Message-ID: <14715eli$9808232220@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Loch Raveena" Subject: New: "Found" Parts 2-4 (m/f/shooting) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Content-Type: text/plain Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19980823235048.23743.qmail@hotmail.com> "FOUND" by Loch Raveena Part 2 "He's always been dependable," said Jerome, a little apprehensive. His eyes kept shifting from Mr. Morris to the two burly guys on either side of him and to the one at the door behind him. "He's never stealed anything, um, u-until now, dat is." Mr. Morris smiled at Jerome. "A Hawaiian kid, you say?" "Yeah," said Jerome. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "One a dem colledge kiids. You know, dey our best customahs." "But how did he get a whole kilo, Jerome?" Mr. Morris' smile still hadn't faded, but his blue eyes had turned to steel. "How did he get a whole kilo?" Jerome squirmed in his chair. "I dunno, Mr. Morris. I-I dunno. He axed for da regulah amount, and afta he left, I saw dat da bags was gone." "Okay, Jerome, okay," said Mr. Morris. "You say the college - the one out on 21rst?" "Yeah, dat one. Dat's right, dat's da one. He's one a dem Hawaiians." Mr. Morris looked down at his desk, contemplating. He then picked up his phone and dialed a number. "Morris here. Get Fric & Frac out over to the college - we're lookin' for a Hawaiian kid. Can't be too many of 'em. Find him. He's a regular in sector 8." He hung up the phone just as quickly, then stared at Jerome. "Okay, Jerome, we'll find him. And will find the stuff, too…" Mr. Morris sudenly leaned forward and whispered, his eyes staring deep into Jerome's, "…if he's got it." Jerome squirmed in his chair some more. "'m I free to go?" Mr. Morris leaned back in his high-back chair, his hands under his chin. "Of course, Jerome, of course. It was very smart of you to come in here and tell us this. It takes balls," he said with a sparkle, "to admit that someone got the better of you. We'll take care of it. I like a guy with balls." Mr. Morris continued to stare at Jerome with his cold blue eyes. Jerome stood up from his chair and walked to the door. The distance to the door seemed like a million miles, and he felt Mr. Morris' eyes burning into his back every step of the way. The big guy at the door stared at Jerome just as seriously, briefly blocking his path before smiling and stepping aside. Jerome didn't think he'd make it to the door, and when he got there, he stiffened, expecting a bullet to come tearing through his back. When he made it outside of Mr. Morris' office, and the door closed, he breathed a huge sigh of relief. He began to laugh to himself at his paranoia even as his legs continued to shake as he walked down the hall and out of the building. What a chump! he thought. It wasn't long before the phone on Mr. Morris' desk rang. He picked it up and immediately began taking notes. He quietly put the phone back onto its receiver and looked at Jimmy "Bigs" and Donnie "Smalls." "Found," he said. He tore the note from his pad of paper and handed it to Bigs. "Get my stuff back," he said, his eyes sparkling. Bigs looked at the note and saw that it was an address. He took out his pistol and began screwing a long silencer onto the end of it. Smalls did the same. They looked at Mr. Morris, but he had his back turned to them already. He was leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the window sill looking out at the city below. A cloud of smoke lifted above the chair as he apparently lit a cigar. "You're still here?" asked the back of the chair. With that, Bigs and Smalls turned and left Mr. Morris to his city and his cigar. "The kid was lying," said Smalls as Bigs negotiated traffic as they neared 21rst Street. "How do you know?" asked Bigs. "You saw him, the fucking little prick was scared to death. Now Mr. Morris wants us to go and frighten these college kids." "Waddyamean, frighten?" asked Bigs. "What? You expect us to blow away innocent kids?" protested Smalls. "Who's innocent?" asked Bigs, rhetorically. "Look," said Bigs, "when will ya fucking learn? We aint philosophers - we just do what Mr. M asks, okay?" "Mr. M said 'bring me my stuff,'" said Smalls. "He didn't say 'go shoot some college kids.'" Bigs found a parking spot and turned off the car, then looked at Smalls "Listen, kid, you're giving me a fucking headache. Mr. M gave us an address and says get me my