HearseGirl89
Art is in the eye of the beholder.
Chapter 13
Locks on the door began to click and jiggle with the slight twist of a handle at the garage door entry point into the house. The owner cautiously approached the noisy door with a shotgun held in his right hand; taking the left, he flicked the lock. The man jerked the door open as he instinctively brought the barrel of the single action shotgun towards the head of the intruder.
Much to his surprise, he dropped the aim, speaking quietly, “What the fuck are you doing here at this hour? Why didn’t you at least call me, before coming here?”
Though Ice had not been startled at all; he responded, “Well it’s a little hard to call somebody when my phone was confiscated by the hospital.”
The eyes of the Hall Monitor narrowed as his sights locked onto a distinct crimson sports car, before he peered at the boy before him, “Funny excuse, kid. Tell me another.” Rick pushed past Donnie, “Interesting car you brought. Your family owns an automatic. How did you manage to drive a manual transmission?”
Don dodged the question, “I brought you a little gift.”
This would be a successful distraction as Rick drew his attention onto the Porsche, running his palm along the front fender of the car; he paused to peer at his student, “Oh?”
Ice coyly smirked, jingling the keys as he walked to the trunk of the Porsche, before popping the lid up.
Under the trunk lay a man in generic clothes, gagged and bound by the limbs.
“Carl fucking Wright!” Rick chuckled coldly, before going onto another monologue as he stared emptily at the top of the sports car, “I thought I recognized this sixty five Porsche. If you remember right, a year or so ago, Netty had one of her bad episodes in your class. Your teacher called me in to escort her out. I had to call Carl and he came down to get her. He wasn’t happy, because he had to leave work for it. After that, Netty told me that her Mom divorced Carl over it.” His eyes shifted onto the car, “Though, this is just a rip off, an upbadged Volkswagen at best. You know, I would’ve expected something with the sophisticated name of Porsche to not have it’s engine named after pancakes.”
Being tortured by means of physical harm was nothing compared to Rick’s monologuing; as a result, Ice jabbed at Carl’s eye, jostling the man- somewhat awake.
Naturally the movement caught Rick’s attention, “Oop. Looks like we’re running out of time.” Bogarting the position away from Ice, he rested the shotgun against the Porche, before he reeled Carl from the interior of trunk; shuffling the man onto his shoulder. “Grab the shotty, kid.”
Down into the depths of the basement, near the bolted metal pole, beside the stairwell is where Rick had dumped the body onto the cement flooring. Where Rick would promptly pardoned himself, “Excuse me kid, I gotta go change clothes.”
As the adult retreated to the stairs, Ice chuckled quietly in delight. He merely waited until the separating door had closed, before taking a stolen ammonium packet from his pocket.
The moment that the packet was snapped near Carl’s nose; screaming through the gag, he jerked wildly like a writhing fish out of water.
Ice sat back, crossing his legs, speaking quietly, “I’m not going to take that gag off, until you shut the fuck up.”
The teenager waited shortly, before his patience ran out; taking a kitchen knife from his back pocket. His frame shifted to straddling the man, bringing the jagged blade to the man’s ear, “I’m going to fucking blow my shit, shut the fuck up! Okay? Or I’m going to fucking cut your ear off!”
When the man finally quieted down, Ice slowly began to peel the duct tape off of the man’s face.
Yet Carl revealed his pain tolerance, “Owe… owe… my mustache… Pl-Please, just rip it off.”
The teenager paused, leaning in, “What’s that?”
“Just rip it off! Please!” The man begged quietly.
Donnie sat up with a straight face; a thought twisted in his mind as did a malicious grin creep upon his face. “Rip it off?” He shrugged, “Okay. You asked for it.”
The cold clammy hand of the teenager gripped onto the man’s ear, despite the other’s pleading protests; the sawing of the blade began. As blood began to trickle, Carl’s movements became more erratic. Ice mounted the wriggling man, pinching his legs onto the man’s chest and back; the teen gritted his teeth in response, “Hold still, you’re hurting my fucking knee, asshole!”
Screaming erupted from the man’s esophagus; which forced the teenager to switch his tactics, “Dude- I can’t fucking rip it off with you thrashing like a fucking noodle!” Ice awkwardly shuffled his legs up, clasping his knees into Carl’s throat, “Fuck, I feel ridiculous! It’s almost like T-bagging in a video game!” He cackled, slicing the last chunk of ear off. Donnie finally looked over the freed chunk of flesh, before injecting it to his teeth to hold, watching as the crimson life juice flowed heavily, pooling into Carl’s ear drum. Glancing at his own palm, “F-ck. ‘e g-otta do sumptin’ with dat…”
The boy pressed his palm into the side of the man’s head, only to hear the intensified, muffled wails. To the sound of a closing door, Ice immediately stood at attention.
“Jesus Christ!” Rick proclaimed, “What are we holding? A whambulance session?” As his head cleared the ceiling, staring back at the commotion, the man’s eyes widened.
An awkward silence emanated between the two, besides the sobbing victim. However, Ice had taken the chunk of ear out of his mouth to seductively lick at the blood from his palm without breaking eye contact.
Collecting himself, the Hall Monitor cleared his throat as he would continue down the stairs, “Don’t you know that it’s rude to start without the host?”
In response, Donnie shrugged.
Due to the thrashing of the victim, the blood had spilled over; streaking along the front of his face and draining around the neck area, draining to the other side of his head.
Rick merely took a peek at the mess, before the annoyance became apparent in his personality; “You made one hell of a mess, kid.” He would pull handcuffs from his back pocket; tossing the pair of shackles to his student. “I have a lot of questions for you, kid. But I know you’ll come up with some snarky comment, so…” He gestured to Carl, “Cuff him.”
The Hall Monitor crossed his arms in observation.
A few settings of different scenes, postures and decisions set into the young sociopath’s mind. From dealing with small animals, this is most certainly an enormous change, when it considers a grown man in the equation; as he had discovered at Carl Wright’s house. Knowing that he was not nearly grown enough to take on such a sizable, desperate man; Ice was left with the only way that he knew how to deal with the situation. He initiated the plan of action.
Eventually, the squalling of the victim had drawn to silence. Don had utilized his weight and manipulation of gravity against the heftiness of the grown man’s torso; helping him off of the floor.
To the boy’s mass docking onto his lap, hoarseness grew within Carl Wright’s voice, “Why are you doing this to me?”
Ice would lean into the unscathed auditory; whispering, “I am very sorry about your ear. But you see him, right? He has lewd photos of my sister. And if I don’t do what he says, then he will do something very bad to her. He’s a sick fuck, Carl. He would have done the same thing to Nicole. But because she wasn’t as nice looking, he shot her, Carl. He shot her dead. So I’ve been playing along; because I don’t want the same thing to happen to anybody else. If you could just play along, help me and you out of this situation. Please, for Nicole’s sake, Carl.”
Rick would call out for attention, “What’s with the hold up, kid? I would’ve had him cuffed in three seconds.”
A short disperse of the boy’s intentness directed towards the Hall Monitor, before returning his sights upon Carl’s face; beckoning the man, “If you don’t help me out, we’ll both die. Then all of our hard work for catching this fucker will be for nothing.”
“Okay.” The victim finally broke in consent.
By the blade of the jagged steak knife, Ice sawed away the ropes that had bound Carl’s wrists. The teenager then presented the irons with instructions. “Here. Take these. Behind your back.”
