a little dead? 7 (482 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.62 on 9 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Allyson (View user info) at 2006-09-17 15:35:52 EDT
a little dead? 1 http://www.ubersite.com/m/92917
a little dead? 2 http://www.ubersite.com/m/92962
a little dead? 3 http://www.ubersite.com/m/92978
a little dead? 4 http://www.ubersite.com/m/93031
a little dead? 5 http://www.ubersite.com/m/93082
a little dead? 6 http://www.ubersite.com/m/93133
"YAAAAAAARARRRRRRRRGH!"
"The fuck was that?"
Miguel Diaz just smiles genially as the gringo across from him stiffens in his chair. The shriek of absolute agony explodes in the quiet warehouse like a bomb, and all but Diaz and his men jerk at the sound. After working for him, they've gotten used to such sounds.
Diaz just spreads his hands across from the huge office table, his two goons standing stoically behind him, hands in their pockets and on their guns. Across from them Mick Bean shifts uncomfortably in his chair, wondering what kind of animals he's in business with now. Behind him the muscle he's brought along for tonight share nervous glances, unsure of what the fuck's going on here.
"Just some business downstairs." Diaz smiles wider, looking over the powder-covered table at what he hopes is his latest customer. "Some a' my guys are, ah... questioning him."
Bean's eyes narrow and he looks closer at Diaz. "And the gunshots?"
Diaz doesn't flinch, seeing that one coming. He knows that Pablo likes a good old-fashioned kneecapping, for obvious reasons. Nothing quite as painful as that, except perhaps a little castration. The gunshots are heavily muffled by the thick basement walls and ceiling, but they still reached them here.
Screams are the real fuckin' irritation.
"Hey, we gotta be persuasive." He shrugs, unconcerned, all about the business. "Besides, it's not important now. It's not about anything we're doing tonight."
Bean gives a tight smile and shrugs, that explanation enough. He'd been nervous enough coming here tonight, especially with a million dollars in a cheap suitcase, even with his two cousins and backup. Diaz has a reputation for being brutal, unforgiving and more than a little unhinged, but is also a canny businessman who knows a good connection when it gives him a call.
So here he is. And there's his thirty kilos.
"No problem, then?"
"None at all."
Diaz doesn't give it any more thought, convinced that Pablo and his man are sending that fucking shooter to the fifth ring of Hell right now, before he dies. He gestures to another powder-filled bag and Bean looks down at it, done testing the first one.
"Another?"
"Thanks."
"Della Vega.... Francisco... Della Vega."
"Who is he?"
"He's... he runs one of... one of the 18th Street sets... East LA."
"Who was the supplier?"
"I... I dunno, man."
"You wanna lose the fuckin' other one, shithead?"
Pablo Herrera looks up shakily into Danny's eyes, blank and utter terror in his own. Hands cuffed behind his back on the floor and completely disarmed, he's helpless now before the Iceman, who's towering before him with a bloody knife in his hands. Danny raises it in the light of the bulb, letting him see his own sticky blood on it.
Then he points it at the crimson mess of his groin, face expressionless.
"One down, Pablo, and that ain't including you're dick."
He nods to the shriveled, blood soaked testicle lying severed in the middle of the room, and his face splits into a vicious grin.
"Matter of fact, fuck it." He kneels and starts to ready himself. "Might as well do it now..."
"I DUNNO I DON'T FUCKIN' NO PLEASE PLEASE PLAAAA AAAAAAARGHHHHHHH!"
A firm hold and a quick cut later, and Pablo just one last swipe away from a sex change. Danny tosses the useless ball to one side and grabs Herrera by the hair, blood splattered on his face. The mutilated, half-crippled Colombian can barely look into his eyes, the fear and shock overriding everything, even anger.
"One more time, then you become a woman." He holds up the knife, and Pablo starts to sob. "Who is the supplier?"
All Herrera can do is shakes his head slowly, eyes unseeing and disbelieving. He doesn't know who his friend's supplier was, he was never told! But this animal in front of him won't stop, won't give up, and won't show mercy. And there's a lot more he can cut of yet.
"I... I don't know man, please!"
For what seems like forever Danny looks into Pablo's eyes, trying to see something. But he finds no deception in them. After what he's done to him, anyone would have spilled his guts by now. So instead he just gives a faint smile and pats Pablo on the shoulder.
"You know... I believe you."
"Yuh... yeah?"
"Yeah. But you're still gonna die."
Before Pablo can even protest Danny takes a firm grip on his dick, knife held ready in the other hand. Pablo screams and yells and squirms but it's useless, his own depleted strength no match for Danny's cool, highly trained precision.
When he cuts it off, the scream goes on forever.
Jesus fuckin' Christ Pablo...
