Fuck off, pig bastard, and get out of my house.”

  Standing in front of me are two junkie whores. On the left, a tall, slender girl with ragged brown hair. She is raggedly dressed, wearing nothing but an old, worn tank-top and a pair of booty shorts that read “Bad Bitch” on the ass side. Her breath reeks of cheap rum, and in her left hand rests a slim cigarette smoked down to the butt.

  To the right of her stood what I assumed was her mother. Standing there, pregnant belly bulging, she glares at me. Minus the booty shorts, the mother is dressed about the same way as her daughter—whorishly.

  “Ma’am, we have several noise complaints coming from this residence. Do you have any idea why people might be complaining?” I put on the charm. Will, don’t lose your cool here.

  “You listen, you pig-shit motherfucker, you’re scaring my kid being here, so get the fuck off my property! You don’t got a warrant, so leave.”

  Deep breaths, Will.

  “Just keep it down, alright? Please?” I really am trying my best here. Truly, I am. Probably best to just leave.

  As I turn around, however, I feel speckles of spit hit the back of my neck.

  I move fast and without hesitation. Grabbing the skinny bitch by the wrists, I throw her to the ground. As she tries to stand back up, I stomp my boot into her solar plexus, feeling a couple of pops beneath my foot. The mother, of course, did not remain quiet during this whole ordeal. She begins to scream and cry as she runs into another room of the house, seemingly abandoning the daughter.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I lean over the girl who, on closer inspection, looks no older than fifteen, and I spit on her face.

  Feeling satisfied seeing her crumpled on the ground, I make my way through the house. Opening a door that leads to the same filth as before, I unholster my gun and begin a sweep of the area.

  The house is revolting, reeking of smoke and mildew. I am mindful of the empty bottles on the floor as I make my way through the filth. There, in the kitchen, I find the mother. In her hand is a shotgun which she is frantically loading with bullets. Her back is turned to me. She doesn’t know I am here. I’ve been in many shootouts before but never actually hit anyone dead-on before.

  I begin to feel the makings of a smile appear on my face. I find that it’s helpful to let yourself show emotion when you can. I hear it’s good for you. Smile wide, grip tight.

  Licking my lips excitedly, I whistle. She turns. I shoot her dead in the stomach. She falls in an odd yet humorous way, her head hitting the worn-down end table. I can’t help but snicker at this, all the while she is rolling on the ground, screaming something about a baby?

  Walking towards her, I put two bullets in her head. Bang, bang, dead. No fuss, no screaming, just peace.

  I found myself at first disappointed that her big belly didn’t deflate when I shot it. I shoot again. Nothing. Judging by the size, she was pretty far into her pregnancy. Still, I was disappointed.

  Then, regret hits. How the fuck am I going to explain this?

  I grab her gun. Quickly, I unload the bullets and then reload them in the proper position (dumb bitch). I walk outside, and I shoot the fifteen-year-old. The bullets hit her slender frame with a thump, and then her black blood begins seeping out of the hole in her chest. I stand there shocked for a moment, admiring the new hole I had just created. Who knew buckshot was so powerful? Or maybe it’s because she was so young and skinny? Weird. I see bits of bone protrude from her new cavity. Just as I am about to take a picture, I realize my phone is in the cruiser. Shit. Focus, Will.

  How do we make this work? Think.

  Do I call James? No, he’s got no reason to help me.

  I pace back and forth for about ten minutes before an idea hits me.

  I’ll make it look like this bitch went crazy, killed her daughter, then tried on me. It was self-defense, right? Feeling confident, I make my way to the radio and call it in.