Carl lowered his tone, while following the gifted edict, “How do you plan on getting us out of this?”
The fifteen year old shifted aside; revealing to the Pseudo Teacher of their victim’s submission. But before moving away, Ice clicked the shackles, until the metal had bit into the ex-Psychiatrist’s wrists; prompting a yelp from the man.
It was quite unfortunate of a single lie from one to be projected by another. With Carl breaking the silence to interrogate; “Wh-Why do you have photos of Donnie’s sister?”
Unexpected knowledge gained by the Hall Monitor. Rick raised a brow as he would retrieve his phone from the back pocket of his pants, shifting through the data. “You mean these photos?” He smirked as he unveiled the mentioned photos. Now his attention had drawn to his student, “How did you know, kid?”
There was a moment of stillness, before Ice would respond, “It’s written all over your face at school.”
Yet his thoughts ran cold:
Don’t react. Do not fucking react! This sick fuck! What I would give just to be able to scoop his fucking eyeballs out of the sockets with a spoon! I promise, Robin. I will take revenge for the both of us!
With the clapping of the flip phone; the Hall Monitor cackled, “You took that better than I thought, kid. I was afraid that if you ever found my stash, I would have to kill you.” Surely Donnie had to have been one of his better students; almost too good.
However, an unaware Carl had brought malicious attentive upon himself; “Can I have some pain medication? My head is killing me!”
Both teenager and man had slowly fixated their eyes upon the pitiful ex-Psychologist, when he would soon realize his grave mistake. While Ice saw a punching bag with newfound rage, better than any animal in his clutches. Rick had seen his escape goat for another hit of pleasure in causing a different type of pain and to teach his student.
Rick’s eyes eagerly jumped around the room, clearing his throat as he rolled his sleeves up. “I expected you to recognize me. I was practically a security guard for Netty’s school. She was fun while she lasted. So I guess I can do you a favor and get you some medicine.”
It was not until after the Hall Monitor had stepped further into the depths of the basement, when a switch flipped within the boy; leering over Carl, “I lied to you. Rick did not kill Netty. Do you really want to know?” Ice sank to rest on the mount of his own legs, clicking his tongue as he gauged a confused Carl; “Depression and the loss of brain cells, after you zapped your own daughter with that torture device, which you Psychologists just love to use.”
“Okay kiddies, play time is over.” Rick interjected, while shaking a white bottle imprinted with a hand written label; ‘asparinz’.
As the Hall Monitor approached with the bottle in hand and a canteen in the other, the boy had rose to his feet.
Ice smirked with a comment, “Can’t you spell, Rick?”
Rick took a moment to finally shift his attention to the appearance of his student, from head to toe. “Geeze kid, you look like a used cum towel. If there’s one thing that I taught you, it’s self preservation. How about you head up and clean yourself. I seem to have an appointment with the Doctor now, so run along, upstairs.”
Reluctantly, the boy followed orders as his inner monologuing became louder: As much as I hate listening to this moron, I do think a cold shower would do me some good. Yeah… yeah… actually up two sets of stairs and to the left- left again, sets me dead at the bathroom door; all easy, when you have a photographic memory, adamant on revenge.
As the freezing rains set aflame upon his pale skin, recollections of the past had sparked like a flash bang in a closet.
The boy rested under the shady cover, beside the school’s outer brick exterior, eating his daily chips. Until; along came the quarterback bully to derail the day and forcefully put lunch in cold storage.
The brute approached Donnie as his voice snaps like the crack of a whip, “Hey you little pencil necked fuck!!”
Ice quietly tilted his head with a brow raised, before snarking in response, “Oh this lovely bitch.”
Tony swooped his muscular structure down, leaning into the wall as he eyed his plaything, “Aren’t you cold out here? I don’t mean this shade. I’ve seen a cold forecast before... but you’re sub article...”
A smirk grew across the younger boy’s face as he slowly stood to his height. The comical sight of two so lustily poised on the wall; a sub would be pinned against the outer core of the school by a more dominant bully. One whom seen nothing but a dim filter of red, yet rage had not fully grasped the 17 year old’s heart quite yet.
Ice lasciviously licked at his own lips with a cooing cackle, “You’ve been listening to Nicole’s rambling. On and on. I didn’t spend a year making a relationship with her to not know what she calls me. How you treat her.”
With rage bubbling up, Tony raised his fist, yet threw his forearm into the wall with so much as an expressive growl, but withheld his words.
“If you think that I didn’t know about you two, then you do now. But I suppose it doesn’t matter anyways. It’s not like you care. But I do. That’s why I fucked her!”
Only then did the quarterback explode in a seether; seizing the boy by the throat like a hungry lion, roaring his fury, “If you so much as dare look at my Nicole again, I will make you wish that you were never born!!”
Despite the tone, a small smirk grew on Donnie’s face as he muffed with an ejaculatative groan.
Immediately, the bully withdrew in utter disgust, “You’re a fucking sick gay fuck!”
Seriousness took over the younger boy as his throat was repressed, “Thanks. But I’m going to have to turn that title down. You might want to keep a tighter leash on your bitch. The fucking wannabe cop in the hallway is a fucking monster for staring at Nicole like he does.”
Flash forward to the bellowing of curtains, the larger male wrapping his arms firmly around the nude teenager, as he would cup a palm over boy’s mouth. Rick relaxed his chin on the teenager’s tense shoulder, “Mmm, a shame the doctor had to cut your hair. Something about a full head of hair just gets me going in the morning.”
The fifteen year old snatched the Hall Monitor’s wandering hand. To which the man reacted as he released Donnie, “I’m proud that you dropped your submissive state of mind.”
The teenager turned towards Rick, ferociously eying him down, “Keep your fucking cockroach hands off of me! I don’t play beta shit games!”
“Oh don’t be so eager to lie to me! I seen that lustful glint in your eye, when you had Tony groveling at your feet!” Rick chuckled as he collected the boy’s boxers from his back pocket. “Anyways, put these on kid, I’m going to teach you the art in breaking somebody, physically. So you can be a wolf like me!” Although the moment that Ice had reluctantly taken the boxers, Rick leaned down to shut off the water to the shower head, “You should probably put on some extra clothes or go outside naked, because you’re going to catch a cold. I can’t believe you didn’t try the hot water to see if it works. I expected you to not follow orders. Hmm... gives me a great idea...” He cackled in thought.
As the fifteen year old listened to the ramblings of the man, stepping into his boxers; Ice rolled his eyes in response, “Of course I would listen to you. You’ve already shown me what happens to somebody, if they don’t. But I don’t care what happens to me at this point. Though, I do have one last thing to do, before I totally do not give a flying fuck. That detective is onto you. I was planning on taking the fall for it. Because honestly; having my hair completely fucked with by some wannabe, bootlicking, cock sucking doctor just really brought my mood down.”
“Hey!” Rick snapped, seizing Ice by the jaw, “There is nothing wrong with cock suckers!” The male pulled the boy into an enveloping hug, which he then placed a kiss upon the bald side of the teen’s head, “You may be a big boy for your age, but I still find you cute. It makes me excited that you’re willing to throw your life away for me! I feel so blessed to have somebody like you in my life, as weird as you may be! I’ll still take you!”
As the two captors made way into the basement; a critical sight awaited them.
Rick was the first to step off of the stairs, rounding the banister, his voice cooing with a rhetorical smirk, “Carl, I’m back.” Only to soon fade to displeasure at the lack of response from their victim.
