[Swordfish941]

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“What that noise?” Katie asked.

“Joy Division.”

“Is that a woman?”
“No, it’s a post-punk band from the late 70’s. The song that’s playing is Love Will Tear Us Apart. Ian Curtis wrote it while having marital problems with his wife and an affair with a Belgian journalist. But despite the sadness behind the song, it’s pretty good.”

“I haven’t heard of Joy Division.”

“Johnny introduced me to them. I owe him a favor for it.”

“You have any favorite bands?”

“I told you them when we first meet.”

She curled up next to him and played with his hair. “That was six years ago. And a lot of things have changed in six years.”

“Alright, if it will get you off my case. I’m a big fan of Iggy Pop. I like his solo work and the stuff he did with The Stooges. His work in the 80’s is a bit New Wave, but I can stomach it. Lou Reed is good. His stuff is very melancholy, but it relaxes your soul. Satellite of Love and Pale Blue Eyes are my personal favorites of his. Now David Bowie, he’s a fuckin’ genius. I have a lot of his albums. Anybody who tries to cover a Bowie song turns it into pure shit. The only exception to this is Seu Jorge. The guy covered his songs in Portuguese and they’re really beautiful. I like Joy Division, but it was ahead of its time. They made groundbreaking stuff, but not a lot of people appreciated them back then. Joan Jett is amazing and her voice is pretty sexy. That’s all I can think of now.”

Greg walked out of the living room and into the “workshop”. The workshop was a spare room with a boarded up window and a hardwood table. He used the room for storage and rarely been in it. Sitting on the table was a bolt-action sniper rifle.

Katie had followed him and looked at his project.

“Nice rifle.”

“Thank you. It’s a 7.62 Steyr. I’ve made some modifications to it. It now has a bipod and double set triggers.”
“You haven’t customized it that much.”

“It’s a work in progress. But this gun is extremely accurate. Almost never misses its target.”

The two of them heard the door open. Greg left the workshop and came face to face with Rocco. He scowled at him and jabbed him hard in the face.

“You fucking bastard!” Greg yelled, landing another punch to his face. Rocco spat out blood mixed with saliva and drew the stiletto out of his pocket. Greg swiftly grabbed his knife hand and slammed it against the kitchen counter.