JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps Read Online Free

something, mister macho-fucking gangster,” Daryl whispered, still training the gun on Rudy's face. “I think you know why we're here tonight.
    I think you very well know why because you're behaving like a guilty man, señor . A very guilty man."
    This seemed to snap Rudy out of his self-incriminating behavior. “But I didn't do anything, man! What the hell—"
    “Didn't do anything, huh?” Daryl glanced up at Steve who was standing behind the gangsters with his piece trained on them. “Steve, why don't you tell these two young worthless pieces of shit what brought us into their pathetic lives today."
    “Forty minutes ago there was a drive-by shooting off Lancaster Drive and Alameda,” Steve said, his voice a monotone, as if he had recited similar crime statistics before. “Two suspects with descriptions matching yours drove by in an old Camaro and fired at a group of kids playing in the front yard of a house. One of the shots went through the window of one of the houses and killed a five-year old girl instantly. None of the targets of the shooting were hit.” He smiled sickly. “None of the targets were even gang members."
    “Yeah...” Rudy exclaimed. Daryl could almost imagine what the gang member was about to say before Rudy thought wisely and shut his trap. Yeah, so fucking what?
    Instead his voice trailed off and he lapsed into silence.
    “Yeah,” Daryl resumed, picking up where Steve left off. “Strange that none of the targets were gang members. We know that area is not your territory, it's Tortilla Flats turf, but we found it ironic that the border to your territory is only six blocks away. And we found it an odd coincidence that witness descriptions of both the cowards that committed this act, and the vehicle they were in, match you and your friend to a T."
    Now Rudy looked nervous. He glanced quickly at Frankie, who was looking like he was going to pass out. Rudy licked his lips and tried to weasel out of it again. “Listen, man, it wasn't me. My brother had my car tonight. He and his friend Carlos were out cruising earlier and—"
    “I find that it's an odd coincidence as well that our star witness said that the shooter had a large tattoo of a woman over his right chest,” Daryl said. “A woman with long, flowing black hair. Just like yours.” He motioned toward Rudy's tattooed chest and grinned. “ Exactly like yours."
    Rudy stammered, as if his mouth was ahead of his brain in coming up with an excuse. Daryl reached into his inner coat pocket and extracted a handgun. He reholstered his own police issue nine-millimeter and held the gun he pulled out of his inner pocket.
    He brandished it for the two gangsters. “See this? This is an Interarms Firestar Plus nine millimeter with a thirteen round magazine. A shitty little gun in my opinion, but then a bunch of these were stolen during shipment while on their way to a gun shop in Van Nuys. This is one I acquired a few years ago from a gun dealer. The serial number has been filed away from the barrel and it's untraceable.” He smiled and pulled the slide back on the weapon, chambering a round. “If you don't do what I tell you to do, my fingerprints won't be on this gun at all. But yours will."
    Rudy opened his mouth to protest. “Wait, man, you don't know what's happening.
    Listen—"
    “I'll listen,” Daryl said, leveling the barrel of the gun at Rudy's face. “Tell me where you were forty minutes ago, Rudy."
    “Wh-wh-we were here, man!” Rudy exclaimed, his breathing coming fast and heavy. He turned to Frankie, who had lost all the color in his face. “Weren't we, Frankie?
    We were here the whole time watching TV and drinking some brews."
    Steve spoke up from behind them. “That's really interesting, considering there aren't any empty cans or bottles to be seen in this pig sty."
    Rudy began to protest again, and now Daryl brought the barrel of the gun closer to Rudy's face. “Where were you forty minutes ago, Rudy?” His tone was