There- in the corner, slumped over with arms twisted, legs covered in spew; the ex Psychologist laid lifeless on the floor.
This would seem to completely change the man’s demeanor. Rick became more panicked and outspoken. “Shit! Shit! Carl, you better not fucking die on me!”
As the boy witnessed the psychopath attempting to bring a deceased Carl Wright back to the land of the living; Ice sneeringly commented, “Man, you broke my toy.”
Rick stood up to rush the boy, unleashing a hard clap to the side of the child’s head.
Metal clicks to the electrical buzzing of a garage door opening up to a windowless, dimly lit warehouse full of wooden chests and cardboard boxes.
A yellow jeep only began to reverse in, only for the shabby brakes to screech under pressure. Six people piled out of the wrangler, speaking amongst themselves in their native language. From the sounds of it; they were desperately attempting to figure out what exactly was balled up in the middle of the floor. Possibly arguing whether who had left the mess or how this blob got into a locked facility.
A head scrapes against the cold concrete as the skull of a teenager lifts like a worn lion, growling as he works his body around to somewhat prop himself up.
While veering his eyes away from the sunlight to look upon himself; finding it rather odd that he was covered in dried blood and strapped back in the old restraint jacket. Not that he was complaining mentally; his judgment was clouded and yet somewhat turned on.
“No mamies!”
“Odalay, vato… he’s still alive!”
Voices of shocked Mexicans brought Donnie’s attention up. He easily recognized the voices from last night? Nights ago?
Ice spoke in a raspy voice, “I need… water…”
The apparent leader of this gang of six, heavily tattooed man approached as he projected an intimidating tone towards the boy, “Ey’ foo, looks like someone fucked you up with a coffee pot, ey?”
The boy groaned as he rubbed the side of his head onto his shoulder; digesting a few thoughts.
Though the men returned to their natural language, yet interestingly enough, Ice could understand easily.
The converse rotated and filled in as followed. Three of the main cholos questioned.
The fuck? What fucked up motherfucker would send us this fucked up message? Asked one.
Another had asked whether if it was the Mexican Mafia. As provided by the mentioning of the “y” with a messily sketched snake coiled around it.
When the apparent leader with the tats ordered the two at his side to move Ice, the boy shifted to look for himself, yet found his body to be like a sack of heavy duty chains.
The two had rushed the teenager, each grabbing him by an arm and dragging him back and off of the floor.
A flash of an open field with soft green grass and a beautiful tree full of apples; the leaves rustled as a noodle like shape begun to drop down, before a high pitched whistle broke Ice’s trapped stare at the symbol marked in blood upon the floor.
“Yo fuckin’ deaf?” The tatted up leader snapped, “Who the fuck this from, ey?”
The boy tilted his head as his oculars drooped, “You seen a red Vette? Like nineteen sixty-ish? White fucker in it was wearing a black balaclava? One of you shot me in the leg?”
The cholos exchanged confused and somewhat shocked glances, before the unhappy jefe approached the teenager.
“Um…” A realization hit, before Don blurted out, “You know Rick? Um… Madison?”
With the crack of a switchblade popping open, grazing the 15 year old’s neck, “What’s it to you, ey, Mista T?”
Excusing the gaslighting nickname, Don found himself unconsciously biting on the bottom lip from the point of the blade. But continued with a response, “The wanna be security asshat at my school told me this is the best place to get the stuff.”
The warehouse’s interior had gone silent for a moment, before it suddenly burst with the echoes of humorous howls. Yet the laughter ceased to the dragging sound of a sagging door from an enclosed office space in the furthest corner, away from the garage entrance. A somewhat heavy set Latino walked out with a joint hanging loosely from his lips, clutching onto a news paper roll. He spoke out to the rest, “Ey’ wassup pollos?”
The leader sheathed his blade as the crew quieted, “Ey’ pinche Flaco! Didn’t I fuckin’ tell you not to be smoking our product?”
“Ey, ese! Way you goin’, we no gonna have any to sell!” One spoke with a thicker Hispanic accent.
Two members of the group broke off as Flaco approached with a whiny response, “But Rey… ours is the best…”
Rey, the leader had wrapped a firm arm around Flaco, scratching his knuckles into short man’s head, before seizing the joint for himself, “Well-“ Rey took a drag, holding it for a moment, before stepping away to pass it on, “You lucky that you’re familia. You’d be dead in the desert, where nobody will find you, hermano!”
Ice could not resist to cackle, bringing attention upon himself, which had stolen the leader’s attention, pointing out to the boy, “Ey’ lil brujo, you really want our mota? Lil nino’s like you. Come here. Buy our mierda. A day later- come back whining about our mota. Prove to me- that you actually can handle our shit. And pay us. Or you don’t leave here.” He gestured to the crew with a simple snap, point and a whistle. “No bitch lunging it. Take the hit. Hold. Let it out slow.”
“Ey, Rey, we should take’em to see La Madreoso!” Flaco added with a snort.
Upon that first drag, Ice felt the shift in his temple. The taste of a spicy, woody flavor hit had created a burn into the back of the throat. He suckered onto it for as long as humanly possible. It was a new, highly intoxicating flavor, heating his body from inside the rib cage.
After a moment, the cholos then collected their doobie, passing it around as they snatched the teenager with them for the ride.
With two of the members sticking behind and Flaco joining the crew, the leader took hold on the yellow Jeep’s helm.
The garage door led to an alleyway outside, which bled out onto a side street and drained into the main vein of the city. The landscape had changed dramatically. From the few tall buildings to multiple small storefronts and houses galore; this area seemed to explode with its gargantuan skyscrapers.
Ice sunk into the middle seat, pinched between Flaco and Rey, shifting comfortably in the straitjacket.
Rey was the first to speak on the initial drive, “So Brujo, is your first time, smokin’ mota?” He cackled, “The way your face wrinkled tells me you never had it before.”
Though as the boy attempted a response, Flaco interrupted, “Yo tango… um… I have seen… alotta… um…”
“Pinche Flaco! Fuckin’ cabrone! Let the lil Brujo answer!” One of the men in the back whined, before cracking Flaco in the back of the head with an empty Budweiser can.
Ice couldn’t help himself with so much as a humorous snort, “I’ve never had reefer that strong before.”
“Brujo,” Rey clicked his tongue, “So you mean to tell muah, that you… you’ve smoked some shitty mota. Tried mine. Didn’t even cough once?” His face grew with a serious tone, before bursting with a grin, playfully slapping the teenager’s bundled shoulder, “I like… no I fucking respect the fuck outta you for holding that! Not even adults can hold that up to you, Brujo! You making yourself a name today!”
The fifteen year old’s attention was stolen by Flaco as he watched the man revitalize the ganja.
“Ey’ lil nino, where’d you come from?” One of the men in the rear seat questioned.
Donnie peered back for a moment in silence, “I crawled out of your mom’s chorizo!”
An eruption of guffaws rattled the Jeep.
Rey added into the comment, “Yeah, ‘cause your mommy makes the loco chorizo!”
Another round of laughs held by the men, before the three cholos in the bench seat pulled out instruments and initiated a mariachi serenade. This prompted the leader to cry out, which brought the group to chorus into a more familiar song starring the cockroach.
Time began to float oddly afterwards; they were in the midst of the downtown area, then into a neighborhood of a back alley next to a shabby park.
All of the occupants from the front seat were suddenly out onto the shoulder of street, in line at a food truck.
