Why he came to town…

He came to town. Wasn’t that enough? EB thought. Often it just wasn’t. He considered this as he holstered his weapon. EB opened his office door and walked out in the hall. Grime and dirt of a dozen decades covered the walls and filthy carpet. Most of the time EB didn’t even see it anymore. He headed for the parking lot where his Cadillac awaited him.

Sliding into the deep blue leather seats EB felt his back muscles become just a bit less tense. And he was tense. Like a fracking 15 pound steel trigger spring. EB started up the powerful 5.7 liter engine. Again he racked his mind as to why he came back. After all that had happened, EB never thought he would see his ugly mug back in Vegas. A town that never forgives much less forgets.

It was gonna get real ugly, real fast. Not as ugly as the fat man thought EB, but still…

EB headed out onto the strip. The hot afternoon hung in the air like a bad dream that you can’t wake up from. Traffic was just beginning to get heavy. EB handled the heavy car with nimble efficiency in the hot Vegas traffic. Over sized taxis heavily laden with outworld aliens prowled the strip. Denizens of other worlds looking for cheap thrills among the Vegas crowds. A particularly large “Sweat” splashed in the fountains in front of the Bellagio. Twisting and writhing as the fountains sprayed to the music. EB twitched as he looked at the “Sweat”, his hand unconsciously resting on the butt of his weapon. Some things never change he thought disgustedly. EB continued forward through the Vegas traffic.

His destination was “the fatman”.

 

No one knew or remembered the fatman’s name. He’d been in Vegas so long, he was practically part of the landscape. But if you needed something, information, a girl, a loan or muscle, he was the one to see. Weighing in at close to 600 lbs, he was almost an island unto himself thought EB. As EB walked in he noted that his girl friday was working for the fat man. Asia looked across the desk at him, rolled her eyes and said to EB, “he’s in there” as she pointed at a beat up heavy steel door. From the look of the bullet marks dinged into it’s surface, that door had seen some days. EB raised his eyebrows at Asia and mouthed “What?”. She just shook her head and point at the door.

As EB reached the door Asia said “press the red button to get him to let you in”. Sure doll he thought. He pressed the red button on the door and a low growling voice answered “person, place or thing”. EB tilted his hat back, scatched an ear and pressed the button again. “person, place or thing and don’t waste my time rabbit…” said the fatman. EB looked up, spotted the camera and made a rude gesture at it. “Learn that in grade school?” said the fatman. “No” muttered EB, “but you could use learn some manners”. With that, the door clicked open and EB entered the room. Sitting behind a large battered metal desk was the fatman. Calling him fat would have been like calling space small. His girth seem to bend the time space continuum. EB steadied himself and looked the fatman in the eye. “I came for some intel on a man” said EB.

Vegas is full of ’em said the fatman. I got some in the desert as well. If you don’t need em breathing, I can cut you a deal.

EB said “This is about about that man…”

The fatman ponderously rose to his feet, slammed his fist to the desk denting it. “Damn it EB” said the fatman. Why can you not leave that alone! He will be gone tomorrow and then you can go back to doing whatever you rabbits do without me losing more valuable customers. EB just looked at him. “You know I can’t do that” said EB. He slowly drew a large cigar from in inner pocket of the brown leather flight jacket that he wore. The fatman sniffed. “Arturo Fuentes” the fat man said? “Of course” said EB. A bead of sweat rolled down the ruddy face of the fatman as he considered. The fatman’s large sweaty hand flashed out to retrieve the cigar. Biting the end off of it and jamming it between his teeth, EB stepped up to the fatman and struck a match against his desk. The match flared with intensity, lighting the cigar clenched between the fatman thick lips effortlessly.

“You know I can’t resist these” the fatman said.

To that EB just grinned quietly.

“What do you need to know” the fatman asked thick smoke exiting his mouth with the words. EB just starred at him, held out two fingers and said “Where and when”. The fatman shook his thick jowls, ran his hands through his short greasy hair and growled. Give me an hour or two and I will give you a call with the info said the fatman. EB’s grin disappeared from his face. His eyes became steely pin points. The flowing smoke from the cigar seemed to slow in its movements. The fatman sighed and said “give me a minute to make a couple of calls”. “Squeeze some sleaze” thought EB.

