Murders in Progress

The Road Ahead…  continued

(Soundtrack at:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qh-AG3brrkM&feature=youtu.be  )

Warning!!  X-Rated due to Poor Sex and Extreme Violence!

(Episode 7)

(Editor:  We last left Stan and Bob dragging Nancy away into the darkened woods.)

“This Benny Green ain’t going to be any use to you now, lady,” the thicker fellow said.  “Cause we’re criminals.  This a Crime!”  He bounced with some glee into the woods ahead, clearing a trail.  They walked and stumbled for a while.  “Which means we do what we want, nevertheless.”  He hitched up his britches in the darkness as he turned about to speak.  It looked like they had come to a clearing.   Nancy was just having a hard time registering what he was saying.  “Cops, Benny, the Law… We just don’t…  give them much truck, if you know what I mean.  Cause we is des-per-ate men.  Wouldn’t you say, Stan?”

Stan gave a vicious kick to the side of her leg.  Nancy gave a shrill shriek of agony as she collapsed there in the clearing.  He right leg was bent at the knee to a 90 degree angle.

“If you’re going to rape her, now would be a good time.”  The thinner man shoved her further into the ground with a boot sole on her backside, so that she was clawing the dirt and sticks like a bug.  Stan tapped a smoke out of the pack of cigarettes he carried in his shirt pocket, lit up, and stared at Bob.  “I’m going for a smoke and will get to work when I get back.”

“Right now?”  Bob said.

“I don’t see a line.”

“Okay.  I’ll just get to it, then.”

“Are you waiting for some soft music?”

“Oh, no.  No.”  Bob turned away and started undressing.   First he hunted for some place to sit, and then took off his boots.  Then he stood, turned around hunting nervously for his buttons, and undid his shirt, which he hung neatly on a bush.

As  Bob’s pink stomach flopped from his jersey,  “What the f%^k are you doing?”  Stan asked.

“Am gettin’ ready to plow the field.”  Bob grinned.

“Fuck!”  ‘My knee is ruined!’ Nancy was pissed.

“You know, by the time you get yourself all ready, and perfumed and all dolled up…”

Stan’s speech was interrupted by the pop! pop! pop! of Nancy’s small Glock firing in all directions.  She was shooting for Stan, but the guy was quick as a snake, and three times as deadly.  And Nancy couldn’t get a good bead on anything what with the darkness, her tied hands, and the gun being caught in the cloth lining of her pocket.  “Goddamned expensive coat!’  Nancy cursed silently through ragged breaths.  And fired off another: pop!

“Shit!  Shit!  Shit!”  Stan stamped on her gun hand repeatedly, like it was a striking snake.

“Really?”  Bob was confused.

“You asshole!”  Nancy swore up at Bob.  Trying to hit the big f#cker again with two shots:   pop!  pop!

Stan kicked her hard in the stomach.  Nancy threw up some blood.  Stan removed the Glock from her broken hand and tossed it to Bob.

“Really.”  Stan exhaled and pointed his cigarette at Nancy’s butt.  “Now get your pecker out and get to it.  Because…”  Stan waved with his cigarette, then turned and strode off back towards the Mercedes.  ‘It wasn’t good to get mad at your troops.  But Lord, sometimes…’    ‘Command was lonely,’ Stan finally decided,  by the time he got to the car.  He closed all the windows, turned off the lights and locked it tight.  ‘No reason to leave it for thieves,’ he thought.  Then he heard that damn bitch yelling.  So he had to tramp back through the dark woods and sticker bushes to see what Bob was up to.  And when he got there he couldn’t believe it.  The woman was yelling her head off, calling Bob every name in the book and Bob was just standing there naked and flushed pink with embarrassment at his wilted little pecker.  And the woman was still fully dressed, with her hair was full of dirt and sticks.

“What the hell?”

“I can’t do it,” Bob whined.

“Fuck!  What do you mean, you can’t do it?  It’s the most natural act in the world!  Everything does it.  Chipmunks do it.  Worms do it.  Ducks do it.  Everything in fucking Creation does it, for fuck’s sake.  Now man up, and fuck that bitch!”

“The moron’s impotent!” Nancy shouted.  “He’s f#$cking impotent, and he’s trying to be a rapist.”  She started laughing uncontrollably, and pointing.  Till Stan gave her another hard kick in the stomach.

“No Stan.  It’s true.  It’s true! I am impotent,” Bob nodded, miserably.

“And…”  The woman nodded, on her side.  “His little dick is about the size of a worm!”  She clutched her stomach and groaned.

“No you’re not!”  Stan slapped Bob hard twice.  “Now man up!!”

“Man up!…”  the woman was laughing her ass off, trying to point, and coughing and groaning.

‘Like most, this woman just didn’t have any good sense’, Stan thought.   “I like it when you make it worse for yourself,” Stan said.