Already pissed with this constant screaming, especially during business, Diaz looks over his shoulder briefly. Seeing the sign one of the hoods steps over and bows down next to him, letting the boss whisper in his ear urgently.
"Get down there and tell those two to keep it the fuck down!"
The hood nods and walks out the modest office, down the stairs from its perch above the floor of the warehouse. He walks out the door to the stairs and nods at the two hood standing either side of it, hands clasped across their stomachs. They're both armed, of course, Diaz wanting plenty of muscle tonight for such a big deal. They return the nod and he walks through he floor of Maralez Storage.
It's a prosperous enough business, mainly endless lines of shelves with massive boxes and crates packed onto them. Once he's past them he lights a cigarette as he gets to the basement stairs, tall frame and heavy boots clamping down the concrete staircase.
In the room, Danny's just about finished with Pablo when he hears the footsteps, and knows someone's coming. In a second the plan comes together, and he scurries over to his hold all.
"Hey Pablo, boss says JESUS FUCK!"
The hood's barely stepped in the door when he sees Pablo Herrera strapped firmly into Danny's old seat. Hector lies next to him, almost headless. But that's not what the young thug notices, that's not what fixes him rigid before he even thinks of going for his gun.
It's the sheer horror in Pablo's dead, unseeing eyes, the horror that he's been choked by that long, fleshy, sausage-like thing stuffed into his mouth.
The thug thinks he's going to puke, but Danny never gives him the chance.
PHUT! PHUT! PHUT!
Stepping out from behind the door the thug had opened, he fires a three-round burst from Enrique's precious silenced Uzi into the back of his head. It practically explodes at the hollow points do their job, the hood slumping to the floor, dead before his knees hit concrete.
Not wasting any time Danny rips the guy's coat off, covering his bare chest with it an stuffing extra Uzi magazines into the pockets. A Glock and a SIG follow next, both fully loaded, along with a box of bullets. Once that's done, Danny checks the breech of the sub gun, and strides out of the room with a look of pure malevolence on his face.
I'm coming for you, motherfucker...
Danny's lucky; as Diaz has a deal tonight, the only people in the whole massive warehouse are his goons, and the buyers. As Danny flits from shadow to shadow between the lines of crates, he doesn't see a single person. Then he sees the well-lit office above it all, linked to the floor by a staircase.
As he gets closer, he sees the two hoods standing outside, and knows that's where his mark is.
It takes a couple of minutes to get round the side of them, moving swiftly and quietly through the crates. The pain is just a dull ache now, but he knows that's a bad sign. He knows that the blood loss will start hitting him soon, that's why he's losing his feeling. But the look on his face is solid as stone, set, determined... merciless.
Not gonna fuckin' die yet.
He peeks from round the side of a crate to see the two bodyguards, looking bored shitless as they lean against the wall next to the door. Danny takes a breath, grip the Uzi ready, and in a blink is leaning round the corner, spraying silent lead.
He sends a long spray at them both at neck height, knowing at this distance it's the best place to aim for. One of them manages to see the movement out the corner of his eye, but a second later both of them are hit with a squall of hollow point lead. The bullets punch straight through faces and necks and skulls, killing them instantly, and Danny's already walking towards the stairs before they've fallen. He changes the mag on the Uzi and chambers a round, walking slowly up the stairs.
"So that's it, then?"
"Yeah. We got a fuckin' d -"
CRASH!
All eyes in the office turn to the battered, bruised, enraged figure that's just kicked the door almost off its hinges, Uzi barrel wavering before them all. For an impossible few second everyone just freezes, as if unable to comprehend what they're seeing.
Fortunately, Danny doesn't have that problem.
He sprays the buyers first, half-a-dozen rounds blasting bean's head to pieces, followed by his cousins. They go down with bullets pumping into their chests, jerking on their feet until Danny swings the gun round to Diaz and his man.
"Fuckin -"
The last bodyguard gets his gun all the way out his holster before a burst pretty much blows apart his hear in his chest. He goes down with a great gout of blood spraying over Diaz, the coke kingpin suddenly the only one left alive in the room. Well, him and Danny.
"W-Wait man..."
He holds his hands up in supplication, shaking like a leaf as Danny's eyes bore into him like flaming arrows, the rage in them terrifying even this big shot of the New York underworld. And even now, a twitch away from the void, he's trying to weasel out of it.
"We-We make some kinda -"
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!"
Danny's roar totally eclipses the silent lead spewing out of the gun, straight into Diaz's chest. He keeps his finger pressed on the trigger until it clicks empty, round after round pummeling Miguel, transforming his cream shirt into one massive red blotch. He's probably dead after the first half-dozen rounds but Danny keeps him dancing on his feet, impact of the bullets keeping him up like a puppet on some madman's strings.
It's only when he crashes though the window that Danny finally lets him go.
