| | :: Fanfic ::
The Night Hell Raised. Part Three
Author: Patricia Anne McCarty
Word Count: 562
Author's Notes: The Night Hell Raised is Rated R. This 7 part story is based on true events I learned about while watch a crime documentary. I felt terrible and wished there was something that could be done to these jerks that would hurt as bad as what they gave. So I am writing this in honor of the victim the report was about. Please be warned there are some gruesome scenes in this story.
The Night Hell Raised. Part Three
Rated R
With a bump and the roar of high speed wheel hittin’ pavement I wake up to the jolt. Seems we’ve landed. Good. Any more sittin’ and I’d be carryin’ my butt with my belt! I look out the micro window, seems real dark. Even better.
I get off the plane, collecting my gear. Ain’t much just one toss over black duffle. I always have it packed in my car for missions. My girl is always makin’ sure there are fresh underwear, a speed stick, and a tooth brush in it. Women. Don’t know why she bothers, I don’t even wear underwear.
Walkin’ on the pavement, first thing I think of is my stomach. I’m lookin’ for a place, and all I see are dives. Must be in the right area.
Loud and stinky. Yep, I’m in the right area alright.
I hit this one joint. I can hear the roaches crushin’ under my boots as I walk in and sit at the smoke-filled bar. It’s a small place, lots of mean and ugly lookin’ hombres here. I figure one is gonna say something sooner or later I need to hear. So I sit and order in Spanish. Spanish is just one of the languages I know, count them all and it adds up to around 8.
Fat and greasy. Those are the only two words that come to mind when I look at this fella standing in front of me askin’ what I want.
I tell him, “Give me two soft tacos and a beer.” He shouts the order back as I pay in cash. I always carry a nice wad in my front pocket.
Food comes on the bar full plate. Beans, rice, tacos, the works. I ain’t gonna tell you it was great, but hell I’ll eat anything. Gotta cast iron stomach. Least that’s what I’ve been told.
I’m downin’ my last swallow of beer when I hear somethin’. Talkin’ outside.
People seem to really cut loose flappin’ their gums when they think no one else can hear ‘em. I hear everything. I sit quietly listening in, and it pays off.
Guys out back, they’re talking about the new girl they just nabbed. White chick. They’re laughin’ that “on top of the world got no worries” laugh. Soon they’re spillin’ it all over the place. Talking about the best way to do her.
“Nothing better than the spike.” one pops off.
“How much?” the other asked.
“Awww my friend, you come with me, we talk to the boss. We don’t talk out here.” he finishes.
Pretty much all I needed to hear, and I’m gettin’ up off my seat, headin’ outside. I spot the two, and I tail ‘em.
Not too much longer we hit this shack. It’s in a isolated area, Dark and quiet. Just the way a cockroach likes it. As I get closer, I smell a familiar scent. I KNOW that stink.
It sends anger pulsing through my veins like a jack hammer. I have to settle myself down before my temper gets out of my control. He’s inside.
I breath hard, my muscles twitchin’ already, my hands clenched. The beast is knockin’ at my door and I have to hold him back ‘til the right moment.
There’s gonna be some Hell raised tonight! I growl a deep growl and walk forward.
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