Janos 1 Men Of

Janos 1 Men of God: An Eight Chapter Creative Thesis Research Thesis Presented in partial fulfillment of the requirements for graduation with research distinction in English in the Undergraduate Colleges of the Ohio State University By Andrew Janos The Ohio State University May 2017 Project Advisor: Marcus Jackson, Department of English Janos 2 Chapter 1: Men of God A gun barrel to the head; that’s all Mark, the youngest member of the group, saw as he carefully caressed the trigger. The man at the receiving end sat still with tears running down his face. A small stream of blood travelled from his nostrils. His black eye looked like a patch of scorched earth. It matched the leather seats of the car, now torn and split with tufts of cotton falling out. Wearing a cold calculated expression, Garret sat in up front. As Lawrence drove he kept his face forward with a stern expression, letting his fedora block his eyes in the rear view mirror. “Where’d he say we need to go?” Garret asked while rubbing his switchblade with his handkerchief. The bloodied man cringed and forcefully swallowed. “Towards the old junkyard,” Lawrence said making a slow right turn down a side road. The old leather of his gloves cracked as he moved his hands along the wheel. “Why should we worry about where we throw out this son of a bitch? It’s not like he’s gonna find out we threw him in the river,” said Mark. The man sniffled as the revolver was pushed farther into his head. “That’s what I always thought – who gives a damn? Kid, when you’re my age, all those butchered jobs get to you, mess with your head,” replied Lawrence. “That’s your generation old man. Let fresh blood show you how it’s done.” “Fresh blood does sloppy work, hence the reason you ain’t gonna take the shot.” Janos 3 “I’ve never had the chance before to pull the trigger – always been in the back watching while I’m left with the mess!” exclaimed Mark. The man let out a weak sob which was met promptly with a punch to the jaw. Lawrence slowed the car at a rusty stop sign and checked both directions even though he knew it wasn’t necessary. No one ever came to this side of town unless you had a meeting, whether it was with one of the other thugs or God himself. Officers sometimes responded to gunshots only to find a pool of blood left behind. “Quit hittin’ him kid, you’ll get blood on the seat.” “Whatever you say old man,” responded Mark. Lawrence and Garret looked at each other and shook their heads in unison. Each of them felt a brotherhood expected out of partners in crime, but they never liked the newcomers that didn’t have any respect. Each of them had their marks they were proud of, unlike Mark. Lawrence’s fading color and receding hairline gave off the air of an old timer. Garret was nearly the same with a scar running vertically down his cheek, showing off his experience of lawlessness. Another deep scar ran alongside his body, although few besides Lawrence actually knew where to look for it. Garret had once told Lawrence about the accident that bore the mark, but it had long been melded together with other tall tales. It could have been from a rival gang or a harsh initiation ritual from his youthful days of trouble. Mark still had that young stench of sweat and hard labor, even though he probably never worked an honest hard day of work in his life. His smooth colorful gave away his rank as a new- timer. The boss always threw promising candidates towards the two, hoping they could show them the ropes. Dean Dawson led the family with iron fists, using his killing squads and Janos 4 suggestive threats to keep the peace. He never took no for an answer, not that anyone ever had the courage to refuse a job. With his harsh face, powerful arms, and broad shoulders he made you feel small and insignificant, like you were a kid again. Mark got Dean’s attention because of his record at such a young age. He had already committed a string of robberies and killed a number of men. However, Lawrence and Garret felt he hadn’t experienced the hardship necessary to be an authentic member. He wasn’t a street kid with a rough past like Lawrence. Mark came from the middle ground; he had a mother, father, and lived in a nice house. Mark saw the boom and wanted more things faster than his patience would allow. A few days after his 17th birthday, He’d stolen his father’s 12-gauge and held up the clerk at the local gas station only to be stopped by the police and subsequently bailed out by his shocked parents. After a few more incidences, he ran away from home and joined up with the gang, hoping to find people that would promote the decadent lifestyle. Lawrence found this disrespect for loving parents and the good life sickening. He felt that every newcomer simply ran away from home because they weren’t satisfied with having it all. They never got a scar from it either; just a pat on the back and scolding from the folks. Lawrence and Garret were supposed to level these kids’ energy; fit their craving for crime with a new code, the family’s code. “Kid, did you check the pockets for anything useful?” asked Garret. “It’s always the good part, gettin’ to keep the shit you find.” “Nothin’ exciting, just this damn cross.” Lawrence glanced into the rear-view mirror at the cross Mark let dangle from his hand. A silver Jesus hung from a dull iron cross. Blue beads marked the rest of the silver chain; their Janos 5 color was distinct against the cars black interior. The image seemed strange to Lawrence: a man holding a rosary in one hand and a gun in the other. It was as if this was some sort of ritual, a sacrifice to God himself. Mark let the cross fall to the floor and gave the captive a sinister look, a tooth and gum snarl that showed off his perfectly straight teeth. “Why don’t you carry anything useful on you, huh? At least make it worth our trouble,” said Mark into his face. Lawrence pushed steadily on the accelerator, letting the needle hit 50. He carefully maneuvered, his headlights exposing the potholes in the road ahead. Lawrence saw the stars and tried to remember some of the constellation names. He thought about heaven lying out there somewhere, far beyond the cosmos with God almighty sitting upon a throne directing the angel of death to the man in their car. “You a religious man?” asked Lawrence aloud. All three looked at Lawrence. He repeated himself. “You there in back, you a religious man? Only religious men and clergy carry around a cross when they work and you’re not clergy so you must be a religious man.” The man nodded his head and Mark pushed the pistol harder against his temple. The tears started up again. Mark said, “Noone in here cares about life stories or –” “Shut the hell up kid. I’m talkin’ to the gentleman you’re abusing, not you,” interrupted Lawrence. He cleared his throat. “You know you’re allowed to talk. It’s not like the silence rule’s enforced.” “What… what do you want me to say?” the man said weakly rubbing away the tears. Janos 6 Lawrence chuckled and removed the fedora with his right hand, exposing the receding brown hair marked by spots of gray. He had long since given up trying to hide this aspect of age. “My father was a clergy, or so my mother used to tell me. He left when he met my mother – love at first sight she called it,” said Lawrence. He paused again to look at the man and met his deep green eyes in the rear view mirror. “It was love for my father until my mother got pregnant. See, they weren’t married yet and his folks weren’t gonna have any part of an unwed pregnant woman in their family. One day he grabbed a suitcase and left hoping the ministry would let him back in.” “That’s… sad,” he said sniffling loudly. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “No need to be sorry. Mom was a bitch most the time, surprised it took him that long to go. Possibly different before pregnancy – guess I’ll never know,” said Lawrence. He kept looking forward to the road without any expression of regret or remorse. Old and dead; that’s the way you could describe his emotionless face, like a bleached skull that had been sitting in the sun. “You told me you appreciated her, that she actually helped you,” Garret replied. “She did me good. Without her, I’d have been a godless prick. Every Sunday she took me to church – was the only time I could stand being around her. Every Sunday I prayed to God to help us with the piling bills, for my mother at her separate jobs to just get us by. Unfortunately, whenever she looked at me in church she saw the man that had left her. Her heart would break all over again.” “What happened… between you and her?” the man asked, starting to regain his composure.

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