EB pulled out another cigar and lit it. Breathing in the smoke deeply, his mind and heart seemed momentarily at rest. He looked out the door and realized Asia had left for the day. So much for opportunities EB thought. The fatman looked up from his phone and said to EB in a harsh voice “he’s at the Venetian”. “Pretty upscale for him” said EB. The fatman just looked at him. He tipped his hat and headed out the door. So much for the fatman thought EB. I probably should have beat the information out of him.

EB quickly left the office and entered the deep blue Cadillac. The smooth purring of the engine quickly turned into a roar as EB headed back down the Vegas strip to the Venetian. Night was starting to fall in Vegas with the lookers and hookers on display. Look at me they all said in their own way. The young foolish ones and the old used women that plied the world’s oldest trade on the city sidewalks of Vegas. The aliens just added into the night’s mix. A dusty wind blew across it all giving the falling nights air a feel abrasiveness. Vegas wore you down, chewed you up and spit you out into a shallow grave somewhere out in the desert. Sand and parking lots defined Vegas.

EB pulled into the Venetian’s back parking lot. Pulling his weapon from it’s shoulder holster, he  ejected the magazine and slid in a fresh one. Then racked back the slide, chambering a 40 cal hydro-shock round. No sense in taking any chances EB thought. Leaving the car, he headed inside. Going in through a service entrance EB was instantly assaulted by the noise. It felt like stepping out onto the tarmac of a busy airport. Ringing bells, music, old and young talking, complaining, excited and angry. EB silently pushed his way through into the casino back rooms. Where the real gambling took place. Where the whales came play and some to be beached. The bouncers noted EB entrance. Several nodes in his direction. He knew most of them over from over the years. Helping them with a nasty divorce, a brother in jail, a gambling debt they couldn’t settle. EB had known them all. And short of hosing down all of the patrons in the place with an AK-47, not one of them would lift a finger to stop him. EB was never there. Even the ubiquitous cameras somehow seems to be shutdown when EB rolled in. He had friends in both high and low places.

EB quickly scanned the room looking for him. Nothing. He slowly cruised  room looking at each individual gambler. Largely he was ignored. Not because a six foot three in rabbit in a brown Fedora and leather flight jacket was the norm, but you know… What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?

Of course!

The girls paid attention though. They followed his careful movements through the large private room. Table after table of gamblers. Addicted to the high. The rush that the winning hand brings. High stakes, quiet murmurs and undertones of money lost and won. EB notice the girls, but did not let on. Girls usually wanted what they couldn’t have. That made him extra tasty to them. No matter though EB thought. He isn’t here.

The fatman lied.

Well, if he was to be honest (in Vegas?), the fatman always lied. You had to ferret the truth out the stream of vomitus waste that normally was the fatman’s trade. He lied for a living and was damn good at it. Surviving this long in Vegas meant the fatman was either doing something right or was protected.

Sweat Mob protected.

The mob is Vegas usually meant the “Sweats”. Ugly obscene aliens from a distant star system that came to Earth to make it their new cesspool away from home. EB hated sweats. The only good one was a dead one as far as he was concerned. And if the fatman was connected with the
sweats, then EB had been played like a school yard chump. EB clinched his jaw in anger.

Slowly he forced himself to relax himself. EB pulled out a large cigar ring 50 sized Arturo Fuentes, bit off the end and put it in his mouth. Pulling a match out of his pocket, he struck across a gamblers lizard skin jacket (alien hide of course). The gambler deep in thought considering the bad hand he had been dealt didn’t notice. EB lit the cigar, took a deep breath and felt the resolution of a long life lived behind a gun. He straighten his flight jacket and headed out to the door. Back to the Cadillac to consider his options.

