Posted by Wurdolak on November 22, 2000 at 02:40:02:
He had drugged them, one on the floor, the light reflecting from her black satin sundress, on her back, her heart still and her muscles moving towards rigor. A few too many green abbots,or maybe she was allergic to them, or even on something else to start with.
He had paid them to come up, separately, though they were to arrive at the same time. A four way? Dollars have no smell or preference. The two left were tied to posts in the rundown loft, one a very pale Latino girl and the other a weeping redhead.
He went to Marcia and stood in front of her, his knife dull grey. She spit in his face. He smiled and cried out, stabbing her hard below the right breast,
"Death...is but...", he stabbed again, below the left breast, "...breath...", he twirled on tip toe and broad the blade fast across her throat, "...missing." She stared at him wide-eyed as she choked and gagged and convulsed as the blood poured and spurted over her velvet dress, the dark streaks of carmine leaving tiger striped rivers of glistening gore on the pale red material as her head dropped and she quivered. She sank to the floor and lay still, her long black hair in the pool beneath her, on her knees.
The remaining girl shrank from him as he pick up the huge pistol from the table.
"See my TEC-9, I got my spine, I got my Orange Crush...", she began to wail and sob, a gibbering noise that filled the huge loft and chilled the spine, of all save the man with the gun, "...and remember, dying is FUN,and FUN is the first syllable of funeral, dear twat...". He took a stance and held the gun by the 32 round magazine and fired.
The muzzle spit fire and the deafening roar was reflected from the walls, the bullets plowed into the jerking woman, her blood splattering the post, the floor,anmd the wall ten feet behind her. She jerked as if dancing until seven bullets found her heart and brain and she slumped hard to the floor. The bullets were hollow points drilled out with quarter inch steel slingshot pellets Super Glued into the hole, and the ones that didn't stay in her body blew gouts and flecks of bloody flesh out her back. Her head was unrecognizable as human.
He came to attention and gave the wide, sweeping salute of a British soldier as his heels came together.
'I am Slaughta Ranger, sir!"
Sam madison belched coffee again as he made the top stair. i hate brewed coffee, he thought, as he walked into the squadroom. Most of all he was tired, as he walked into the magpie nest so charitably called his office. On the desk were two pictures and in the chair asleep was his partner, Tammy, her clothes wrinkled from being slept in.
Tired, tired of being called Kojak because he shaved his head, tired of being called Columbo because of the rumpled raincoat that was the finest Salvation Army had to offer. Soprano kick Tammy's feet and she woke with a start as he handed Sam a box.
"Some kid left this at the desk. Said a dude gave him five bucks for doing it. By the way, two dead strippers, one OD and the other cut up."
Sam opened the box.Inside were three baby chickens, just hatched and their fur just starting to fluff. Their necks had been wrung and their heads were backwards. Sam spoke as he handed the box to Tammy.
"Sope, get that kid, NOW! Go out the godammned window if you have to but get him back here!" The mystified detective ran out the door and headed down the hall. Sam looked at Tammy, "We got three dead women, Sugar." She looked blank. "Huuuuh?"
He headed for the door. "What do they call baby chickens, Babe?"
She lokked in the box and set it on his desk as she stood and followed.
(cont. in Pt. 2)