stuff. I aint goin' in there asking cutesy questions! Let's just get the stuff and get the fuck out of here, if it's alright with you, that is!" "Okay, Bigs, okay, " said Smalls. "Good," said Bigs, "now shut the fuck up and let's do this." "Okay," said Smalls. Smalls had to get the last word in all the time. It really irritated Bigs to no end. "I said shut up - not a fucking word!" boomed Bigs. "Alright, already!" said Smalls, again trying to out duel Bigs for the last word. "Fuck! Can't you just shut the fuck up?" screamed Bigs. "Sure" said Smalls, smiling. "Goddamn it!" yelled Bigs as he pulled out his gun and put it to Smalls' head. "Not a fucking word! Alright?" Smalls looked at Bigs and winked. "Okay," he said. Bigs stared at Smalls. The little prick wasn't backing down. "Aw, shit," said Bigs as he put his gun back in his holster. "You're a fucking pain in the ass." The two walked into the apartment and took the elevator up to the eighth floor without another word. They were professionals, and this part of their job required an all-business attitude. They walked down the hall until they got to room 814, just like the note said. Both took out their pistols with silencers and Bigs knocked on the door. There was music in the room - grinding punk music that aggravated Bigs' headache even further. "Hey, shut up, Maria's here!" said a voice inside. The music was turned down and the door opened. An athletic boy with shoulder-length blonde hair stood in the door dressed in baggy green trousers with no shirt on. Bigs lifted his pistol to the boy's firm strong chest and pulled the trigger without a word. A muffled 'pop!' filled their ears - it was the air pressure more than the sound. The kid flew backwards as though he were hit by a truck and landed in the middle of the room like a rag doll, his dead blue eyes staring off into oblivion. A large red hole appeared just to the left of his left nipple, and blood welled up from it, a line running from the wound down the side of his chest and to the carpet. He never even twitched. A startled youth jumped up from the room's sofa and turned just in time to catch a bullet from Bigs' pistol right in his middle section. As the boy's sleek body spun in the air and crumbled to the floor in a violent spasm, Bigs realized that the kid was the 'Hawaiian' that Jerome had mentioned. The boy vomited blood before his body went still, his eyes opened in surprise. A thin line of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. The kid had dreadlocks, Smalls saw, and thought about how cool he looked. I'm getting fucking dreadlocks, he thought to himself, as he gazed at the dead boy. As soon as my grows long enough! Another youth came strolling into the room dressed in - a baseball uniform. Halfway dressed, that is. He was wearing only his baseball trousers and cleets and a cutoff t-shirt with the number 23 on it. Smalls brought up his own pistol and aimed for the boy's exposed sleek belly and fired. A blue hole suddenly appeared on the athlete's smooth stomach just above his incredibly protruding belly button - Smalls had never seen a belly button like that before! - and the kid was tossed backwards onto the floor. The boy writhed on the floor, his hands cradling his narrow stomach, his navel protruding from between his hands. Smalls stood over top of him. "Where's the stuff?" he asked. "W-what?" the boy asked, his face ashen with pain and shock. "The fucking stuff! The stuff, damn it, the stuff!" The boy choked and jerked, coughing up blood which ran down his smooth cheek. His breathing grew extremely harsh and erratic, his whole body heaving with each breath. His hands slipped from his belly and to his sides, the fingers twitching. He was not going to be any help at all, realized Smalls. He walked into the kitchen then and began to open and close drawers and cupboards as he listened to the athlete's gurgling. He tore the whole kitchen apart as Bigs worked in the other room. Bigs appeared in the kitchen's doorway, the dying boy at his feet. "Anything?" he asked. "No," said Smalls, "you?" Bigs produced a brown paper bag stacked with marijuana. "Just grass," he said, "tossing the bag to Smalls. "No coke." The two had searched thoroughly and found no coke. They had not done what Mr. M had asked - they came and they searched, but there was no coke. The two walked into the living room and viewed their handiwork. The boy in the cutoff shirt was dead now, his eyes staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. Smalls looked his belly button again. Wow! Why can't I have one like that? All three boys had died with their eyes open. All three were extremely cool looking in death, thought Smalls. The Hawaiian kid's stomach was exposed, too. He was slender and tanned, his navel small and shallow. The shirtless boy was also very athletic, thin and sleek. The boy died before he even hit the ground. The bubbly bullet hole in his chest was enthralling. Smalls shook his head. He then looked at the athlete with the cutoff t-shirt one more time - the one he had shot. "Look at that belly button!," said Smalls. He waked over to the athlete's corpse and bent over. He pressed the navel with his finger like he were pressing an elevator button. It was like touching rubber. More blood flowed from the dead boy's open mouth when he pressed on his belly. The kids looked like nice boys. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time - Smalls was convinced that they were innocent. It was amazing how fate worked, said Smalls. These kids were just living life and having a good time one minute, then lay dead the next. "Shut the fuck up!" said Bigs. "What did I tell you? We aint philosophers!" he said as they stepped out of the elevator. A girl passed them as they headed for the door. "I told you so!" said Smalls, but Bigs' mind was elsewhere. He was looking at the girl. "What?" he said as he shook her from his gaze. "The stuff," said Smalls. "I told you so - the boy was lying and we just blew away innocent kids." "Shit happens," said Bigs as started the car. "Shit!" he said, suddenly. "What the fuck?!" asked Smalls. "That girl! Remember, the kid said something like 'Mary's here!' or 'Marie's here!'" said Bigs. "Remember?" "Yeah," said Smalls, not getting it. "So?" "So she was the girl they were waiting for!" "How do you know?" asked Smalls. "When will you fucking learn to not question me?" asked Bigs, rhetorically, once again. "Okay, so she's the girl - so what?" "So she fucking saw us, you idiot!" Bigs explained as they climbed out of their car again. Their job wasn't quite finished yet. Part 3 Smalls never met a woman like her before. Usually he would have to lie about his profession. He would jokingly tell people that he was a 'cleaning man' or a 'fix-it' guy. But Lisa had seen him in action and she was excited! Nevermind that he blew away her surfer boyfriend. The sight of her dreadlocked boyfriend lying dead on the floor with his dark eyes staring aimlessly up at the ceiling and blood coming out of his mouth also excited her. She was one in a million. Make that a billion. Smalls couldn't get her off of his mind. "…and I told him to shut the fuck up - Hey!" said Bigs, "listen to me when I'm fucking talking!" "What?" asked Smalls with a look of confusion on his face. "You're thinking about that broad again? Sheeeiiiit! Man, you got yourself one fucking cuckoo woman!" said Bigs with a laugh. "Will she share?" "Fuck you!" said Smalls. "You know, I think this is it for me. We're like Bonnie and Clyde." "Bonnie and Clyde? Try the Adams Family! You're the weirdest fucking couple I've ever seen. And what's with your fucking hair?" "Dreadlocks, Bigs, dreadlocks. It takes awhile to come in, you know." "See what women do? They fuck up your head!" noted Bigs. They parked the car a block away. It was the seedy part of town, but Bigs was 6'5 and a good 270 pounds, so they weren't worried about being fucked with. Smalls was average build and slender. He let Bigs do the swaggering as they walked. Both of them had their fingers resting on steel, however. Better safe than sorry. In his other hand, Bigs carried a black bag that resembled a medical bag. He looked like a doctor making a house call in the middle of the fucking Bronx. They came to the address that Mr. M had given them. It was a dilapidated brownstone building that looked like it was ruined in a previous war and never repaired. They kicked in the door like they were cops and ran up the stairs and burst through another door. Jerome was startled by the loud banging of the doors and footsteps and sudden activity. His head was spinning, though, and he felt removed from his body - no pain or feeling, just complete ecstasy as he floated in the room. Even the sudden activity seemed distant, like he was watching a movie. It was two guys, one as big as a house and the other one a skinny motherfucker. Jerome's slowed