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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Imagine the perfect crime the heist that stole all those diamonds from the airport in Amsterdam. A man whose life had been a series of screw-ups and failures finally makes good, or does he. This is a dirty story with sex and crime being featured. SO BEWARE OF BAD LANGUAGE AND IMAGES.

Submitted: September 24, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 24, 2014




(The Paul Rio series of Pulp Fiction.)
by: Egbert Sousse'


Don't we all lead lives of quiet dullness, desperation and the hopefulness of some sort of depravity to wake us up from the humdrum?

Yes, life turned dull for Paul Rio until that night of a drunken walk home from the Raby Arms in Hartpoole England. Our hero or anti-hero was sitting now on the plane far, far away from Hartpoole. Paul Rio was like most men who flounder in life, disappointed, dejected and grasping like a goldfish knocked out his bowl. Even though he worked at something it always seemed to turn to shit.

Paul, unlike most of his friends wasn't a total slug, or layabout. He tried many things in life. Like most men, he was through his phases of seeking a life, a career. Paul was a failed rockstar,a failed husband, a failed salesman, an excellent con-man, a mediocre petty thief. 

When he approached middle-age Paul was struggling on a career and a failing marriage, so it came as no surprise when the police and Dora his wife had pushed him into his last failure and money losing project. Dora chided him that all his bullshit and stories shouldn't just be given away to the drunks he hung around with, but sold. Yes, Rio had a gift of gab, along with the ability to write pulp fiction stories he typed away and entered into the world of e-books. Dora, as a demanding wife was dreaming that maybe this now flabby ass hole could be the next JK Rowling with stunningly big paycheck and worldwide fame. Like most things touted the self-publishing authorship gig, was just another ponzi scheme to fleece idiots and dreamers with a damn cable connection. 
Being a victim of this con, Rio didn't see but a few pennies from his pulpfiction masterpieces and whatever ebooks he sold ended up in the infamous pocket of Mr. Jeff Bezzos.

Like a bad acid trip flashing horrid photos of his past, Paul's mind trips back and forth to how he ended up on a plane headed for Rome and why he was dressed as a Priest. He chuckled. Since being dressed as a priest would have gotten his old drinking buddies from England a laughing jag until they pissed in their pants. He was an Englishman of sorts, but really a man without a country. Now he remembered it was his ex-wife that caused him to hide out in Eastern Europe, and it was her demeanor that was the reason met his partners who happened to be nuns. 

Paul Rio's mind had a flashback to how his failed version of love and marriage brought him here. There was Dora his once cute pixie of a bride. It was the booze that made him take that fatal step, marriage, and it was booze that almost killed him. His last image of Dora was not cute or perky, more like deranged, screeching bat shit crazy middle-age woman who had seen enough Paulie. 

OH Love and many splendid thing! Yeah!

What a crock. Oh poor, Rio's own romance history was about as fun as getting a wisdom tooth pulled without Novocaine by a drunk dentist. Paul's Dora had tried to run him over with her car. Pure luck and an ancient Italian automotive designed saved Paulie from ending up crushed into the pavement like his dear departed father. 
The car was thankfully a FIAT (Which stands for Fix it again Tony), that had seen better days since Paul's paycheck usually went to the bar and not to fix the bleeding car. Dora, the pissed-off wife and also like the Fiat had seen better days had planned out how to collect on the Life Insurance. 

Dora took aim with the Fiat on that dark stretch of the road. The plan was actually perfect, as a drunk getting hit was commonplace and the police incredibly lazy. So Dora gunned the Fiat feeling, as if she had finally won the sweepstakes. Paulie walking back home now was a drunken sitting duck. 
Dora grimaced when she heard Paulie singing his favorite songs from the rat pack lead Dago Dean Martin. 

Paulie did his best Dino when he was three sheets to the wind. Dora was no longer a fan of music. Now truly hated Paul's voice and remembered it was him being a bass player in a band that got her knickers off and ruined her life. 

Dora muttered loudly. “FUCKIN WANKER! SHITHEAD!” 

Dora now mashed down the gas pedal like her soul was taken over by a Swedish Death Metal band. The Fiat took off and started gaining speed heading directly for Paul. Paul being the ever oblivious drunk kept on staggering home dreaming he was on stage in Vegas, with Sammy, Frank and any member of the rat-pack that was cool enough. Even the whine of the Italian overstressed engine didn't sober up Paul from his impeding doom. 