Rey leaned down, nudging a jacketed Ice, “‘Ey, Brujo, you think you got what it takes to hypnotize?” He cackled, “Watch this shit!”
The three that had stayed behind had struck up the last tune with the announcement of a grito, calling to those around. Ice was surprised to watch those in line for the taco truck, leaving their place for the noisy cholos that stuck by the Jeep.
Yet the leader whistles, slapping Ice upside the head, “You deaf, Brujo? La Madreoso awaits!”
To the young man’s surprise, his attention was caught by the sight of a young Latina standing inside the truck. But when she spoke, the Latina had a perfect American accent, which oddly sounded a little older than she looked.
“So, what’s on the menu today, Remigio?”
Rey nodded to the woman, “Where’s the old lady?”
“She’s not in today.” The woman responded. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to catch her another day.”
“Puta Madre!” Rey cursed, before sighing, “Okay, gimme the uh… one pound of battered chicken and just the normal shit! Oh and um… lingua, not chopped or in a tortilla. Preferably battered. Oh and, uh…” The Jefe eyed the surroundings, before he pulled a long brown case from his pants pocket, opening it up to sliding a green cigar out of it, handing it off to the lady, “Give Madreoso my bestest.”
With a nod, the woman took the cannagar, before giving a delighted smile, “Thank you. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it. I believe you are paid in full sir. Just give it a few minutes; I’ll have your snacks out in a minute. But first, you know that kid is wanted in Galveston, right Remigio? Best not to parade him around like some kind of play thing wrapped up for Carrie’s birthday.”
The man clapped his hands together, scrubbing his palms as he continued stepping backwards, cackling as he opened his arms up, “‘Ey, it’s Houston baby! Piggies are scared of-“ Rey’s words cut as he found himself falling to his back.
The sight of a teenager tethered by the arms leering over the downed cartel leader was one that was not really witnessed, but by the woman that Rey had been addressing.
While Flaco stared blazingly at the clouds, the other three were having a party with the crowd; handing free doobies to those that were lured in, which probably was not the best case scenario to be out in public, flashing their joints so carelessly. But as obvious the crew was being in such a shabby little area, it seemed like the neighborhood watchers could not care less if a bunch of people were just seemingly having a grand time to begin with.
Ice had a puckered expression as he stared down at a shocked Remigio, whom he had just intentionally tripped for the sake of shits and giggles.
“Man, you tripping!” Ice snickered at the Jefe.
Rey lifted the sunglasses from his eyes, resting the shades onto the top of his head. The man’s face furrowed with twisted anger. His lips peeled with a snarl, before his voice snapped, demanding attention; his very tone brought the good vibes to a screeching halt. “You wanna fuck with me, lil’ silver tongued Brujo?”
His daunting frame rose, towering over the snotty fifteen year old. Yet the teen stood unfazed by the man’s glaring, clearly not caring for his own safety.
Rey seized the boy by the mane, forcibly towing the teenager towards the yellow Jeep. With so much as a jerk and a shove, the young man collided into the side of the off-road vehicle.
Onlookers were shocked, hesitant to approach the boy, but too afraid to intervene, even more so confused, when Ice began to laugh.
The Rey briefly stepped away, retrieving the contents of a baggie from the interior the Jeep, then returned to the child. As the jefe latched onto the teen’s neck like a boa constrictor; he swaddled his palm around the mouth of Donnie, dropping in a fist full of paper tablets to be dissolved. He held the child only a minute, before releasing the fidgeting maniac.
“There!” Rey shoved his head down with a proud acclamation, “Now we’ll see who tripping! Won’t we, Brujo?”
Once the leader rushed off to collect the snacks, one of the crew members approached Ice, tugging the kid off of the ground. Another followed as the crowd soon dissipated.
Hushed whispers echoed around the park that afternoon.
Besides the floaty feeling and a charitable piece of excitement for the day, Ice listened closely.
“Ey’ foo’, how much you think he gave him?”
“Odalay’ ese, I’m not sure how much… I never seen’im so upset, but didn’t clock no cabron estupido enough to fuck with’im. He must like dis’lil nino.”
One minute they were at the parking lot. Then the next, Ice took a deep breath in as he lifted his head, the Jeep was speeding down the freeway. Except there were not any musical instruments being strung; the mood had been deadened by the escapade.
His attention drew onto Rey, curiously eying the man, before he felt his shoulder pop.
“Que pasa, guey!” Flaco cackled, slapping Ice on the brim of the shoulder.
As the teen turned his attention to his right, opening his mouth to speak, he suddenly gagged on a soft sponge like material.
Flaco then patted the boy’s shoulder, “don’t worry, ese’.” He flashed a chunk of what appeared to be a rubbery piece of meat in the teenager’s face, “It’s just cow tongue!”
To the brain sending signals; Ice now realized just how famished he really was. He took time to taste at the lingua wedged into his mouth. It was soft and flavorful, even more so, since the dosages were working well within his system. Like a starved shark, he snapped at the other cow tongue, making Flaco jump back.
“AYE!”
An argument begun between the boys in the back had broken out. Two out of one thought it would be a maliciously grandiose idea to light the teen’s mouth on fire by the spicy chicken they were chowing on, after witnessing Flaco’s interaction with the famished child. Until finally, one lurched out of his seat, chicken wing in hand at the ready; when the momentum of the Jeep shifted into a faster pace, throwing the middle man in the back into the seat.
Firm instructions were given in Spanish. The boss man ordered the men to load up. As he brought the shades onto the bridge of his nose, he peered at the boy, reaching to his own backside, “Keep your head down, Brujo. Unless you no want to die.”
It was like a slow motion picture show. Ice turned to see the three scrambling to collect possible weapons from behind the seat. A trumpet lost in the process; another cholo crying for the loss on the highway. Even the voices were deep as they were sluggish. Slightly more difficult to understand the language, but it seemed to be a short held argument.
Colors and shades began flashing, swirling and mixing altogether, brightening and dimming like a bright midnight rave. But from the rear end of the yellow Jeep, a black SUV raced from behind to the side.
It seemed as if the boy’s arm was possessed, fidgeting and tugging, joints began popping and contorting.
Don’s forearm beckoned to his attention, his palm shot out through the baggy neck hole of the straitjacket, as he reached towards Flaco. The chunky Mexican had obviously been taken back by this warlock’s Houdini maneuver. Through his eyes, he saw a snake like snatch at his Glock; the weapon was stolen away from his sweaty grip.
As the waves bounced the vehicle about, Ice took the weapon, his attentive shown towards the port side of the ship.
Just as the passenger windows of the SUV came down and semi automatic rifles came up, the cholos were kissing their butts goodbye as they were heavily outgunned and they knew it.
The teen could see the cannons of this big black ship and at the helm; the captain of it. His arm reaching across with so much as the squeeze of the trigger, the weapon shot off.
He could see a ball of fire ejecting, flying; out to the darker ship, striking the captain and his first mate.
Both the driver and the passenger dropped in a split second, before veering wildly to the left, striking other vehicles ultimately causing a pile up on the highway.
Everything seeped back into motion for the young lad, returning a bit to what would be considered as a normal reality.
Rey now side eyeing the boy with newfound shock, yet found enough courage to take the Glock from the teenager, before tossing it onto the floorboard of Flaco’s side.
Now the colors twisted and twirled, shuttering into a world unknown. Don was standing sober on a desolate, dark and misty highway; his sights searching the depths. Unlike the reality of his situation, he felt completely fine and sober.
