Now, your house has been completely destroyed in the fire. No surrounding dwellings were damaged, but a large chunk of land is nothing but cinders. However, you all have some explaining to do. There was no body found on, or around, your home. What really happened?" Delcan flipped the page in his notebook and glared at each of them.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
Robert coughed and gagged, as he came to in the thick smoke. The sound of tires screeching awoke him. Staggering to his feet, he saw the rifle on the ground and remembered what had happened. He recalled one of those sons of bitches hitting him in the back of his head. As he lifted his left hand to feel the wound, pain shot up his arm, causing him to scream. Seeing the brush blazing, Robert hurried and grabbed his rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and then picked up the empty gasoline can. As the ground spun underneath him, he stumbled to his rental car, which was parked a little ways down the road, hidden in the trees.
When he got behind the wheel, the interior light revealed the bone in his forearm sticking out of the skin, like a piece of rice in red gravy. He knew it wasn't anything he couldn't fix. Hell, that's what sticks are for ! He wasn't going to spend the rest of his money from Ron the Cop, on no rip off doctors. A little whiskey for the pain, and a little twisting here and there, and then pop ! The bones would fit together like puzzle pieces. Even though the throbbing in his arm was causing sweat to drip off his face, like he was in a damn sauna, he smiled, knowing he'd killed one man on the porch, and shot Renee in the chest. Shit, when that other man dove on top of her to save her ass, he threw a bullet in him too. Bam ! He'd gladly break his other arm to have seen their faces go slack. But noooo . Someone ruined his fun, and he'd find out exactly who that someone was.
Robert thought about throwing his rifle in the lake, but figured he'd need it again, real soon. They must have run my freakin' arm over ! That was okay though. He'd done the most damage, so he'd won. But, that also made him aware that someone had escaped the blaze. I'll get em' , laughed Robert. He couldn't crack up too much, because it made his arm jiggle.
As he reached the outskirts of Castle Lake, he saw a large, Victorian house, painted in a putrid blue and cream, with girly trim, and a sign out front. "Doctor Vegas. Office hours 9am to 4pm." That's too big of a place for some dinky, ear infection doctor . Robert shut his lights off and drove up the driveway, pulling the car around to the back. If his good arm wasn't so muscular, he'd reach up and pat himself on the back. It was just too easy to outsmart folks. He got out and lifted the rifle off of the back seat.
Robert walked around front and rang the doorbell. A little light came on in the front room. Finally a middle-aged man answered the door, wearing hideous, blue-striped pajamas. He matches his house , thought Robert, as he laughed. He couldn't contain it.
"Can I help you?" said the man with a long thin nose and wire-framed glasses.
"I need to see the doc!" Robert demanded.
"I'm sorry. My office is closed, but the hospital isn't too far." The weird looking man pointed to the left.
Robert smiled and pushed his way inside.
"What are you doing? I said the office is closed!" The man started to whine, which made Robert laugh harder.
"Is anyone else in this house?!" He was more than willing to lay them to rest.
"No," answered the doctor. His face went white.
"Fix my arm!" He showed the moron the protruding bone sticking out of his forearm, and shoved the rifle at him.
"I can't fix that in an office setting. You're going to need surgery!" The doctor rushed to the phone, but was tripped by Robert's dirty, size fifteen, high-tops.
"You are breaking the law!" yelled Dr. Girly Pants, whose name was neatly engraved on a wooden plaque by the receptionist counter.
Like people can't see the big ass sign in the yard. Robert cracked
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
Robert coughed and gagged, as he came to in the thick smoke. The sound of tires screeching awoke him. Staggering to his feet, he saw the rifle on the ground and remembered what had happened. He recalled one of those sons of bitches hitting him in the back of his head. As he lifted his left hand to feel the wound, pain shot up his arm, causing him to scream. Seeing the brush blazing, Robert hurried and grabbed his rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and then picked up the empty gasoline can. As the ground spun underneath him, he stumbled to his rental car, which was parked a little ways down the road, hidden in the trees.
When he got behind the wheel, the interior light revealed the bone in his forearm sticking out of the skin, like a piece of rice in red gravy. He knew it wasn't anything he couldn't fix. Hell, that's what sticks are for ! He wasn't going to spend the rest of his money from Ron the Cop, on no rip off doctors. A little whiskey for the pain, and a little twisting here and there, and then pop ! The bones would fit together like puzzle pieces. Even though the throbbing in his arm was causing sweat to drip off his face, like he was in a damn sauna, he smiled, knowing he'd killed one man on the porch, and shot Renee in the chest. Shit, when that other man dove on top of her to save her ass, he threw a bullet in him too. Bam ! He'd gladly break his other arm to have seen their faces go slack. But noooo . Someone ruined his fun, and he'd find out exactly who that someone was.
Robert thought about throwing his rifle in the lake, but figured he'd need it again, real soon. They must have run my freakin' arm over ! That was okay though. He'd done the most damage, so he'd won. But, that also made him aware that someone had escaped the blaze. I'll get em' , laughed Robert. He couldn't crack up too much, because it made his arm jiggle.
As he reached the outskirts of Castle Lake, he saw a large, Victorian house, painted in a putrid blue and cream, with girly trim, and a sign out front. "Doctor Vegas. Office hours 9am to 4pm." That's too big of a place for some dinky, ear infection doctor . Robert shut his lights off and drove up the driveway, pulling the car around to the back. If his good arm wasn't so muscular, he'd reach up and pat himself on the back. It was just too easy to outsmart folks. He got out and lifted the rifle off of the back seat.
Robert walked around front and rang the doorbell. A little light came on in the front room. Finally a middle-aged man answered the door, wearing hideous, blue-striped pajamas. He matches his house , thought Robert, as he laughed. He couldn't contain it.
"Can I help you?" said the man with a long thin nose and wire-framed glasses.
"I need to see the doc!" Robert demanded.
"I'm sorry. My office is closed, but the hospital isn't too far." The weird looking man pointed to the left.
Robert smiled and pushed his way inside.
"What are you doing? I said the office is closed!" The man started to whine, which made Robert laugh harder.
"Is anyone else in this house?!" He was more than willing to lay them to rest.
"No," answered the doctor. His face went white.
"Fix my arm!" He showed the moron the protruding bone sticking out of his forearm, and shoved the rifle at him.
"I can't fix that in an office setting. You're going to need surgery!" The doctor rushed to the phone, but was tripped by Robert's dirty, size fifteen, high-tops.
"You are breaking the law!" yelled Dr. Girly Pants, whose name was neatly engraved on a wooden plaque by the receptionist counter.
Like people can't see the big ass sign in the yard. Robert cracked
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