Time for some large weapons though EB. He walked around to the rear of his Fleetwood Brougham. Built some 40 years before in 1994, it was the largest luxury vehicle ever built in it’s class. Once used in a presidential motorcade, this Cadillac had been modified with some “special” features. An armored body, electronics hardened against EMP and bullet resistant glass up to a fifty cal. The trunk was large enough for a family of alpha centaur black shaded monocled womcat to build a colony hive in. EB like to think of it as his weapons storage depot.

Inside on the trunk were a survivalist dream. From silenced small caliber handguns to a 50 Cal BMG. The RPG was just for special occasions. EB reached in and grabbed a couple of hand grenades, a Benelli 12 gauge slug gun and his steel eagle tanto. EB strapped the tango blade to his leg, clipped the grenades inside his flight jacket. He check the Benelli Slug gun, noting that he had one round in the chamber, six in the magazine and another twelve on the stock in a speed loader. EB shut the trunk, climbed into the car and placed the Benelli in the passenger seat. EB pulled his armored vest from the back seat. Removing his leather flight jacket momentarily, he slid on the body armor and then his flight jacket. Taking another drag on his cigar, he fondled a grenade and said to himself  “don’t leave home with it…” Putting the car in drive, he headed back up the strip to see the fatman.

The fatman ain’t here said Asia. Filing her nails with a metal file, she looked as beautiful as ever. EB looked at her and said ” Do you know where he went?”. Asia just sighed, looked over and starred. “What do I look like, his baby sitter, google maps, what?” said Asia. “He left out of here right after you left. Told me to take messages and he would call in” said Asia. “An over sized visitor’s taxi came by and got him. I didn’t see much, but it wasn’t humans in with him” she said. Asia looked EB over again and said “What’s this about EB?” EB replied “It’s too long of a story for now. I’ve got get looking, call in some favors to find him”. Asia made a pouty look with her beautiful asian face. “I’ll be seeing you around EB”. But EB was already out the door…

Riding toward the spaceport EB thought that fatman knew more than he was telling. If was involved with the sweats, he knew EB would be coming for him. All this for some information that would have left the fatman with no dirt on his hands. Stupid fatman EB thought. Traffic was heavy and it wasn’t helping EB’s mood. The fatman could be off world by now headed to gods knew where. The galaxy is a big place to get lost in. And with the help of the sweats, he could go very very far and never be found. The sweats always had uses for a fatman.

EB felt that the window was closing for him. Not the fatman, but the reason all of this started thought EB. Hell he could be on the same outbound intergalactic ship as the fatman for all he knew.  The lethargic traffic finally started to move. EB turned onto I95, the old veterans memorial highway where the space port was located. Racing up the freeway as much as the traffic would allow, EB tried to will himself forward. As he finally came apon the exit for the spaceport, he could see an intergalactic ship rising on a plum of white smoke. Cursing to himself, he hurried into the parking lot and ran for the door. Once inside, EB headed directly to the door for the spaceport security office.

As EB entered the security office, at the counter a surly looking waif looked up from her magazine and then reach for her cigarette. Taking a drag, she asked in a smokey breathy way “can I help you?”. EB looked at her before he replied. She must be new he thought. “Yes” said EB. “Can you get the Chief? Tell’em EB’s here and needs some assistance”. “Chief Blackfoot” she asked? “You don’t know do you?” “He died in a tragic accident about a month ago” she said. “It was in the news”. “I don’t watch much TV” EB stated feeling the shock of the loss of an old friend take hold. “The Chief and I go way back. How did it happen?” EB asked tentatively.  Looking uncomfortable she girl said ” I’m Nicole, Nic for short” holding out her hand for EB. He took it and asked again “What happened to the Chief Nic?” She said ” I don’t really know. It was all so hush hush. It’s still under investigation and no one want to tell me anything”.

