The Bend
I haven’t slept in days… I’m drowning from the insanity of my perpetual in-cognizance. I have three bullets in the chamber of my Glock, two shells in my sawed-off, and at least 10 people to take out before dawn.
Thank God I’m still here. I barely made it out of that last setup. Who would’ve guessed that Lorenzo would call the cops — fuckin’ rat ass piece of shit; the world should’ve known he’d be like that… fuck’em. ‘Fuck them all,’ Tom Berdack used to say. Fuck Tom too.
Fuck everyone of these motherfuckin’ cocksuckers. What they did to me. Nah, it’s not worth mentioning. I just have to suck it up — long enough for the police to stay off my trail; and just long enough to kill everyone of these double crossing sons-of-bitches.
My life’s forfeit — I know this much… damn. I’m not going to prison again. Dead or alive, I’m never going back. If I can get to my stash after taking care of these scumbags then maybe, just maybe, I can make it out to Mexico. Pedro owes me a few favors. Said he knows a couple of whores he can hook me up with too once I’m there.
Fuck Pedro. That slimy son-of-a-bitch probably would give me the sluttiest piece of filth cunt imaginable. Eh.. but everyone needs loving — and I’m as good as dead. Everyone needs to get fucked every now and again; except… no,… never again-I can’t go back. I’d rather blow my shotgun up my asshole than go back.
At least then it’d be quick.
I take the exit off 28. My eyes are dozing off, staring at the red lights — casting blurs back and forth. I’ll have to go to a doctor to get that looked at before leaving for Mexico. Maybe — if I have time.
I don’t remember how long I’ve been driving for — but I’m pulling up to the spot where Jerome and his gang usually sells dope.
It’s three in the morning: the hookers are out workin’ the streets. My mom used to be a whore — not a bad way to make a livin’ if you’re careful. She wasn’t; she got herself killed by a murdering psychopath.
Maybe that’s what I am: a fuckin’ psychopath. Oh well:
I roll down my window and fire the sawed off twice into a gang of dealers — the spread does damage, but one of the dealers runs off between an ally. I speed up and swerve; I see him making his way down another street:
I bounce my car over the curb and run his ass down. After I wreck the car into an electrical pole. And. It. Drops. The static spits and scurries out along the street. It illuminates the dealers face as I stomp it — repeatedly, incessantly, until he’s undecipherable — just a fuckin’ mess.
He had a 1911 on him. Good shit.
Some car down the block stopped at a stop sign. I point the 1911 at him — no, wait, it’s a her. I scream, “Get outta the fuckin’ car!”
She actually does — holy shit that was easy. She even left the keys in the ignition for me. Fuck! I would’ve just drove the fuck away. But whatever. I have a cute little Miata, which was given to me by a cute little girl.
What the fuck would she want with a guy like me, though?
Manual — I like this. I buckle up again, and continue my killing spree. Three dope-dealers down. Jerome needs to know what kind of psychopath he’s messing with. Maybe it won’t ever stop. Maybe I could just keep killing like this all fuckin’ day and night for a few years.
Shit — I’m doing the cops a favor. I never killed one of’em. It’s different when you kill a cop — they come after you. It becomes personal to them. But if you take out a few junkies then who the fuck cares.
I couldn’t give two shits less.
On target — I pull up to Donny’s house. He’s a little punk ass bitch that sells for Jerome. I put the car in neutral, pull up the e-brake, and get out. I make my way up the wooden deck steps to his rental home, but then I hear a fuckin’ dog barking.
Shit — it looks mean. I decide to knock instead of break in. Donny peers at me through the glass — and I tell him, “You call the cops and I’ll kill you. Open up.”
He doesn’t at first. Then I say, “This is your last warning.”
“What do you want?” Donny asks through one of his open windows.
“Where’s Jerome?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“Open up.”
He does — he actually does it, and the dog, which was barking at first starts to sniff me curiously. It’s a mean-ass looking German Shepard. Donny says, “I don’t know where Jerome’s at. I got out months ago.”
I look around. There’s a hot little thing sitting on the couch taking a hit from a bong in the living room. I salivate but I’m not sure if it was due to the girl or the weed. Donny appears apprehensive to my presence.
“Mind if I take a hit?” I ask.
“Um… sure.” Donny motions for the girl to hand me the bong. But this isn’t good, I can’t be getting high right now — it’ll put me to sleep.
“What else you got?”
White powder: Explosions of testosterone — mean spirited animals — and the blood thirsty frenzy that drives us all. Donny spat out where Jerome’s been hiding.
I have 8 bullets with his name on them. I’m driving — too fast for my own good
And the BLUE and RED lights FLASH!!
“OH… FUCK!!!…NOOOO!” Time slows down, but my foot gets real heavy.
I punch it into fifth gear, but then I start to lose control; I slide, punch through the guard rails — and the mazda hurls down a hill. It doesn’t spin — but I’m slamming through trees and shit. And… it wrecks.
I push the busted door open; and wrestle through some thorns and brush. The cop shines a spot light down, but it’s no where near me. I take off running through the woods. I run until I pass out; and then I’m running in my dreams…
Maybe revenge isn’t worth it. If I wake up and get out of this, I’m going to Mexico. I’m just gonna leave this whole thing behind me.
I wake up; I’m covered by some leaves and I got scratches all over my arms. I walk for probably seven or eight miles until I find a little junky convenience store along a highway. They let me use the phone, and I call Bill, my best friend.
He picks me up, takes me to where I stashed my loot, and now I’m heading for Cancun. He wanted to stop for breakfast one last time, but I decided against it.
That is the only regret I now have, not sharing one last meal with my best friend, whom I’ll probably never see again. God, with all the shit I’ve been through — that’s the only thing eating away at me, is how good those pancakes would’ve tasted in good company.
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