Locks on the door began to click and jiggle with the slight twist of a handle at the garage door entry point into the house. The owner cautiously approached the noisy door with a shotgun held in his right hand; taking the left, he flicked the lock. The man jerked the door open as he instinctively brought the barrel of the single action shotgun towards the head of the intruder.
Much to his surprise, he dropped the aim, speaking quietly, “What the fuck are you doing here at this hour? Why didn’t you at least call me, before coming here?”
Though Ice had not been startled at all; he responded, “Well it’s a little hard to call somebody when my phone was confiscated by the hospital.”
The eyes of the Hall Monitor narrowed as his sights locked onto a distinct crimson sports car, before he peered at the boy before him, “Funny excuse, kid. Tell me another.” Rick pushed past Donnie, “Interesting car you brought. Your family owns an automatic. How did you manage to drive a manual transmission?”
Don dodged the question, “I brought you a little gift.”
This would be a successful distraction as Rick drew his attention onto the Porsche, running his palm along the front fender of the car; he paused to peer at his student, “Oh?”
Ice coyly smirked, jingling the keys as he walked to the trunk of the Porsche, before popping the lid up.
Under the trunk lay a man in generic clothes, gagged and bound by the limbs.
“Carl fucking Wright!” Rick chuckled coldly, before going onto another monologue as he stared emptily at the top of the sports car, “I thought I recognized this sixty five Porsche. If you remember right, a year or so ago, Netty had one of her bad episodes in your class. Your teacher called me in to escort her out. I had to call Carl and he came down to get her. He wasn’t happy, because he had to leave work for it. After that, Netty told me that her Mom divorced Carl over it.” His eyes shifted onto the car, “Though, this is just a rip off, an upbadged Volkswagen at best. You know, I would’ve expected something with the sophisticated name of Porsche to not have it’s engine named after pancakes.”
Being tortured by means of physical harm was nothing compared to Rick’s monologuing; as a result, Ice jabbed at Carl’s eye, jostling the man- somewhat awake.
Naturally the movement caught Rick’s attention, “Oop. Looks like we’re running out of time.” Bogarting the position away from Ice, he rested the shotgun against the Porche, before he reeled Carl from the interior of trunk; shuffling the man onto his shoulder. “Grab the shotty, kid.”
Down into the depths of the basement, near the bolted metal pole, beside the stairwell is where Rick had dumped the body onto the cement flooring. Where Rick would promptly pardoned himself, “Excuse me kid, I gotta go change clothes.”
As the adult retreated to the stairs, Ice chuckled quietly in delight. He merely waited until the separating door had closed, before taking a stolen ammonium packet from his pocket.
The moment that the packet was snapped near Carl’s nose; screaming through the gag, he jerked wildly like a writhing fish out of water.
Ice sat back, crossing his legs, speaking quietly, “I’m not going to take that gag off, until you shut the fuck up.”
The teenager waited shortly, before his patience ran out; taking a kitchen knife from his back pocket. His frame shifted to straddling the man, bringing the jagged blade to the man’s ear, “I’m going to fucking blow my shit, shut the fuck up! Okay? Or I’m going to fucking cut your ear off!”
When the man finally quieted down, Ice slowly began to peel the duct tape off of the man’s face.
Yet Carl revealed his pain tolerance, “Owe… owe… my mustache… Pl-Please, just rip it off.”
The teenager paused, leaning in, “What’s that?”
“Just rip it off! Please!” The man begged quietly.
Donnie sat up with a straight face; a thought twisted in his mind as did a malicious grin creep upon his face. “Rip it off?” He shrugged, “Okay. You asked for it.”
The cold clammy hand of the teenager gripped onto the man’s ear, despite the other’s pleading protests; the sawing of the blade began. As blood began to trickle, Carl’s movements became more erratic. Ice mounted the wriggling man, pinching his legs onto the man’s chest and back; the teen gritted his teeth in response, “Hold still, you’re hurting my fucking knee, asshole!”
Screaming erupted from the man’s esophagus; which forced the teenager to switch his tactics, “Dude- I can’t fucking rip it off with you thrashing like a fucking noodle!” Ice awkwardly shuffled his legs up, clasping his knees into Carl’s throat, “Fuck, I feel ridiculous! It’s almost like T-bagging in a video game!” He cackled, slicing the last chunk of ear off. Donnie finally looked over the freed chunk of flesh, before injecting it to his teeth to hold, watching as the crimson life juice flowed heavily, pooling into Carl’s ear drum. Glancing at his own palm, “F-ck. ‘e g-otta do sumptin’ with dat…”
The boy pressed his palm into the side of the man’s head, only to hear the intensified, muffled wails. To the sound of a closing door, Ice immediately stood at attention.
“Jesus Christ!” Rick proclaimed, “What are we holding? A whambulance session?” As his head cleared the ceiling, staring back at the commotion, the man’s eyes widened.
An awkward silence emanated between the two, besides the sobbing victim. However, Ice had taken the chunk of ear out of his mouth to seductively lick at the blood from his palm without breaking eye contact.
Collecting himself, the Hall Monitor cleared his throat as he would continue down the stairs, “Don’t you know that it’s rude to start without the host?”
In response, Donnie shrugged.
Due to the thrashing of the victim, the blood had spilled over; streaking along the front of his face and draining around the neck area, draining to the other side of his head.
Rick merely took a peek at the mess, before the annoyance became apparent in his personality; “You made one hell of a mess, kid.” He would pull handcuffs from his back pocket; tossing the pair of shackles to his student. “I have a lot of questions for you, kid. But I know you’ll come up with some snarky comment, so…” He gestured to Carl, “Cuff him.”
The Hall Monitor crossed his arms in observation.
A few settings of different scenes, postures and decisions set into the young sociopath’s mind. From dealing with small animals, this is most certainly an enormous change, when it considers a grown man in the equation; as he had discovered at Carl Wright’s house. Knowing that he was not nearly grown enough to take on such a sizable, desperate man; Ice was left with the only way that he knew how to deal with the situation. He initiated the plan of action.
Eventually, the squalling of the victim had drawn to silence. Don had utilized his weight and manipulation of gravity against the heftiness of the grown man’s torso; helping him off of the floor.
To the boy’s mass docking onto his lap, hoarseness grew within Carl Wright’s voice, “Why are you doing this to me?”
Ice would lean into the unscathed auditory; whispering, “I am very sorry about your ear. But you see him, right? He has lewd photos of my sister. And if I don’t do what he says, then he will do something very bad to her. He’s a sick fuck, Carl. He would have done the same thing to Nicole. But because she wasn’t as nice looking, he shot her, Carl. He shot her dead. So I’ve been playing along; because I don’t want the same thing to happen to anybody else. If you could just play along, help me and you out of this situation. Please, for Nicole’s sake, Carl.”
Rick would call out for attention, “What’s with the hold up, kid? I would’ve had him cuffed in three seconds.”
A short disperse of the boy’s intentness directed towards the Hall Monitor, before returning his sights upon Carl’s face; beckoning the man, “If you don’t help me out, we’ll both die. Then all of our hard work for catching this fucker will be for nothing.”
“Okay.” The victim finally broke in consent.
By the blade of the jagged steak knife, Ice sawed away the ropes that had bound Carl’s wrists. The teenager then presented the irons with instructions. “Here. Take these. Behind your back.”
Carl lowered his tone, while following the gifted edict, “How do you plan on getting us out of this?”
