Post by Cory W. on Feb 20, 2017 23:18:50 GMT -5
Hoping to have this issue out by next release. Enjoy!
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Roy “Handlebar” Handler watched as flames devoured the Charleston Residence, flames cackling and licking the night’s sky. His men bound the hands and legs of the barely conscious teenage girl they had just abducted with duct tape. They loaded her into the back of a black van, slipped in with her, and shut the doors behind them with a loud thud. One of his other men nodded to him, to which he nodded back, and then got into the driver’s side of the van. As his man started up the van, Roy took a drag on his cigar and grinned.
The satisfaction of a job well-done was short lived. Before the van could even get started down the gravel and dirt road, Handler and his men heard the sound of another vehicle approaching. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the country back roads as a Caldecott County Sheriff’s truck rolled to a sudden stop in front of the Charleston Residence.
Handler exhaled a puff of smoke irritably as the driver exited the vehicle.
“Handler!” Sheriff Fleming barked as he slammed the door to his truck and marched around it toward the group of bikers. The gang’s leader glanced at him coldly. “What in th’ hell is this?”
“Bonfire. Ain’t it romantic?” Handler said dryly.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?!”
“Yeah…” Handler said smugly. “Sped up construction of Caldecott’s newest strip mall.”
Handler’s men broke out into laughter. This only served to incite the sheriff even more.
“You fuckin’ idiot! Ol’ Prissy’s daughter claimed her estate earlier this afternoon!”
“Is that who we put a bullet into just now?” Handler asked, looking at his fellow bikers with mock-concern. He began chuckling obnoxiously. “Uh-oh…”
Sheriff Fleming clenched a fist and jabbed his finger at Handler. “Damnit, this ain’t no joke, man! Do you know what kinda heat this can bring down on you? We’ve already got the goddamn ATF and DEA breathin’ down our necks after what happened in Aberville!”
Handler’s face twisted into rage.
“Hey! You hold your goddamn tongue, Avery!” the gang leader said, stomping towards the sheriff and balling up his own fists. “We don’t pay you t’ cuntsplain the law t’ us. We pay you t’ keep our shit on the down low. So why don’t you unbunch your soakin’ panties an’ get to fuckin’ work! Does that sound like a plan, constable?”
The two men stared each other down for a matter of seconds, the tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife, but Sheriff Fleming broke first. He bit his bottom lip and looked away, taking a deep breath as if to ease his nerves.
“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” Handler remarked, flicking his cigar into Sheriff Fleming’s chest. Fleming flinched but didn’t look back at the biker.
Handler turned around, got back onto his motorcycle, and fired it up. The rest of his gang did the same. He took one last look at Sheriff Fleming, shaking his head and scoffing.
“So what are you, hourly? Get on cleanin’ this shit up, hombre… or we’ll find somebody who will.”
Sheriff Fleming put his hands on his hips and hung his head. Handler revved his motorcycle, sped off of the lawn onto the dirt road, and rode off into the night. Several of the bikers revved their motorcycles before setting off down the dirt road behind him and the black van. The lawman started pacing about the lawn until he couldn’t contain his frustration anymore.
“FUCK!”
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Roy “Handlebar” Handler watched as flames devoured the Charleston Residence, flames cackling and licking the night’s sky. His men bound the hands and legs of the barely conscious teenage girl they had just abducted with duct tape. They loaded her into the back of a black van, slipped in with her, and shut the doors behind them with a loud thud. One of his other men nodded to him, to which he nodded back, and then got into the driver’s side of the van. As his man started up the van, Roy took a drag on his cigar and grinned.
The satisfaction of a job well-done was short lived. Before the van could even get started down the gravel and dirt road, Handler and his men heard the sound of another vehicle approaching. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the country back roads as a Caldecott County Sheriff’s truck rolled to a sudden stop in front of the Charleston Residence.
Handler exhaled a puff of smoke irritably as the driver exited the vehicle.
“Handler!” Sheriff Fleming barked as he slammed the door to his truck and marched around it toward the group of bikers. The gang’s leader glanced at him coldly. “What in th’ hell is this?”
“Bonfire. Ain’t it romantic?” Handler said dryly.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?!”
“Yeah…” Handler said smugly. “Sped up construction of Caldecott’s newest strip mall.”
Handler’s men broke out into laughter. This only served to incite the sheriff even more.
“You fuckin’ idiot! Ol’ Prissy’s daughter claimed her estate earlier this afternoon!”
“Is that who we put a bullet into just now?” Handler asked, looking at his fellow bikers with mock-concern. He began chuckling obnoxiously. “Uh-oh…”
Sheriff Fleming clenched a fist and jabbed his finger at Handler. “Damnit, this ain’t no joke, man! Do you know what kinda heat this can bring down on you? We’ve already got the goddamn ATF and DEA breathin’ down our necks after what happened in Aberville!”
Handler’s face twisted into rage.
“Hey! You hold your goddamn tongue, Avery!” the gang leader said, stomping towards the sheriff and balling up his own fists. “We don’t pay you t’ cuntsplain the law t’ us. We pay you t’ keep our shit on the down low. So why don’t you unbunch your soakin’ panties an’ get to fuckin’ work! Does that sound like a plan, constable?”
The two men stared each other down for a matter of seconds, the tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife, but Sheriff Fleming broke first. He bit his bottom lip and looked away, taking a deep breath as if to ease his nerves.
“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” Handler remarked, flicking his cigar into Sheriff Fleming’s chest. Fleming flinched but didn’t look back at the biker.
Handler turned around, got back onto his motorcycle, and fired it up. The rest of his gang did the same. He took one last look at Sheriff Fleming, shaking his head and scoffing.
“So what are you, hourly? Get on cleanin’ this shit up, hombre… or we’ll find somebody who will.”
Sheriff Fleming put his hands on his hips and hung his head. Handler revved his motorcycle, sped off of the lawn onto the dirt road, and rode off into the night. Several of the bikers revved their motorcycles before setting off down the dirt road behind him and the black van. The lawman started pacing about the lawn until he couldn’t contain his frustration anymore.
“FUCK!”
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