Chapter 1: Friday Night Patrol

Except for a black bag over her head and the red high heels, her body was naked the first time I saw her through a basement window. She looked very good indeed; I have been with some of the finest female forms in this City of Angels, females you have wished about while looking at magazines and videos. She was on the par with the best of them.

She was helplessly bound bent over a table, legs spread, positioned for rough sex. Not that she could do anything even if she was free, there were three large naked young men who were openly discussing the sick, painful things they were going to do with her. Cruel cable ties held her long, perfect legs to the metal table legs. Her upper body rested on the filthy table but was rotated to her left side with her arms held awkwardly by more cable ties. This forced pose showed off her heavy breasts, which looked outstanding. For some reason the three Black Kings had already distended her front and rear openings, the wicked toys they had employed were on the table next to her. The cloth bag over her head was held with duct tape around her neck, and she wore red high heels, but otherwise her clothes had been crudely cut off - there were scratches on her otherwise flawless flesh and her expensive apparel was reduced to rags scattered around the room. The fools had added wicked clamps to her nipples and vaginal lips.

It looked like we arrived at this pain-rape party shortly before it got to the point of flesh penetrating flesh. The three dicks each wore only their gang colors as a buff wrapped around an upper arm. I recognized one fool, he was part of the Black Kings command group and was usually smarter then this. But his eyes showed that he was very heavily medicated. It was clear when they moved that they were already tuned up on their drugs. What drugs? I would find out in the autopsy.

All three were as ugly as the girl was beautiful. They were very well-muscled, perhaps 18 to 22 years old, so younger than us, and all taller than Cosmo. One looked about 6 foot 5 so he was taller than me.

When they noticed us they figured we were somebody else they could add to the pain side of their party.

Now, if it was me who was naked, flying gang colors and showing a hard cock in enemy territory, I might have wondered why two men wearing ski masks, gloves and obvious body armor entered from both the basement’s only two exits at the same moment; it was just not a likely or friendly coincidence. But then, I am always in my right mind.

We also flew our colors. This particular abandoned industrial/commercial district was the subject of ongoing friendly negotiations between Cosmo’s “Crystal Aztexs” (their spelling) and my gang, “49.” Both gangs are mostly hispanic. This area was clearly tagged as off-limits to other gangs. The Kings had been considerate picking this spot, it was deserted and damn near soundproof; no doubt they didn’t want to disturb anybody when their victim expressed herself at their attentions.

The Kings first move was to throw dumb insults at us. That was not going to cut it.

Machetes, razor sharp with chromed steel blades, cut it. Before the bullshit got too deep I gave the word. Cosmo and I pulled our machetes - we each had two - from the “handles down” sheaths strapped to our backs under our windbreakers. Live steel, changed the mood real fast, it cut through the drugs for two of the Kings. Machetes mess with the mind; maybe it was a racial memory thing but the tall Black King actually shit himself when we showed the 4 steel blades that would free him from all pain.

(We also had guns, I carry a Glock 29. But if you use a gun at a crime scene you really have to toss it after. Plus, some animals did not merit a quick death.)

After the insults Cosmo could not keep his own mouth shut as he pruned his first hand clean off. He kind of giggled. “Partner, will you look at this? We going Mau Mau on these black asses, all Hutu-like. They probably remember this shit from the bush, black home.” Cosmo was rather proud that he had read an old Time magazine once. The magazine may have been older than he was.

Things moved quickly for a time as we danced. The Black Kings reached for their clothes where their weapons were; that extended their arms so we had plenty of limbs to hack. I like to leave the limb still attached by a little skin and muscle, seeing that is so demoralizing and does this brain-lock thing. Cosmo, who lacked my experience, clearly liked to take the limb clean off. To each his own.

Once they were all disarmed (literally) we took our time making more interesting cuts before and after they bled to death. I mean, as long as all this was about sending message, it behooved us be clear as possible. Everybody knows that in this hood, trespassing with colors flying is a capital crime and no appeal is entertained.