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Picture Credits:
The rain drizzled down the panes of the ancient windows, eroding some of the soot deposited by the steel mills across the lane. Thunder boomed deafeningly - lightning crackled and sizzled and illuminated the black yawn of the dismal evening. He glared out at the night and wondered how he’d do it. He had to again – it was time.
He opened the bureau drawer and contemplated his assemblage of weapons. Bowie knives, daggers, a kris, switchblades, straight razors, a machete, a Ghurka kukri. He selected a six-inch, Italian stiletto with honey horn handles, flicked open the Damascus dagger blade and ran his finger tip over the well-honed edges. “This one will do nicely,” he said aloud. He folded the knife and slipped it into his jeans.
A Mack hung on a nail by the rickety door to his apartment and he threw it on, along with a rain hat that covered his head and most of his face. Gloves in the pockets he pulled on hurriedly – he was growing more anxious to be about his work. With a quick look about the dump to be sure he had everything, he stepped into the storm.
The rain was inundating the ghetto with slop-water gray sheets and he could barely see the street outside his building. A dim lamp on the corner was blurred by the torrents and hardly afforded any visibility. “No one will be out in this shit,” he muttered. “Maybe I should wait.” But his blood was up now and he simply couldn’t. His pulse was raging in his ears and his loins felt that hot pang that could not be denied. “Got to now!” he hissed.
He caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of one eye and he knew in an instant he had already found prey. And a woman – young. He could tell by her movements and her shape in spite of the fog and the deluge. He could almost smell her blood. His heart lurched in his chest and he touched himself – already rock hard. He quickened his pace in her direction, rubber boots sloshing in the deepening puddles, coat swishing about his body, arms pumping as he hurried towards the quarry.
A block from his miserable hovel, he caught up with her and didn’t hesitate an instant to make small talk or distract her to bring her guard down. As she stepped gingerly to avoid some steaming dog droppings on the side walk, he tackled her and drove her headlong into the adjacent alley way. She struck her head against the rusting dumpster there and screamed out incredibly loud.
“Shut the f*ck up and you won’t die right away, bitch!” he growled in her ear. He clamped one gloved hand over her mouth then and punched her as hard as he could with his right fist. Her eyes were round with fear and astonishment at the sudden and unanticipated violence. While he held her down, he reached and found the knife and snapped it open in front of her face so she could see the wicked steel. With the point of the blade he sliced open her thin nylon coat and ripped up from the bottom of her blouse, buttons flying. Then he cut her bra through the center, nicking the soft flesh and exposing her lush, heaving breasts. He buried his face in them, nipping with his teeth and slavering with his tongue.
“Ahhh, now that’s sweet, sooo sweet, Baby, “ he crooned. “I’m gonna like this. Really like this.”
He unzipped his jeans and freed himself, stroking the burning flesh, gasping at the sensation. “This is for you baby!” he moaned as he reached up her skirt and ripped off the cotton panties between her splayed. legs.
“And this is for you jive-ass!!” said the wino who’d been asleep behind the dumpster as he slammed his quart bottle of Tahitian Pink Ripple against the side of the would-be rapist’s head. “Don’t ever frigging wake me again ass-hole!”
“It’s okay, kid,” said the drunk, scooping up the dropped stiletto. “Get your clothes straight now and get on outta here, sweetie. Me and this shiv are gonna make sure this jamoka don't never hurt nobody else.”
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