EB’s heart felt like it was made of stone. Chief Blackfoot had been a loyal friend in a town where loyalty is bought and sold for ten cents on the dollar. A straight arrow of a man that never gave up on is friends and would take a bullet for you. That’s the kind of man Chief Blackfoot was. EB would miss him sorely. He decided he would grieve later, if a later came for him. “Nic could you do a favor for an old friend of the Chief? I need to know if a very large fatman got on one of the intergalactic flights out in the last couple of hours” EB said. Nic stepped back, cigarette hanging from her lip and said “for a friend of the chief and perhaps a new friend of mine yes. It’ll take a little while to pull the records, give me your cell number and I will call you with the info”. EB reached for a pen when she stuck out her hand when she said “Here, write it here”. An amused grin crept into his eye as he wrote the number down. “I will be talking to you soon” Nic said. EB turned and headed out the door.

This had all become much more complicated than he had anticipated. The fatman was gone. “He” was in all terms gone as well. The sweats were up to something nasty. EB had heard some rumors about a goings on up at the Vegas lake. Could that be what the sweats were after?

The Chief, well was it an accident or something more sinister. And Nic. A surly charming girl that smoked entirely too much. Just the kind I like thought EB. He got back into the Cadillac feeling a little older and headed back for his office. He needed to sort all of this out and develop some new leads. Try to make sense of a tangled mess.
Mean while, up at Vegas lake, the water swirled as a new school of larva came forth from their egg. Swimming and feeding in the dark.

Ugly larva. Tearing and eating at everything living around it.

In the dark..

Sweating…

Car Wash

EB sat in his cobalt blue Fleetwood Brougham Cadillac as the automated car wash scrubbed the dust and dirt that the Vegas desert regularly deposited on it. His thoughts wandered as they are want to do.

That familiar feeling of emptiness echoed within his chest.

It had been a rough couple weeks and the body count had been high. EB didn’t like the feel of shifting sand under his feet. Mostly he preferred solid ground like most rabbits. His heart ached for the loss of Candy and her Dad. Some thing’s just come to a bad end no matter what you do thought EB.

As the car washed ended so did his thoughts. EB pulled out an Arturo Fuentes Hemingway, struck a match to light it and took a long pull from the cigar. “I am not worthy to receive you” said EB smoke trickling out of his mouth with the words and he drove away…

A bad man cometh…

EB knew that trouble was brewing. Like a storm on the event horizon of the intergalactic plane or just the rank smell of the unwashed masses, he knew it.  EB had been working this beat, the lonely side of nowhere in Vegas for a long time.

It grew on you if your let it.

EB had learned long ago though, to keep moving. Don’t get too close or too deep with anyone. Because when you trusted them, not only would they betray you, but at the worst possible time. So just keep moving…

Early that morning, a inbound fast mover settled onto the desert floor. The craft came in hard and low, showing up as a blip on the radar for only the briefest moment. Earth traffic controllers (ETC) at the Vegas Intergalactic Port noted but disregarded it as hash trash or space junk. The ship was a lander, cheaply made one time use for getting down a gravity well. The skin of the craft still smoked from the burn of atmospheric reentry.

A hatchway creaked open with a puff of corrosion. From the dark interior, a man moved forward climbing down onto the desert floor. Raising his arms over his his head, he stretched and roared in the dark morning air. In the distance, he could see the lights of Vegas. In the distance he knew a rabbit was going to die. The man pulled the slide back on his gun, racking a bullet into the chamber. Flipping the safety off, he shoved the gun into the back of his pants. Today was to be a day of vengeance. Today EB was going to die. It didn’t matter where, it didn’t matter how, it just mattered that he would breath no more. With that thought in his mind, the man started walking toward Vegas.

As he walked, the man though about what he had lost. A sense of hollowness, when there is nothing left but the conclusion. Once this was done, he would rest. Long into the night. Perhaps in this desert place, away from the city and it distractions. The sweet release of peace without the burning emptiness that he ever felt in his heart.

There was once a girl. His daughter that brought him joy in way he had never know. Her sweet voice, her funny laughter and her brilliant  mind. But that was long ago, he spoke to himself. I shall not be distracted. I will rest when this is over and on the morrow.