The fifteen year old shifted aside; revealing to the Pseudo Teacher of their victim’s submission. But before moving away, Ice clicked the shackles, until the metal had bit into the ex-Psychiatrist’s wrists; prompting a yelp from the man.
It was quite unfortunate of a single lie from one to be projected by another. With Carl breaking the silence to interrogate; “Wh-Why do you have photos of Donnie’s sister?”
Unexpected knowledge gained by the Hall Monitor. Rick raised a brow as he would retrieve his phone from the back pocket of his pants, shifting through the data. “You mean these photos?” He smirked as he unveiled the mentioned photos. Now his attention had drawn to his student, “How did you know, kid?”
There was a moment of stillness, before Ice would respond, “It’s written all over your face at school.”
Yet his thoughts ran cold:
Don’t react. Do not fucking react! This sick fuck! What I would give just to be able to scoop his fucking eyeballs out of the sockets with a spoon! I promise, Robin. I will take revenge for the both of us!
With the clapping of the flip phone; the Hall Monitor cackled, “You took that better than I thought, kid. I was afraid that if you ever found my stash, I would have to kill you.” Surely Donnie had to have been one of his better students; almost too good.
However, an unaware Carl had brought malicious attentive upon himself; “Can I have some pain medication? My head is killing me!”
Both teenager and man had slowly fixated their eyes upon the pitiful ex-Psychologist, when he would soon realize his grave mistake. While Ice saw a punching bag with newfound rage, better than any animal in his clutches. Rick had seen his escape goat for another hit of pleasure in causing a different type of pain and to teach his student.
Rick’s eyes eagerly jumped around the room, clearing his throat as he rolled his sleeves up. “I expected you to recognize me. I was practically a security guard for Netty’s school. She was fun while she lasted. So I guess I can do you a favor and get you some medicine.”
It was not until after the Hall Monitor had stepped further into the depths of the basement, when a switch flipped within the boy; leering over Carl, “I lied to you. Rick did not kill Netty. Do you really want to know?” Ice sank to rest on the mount of his own legs, clicking his tongue as he gauged a confused Carl; “Depression and the loss of brain cells, after you zapped your own daughter with that torture device, which you Psychologists just love to use.”
“Okay kiddies, play time is over.” Rick interjected, while shaking a white bottle imprinted with a hand written label; ‘asparinz’.
As the Hall Monitor approached with the bottle in hand and a canteen in the other, the boy had rose to his feet.
Ice smirked with a comment, “Can’t you spell, Rick?”
Rick took a moment to finally shift his attention to the appearance of his student, from head to toe. “Geeze kid, you look like a used cum towel. If there’s one thing that I taught you, it’s self preservation. How about you head up and clean yourself. I seem to have an appointment with the Doctor now, so run along, upstairs.”
Reluctantly, the boy followed orders as his inner monologuing became louder: As much as I hate listening to this moron, I do think a cold shower would do me some good. Yeah… yeah… actually up two sets of stairs and to the left- left again, sets me dead at the bathroom door; all easy, when you have a photographic memory, adamant on revenge.
As the freezing rains set aflame upon his pale skin, recollections of the past had sparked like a flash bang in a closet.
The boy rested under the shady cover, beside the school’s outer brick exterior, eating his daily chips. Until; along came the quarterback bully to derail the day and forcefully put lunch in cold storage.
The brute approached Donnie as his voice snaps like the crack of a whip, “Hey you little pencil necked fuck!!”
Ice quietly tilted his head with a brow raised, before snarking in response, “Oh this lovely bitch.”
Tony swooped his muscular structure down, leaning into the wall as he eyed his plaything, “Aren’t you cold out here? I don’t mean this shade. I’ve seen a cold forecast before... but you’re sub article...”
A smirk grew across the younger boy’s face as he slowly stood to his height. The comical sight of two so lustily poised on the wall; a sub would be pinned against the outer core of the school by a more dominant bully. One whom seen nothing but a dim filter of red, yet rage had not fully grasped the 17 year old’s heart quite yet.
Ice lasciviously licked at his own lips with a cooing cackle, “You’ve been listening to Nicole’s rambling. On and on. I didn’t spend a year making a relationship with her to not know what she calls me. How you treat her.”
With rage bubbling up, Tony raised his fist, yet threw his forearm into the wall with so much as an expressive growl, but withheld his words.
“If you think that I didn’t know about you two, then you do now. But I suppose it doesn’t matter anyways. It’s not like you care. But I do. That’s why I fucked her!”
Only then did the quarterback explode in a seether; seizing the boy by the throat like a hungry lion, roaring his fury, “If you so much as dare look at my Nicole again, I will make you wish that you were never born!!”
Despite the tone, a small smirk grew on Donnie’s face as he muffed with an ejaculatative groan.
Immediately, the bully withdrew in utter disgust, “You’re a fucking sick gay fuck!”
Seriousness took over the younger boy as his throat was repressed, “Thanks. But I’m going to have to turn that title down. You might want to keep a tighter leash on your bitch. The fucking wannabe cop in the hallway is a fucking monster for staring at Nicole like he does.”
Flash forward to the bellowing of curtains, the larger male wrapping his arms firmly around the nude teenager, as he would cup a palm over boy’s mouth. Rick relaxed his chin on the teenager’s tense shoulder, “Mmm, a shame the doctor had to cut your hair. Something about a full head of hair just gets me going in the morning.”
The fifteen year old snatched the Hall Monitor’s wandering hand. To which the man reacted as he released Donnie, “I’m proud that you dropped your submissive state of mind.”
The teenager turned towards Rick, ferociously eying him down, “Keep your fucking cockroach hands off of me! I don’t play beta shit games!”
“Oh don’t be so eager to lie to me! I seen that lustful glint in your eye, when you had Tony groveling at your feet!” Rick chuckled as he collected the boy’s boxers from his back pocket. “Anyways, put these on kid, I’m going to teach you the art in breaking somebody, physically. So you can be a wolf like me!” Although the moment that Ice had reluctantly taken the boxers, Rick leaned down to shut off the water to the shower head, “You should probably put on some extra clothes or go outside naked, because you’re going to catch a cold. I can’t believe you didn’t try the hot water to see if it works. I expected you to not follow orders. Hmm... gives me a great idea...” He cackled in thought.
As the fifteen year old listened to the ramblings of the man, stepping into his boxers; Ice rolled his eyes in response, “Of course I would listen to you. You’ve already shown me what happens to somebody, if they don’t. But I don’t care what happens to me at this point. Though, I do have one last thing to do, before I totally do not give a flying fuck. That detective is onto you. I was planning on taking the fall for it. Because honestly; having my hair completely fucked with by some wannabe, bootlicking, cock sucking doctor just really brought my mood down.”
“Hey!” Rick snapped, seizing Ice by the jaw, “There is nothing wrong with cock suckers!” The male pulled the boy into an enveloping hug, which he then placed a kiss upon the bald side of the teen’s head, “You may be a big boy for your age, but I still find you cute. It makes me excited that you’re willing to throw your life away for me! I feel so blessed to have somebody like you in my life, as weird as you may be! I’ll still take you!”
As the two captors made way into the basement; a critical sight awaited them.
Rick was the first to step off of the stairs, rounding the banister, his voice cooing with a rhetorical smirk, “Carl, I’m back.” Only to soon fade to displeasure at the lack of response from their victim.
