”

I fired. I opened my eyes wide, confused by the dream I just had. I was scared and even though I knew it wasn't real, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was true. Johnny looked at me curiously and handed me a slice of pizza. I accepted it, still a little traumatized. I didn't like dreaming about guns. Being involved in the mob was starting to get to me. -Open the mouth. –Johnny said and automatically, without thinking, I did. He stuffed me with a nearly full slice of pizza.