Only ten yards remained until Paul became part of the pavement. It was at about 70 mph when the FIAT threw a rod and the engine self-destructed. All the noise came from the engine falling apart and hitting the pavement which woke Paul from his dreams and left Dora crying in the car and hitting the steering wheel with her fists. Paul walked up not realizing that it was his wife as she had her breakdown. “ How are doing Love?” 
Dora replied in full scream and Sid Vicious mode: 

Since Dora first attempts at homicide failed, Paul now finally realized that he had pushed his blushing bride into becoming a first-rate homicidal manic, a combination of psycho with brains enough to want to collect on his life insurance policy while pissing on his grave if she had bothered to bury him. 
Paul sat quietly, but as the plane hit turbulence his mind flashed back to his childhood. Wow, another bad trip like something out of Hunter S. Thomspon Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Even though Paul had escaped Belgium with his crew and were now heading for the ultimate prize fencing the fifty million worth of diamonds, he could shake his childhood fears. 

Paul Rio had now done what only he had read about in all his bloody crime novels. His mind wandered to hear his Mother yelling at him as a preteen, “Another pulp fiction piece crap uze reading?” 
“You end up like your old man. A useless garden slug.” 
Sadly, Paul's father did end up slug like in the Garden lawn cemetery. Paul's father on his normal drunken walk home at 4:00 a.m. was hit by a garbage lorry. He ended up being compacted into pavement almost like a snail leaves a trace of its slim on its journey to garden bliss. 

Now Fatherless, he faced a domineering Mom from hell and a class system to keep him in his place. No wonder our hero had an infinity for the America Blues genre. 
To sum up, Rio's life until the infamous crime it could be done by 
an Albert King classic:

"Born under a bad sign I been down since I begin to crawl

If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all

Hard luck and trouble is my only friend
I been on my own ever since I was ten "

Paul knew this tune all too well. He was boy that tended to live inside his own head. Surrounded by people that could be classified as dim bulbs.
Hartpoole was an ode to a British empire that dissolved long ago. Imagine a place like Cleveland, but with more tourists gawking at sailing vessels not an ode to Rock and Roll.

Our hero Paul Rio would not be admitted into the halls of Eaton, but America admitted him in freely into the sexy,dark twisted world of pulp fiction and film noir. These now were Rio's church or sacramental drugs of choice. Once he read his first pulp fiction, he found his heroes. He was hooked. They were exciting, rugged and ladies men, a teenage kids dream life.
Rio now imagined he was out of his hometown, and who could blame him. Hartpoole England had all the excitement of the
Lawerance Welk TV show. It was town that had a culture of three Bs, bingo, booze and boredom.

  Home life for Rio not a model of PBS series of English gardens,teas and servility. Dear old Mom was not an English lady of
breeding and letters more of a screeching Monty Python character. Sadly for Paul, his Mom was also no model for single parent hood. A model of Paul's Mom would have been the Hindenburg.
Paul muttered his thoughts about dear old mum, “stupid cow”,whenever her image popped in his head.
Thankfully,then Paul's mind floated back upstream just as the plane was coming into Italian airspace. Paul now to the realization that all that pulp fiction he read now came in handy. You see it was a brarmer: Hartpoole English slang for a good job and not a cocked up mess.

He pulled off the miracle heist and the ultimate getaway. The perfect crime. At least until that night, he really did it. Rio was making his way toward Rome in his Priest outfit and wanted to break out laughing on the plane. 
Paul could only merely chuckle while giving off a radiant devilish grin. Rio the Priest now orders a glass of wine from the flight 
attendant. This seemed normal as there have been a lot of drunken priests heading back to the Vatican. Nothing unusual about a priest with drinking problem or sex scandals in the closets.
Ironically, a heterosexual priest like Rio would have been a nice change for the church if they ignored his crimes of child rapists, bank embezzlers and drunks. 
Lately, the Vatican had it's own thieves coming to light, so maybe Paul being a priest wasn't such a stretch.
ROME, June 28 (Reuters) - A senior Catholic cleric with connections to the Vatican bank was arrested on Friday for plotting
to help rich friends smuggle tens of millions of euros in cash into Italy from Switzerland, in the latest blow to the Vatican's image.

Monsignor Nunzio Scarano, 61, who worked as a senior accountant in the Vatican's financial administration, were arrested along with an Italian secret service agent and a financial intermediary in a tale that reads like a spy novel.
Rio glanced at his gang, who happened to be nuns, very sexy nuns. Strange but true. If any cop or Interpol man who had an ounce of curiosity, they would have stopped anybody with nuns who weren't old and ugly. Ironically, Rio a student of human nature from all his days sitting at bar stool, knew most humans were just morons that kept themselves absorbed with electronic toys like chimps given a banana.
“Self absorbed wankers.” Rio muttered whenever he spotted an idiot on a cell-phone.

