This story, ain't my story.
This is a story about a friend of mine named Johnny and how he got his revenge. Since this ain't my story I don't think I need to give ya my real name. Everyone around here calls me Jerry.
I work a normal nine to five jobs making sure the paper work for the crimes in Sin City get pushed to the proper authorities and that nothing gets lost in between. Every morning I get up; make a nice cup of Joe in my three room apartment. I sit up and watch the tube, never turning the damn thing on because I have a fear of this city sitting on my table everyday at nine in the morning.
I called the number of a friend of mine, like I did every Wednesday morning. Guy's name was Johnny. Been like brothers every since we graduated high school and took it upon ourselves to meet at the old bar and grill for dinner every Wednesday. For some reason the guy wasn't answering his phone which was odd considering he never was known for big plans.
I was wondering exactly what the hell was going on considering the guy was never busy in the morning. I didn't think much of it honestly, last we talked the guy had a big date with a nice young thing named Amy or something or another. From the looks of things, I guess it must have been going pretty good since he didn't answer.
Not that it mattered anyways; I had to get up and go to work for the day anyways. By the time I had reached my desk, the idea of bothering with what Johnny was doing seemed so far away from me.
The moment I sat down at my desk, I couldn't help but feeling my stomach turning and my breakfast going against me.
It was 9:15 in the morning, and I had just sat down at my table after speaking with my boss. He said something about how there had been an increase in violence over the last few days… weeks… months… I couldn't honestly remember what he said since I was drowning in and out of the entire situation.
I saw it as clear as day. Johnny's driver's license, and a coroners report covering the details of what seemed to be his death. I couldn't bring myself to accept anything of the sorts over my first read through. It took me about fifteen seconds of running over image of the driver's license before I could accept what happened.
This guy is… was… Johnny… my best friend. This is the story about his death. My name is Jerry, and I was his best friend.