The man came with only what he was wearing. No luggage. No tooth brush. No soul. His gun had twelve rounds in it. One for every sorrow. One for every joint in a rabbit’s body he thought. Feet, knees and hips. Hands, elbows and shoulders. Then it would be over. Then he would rest.

The morn came stingingly bright. Burning his eyes and his heart. His flesh felt weary as he entered the Vegas strip. He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew the feeling that guided him. The man walked on. Past the crappy older casinos on the out skirts of the strip. toward the “Disney Land” like atmosphere of the massive casinos.

Hookers solicited him. A good time honey they promised. There wasn’t any good times to be had here or anywhere. To look for something he could find was a pain he just couldn’t take anymore. Hope had fled like the morning mist from the rising sun. All that remained was just the burning.

Walking along he realized he was thirsty. He had been walking for six hours and had covered almost twenty one miles. The man entered a seven eleven and purchased a large quart of water and some beef jerky. He sat on the sidewalk outside and drank the water. The feeling of cool permeated his throat as he drank. This awoke a feeling of hunger in him. He quickly ripped open the jerky and started to chew a great handful. Soon he was pouring the bag into his mouth spill jerky and crumbs onto himself and the ground.

A women walk past him with a disdainful look. Another bum on the strip. Another day in Vegas.

His hunger and thirst satiated. The man looked about and realized he was close to east Cheyenne avenue. Closer. He could feel it stronger now. The rabbit was close. Ducking down an ally, he reached behind him and pulled out his gun. The comforting weight of his gun brought an almost peace to him. Or at least a sense of resolution. He could live with that. Or die with it. Either way, it would be over. And if there was a heaven or hell or something on the other side he would get to see his daughter again. Damn the gods, he wished for that above all else.

Making sure his shirt covered his gun tucked into his belt, he quickly started walking. Down Cheyenne he walked. Dust stinging his eyes he continued forward. The area where he was walking was a down trodden blighted area. Industrial construction yards filled with equipment that were begging to rust covered acres of land.The man continued to walk. As another hour passed he began to loose hope. Perhaps he had lost the trail? The feeling he’d had when he started this journey seemed to have deserted him. With that though, he stopped abruptly and gazed wildly about. Sanity seem to hold it’s claim only by the slimmest of threads. That’s when he saw the the sign. In front of an old two story building. Swedish massages, Book keeping and Tax prep. The last line was “Problems? Solutions! EB the Rabbit – Private Detective 702-555-1212. Time seem to slow for him as he started to shake. His hands trembling, he reached for his gun. Holding it down at his side he headed for the building entrance.

The halls were dark marred paneling with a carpet of indeterminate color. He felt his feet dragging as he walked along the hall. At he end of the hall a door sign read “EB the Rabbit – Private Detective”. Pulling his gun up level in his right hand, he reached forward with his left hand to open the door. The door knob turned toward the right clicking as the lock disengaged. Shoving the door open with a bang the man saw that the office was empty. As he looked around, he notice another door.

His vision narrowed and the knob on the door started to turn. Slowly it seemed to turn. He raised his gun trembling and pointed it toward the door. Feeling like he couldn’t hold the gun much longer, he pressed on trigger. The door opening, the shock rang out as the 9mm bullet departed the muzzle of his gun. The door as opened as the bullet crashed into the person coming through.

It wasn’t a rabbit.

Blood dripped down from his chest. He felt so tired. He just wanted to sleep for a while , just a while. As he began to slowly crumple down to the floor, he noticed that there was a girl on the floor. She looked very familiar. She whispers as he fell next to her in the spreading pool of blood on the wooden flood… Dad.

………………..

EB felt the dark omen that morning. He had lived to tell the tale, but Candy didn’t. Neither did her Dad. Jesus, what happened to him? EB holstered his weapon, picked up the phone to call the police and felt a tear roll down his furry rabbit cheek…

The dirty Ethiopian…

The dirty Ethiopian sat in a chair with bloody knife in his hand. He never like to be very far from it. Sometimes it even seemed to speak to him. To tell him things. His head felt buzzy and strange when that happened. But “THE RAGE” was always with him. It never went away. Like the beating of his measly small heart, “THE RAGE” was ever near. When he killed it felt better. It didn’t go away entirely, but seemed satiated at least for a short time. Then the pressure would build again.