Humanity was a disappointment to Rio. Thus Rio developed an odd tick of commenting about humanity in
less than flattering terms. Paul kept this tick under control by using foreign languages not to piss off his follow seated passengers. Rio became a polyglot from his years hiding out in Europe. Looking around he summed up his fellow humans in Polish. “Pieprzony bezw?ose ma?py, which translated to Fucking hairless apes muttered under his breathe. His mind wandered to when he had remembered all the nights spent inside bars, along with the dank sweaty walls of Eastern Europe. Years wasted among the ultimate duffs of Europe living their lives inside a bottle. “Ah... Look at all the lonely people. Father Paul sang this softy.”

 Rio glanced at his partners who thankfully still on their best behavior. Oddly, thirteen beautiful nuns should have caused some talk, but only Rio got his joke. These women as nuns and being so sexy were based in his pulp fiction version mind of women. However, something did nag at our Hero. The pain was like his ex-wife giving him a prostate exam to find his wallet. He glanced to his gang trying not to let on that his self-doubts. 
“What did I screw up?” 
Was this just the mind fuck he had been living with all his life? 
From his parents to his teachers, he was known to fuck up a one car funeral. 

Paul's mind told him to keep everything in check. No screw ups, keep quiet and split the profits once the diamonds were fenced. No drinking, no whoring, just business. 
For the god sake, he had just masterminded a fucking perfect crime and needed to lay low. 

Paulie Rio now sat in silence with his gang of fake nuns. They couldn't help but smile and nod at each other about their heist. 
Yes, fifty millions of diamonds from the airport heist in the home of the Belgium waffle were now in his Rio's bibles.
Those words from god were carved out to hold those creations of coal into those sparkling miracles that most rich idiots covet.


Nobody bothered to check those boring Holy books. Paul and his sexy nuns arrived in Rome's airport and breezed through security with not a blip. Dressed in their Holy garb, they caught a Van headed to their new residence, the Artemide Hotel. The girls now had been itching to remove their nun's habits and hit the town. Everybody kept quiet, but the Taxi driver, did a double take when he saw nuns. He muttered to himself that god sent him the nuns of his high-school wet dreams. 
Being a Catholic, he just smirked but didn't let any of his bawdy thoughts out. They arrived at the Hotel that looked like a palace, but Rio knew that this Catholic country had seen priests that did bother with that vow of poverty. 
He strolled up to the front desk, carrying his bag with the sexy nuns in obedient tow. 

“Hello, I am Father Bob Mitchum, and these are the sisters of the Wayward Heart. 

The clerk was bored by another Priest checking in and looked up to see the middle-age priest looking like any another priest with a drinking problem and sticky fingers with the parishioner's money. 
“Yes, Father your rooms are ready.” Two adjoining rooms, one for you and the other for the sisters.” 

Once they got on the elevator the nuns laughed.





With that boyish grin, he replied. “My penis says ' yes', but my mind says get some rest.”










Paulie couldn't help but stare, as if he had been given an overdose of those little blue pills. 
He felt it was just too good to be true, but his mind couldn't help but thinking of that commercial. 
“Well my dear Millie, I am lactose intolerant, but thanks for asking.” 
Paul felt he must refuse this slap and tickle, as it could be a trap. However, like one of those cartoons with the devil on his shoulder said it couldn't hurt. For once, Rio used his common sense to deny his carnal wishes. 

“Well, Millie I have to take a rain-check.” 
Millie winked with a wicked smile knowing that Rio basically had a ticking penis in his pocket. 
Her motto was when the little head was hard the big head was soft as oatmeal. Just another victim waiting to be fleeced and left naked at the side of the road. 
“GIRLS, Father Mitchum would love to give you solace and comfort, but let us not forget that we must take care of our Holy 
Books and all the gifts they provide.” 

“So girls, I bid you a good night and remember your vows of silence about our Holy acts.

The girls laughed and kissed Rio on his cheek and pinched his butt then left for their room.

Rio felt sad for his penis while he walked alone into his room feeling that he let his favorite organ down big time.
Rio looked around his room and realized his bibles shipped to his room today at noon.
Customs in Italy never bothered to double check the led lined bibles, as civil servants never take that extra step if they are getting the minimum wage. He planned to meet with the fence to unload the diamonds later that night.

Right now the sexy nuns were sitting playing cards and planning another crime, a crime that was laid out with passion.





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