Thursday, May 2, 2013

Diary Of A Degenerate 36

The young girl was possessed by seemingly endless energy, and kept fighting and screaming for the entire four or five minutes her father was gone.  I have done many horrible things, but this one was certainly on the top of the list.  I stood there nude, covered in blood, and gripping a small, shrieking child in my arms.  Anyone who walked in on the scene would assume the worst, and they’d be right.

Her father came back in the room, and I was relived to see he was sobbing still, not chomping at the bit to tear me limb from limb.  He threw a fresh pair of pants that were way too fucking large at my feet, and placed a beat up .38 on the floor with a half empty box of ammo, a small plastic bag with a few stacks of american currency, and an unopened bottle of tequila.  I motioned for him to back up and he complied, while I grabbed the gun and inspected it.  Loaded.  This guy was taking some serious chances by handing this over.  Bad idea.  My index finger was badly twisted so I fed my middle digit through the trigger guard and raised it at him.  He didn’t flinch as I fired three shots into his torso.  The fucking sound deafened me to the world, but I could tell the was screaming at an extra few octaves now that I had dropped her, and was crouching over him as a large bubble of blood formed in one of the holes in his chest.

I put the pants on and the promptly fell back off, so I kicked the half-blind girl off her father and sloppily dragged the belt off his corpse before tying it around my waist.  I had no shirt, but fuck it, three quarters of the people here didn’t wear them anyway.  I gathered up my goods and headed for the door, glad to put the memories of torture and the sound of wailing behind me.

I was surprised to see that it wasn’t some back country shed I was being kept in, but a seemingly nice middle-class house upstairs.  Out the window I could see a pickup with the windows down and a shine near the wheel.  Keys.  I didn’t waste time in stumbling out the door and tossed my gear onto the passenger seat before sitting down and starting up the truck.  The leather was burning a hole in my back, but I was happy to have it.  Some dreadful mexican polka music flooded the car and I quickly shut it down, then tore the cork out of the tequila bottle and drank deeply.  With any luck I would forget this shithole in a few hours of drinking.

I was about two miles down the road, a gringo covered in blood, shirtless driving a stolen pickup while half drunk, when I saw the federales behind me.


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