BACK ALLEY JUSTICE!
We waited for the commotion to die down in the streets, then we moved from behind the filthy, stinking dumpster where we had hidden ourselves in case the cops decided to give themselves a tour of the scummier side of the scummy block. I stretched my aching muscles in the glinting gray sunlight cascading between the rotten brick walls of the rundown smog choked tenement buildings. The highway was only a few blocks away, the river across from that, ten lanes of congested blaring traffic rushing to a stand still stood between me and my home, the home I had abandoned for the sake of saving my own life. Luna crawled behind me, climbing to her feet. She was sore all over too, and dirty as a grease monkey's ass rag. It had rained some and we both smelled like poison and choked on our own stench.
She clutched her little black purse close to her pouting belly, her big brown-lidded eyes peering back and forth along the rag scattered alleyway. "Barry, we are no longer safe here," she whispered to me. I barely heard her, but I had learned never to take her prognosticating lightly. After all, she had spent the night reading the lines on my face with her thin wiry fingers while I studied her hot oily flesh from the bottom all the way up. It was good to have a woman's body to hold onto while the world caught fire like blazing hell and burnt down all around me. Damn good. She was warm and thin like soup, but pungent and spicy like some foreign cuisine, or Eastern European soul food.
"Why is that?"
"Because we are not the only ones who have awakened."
"Rats?" I said.
"Worse, much, much worse. Mere vermin do not carry switchblades and pepper spray in their bras and purses. Do not wear stiletto high heels with sharpened nails substituting for the heels, do not fiend for bitter and deadly narcotics, and do not protect their territory with a mindless ferocity born of sheer pain and fear."
"Not mere vermin, eh? So this is a special kind of vermin?" I said over my shoulder.
She pulled her ragged coat over her thin trembling body. Her shoes were broken and left behind the dumpster. She stood barefoot on the ground, which was covered by a sheet of broken glass, withstanding the pain and ignoring the blood as the glass gouged the soles of her callused feet.
"Barry—" She said, moving closer. I felt the heat of her damp body slide close to me. Felt her hot breath against my arm, then her small fingers clutching at my tense biceps, squeezing the flexed muscle.
"I heard ya," I wheeled to see the motley brigade of transvestite hookers marching fast and determinedly in our direction, teeth bared, or toothless, snarling, weapons raised; chipped fingernails, broken bottles, mace, baseball bats, knives and no doubt a Saturday night special or two thrown in just for the noise.
The ugly men dressed as even uglier women were howling like insane banshees. The fully loaded Magnums flew into my fists and began blazing. I was careful with the twelve shells that exploded on impact with the diseased flesh of the barely human stragglers.
Counting the shots off, I made each one count; the first slug pried the face off the closest bearded head and threw the burnt skin into an overflowing garbage can against the alley wall. The sucker dropped flat on his stomach and the others tripped over him as they scrambled forward falling over themselves in a rabid frenzy. The second shot entered the top of another's skull and drove the tangled wig into his brain and he lay down quietly beside his girlfriend, the blood flowing like a burst wine casket. The other monsters were about to halt in their muddy tracks, stilettos broken, ankles buckling, they dropped to their bony knees pleading in chorus for forgiveness.
"Sorry, ladies. This ain't choir practice. There were about ten of them in ripped stockings and leopard print miniskirts, torn lace and silk black, white and pink teddies and bustier. I planted a bullet in one guy's estrogen enhanced chest hairs and burst his bubbles when the slug tore the heart out of his chest and threw it away like a slimy piece of garbage. "You're all dead men!" I shouted and fired into their skulls, dropping them where they knelt on the dirty alley floor.
"Barry!" the gypsy shouted, seizing my arm, but I just raised my other arm higher, took aim and pushed one guy's eyes out the back of his head. Disgusted, I turned my back on the lot of them letting my pistols steam and cool off. Over my shoulder, I heard the pop pop pop of Luna's .38 as she casually walked among those that were left and put them out of their misery.
When I turned back Luna was standing up to the ankles in dirty black blood over the prostrate bodies. Her tattered blood stained coat hung open, smoking .38 dangling from limp fingers at her side. Her dress was slowly vanishing revealing through the worn ragged material the thin curves of her sweat drenched body, the protruding ribs of her undernourished torso, her full upturned breasts glistening perspiration and marble black nipples and the sharp angular pelvis supported by long olive complexioned legs bruised and scraped. Her face set in a bitter scowl, lips pursed, purple eyes aglow with flames of hatred and vengeance.
"Yeh?" I called to her from the other end of the alley. "What crawled up your ass?"
She began a slow march; each step carefully deliberated, over the field of broken glass, her footsteps small bloody tracks leading from the pile of nasty dead bodies. I did not expect to hear a dying moan or a groan out of any of them. We had been wise enough to shoot to kill with every shot. Not one of the freaks would live to tell the tale of the massacre.
She finally got right up under my chin and I glanced down at her, into her burning violet eyes. She looked tired, the bags beneath them cargo-sized, her thick brown lips trembling and bleeding where she had bitten through the skin to withhold the fury contained within her emaciated body. "Yeh," I said before taking her in my arms and squeezing her, lifting her off her feet and holding her like that, pressing her hot body against my pounding chest. I kissed her face hard and bit her lips myself; kissing and biting as she forced her tongue past my cruel lips and sucked my own hot fat tongue into her wet stinking mouth. The bad breath we shared was like a bouquet of roses and we stayed that way for a swirling minute before her sharp fingernails gouged my shoulders and she squirmed and tried to pull away. I wouldn't have that, slamming her against the fragmenting bricks, forcing my body into hers pinning her to the wall as she hung a good two feet off the ground impaled on my manhood.
Her feet kicked but I held her legs immobile, the soles of her feet dripping blood and making a puddle of running filth beneath her.
"Oh, Barry—" she cried. "It is safe now—the Police have left. We can go to my car and get away—but—but—" Tears filled her big dark eyes as I hurt her. I crushed her small fists in mine until her knuckles cracked loudly. I lifted her thighs in my arms and wedged her legs beneath my armpits. I spit in her face, my stinging saliva mingling with her nonstop tears. I bit her lips and cheeks and chin, bit and drew blood and she kissed me wherever she could put her lips, all over my face, my lips, my dusty, matted hair. The sweat poured off my face and into her eyes, blinding her. Hell, she was already blind with lust and rage. The sweat poured out of her body too and we were soaked and stinking, unwashed and smelling of filthy acrid sex.
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