Sitting in the kitchenette of a cheap no tell motel on the wrong side of the tracks in Vegas, the dirty Ethiopian picked at his long dirty fingernails, flicking bits of smelly detritus away from him. His pants were sweaty smelling, stained with urine and blood. His once striped shirt was now a dark shadow of itself much like him. There was a lot to dislike about the dirty Ethiopian.

Laying on the floor at his feet, was a bloodied dirty girl. Her hand and feet were bound and a gag tight across her mouth. She trembled in fear, her eye darting, seeking help. The dirty Ethiopian picked her up on a dirty corner in Vegas knowing the cheap tart would come with him easily if he displayed the right amount of cash. Now she lay on the floor, fear in her eyes of whatever this sick bastard was going to do to her. Her eyes kept traveling back to the knife. She tried hard not to look, but it was mesmerizing. A worn shiny steel blade with just a hint of blood worming into the pommel. She knew not to try to cry out as the dirty Ethiopian had used his fists on her the last time she had tried. Her name was Candy and like most young hookers new to the life, she was trying to make a go of it on her own. Only this had gone wrong.

The dirty Ethiopian stood up suddenly. Shoving his knife into a scabbard in the small of his back, he grabbed Candy by the hair and dragged her back into the bedroom. There he tied her to the bedpost and made sure the gag was tight. Gripping her face in his dirty hand he said “I will be back for you”. Candy struggled to pull away as he held her more tightly. “Easy” the dirty Ethiopian said, “I don’t want to waste the fun on you now”. The dirty Ethiopian slapped her face hard and stepping with small effeminate steps, moved away and out the door. Candy breathing hard listened for the sounds of the dirty Ethiopian. Pulling the gag further into her mouth, panic racing in her heart, she chewed hard on the cloth gag. As all cloth does when wet, it began to fray and give. Soon she could push her tongue through a small hole in it. Candy knew that if she was still tied up on this bed when the dirty Ethiopian returned, she would be raped and tortured until dead. Although scared, Candy was tougher than she looked. The gag fraying, she could finally move her jaw enough to slip it off her chin. She immediately began chewing at the thin “rope” the dirty Ethiopian had used to tie her up. It was more like a cheap clothesline cord you could buy in a “five and dime” store. Chewy hard the cord began to fray. Candy pulled hard at it as she chewed.

Suddenly the cord snapped. Candy stretched and reached for the phone that was just within reach. She thought to call the police but knew that they would never believe her and think that this was just another trick gone bad.  As she reached, she knocked the phone book beside it onto the floor. As the phone book hit the floor it fell open. The page had a large Rabbit in black and white print. Startled, she read the caption below it. “Problems? Solutions! EB the Rabbit 702-555-1212. Trembling, Candy dialed with her free hand the number. The phone answered almost at once. “EB speaking” the voice answered. Now feeling even more panicked that the dirty Ethiopian would come back, she blurted out. “Help! I am tied up at a motel with this creep who’s is going kill me. He’ll be back soon… You’ve got to help me” said Candy breathing hard and trying not to cry.  “Stay on the phone doll” said EB, I’ve got your number on my cell tracking and from that the address and am driving toward you now. Candy could hardly hold it back “I’m scared, he’s a horrible stinking monster” she said.

EB kept her on the phone talking to her, drawing her out. “He is short, fat and stinks like a two weeks rotted cottage cheese” she said. EB felt a little up tick with this. “Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?” asked EB. Candy starting to feel less panicked speaking with EB said ” Yes, something about not wanting to spoil all the fun”. Hear that, EB pressed down harder on the accelerator of his big blue Cadillac. He was less than three minutes away and urged the big Cadillac forward even faster. “Hang on” EB said. “I ‘m almost there. If he returns, don’t look at him, speak to him or do anything else to provoke him” said EB. Candy replied “Ok, just get here!!!”