He plummets down to the floor of the warehouse, impact breaking his back but he's past caring. He was dead about ten seconds ago. In the office Danny pants as he reloads, feeling the warm salty taste of blood on his lips.
Gotta move.
Then he notices the powder. Even now his eyes widen, impressed, as he sees dozens of kilos laid out in neat rows there. Then he frowns, knowing something's missing. He moves to the side of the desk and sees the battered briefcase there, hefting it onto the coke. He opens it up, and the sight of a million in cash... that nearly finishes him off.
Fuck... me...
Now, Danny isn't stupid. He knows he's badly hurt and in an hour or so he'll probably be unconscious. Added to that, he's in a warehouse full of people he's just killed, with the murder weapon in his hands. However, he also isn't stupid enough to walk away from a million in cash, which now has no owner.
Shit. Consider it... partial compensation.
He places the Uzi to one side and looks quickly round the room for another bag. He knows a million in cash is pretty weighty, and he needs something like... like the hold all in the corner. He rips it open and can see it was what the coke used to be in. He places it next to the briefcase and spends a minute or so packing the thick bundles of cash into it. Once that's done he zips it tight and hefts it over his shoulder, tightening the strap across his chest to keep his hands free.
He takes one last look around, grabs the Uzi and heads down the stairs. His limp's getting a little worse, but Danny only needs to walk for a little only. All he needs to do is get to a car and get to Jimmy's. Then he can lapse into blissful unconscious.
But not fucking yet.
He gets to the back door and opens it only a little, not taking any chances. He sees the cars parked out in the yard of the warehouse, a couple of Mercedes and BMW's, the buyer's and Diaz's he's guessing. But he also sees the two goons standing next to them, idly smoking and chatting, casting occasional glances down the street. Danny studies them for a few seconds, then makes his decision.
CRACK! CRACK!
"The fuck?!"
Eric Heath jumps as he hears the gunshots from inside the warehouse, his partner Max doing the same. Both men have been bored out of their minds for the last hour, waiting for their boss Diaz to give the word. Lookout always sucks, and this is the third time they've had that job.
Now they've got some action, and they don't know what to do.
"Let's go."
"What?!"
"C'mon, we gotta see what's going on."
"That's a fuckin' gun, genius!"
Max rolls his eyes in disgust and pull the revolver from his holster, already walking to the back door.
"Fuck you think this is, idiot?!"
Faced with that, what else can Eric do but follow?
They burst through the door and see the terrible sight of nothing. The office is on the other side of the warehouse so the bodies aren't visible, but they walk slowly inside, guns in hand, backs to the door. They're both frowning now, utterly bemused by the silence.
Eric and Max never see the man who kills them.
Danny moves from the side of the door, pulling the same trick he pulled on that hood in the basement, and opens up from about fifteen feet away. One long spray cuts them both pretty much in half, and they fall down in a shower of blood. Before they're hearts have even stopped breathing Danny's walking over to them, hands rifling through pockets. He finally finds the key fob for a Mercedes, wipes the flood off it and then exits the warehouse.
He gets outside and starts clicking at random directions, finally hearing that little "bidi-beep!" as an electronic lock deactivates. The flash of blinkers on a Mercedes tells him that's his car, and he jogs over on screaming, agonized legs, eyes fixed on the car. He clambers inside and tosses the hold all in the backseat, on top of the Uzi.
Danny takes a breath in the darkened front seat, and guns the engine into life. He looks down and actually laughs, realizing that the bastards took his shoes off before they strapped him in into that damn chair. He hadn't even fuckin' noticed. He shakes his head and idles the car out of the yard, heading for an address he got from Jimmy almost a year ago.
As he drives, Danny can't think of the job. He doesn't think of the pain, the torture, the massacre, the money or his fucking feet. Only one thought is running through his head, blocking out everything else like a foghorn.
Francisco Della Vega. Francisco Della Vega, East LA...
User Reviews
Submitted by paint_it_black (user info) at 2006-09-19 02:10:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2006-09-19 01:25:31 (#)
Ranking: 0
hasty and repetitive
_________
your mom is...
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2006-09-19 01:25:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
hasty and repetitive
Submitted by goferforhire (user info) at 2006-09-18 17:22:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
The formatting bugs me, but it's a good chunk of story
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-09-18 17:17:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
....................................................
Submitted by bcm (user info) at 2006-09-18 05:52:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You rock. You're great. Yay!
Please, more.
Submitted by ilikesteak (user info) at 2006-09-18 01:00:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Reading all of these took a while. Nice job.
Submitted by Antioxident (user info) at 2006-09-17 16:56:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2006-09-17 16:19:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 LIVE!!!!
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-17 15:38:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
sick and TWISTED!
and yeah, there's more coming along.