There- in the corner, slumped over with arms twisted, legs covered in spew; the ex Psychologist laid lifeless on the floor.
This would seem to completely change the man’s demeanor. Rick became more panicked and outspoken. “Shit! Shit! Carl, you better not fucking die on me!”
As the boy witnessed the psychopath attempting to bring a deceased Carl Wright back to the land of the living; Ice sneeringly commented, “Man, you broke my toy.”
Rick stood up to rush the boy, unleashing a hard clap to the side of the child’s head.
Metal clicks to the electrical buzzing of a garage door opening up to a windowless, dimly lit warehouse full of wooden chests and cardboard boxes.
A yellow jeep only began to reverse in, only for the shabby brakes to screech under pressure. Six people piled out of the wrangler, speaking amongst themselves in their native language. From the sounds of it; they were desperately attempting to figure out what exactly was balled up in the middle of the floor. Possibly arguing whether who had left the mess or how this blob got into a locked facility.
A head scrapes against the cold concrete as the skull of a teenager lifts like a worn lion, growling as he works his body around to somewhat prop himself up.
While veering his eyes away from the sunlight to look upon himself; finding it rather odd that he was covered in dried blood and strapped back in the old restraint jacket. Not that he was complaining mentally; his judgment was clouded and yet somewhat turned on.
“No mamies!”
“Odalay, vato… he’s still alive!”
Voices of shocked Mexicans brought Donnie’s attention up. He easily recognized the voices from last night? Nights ago?
Ice spoke in a raspy voice, “I need… water…”
The apparent leader of this gang of six, heavily tattooed man approached as he projected an intimidating tone towards the boy, “Ey’ foo, looks like someone fucked you up with a coffee pot, ey?”
The boy groaned as he rubbed the side of his head onto his shoulder; digesting a few thoughts.
Though the men returned to their natural language, yet interestingly enough, Ice could understand easily.
The converse rotated and filled in as followed. Three of the main cholos questioned.
The fuck? What fucked up motherfucker would send us this fucked up message? Asked one.
Another had asked whether if it was the Mexican Mafia. As provided by the mentioning of the “y” with a messily sketched snake coiled around it.
When the apparent leader with the tats ordered the two at his side to move Ice, the boy shifted to look for himself, yet found his body to be like a sack of heavy duty chains.
The two had rushed the teenager, each grabbing him by an arm and dragging him back and off of the floor.
A flash of an open field with soft green grass and a beautiful tree full of apples; the leaves rustled as a noodle like shape begun to drop down, before a high pitched whistle broke Ice’s trapped stare at the symbol marked in blood upon the floor.
“Yo fuckin’ deaf?” The tatted up leader snapped, “Who the fuck this from, ey?”
The boy tilted his head as his oculars drooped, “You seen a red Vette? Like nineteen sixty-ish? White fucker in it was wearing a black balaclava? One of you shot me in the leg?”
The cholos exchanged confused and somewhat shocked glances, before the unhappy jefe approached the teenager.
“Um…” A realization hit, before Don blurted out, “You know Rick? Um… Madison?”
With the crack of a switchblade popping open, grazing the 15 year old’s neck, “What’s it to you, ey, Mista T?”
Excusing the gaslighting nickname, Don found himself unconsciously biting on the bottom lip from the point of the blade. But continued with a response, “The wanna be security asshat at my school told me this is the best place to get the stuff.”
The warehouse’s interior had gone silent for a moment, before it suddenly burst with the echoes of humorous howls. Yet the laughter ceased to the dragging sound of a sagging door from an enclosed office space in the furthest corner, away from the garage entrance. A somewhat heavy set Latino walked out with a joint hanging loosely from his lips, clutching onto a news paper roll. He spoke out to the rest, “Ey’ wassup pollos?”
The leader sheathed his blade as the crew quieted, “Ey’ pinche Flaco! Didn’t I fuckin’ tell you not to be smoking our product?”
“Ey, ese! Way you goin’, we no gonna have any to sell!” One spoke with a thicker Hispanic accent.
Two members of the group broke off as Flaco approached with a whiny response, “But Rey… ours is the best…”
Rey, the leader had wrapped a firm arm around Flaco, scratching his knuckles into short man’s head, before seizing the joint for himself, “Well-“ Rey took a drag, holding it for a moment, before stepping away to pass it on, “You lucky that you’re familia. You’d be dead in the desert, where nobody will find you, hermano!”
Ice could not resist to cackle, bringing attention upon himself, which had stolen the leader’s attention, pointing out to the boy, “Ey’ lil brujo, you really want our mota? Lil nino’s like you. Come here. Buy our mierda. A day later- come back whining about our mota. Prove to me- that you actually can handle our shit. And pay us. Or you don’t leave here.” He gestured to the crew with a simple snap, point and a whistle. “No bitch lunging it. Take the hit. Hold. Let it out slow.”
“Ey, Rey, we should take’em to see La Madreoso!” Flaco added with a snort.
Upon that first drag, Ice felt the shift in his temple. The taste of a spicy, woody flavor hit had created a burn into the back of the throat. He suckered onto it for as long as humanly possible. It was a new, highly intoxicating flavor, heating his body from inside the rib cage.
After a moment, the cholos then collected their doobie, passing it around as they snatched the teenager with them for the ride.
With two of the members sticking behind and Flaco joining the crew, the leader took hold on the yellow Jeep’s helm.
The garage door led to an alleyway outside, which bled out onto a side street and drained into the main vein of the city. The landscape had changed dramatically. From the few tall buildings to multiple small storefronts and houses galore; this area seemed to explode with its gargantuan skyscrapers.
Ice sunk into the middle seat, pinched between Flaco and Rey, shifting comfortably in the straitjacket.
Rey was the first to speak on the initial drive, “So Brujo, is your first time, smokin’ mota?” He cackled, “The way your face wrinkled tells me you never had it before.”
Though as the boy attempted a response, Flaco interrupted, “Yo tango… um… I have seen… alotta… um…”
“Pinche Flaco! Fuckin’ cabrone! Let the lil Brujo answer!” One of the men in the back whined, before cracking Flaco in the back of the head with an empty Budweiser can.
Ice couldn’t help himself with so much as a humorous snort, “I’ve never had reefer that strong before.”
“Brujo,” Rey clicked his tongue, “So you mean to tell muah, that you… you’ve smoked some shitty mota. Tried mine. Didn’t even cough once?” His face grew with a serious tone, before bursting with a grin, playfully slapping the teenager’s bundled shoulder, “I like… no I fucking respect the fuck outta you for holding that! Not even adults can hold that up to you, Brujo! You making yourself a name today!”
The fifteen year old’s attention was stolen by Flaco as he watched the man revitalize the ganja.
“Ey’ lil nino, where’d you come from?” One of the men in the rear seat questioned.
Donnie peered back for a moment in silence, “I crawled out of your mom’s chorizo!”
An eruption of guffaws rattled the Jeep.
Rey added into the comment, “Yeah, ‘cause your mommy makes the loco chorizo!”
Another round of laughs held by the men, before the three cholos in the bench seat pulled out instruments and initiated a mariachi serenade. This prompted the leader to cry out, which brought the group to chorus into a more familiar song starring the cockroach.
Time began to float oddly afterwards; they were in the midst of the downtown area, then into a neighborhood of a back alley next to a shabby park.
All of the occupants from the front seat were suddenly out onto the shoulder of street, in line at a food truck.