“I’m a CEO and I deserve a better fucking than that!”  The woman kept shouting and glaring with such disrespect that Bob looked even more miserable than Stan thought a person could.

“How am I supposed to get it up, when she talks like that?!”  Bob whined, looking all the world like the aggrieved party, that Stan had to agree with him.  Though with the woman shouting,  “I’m a CEO and I deserve a better fucking than that!”  And Bob whining, that Stan thought for moment that he was going to lose it.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?!!!”  Stan said, smashing the woman’s jaw so hard to shut her up  – again and again – that all the teeth flew out and the rest of her face was so fractured is oozed blood like a sponge.

Nancy felt like she must have fallen into a nasty, inbred, rabid little nest of McCoys,  or was it Clampits?  That was the only thing in her addled mind which seemed could explain it.  But to tell herself the truth, her mental functions weren’t razor sharp; and she could barely count.  She knew, because she tried it… doing a real slow review of systems: “onnnntoootreeeeeeefffffoohhhhhhhhhrrrrRRR…..”

“How’s that?” Stan asked Bob, ignoring whatever it was ‘the bitch’ was trying to say.

“A little better!”  Bob said, feeling a little tingle in his member.

“Here!  Let me break a leg.”  Stan tromped on Nancy’s left thigh resting on a branch.  It broke with a snap.  Nancy let out a broken jawed shriek.

Bob smiled.   “I’m gettin’ … …a woodie,” he exclaimed.  “Here it come!”

“Well there you go,” Stan encouraged him with a pat on his shoulder.  And it was true.  He was.  They both stood there watching is grow in the moonlight as the woman moaned.  Bob gave the woman a little kick himself, and it grew all the more.

Stan couldn’t say it was much of an erection as those things go himself, but Bob was definitely excited, and quite proud of it.  “Ya just got to know how to handle ‘bitches’,”  Bob said, with another little kick.  “But she’s still dressed,” Bob noted to Stan, afraid to move or do anything for fear of losing his ‘woodie’.

“So undress her!”

Bob sighed, and knelt down, neatly unbuttoning her blouse.

Stan cursed, pushing Bob away, slicing the woman’s garments off from stem to stern with his K Bar knife, and then tearing the shreds away finally in a fit of pique, tossing bits of her undergarments this way and that.   “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh yeah, oh yeah,” Bob said, eyes all alight with glee.  “Am I ready now!  Yessum, Bob.  Ah am ready now!”  Bob gazed down at the woman’s private parts, pale in the moonlight, with wide eyes.

Stan stood back an’ shook another cig from his pocket pack.  “If you’re going to start trying to improve upon a woman, you’ve gotta rape ‘em first, or last…  But you got to rape ‘em,” Stan mused.  “Otherwise, people’ll start thinkin’ you’re just another nut.  They can’t comprehend the finer aesthetic.”  Stan lit the cigarette and walked off.   He was disgusted by all of Bob’s grunting and didn’t care to watch.

When Stan returned he found Bob flat on his back, covered in cum and blood, and with his arm around the woman while smoking a cigarette, gazing off into the stars and talkin’ real chummy like.  “The first woman I ever made it with… Well, she wasn’t much of a …woman, actually, I’d guess you’d say.”  Nancy groaned some agonizing blend of gurgling vowels beside him.  “But we got along… we got ‘er done.”  Bob smiled and offered his smoke to the woman.  But she wasn’t really all there by then, Stan figured.  “I miss her, I guess.”  Bob studied the tip of his cigarette.   “She run off with a Mexican.  Not that I hold it against her.”  Bob nodded to Nancy.  “ She was real young…”

“WHAT the F#$K!  ARE YOU DOING?!!!”  Stan shouted.

“’Am relaxin’!  …in the …afterglow.” Bob look bewildered.  He’d dropped his smoke and it rolled underneath of him.  “Shit!  Ouch!  That burns!”  Bob gasped, rolling about and kneeling his heft up while swatting at his back.

“Well put your damn clothes on and get prepared to help me.”

“Okay.  Alright!”  Bob looked annoyed.  But he rose and got himself dressed, turning his back to them both.  Nancy’s body gurgled and seized.

“Okay.  Now hold onto the shoulder there real tight.”

“WHAT?!!”

Stan returned him an unblinking stare.

So Bob held her shoulders down as well as he could, while Nancy’s eyes grew even more saucer-sized, if that were possible, as Stan began sawing away on the crown of her head, gently removing the cap of her skull.  He looked in there for a while, poking this and that, nodding for Bob to look.  Then his attention returned to the neck, gently dissecting out certain ligaments and blood vessels for reasons Bob had no idea of, thought he nodded in the affirmative, as if he agreed.