brain finally made the connection - it was the two guys with Mr. Morris. This turn of events struck him as very funny - EVERYTHING was funny when you've smoked as much crack as he has - not to mention dropping acid! It was probably the acid that turned every event no matter how inconsequential into a profound earth-shattering revelation - or a hilarious one. In this case, Bigs and Smalls were hilarious. "Heeeey, I know you guys!" said Jerome with a big smile that was full of teeth. "Hey, these are…are…my friends. These are my friends," he said in a slow and happy and slurred voice, introducing Bigs and Smalls with a slow wave of his hand to his three friends who also were all smiles and damn glad to meet them. "They're fucking high as a kite," said Smalls, putting away his gun. "Yeah, with Mr. M's stuff!" Bigs put his gun away, too, and opened the black bag. He produced a rope with a noose on the end of it and handed it to Smalls. "Looky what we've brought for you, Jerome," said Smalls, waving the rope before his dilated pupils. "Hey man, ya brought me a tift…a gift. You alwright, my man, you alwright." "Glad we brought enough rope, Bigs," said Smalls as he watched Bigs remove three more ropes with nooses on their ends. "I told you, these types run in fucking packs," said Bigs. "Who wants to go fiiiirst?" asked Smalls in a nursery-rhyme voice. "Cool, man. I go," said one of Jerome's friends. Jerome laughed. "Yeah, man, CrissCross always go first!" Smalls gently placed the noose around CrissCross' little neck. He didn't even get up from his comfortable resting place on the dirty floor. All four of them were resting their backs against the wall with their feet splayed out before them, their eyes large with drugged wonder. Bigs placed a noose around the other three as well. Smalls tied all four ropes over a pipe, creating four pulleys. Enough rope was left for Bigs to grab hold of and use his body weight to lift them to their suspended and invisible dance floor. Smalls took out his gun and stood by the door. If anyone tried to get away, or gave Bigs any trouble, he'd blow them away. Simple as that. "Without further ado, gentlemen, I say let the dancing begin," announced Bigs. "Yeah, man, cool," said one of the four. And with that, Bigs took hold of the rope attached to CrissCross and pulled with his weight. The skinny little punk was yanked off his ass immediately. The guy was light, so Bigs had no trouble pulling the rope than tying it into position as the young man kicked and struggled in mid air. He went to the next one and did the same, and the next one, then the next one. In a matter of seconds, all four youths were kicking and writhing on the end of their ropes. CrissCross' eyes were wide open as he began to put up a big fight, his feet kicking, his body jerking. Spittle oozed out of his mouth and all four make gurgling sounds. Bigs and Smalls stood beneath them, both lost in amazement as they watched the four men jerk and gasp and gurgle and kick. The stretching of their bodies brought their t-shirts above their middle, exposing their stomachs. CrissCross had a large knob of a navel that protruded from his slender belly. The one to his right also had an 'outtie' of a navel, but it was smaller and less distinctive. Their kicking brought their baggy jeans below their hips - they already hung low on their bodies before the hanging. The youth to the left of CrissCross died the quickest. An unbelievable series of spasms made him thrash violently as his tongue swelled up and began to protrude through his lips. Blood and spittle drained from the tip of the tongue, and just as suddenly as the spasms hit, the boy's jerking ended entirely. He then swayed gracefully, his eyes staring, his mouth gaping. Urine drained from his pants leg and puddled on the floor. Eventually all four men swayed from the ropes without further struggles, save for the occasional twitching that came and went for nearly a half hour. All four had their eyes open, eerily staring ahead as their bodies swayed. Smalls' eyes remained fixated on their exposed bellies, their navels all youthful and tender. The outties seemed to be protruding even further. Damn, he thought, I wish Lisa were here to see this. He could imagine the two of them fucking each other's brains out right here on the dirty floor as the four youths dangled above, their lifeless eyes watching with a removed indifference. "Damn, I wish Lisa could've seen