Rey leaned down, nudging a jacketed Ice, “‘Ey, Brujo, you think you got what it takes to hypnotize?” He cackled, “Watch this shit!”
The three that had stayed behind had struck up the last tune with the announcement of a grito, calling to those around. Ice was surprised to watch those in line for the taco truck, leaving their place for the noisy cholos that stuck by the Jeep.
Yet the leader whistles, slapping Ice upside the head, “You deaf, Brujo? La Madreoso awaits!”
To the young man’s surprise, his attention was caught by the sight of a young Latina standing inside the truck. But when she spoke, the Latina had a perfect American accent, which oddly sounded a little older than she looked.
“So, what’s on the menu today, Remigio?”
Rey nodded to the woman, “Where’s the old lady?”
“She’s not in today.” The woman responded. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to catch her another day.”
“Puta Madre!” Rey cursed, before sighing, “Okay, gimme the uh… one pound of battered chicken and just the normal shit! Oh and um… lingua, not chopped or in a tortilla. Preferably battered. Oh and, uh…” The Jefe eyed the surroundings, before he pulled a long brown case from his pants pocket, opening it up to sliding a green cigar out of it, handing it off to the lady, “Give Madreoso my bestest.”
With a nod, the woman took the cannagar, before giving a delighted smile, “Thank you. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it. I believe you are paid in full sir. Just give it a few minutes; I’ll have your snacks out in a minute. But first, you know that kid is wanted in Galveston, right Remigio? Best not to parade him around like some kind of play thing wrapped up for Carrie’s birthday.”
The man clapped his hands together, scrubbing his palms as he continued stepping backwards, cackling as he opened his arms up, “‘Ey, it’s Houston baby! Piggies are scared of-“ Rey’s words cut as he found himself falling to his back.
The sight of a teenager tethered by the arms leering over the downed cartel leader was one that was not really witnessed, but by the woman that Rey had been addressing.
While Flaco stared blazingly at the clouds, the other three were having a party with the crowd; handing free doobies to those that were lured in, which probably was not the best case scenario to be out in public, flashing their joints so carelessly. But as obvious the crew was being in such a shabby little area, it seemed like the neighborhood watchers could not care less if a bunch of people were just seemingly having a grand time to begin with.
Ice had a puckered expression as he stared down at a shocked Remigio, whom he had just intentionally tripped for the sake of shits and giggles.
“Man, you tripping!” Ice snickered at the Jefe.
Rey lifted the sunglasses from his eyes, resting the shades onto the top of his head. The man’s face furrowed with twisted anger. His lips peeled with a snarl, before his voice snapped, demanding attention; his very tone brought the good vibes to a screeching halt. “You wanna fuck with me, lil’ silver tongued Brujo?”
His daunting frame rose, towering over the snotty fifteen year old. Yet the teen stood unfazed by the man’s glaring, clearly not caring for his own safety.
Rey seized the boy by the mane, forcibly towing the teenager towards the yellow Jeep. With so much as a jerk and a shove, the young man collided into the side of the off-road vehicle.
Onlookers were shocked, hesitant to approach the boy, but too afraid to intervene, even more so confused, when Ice began to laugh.
The Rey briefly stepped away, retrieving the contents of a baggie from the interior the Jeep, then returned to the child. As the jefe latched onto the teen’s neck like a boa constrictor; he swaddled his palm around the mouth of Donnie, dropping in a fist full of paper tablets to be dissolved. He held the child only a minute, before releasing the fidgeting maniac.
“There!” Rey shoved his head down with a proud acclamation, “Now we’ll see who tripping! Won’t we, Brujo?”
Once the leader rushed off to collect the snacks, one of the crew members approached Ice, tugging the kid off of the ground. Another followed as the crowd soon dissipated.
Hushed whispers echoed around the park that afternoon.
Besides the floaty feeling and a charitable piece of excitement for the day, Ice listened closely.
“Ey’ foo’, how much you think he gave him?”
“Odalay’ ese, I’m not sure how much… I never seen’im so upset, but didn’t clock no cabron estupido enough to fuck with’im. He must like dis’lil nino.”
One minute they were at the parking lot. Then the next, Ice took a deep breath in as he lifted his head, the Jeep was speeding down the freeway. Except there were not any musical instruments being strung; the mood had been deadened by the escapade.
His attention drew onto Rey, curiously eying the man, before he felt his shoulder pop.
“Que pasa, guey!” Flaco cackled, slapping Ice on the brim of the shoulder.
As the teen turned his attention to his right, opening his mouth to speak, he suddenly gagged on a soft sponge like material.
Flaco then patted the boy’s shoulder, “don’t worry, ese’.” He flashed a chunk of what appeared to be a rubbery piece of meat in the teenager’s face, “It’s just cow tongue!”
To the brain sending signals; Ice now realized just how famished he really was. He took time to taste at the lingua wedged into his mouth. It was soft and flavorful, even more so, since the dosages were working well within his system. Like a starved shark, he snapped at the other cow tongue, making Flaco jump back.
“AYE!”
An argument begun between the boys in the back had broken out. Two out of one thought it would be a maliciously grandiose idea to light the teen’s mouth on fire by the spicy chicken they were chowing on, after witnessing Flaco’s interaction with the famished child. Until finally, one lurched out of his seat, chicken wing in hand at the ready; when the momentum of the Jeep shifted into a faster pace, throwing the middle man in the back into the seat.
Firm instructions were given in Spanish. The boss man ordered the men to load up. As he brought the shades onto the bridge of his nose, he peered at the boy, reaching to his own backside, “Keep your head down, Brujo. Unless you no want to die.”
It was like a slow motion picture show. Ice turned to see the three scrambling to collect possible weapons from behind the seat. A trumpet lost in the process; another cholo crying for the loss on the highway. Even the voices were deep as they were sluggish. Slightly more difficult to understand the language, but it seemed to be a short held argument.
Colors and shades began flashing, swirling and mixing altogether, brightening and dimming like a bright midnight rave. But from the rear end of the yellow Jeep, a black SUV raced from behind to the side.
It seemed as if the boy’s arm was possessed, fidgeting and tugging, joints began popping and contorting.
Don’s forearm beckoned to his attention, his palm shot out through the baggy neck hole of the straitjacket, as he reached towards Flaco. The chunky Mexican had obviously been taken back by this warlock’s Houdini maneuver. Through his eyes, he saw a snake like snatch at his Glock; the weapon was stolen away from his sweaty grip.
As the waves bounced the vehicle about, Ice took the weapon, his attentive shown towards the port side of the ship.
Just as the passenger windows of the SUV came down and semi automatic rifles came up, the cholos were kissing their butts goodbye as they were heavily outgunned and they knew it.
The teen could see the cannons of this big black ship and at the helm; the captain of it. His arm reaching across with so much as the squeeze of the trigger, the weapon shot off.
He could see a ball of fire ejecting, flying; out to the darker ship, striking the captain and his first mate.
Both the driver and the passenger dropped in a split second, before veering wildly to the left, striking other vehicles ultimately causing a pile up on the highway.
Everything seeped back into motion for the young lad, returning a bit to what would be considered as a normal reality.
Rey now side eyeing the boy with newfound shock, yet found enough courage to take the Glock from the teenager, before tossing it onto the floorboard of Flaco’s side.
Now the colors twisted and twirled, shuttering into a world unknown. Don was standing sober on a desolate, dark and misty highway; his sights searching the depths. Unlike the reality of his situation, he felt completely fine and sober.