EB screeched into the parking lot of the no tell motel. Leaping from the big Caddy, the engine not even stopped yet, he ran forward. Weapon drawn, EB started to call out her name. Quietly he called out “Candy, where are you? Sing if you can hear me.” Candy belted out “Let the Skyfall… at Skyfall…“. EB kicked in the door weapon tracking left and right searching for Candy. Hearing “We will stand tall and face it all together…” coming from the bedroom, EB found Candy crying.

EB quickly pull “sweety” his 14 inch blade from his leg scabbard, sliced through the ropes and freed her. Leaping toward him with gratitude, she hugged him fiercely. Pulling her back, EB told her to whisper, he could be coming back.

EB and Candy stayed crouched down for a few moments, when EB realized in his haste, the big blue Caddy was right out from telling all the world (or at least Vegas) that EB was haunting this no tell motel. EB chuckled thinking “Oogh” my reputation… EB help Candy to her feet and said “Come with me. This is no place for a lady”. Candy unsteadily walked out the door with EB holding on to her. He seated her in the big blue Cadillac and then sat down in the driver’s seat. EB pulling out of the driveway of the no tell motel asked Candy ” Do you have a place to stay? I’ve got an extra room at my place with a bath. You can clean up there and rest safely”. Candy nodded feeling unsure that she could stop the tears that were starting to flow into her eyes. “Thank you” she said. Taking a puff on his still smoldering cigar, he answered ” What a rabbit to do? Can’t leave a damsel in distress”.

EB winked at her and pressed down the accelerator.

As he went past a gas station a few miles away, the dirty Ethiopian looked up from the body with a fresh pool of the blood growing on the floor around it. Wiping the blood from his knife on his pants and noted Candy riding the deep blue Cadillac and felt “THE RAGE” grow…

Surrounded! Part Duex…

Time slowed as EB’s finger pressed against the trigger. The slide racked back as the bullet escaped the barrel, traveling at 950 feet per second toward his intended victim. The malicious thug was raising his weapon toward EB as the bullet struck his forehead shearing of the top of his head, splattering brain matter against the wall behind him. His head smacked against the wall with a solid crack and slid down the wall.  EB swung his weapon toward another perp as a bullet struck beside him, small pieces of concrete striking his face. EB weapon discharge a three round grouping into the chest of the oversized thug bent on his destruction. The bullets slapping with a meaty sound as the penetrated the thugs chest, breaking through his ribs, pulverizing his lungs, damaging his heart before exiting he back of his chest and into the neck of a shorter walking piece of barely human excrement.

EB could see a malodorous mob of subhuman thugs loping towards him. EB backed up and looked for an exit, while firing another round into the mob. Spying a door, further down the darkened hallway, EB dashed towards it. He ran into the darkness and kicked the door shut. A shotgun rang out striking the door with buckshot as EB fastened the old-fashioned bolt across it. “Thank God for thick oak doors” thought EB.

He pushed back into the room looking for an escape from the mob of thugs the dirty Ethiopian had sent for him. The room appeared to be a workshop of sorts and there wasn’t a window or door in sight. EB ejected the clip from his weapon and slammed home another one. Outside in the hall, the thugs on a hallucinogenic rampage snorted more of the drug the Ethiopian had paid them with. A large man with a rag tied over his head steadily hammered away with his boulder sized fists at the door, screaming obscenities. EB stepped up to the door, placed the barrel of his weapon in the peephole and fired. The bullet exited the peep-hole in the door striking the large man with a rag on his head in his throat. Ripping out his larynx and slicing cleaning through his carotid artery. The bullet then passed through another member of the mob killing him. So out of his mind on dope, he didn’t even realize he was dead as he died.