this," said Smalls as they climbed back into their car. "There you fucking go again," said Bigs. "I told you she was a fucking loony if she's into snuff!" "No, man, you don't understand," said Smalls, his thoughts drifting off to Lisa. "What's there to fucking understand? You're both fucking loony!" said Bigs as they made their way back to the office with what was left of the stuff. Part 4 Bigs and Smalls stood in the doorway. To their surprise, there were three girls in the room, all three hovering over the dead bodies of their boyfriends. The girl they had passed on the first floor was screaming now. It was a piercing scream that made the hair on Smalls neck stand up and sent waves of pain into Bigs' temples like little needles. "Goddamn it!" boomed Bigs, his hands going to his temples. "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled, his headache throbbing, as he reached for his silencer. The scream ended abruptly as Maria was suddenly flung against the wall. Maria's eyes opened wide in shock as she stood there staring at the smoking barrel of the pistol. She looked down at the large red hole in her chest between her breasts, her shirt ruined, she thought. "Oh" she said, and her body then slid slowly down the wall leaving a bloody trail and tumbled over onto its side. She vomited blood and died, her eyes staring. Bigs immediately switched gears and brought the beautiful blonde hovering over the dead baseball boy into his sights and pulled the trigger before she could even react. The bullet slammed into her belly and tore through her navel exiting out the back. Her whole lifted up off the floor and floated backwards before dropping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Sara's body suddenly went into a violent series of spasms that frightened Bigs and Smalls outright. Her gorgeous body flopped and jerked and contorted so wildly, blood pouring from her open mouth, the two thought that perhaps the demon from 'The Exorcist' had suddenly taken possession of her beautiful body and attacked it. The girl even let out an unsettling scream as her body was jerked uncontrollably this way and that. Bigs shot her again out of total fear - he did not want to see her head spin completely around. That would've really freaked him out! The girl's body came to a sudden rest with the second shot, another bullet hole appearing in her side, the blood draining out of it like a faucet to the floor. Her big blue eyes unblinkingly stared up at the ceiling. Smalls brought up his silencer to Lisa who was standing to the left, near the corpse of the Hawaiian boy. His eyes met hers and his finger gripped the trigger. He did not pull it, however. The girl's eyes took on a look that he had never seen before. She stood before him, glowing. Her body straightened and stiffened with excitement, her eyes growing distant with ecstatic expectation. Her one hand went to her mouth and the other fingered her oval and tender belly button that had a diamond-studded ring in it. She hiccuped. Lisa's hiccup was musical. It was high and cute and funny. Smalls' sex not only twitched, it came to full attention. He stepped forward, bringing the gun to the girl's forehead now. She did not cower or run or cry or turn away or react in any other way. Instead, the excitement grew more urgent and less contained. She hiccuped again. Smalls' knees weakened. He studied her now, her whole body, her light brown hair, those incredible green eyes, the high cheekbone. She was wearing a white shirt that she had tied just above her waist - and what an incredible waist she had! - and bell-bottom slacks. Her skin was soft and pale, her eyes the color of a tropical sea, her smell like water. His heart raced and his breath grew short. She hiccuped again. He was growing dizzy. Smalls lowered his weapon and looked at her - and she at him. "Hello," he said, "my name is Donnie. Donnie Smalls." He extended his hand and she took it. He put his arm around her and they gazed at the dead bodies. How beautiful they all looked. All had their bellies exposed to the world, blood leaking out of their mouths, their eyes staring, all of them young and so full of life just a few minutes ago. The hiccups grew uncontrollable now and Smalls struggled to control the fluttering of his heart. "Jesus," said Bigs, shaking his head. "Now I've seen fucking everything!" THE END **** lraveena@hotmail.com -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----