‘The Glass Factory:Part Two’ by Ahmed Nader Gretly


It started to rain outside the abandoned glass factory, the wind howled like a rabid wolf to an invisible moon. Steve Miller and The Painter stood quivering side by side in front of Butch The Butcher, staring down the barrel of his cannon like gun. I stood a few steps behind Butch, leaning against an old desk with my hands in my pockets.

“Ah, boys, boys, boys…” Butch said in a humorous tone “It seems like we have a rodent problem here.”

He waved his gun from left to right, from Steve to The Painter, and back again. The giant man paced around them with a sly smile on his face.

“It wasn’t me Butch!” The Painter said franticly “I didn’t do nothing, you know me.”

“He’s lying I tell you,” Steve snapped “He’s the rat, he told the coppers about Gretly’s address, he’s the reason they busted’em, I swear!”

“Now, now, boys,” Butch said “There’s no reason to panic, we’re just talking here.”

I sat on top of the desk, surprised at how calm Butch was. The man was old school; it was like a walk in the park to him. Butch stopped in front of them, only two inches away. He raised his gun and pointed it at The Painter’s face.

“Was it The Painter,” He said then moved his gun to Steve’s head “Or the pervert, what do you think, Cali?”

“I don’t know, Butch,” I said “I’m still a little bit shocked at this scene we’re having here.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Butch chuckled “The rat should’ve known this was bound to happen.”

“Yes, sir.” I replied.

Butch turned to The Painter, placing the nozzle of his gun on the shivering man’s forehead.

“Tell me, Painter,” he said “Are you the rat?”

“No, Butch,” He said with a voice that was almost inaudible “I didn’t do it, I─”

“Lies!” Butch snapped “Are you lying to me, boy? Are you?!”

“No, sir.” The Painter said with tears forming in his eyes “You gotta believe me.”

“Shut the fuck up, I know it was you.” Butch said then turned to Steve “Or was it you?”

“Wasn’t me, Butch.” Steve said with fake confidence “Wasn’t me, it was that fag painter.”

“That is a very bad word to say, Stevie” Butch said “What if your father heard you talkin’ like that, I knew him, he was a good man.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Steve said “A good man.”

Butch walked over to me, and leaned on the desk, which shook with his weight. He put his hand in his pocket, produced a cigarette, and lit it.

“You see, Cali,” Butch said “This rat is not only a traitor and a scumbag, he’s also stupid. Ask me why he’s stupid, Cali?”

“Why is the rat stupid, Butch?” I asked with glee.

“Because he thought I was dumb enough to not notice the car that tailed us from the bar ‘til we reached this old building.” He said.

“Very stupid indeed, Butch.” I said.

“Get on your fucking knees,” Butch suddenly snapped, pointing the gun at both men “Do it now, faster, faster, this ain’t ballet!”

Both shivering men bent down on their knees, their faces carried all signs of sheer terror. Butch stood in front of them, right in the middle, and began pointing the gun from left to right once more.

“Open up!” Butch barked at the top of his massive lungs, I did not know who he was talking to until I heard the sound of mechanical gears roaring throughout the whole factory.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

“Just a friend of mine,” Butch said “The noise you’re hearing is the sound of the factory’s mechanical doors opening.”

“Hmm, and why are we opening the doors to the factory?” I asked.

“You see,” Butch said “Look at it this way; it’s a rat trap, with the rat himself as bait.”

“Very interesting.” I said.

“Now, boys, who’s the rat.” Butch asked the men on the ground “I ain’t got all day.”

“It wasn’t me, Butch,” The Painter cried “I swear to you.”

“It was him.” Steve muttered.

“I know who it is,” Butch said pushing the barrel onto The Painter’s forehead “It was you, Painter.”

“No, Butch,” The Painter cried “It wasn’t me, you gotta believe me!”

“It was you!” Butch yelled “It was you, you filly rat, now you’re gonna die.”

Butch took a step backwards, held his gun in both hands, pointed it towards Steve Miller, and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gun blast felt like an explosion; Steve fell on his back with more than half his bloody face missing, his brain and skull all over the place. The Painter screamed as he heard the gun, his face was pale, he looked like a ghost. He stared at Butch with his mouth half open.

“I knew it wasn’t you, Painter.” Butch smiled.

The Painter merely stared; he could not even utter a single word.

“Cali, pick him up, we have no time to lose.” Butch said.

I walked towards The Painter, and helped him to his feet. He was as limp as a corpse. I slung his arm around my shoulders and began walking towards the door. Butch opened the door, holding the gun in front of him. He stood by the threshold, and motioned me to wait. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of sirens outside the factory, which meant that there were several cars. The screeching sound of breaks followed, then the sound of tens of footsteps.

“Wait for it,” Butch whispered “Wait for it.”

The sounds of footsteps got closer and closer, until I could hear them inside the factory. We waited a few more seconds before Butch began sneaking outside the small room we were in. He locked the door behind him, and broke the key in the keyhole.

“Now!” He yelled as we dashed to his car, which was still running.

The mechanical sound roared again. This time, it was more rapid, making me understand Butch’s plan, not fully of course. Sounds of men yelling, and guns being fired began to erupt inside the locked up factory. Butch rolled the car no more than ten feet from where we were parked behind the concrete building, then we stopped.

“Jump!” Butch yelled again.

A dark figure appeared on the roof of the factory; the figure jumped off the roof and grabbed hold of one of the pipes that ran along the length of the building. The shadow moved too fast, I couldn’t keep track. All of a sudden, this figure appeared once more running towards us. The closer the shape got, the more it looked like a man, a man with a face I hadn’t seen before in my life. The man got in the car, and Butch took off before the car’s door was closed. The car picked up speed right away, and we were heading towards a dirt road behind the factory. Butch opened up the glove compartment, and picked up what looked like a remote.

“Ah,” Butch said “I’m gonna miss this stinkin’ place.”

With that, Butch pressed on a button, and in a second, the factory exploded. The building wasn’t the only thing that went up in enormous flames, but everything from the factory itself to the main gate went ablaze, blowing away every copper, and cop car on site. I lit up a cigarette, finally acknowledging how petrified I really was.


About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
This entry was posted in Chronicles Of A Twisted Mind, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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