Sorry I haven't been keeping up with this as of late because I'm working on something big
. But rest assured, I am going to finish this. It's a big story, it just takes time I sometimes don't have.
The screams of the patients dies out as the SUVs pull away, each with one of the contestants inside. Needles Kane sits in the back of the limo, his head is blackening the glass of the rear window while the leather begins to crackle and smolder. He notices the smell and leans forward.
The smell hits his escort, Kent, as well.
"Doesn't that shit ever bother you?"
Needles looks at Kent with piercing eyes
"Yeah, stupid questions tend to piss me off kid. Keep the conversation light and you'll live through this car ride."
Kent's face goes pale and he shuts up. Underneath that mask, the clown has a grin wider than the one he hides behind.
"I'm fucking with you, sort of. Yeah this shit burns like hell."
"That sucks."
"You have no fucking clue, kid. So, what's your story?"
"I'm a techie. Been hacking through government shit for years but I recently was paid a visit by the FBI. Just when I thought I was boned til C-"
"Calypso bailed your ass out."
"Right. I was in the back of a SWAT van all to my lonesome. Mother fucker had a tanker plow into it and his cronies popped the doors off the bitch. Six months later, here we are. I'm his techie."
The clown can't help but think that sounds familiar.
"You mean lackey"
"Beats being someone's bitch in Guantanamo" Kent says with a smirk
"You're still his bitch"
"I guess you're right about that"
The clown laughs and rolls down the window to get some fresh air, the wind blowing away the hot blaze engulfing his cranium.
Meanwhile in RENO, NEVADA
To say Bruce Cochran is a drug dealer would be an understatement. He is responsible for a great deal of cocaine that flows into the area. His sooped up black 1963 Chevy Impala is his baby. But times have gotten hard as of late for Bruce as he suspects the Police are watching him very closely.
He just didn't know how close. Until today.
Bruce is weighing out a kilo on a pool table in his garage next to his Impala. A man with a spray tan, pencil mustache, and a shitty suit is eying the weight, smiling in approval. He hands Bruce a fat wad of money.
"This is some premium shit, I'm sure you'll find it suitable"
"More than suitable, it's magnifique" the man says in a french accent
Bruce looks confused and realizes somethings up.
"Thought you was from El Salvador cuz?"
The man smiles and goes to draw a pistol, showing his badge. But before he can even grab it from the holster, his throat is decimated by a .357 round to his trachea.
There are red and blue lights flashing outside his garage. He locks the door and slides a toolbox under the side door and steps into the Impala and turns the key and revs the engine.
His tires start squealing like crazy, the stench of burnt rubber permeates throughout the garage as he hits the button on his garage opener and peels out onto the street right past the cops and goes into the park across from his house and out onto a road running parallel to his, heading towards the highway.
PART 5 COMING SOON