EB knew that time was running out and he would need a “Deus Ex Machina” soon to get out of this fix. Stay tuned fellow travelers of this dark path, a rabbit this way comes…

EB frantically looked around the room for something he could use. Against one wall was a stack of cinder blocks, some rope, a five gallon can of gasoline and an ancient reloader. EB quickly moved the cinder blocks to make a stacked brick wall  a few feet back from the oak door. He placed the five gallon gasoline container in from of the wall. Sloshing it about, EB determined it was approximately half full. “Perfect” EB thought. He then disassembled the reloader and scraped the leftover gun powder out onto the floor. Making a trail back away from the wall. EB pulled out his knife “sweety” and stabbed it into the gasoline container. “Sorry sweety” EB mumbled as the gas began to dribble out onto the floor and wet the beginning of the gun powder trail.

As EB edged over to the door, he realized that the thug mob was slowing down a bit.  The drugs in their systems were burning out. “Perfect” EB whispered to no one in particular. EB grabbed the bolt on the door, threw it back and fired his weapon in the direction of the thugs. He heard the meaty slap of a bullet wound in progress and ran behind the wall. As the thugs woke up to the fact that the door was open, they ran screaming in the door. As the first thug slammed into the cinder block brick wall bloodying himself, EB lit the gun powder trail with his cigar.

EB closed his eyes as the gun powder flashed down the line blinding the thugs. Then the real fun began. The leaking gasoline contain lit and a pico second later exploded. Three of the thugs were literally blown apart as the one behind them were immolating, screaming and begging for mercy. EB granted the last of the thugs mercy with a 40 cal. sw round. Not that they would have done the same.

As the fire died down, EB slunk past the burned and destroyed husks of former humanity. Not that they were much human. They had lost these traits long ago when they developed their habit and joined into the thug life. No, EB thought, they were just more casualties of the dirty Ethiopian. His nasty evil plans thwarted for the moment, the dirty Ethiopian had long gone away to plan more acts of terror.

As EB walked away out into the daylight, he took a long hit from his cigar, blew out the smoke and wondering why.

Drowning…

EB ‘s head surfaced above the flood water in the tunnel. He didn’t clearly remember falling into the water, but the fact that he was treading water confirmed in it his mind. Darkness surrounded him and the waters swirling current threatened to drag him further down the tunnel. Off in the distance, he could just hear a radio playing Adele’s Skyfall. In the distance and echoing, it seemed ethereal to EB. Pausing to make sure his weapon was still firmly strapped in its holster, EB then started to swim towards the music. In the darkness, he couldn’t determine where else to go. As he began to swim slowly in the dark of the tunnel, his thoughts began to drift.

As his thoughts drifted time seemed to suspend and EB was forever swimming in the darkness. Feeling the heat being stolen from his body,  EB could only continue to push toward the music in the distance. After an indeterminate time of swimming, EB bumped into a railing. Grabbing it like a drunken sailor, EB felt the relief of a gallows reprieve. EB pulled himself along the railing until he felt steps in the dark. The music was louder now.

Let the Skyfall… at Skyfall…

As EB pulled himself up the stairs, he glimpsed a faint light in the distance. He began to feel a bit of hope in his chest. The day wasn’t over yet and he still could still make it out of this alive.

We will stand tall and face it all together…

Pulling his weapon from it holster, EB advanced into the darkness. The pads of his feet made a quiet sound as he made his way through the dark passageway. As EB advanced forward, he realized the song was repeating itself. EB pondered this as he paused for a moment to field strip his weapon, dry and lube it. Pulling the slide back to jack a 40 cal SW round into the chamber, EB felt that familiar and comforting weight in hand. EB pull a stoggie from his watertight rucksack that he had the clear sense to strap to his back. Dry rounds in his weapon, an Arturo Fuentes cigar lit and clamped between his teeth, EB began to advance again once again…

Surrounded!

EB realized the resounding forces of stupidity surround him in that moment. He knew that if he didn’t soon make a move, they would overwhelm him with their sheer weight and mass. Like a lumbering giant of colossal recidivist ignominy moving forward to crush all in it path. He knew he could not stop it. With 12 rounds left in his weapon, his felt his options were somewhat limited.

As a drop of sanguinous sweat fell from his brow onto his lip, He tasted the salt and felt sad…