Nancy, all the while, had a real feeling she wasn’t going to get out of this night alive.  But she wasn’t at any sane place where she could have put that into words.

It was a couple hours  before,  working away as hard as they could, and getting all bloody besides, they had finally removed the head.

Photo by Carl Nelson

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Murders In Progress

Barn Birds

Cow Birds

(Episode 5)

‘Sound suppressor’…, Bob swished this around in his brain, taking another swig of cold beer.  That’s what the guys down at the gun shop had preferred to call them, but Bob didn’t know.  They were kinda nerdy and over-educated… one of ‘em wearin’ special glasses and glancing real close at things.  Ever since he’d been a kid glued to the TV it had been a  “Silencer”.

He supposed he had all afternoon to decide whichever: ‘Silencer or Sound Suppressor’.  Or longer than that.  He could take longer.  Sure he could.  He could take as long as he wanted.  ‘A guy with a Sound Suppressor is his own man,’ Bob figured as he shot another cow bird off the peak of his barn.

“This sound suppressor sure works.  Used to be with one shot, the birds  ‘ould spook, and he’d had to wait a coon’s age for another’n,” Bob said to his imaginary buddy in the empty lawn chair nearby.   “An’ then one more shot an that’n ‘ld spook!  It made for a long afternoon and a lotta beer.  But with this here sound suppressor,” he popped off another round after setting his beer carefully and sighting like a sniper, “they just fell of the peak of that roof like they was in a shootin’ gallery and he wuz takin’ all the stuffed teddy bears like they wuz just handin ‘em out.”  Bob grinned, so pleased with himself an’ full of beers, that he fully imagined his imaginary buddy grinning back.   ‘Damn!  I like this thing,’ Bob thought, ‘even though it don’t make no noise, to speak of.’  Harriet stuck her head out of the house to say something, and Bob pointed the gun at her… just in fun.  And she pulled her head back in.

And after about “Number 15” cow bird bit the dust, Bob decided that Sound Suppressor was what he was going to call it, ‘nerdy’ or not.   ‘It would make it sound more technical, like them boys down at the gun shop, and it might even impress Stan,’ thought Bob.  ‘Who could be mighty hard to impress, havin’ shot a bunch of people an’ all, an’ gotten away with it.  ..an’ probably raped several.’  Bob licked his lips… and felt that tingling in his groin.

‘Man, we is livin’ fast, ‘ thought Bob.  ‘Drinkin’ beer, killin’ cow birds, usin’ a silen… Sound Suppressor!’   Bob grinned wildly at his imaginary buddy again.

Ever since he had happened upon Stan his life had improved in so many ways, he could hardly sit still.   “A person wouldn’t normally think meeting a serial killer would have that effect on your life,” Bob explained to his imaginary buddy.   ‘But that seemed to be the way it was.  Nobody seemed to want Bob around for nothin’ nohow.  An’ now all of a sudden he’s got just about the most unusual friend ever.’  Bob shot another cowbird, (Number 16),  ‘leavin’ nothin’ but a puff of feathers.’  “Damn.”  Both Bob and his imaginary buddy just couldn’t get the shit eatin’ grins off of their faces.  They just kept looking at each other, turning away, and then looking back at each other again.

“There’s just the smallest whiff of a pop! an’ then thet cowbird was nothin’ but feathers,” is how Bob would explain it to Stan later, with his palms open to emphasize, after they’d finished eatin’ – with his silent wife keeping her own counsel – over the emptying dinner table dishes.  ‘Ya just couln’t get her excited over nothin’.’

‘Well, not entirely silent,’ Bob corrected himself, recollecting the event.

“You point that there gun there at me again, an’ you’re goin’ to encounter someone shootin’ BACK, Sound Suppressor or no,” Harriet had said with an angry twist of her head.  “An’ I won’t be aimin’ to miss.’

“You gonna take that from her?”  Stan said, once Harriet had stomped her way into the other room, carrying a load of dishes, after first spearing Stan with her gimlet eye.  Which gave Bob a little chill watching Stan.  Bob could tell Stan hadn’t liked it.

“Well.  Yeah.  I guess so,” Bob said.

“You gotta understan’ how marriages work.”  Bob defended himself to Stan later, trailing him up into the hired hand’s loft. “It’s a little give here, and a little give there that makes the whole thing work.”

Stan snorted, but never looked up from this plexi-glass case of curios and specimens ‘or somethin’ or other’ he seemed to prize so highly, ‘from the look of it,’ thought Bob.

“Plus, she’s a good cook and a good worker,” Bob added, while thumbing through some yellowed and stained bondage magazines, after several more minutes of rumination.  “Plus…”  Bob stopped turning the pages.  “The durn woman can shoot the nose off a squirrel!”

Stan glanced up, a quizzical look appearing on his face.

Photo by Carl Nelson