Hunting a killer in Sandy, OR

On the way to Miss Darcy's house to get her statement, Hank radioed the local police station in Sandy, to try to get a sketch artist. He was hoping Miss Darcy's girls would be able to give a decent description of the unsub they witnessed abducting their father.

"What do you mean, you don't have a sketch artist?" Hank asked over the radio.

"No need for one, buddy," said the sergeant on the other end of the radio. "There's an app for that," he said, with a chuckle.

"I know there's a fucking app for it," complained Hank. "But a real sketch is always better." Hank made some what-the-fuck motions with his hands as he drove.

The sergeant on the radio replied with "Hey, get with the times buddy. The app is better, in my book."

Hank continued to argue over the radio. "I guaran-fucking-tee you that the Clackamas County Sheriff's office has a sketch artist. Guaranteed."

"Then what the hell ya talkin to me for, buddy?" asked the sergeant as he cut the connection.

Trainer was laughing his ass off in the passenger seat, as they drove down Highway 26 to Sandy. "That was awesome," he said as he continued to giggle.

"Shut the fuck up," Hank said, as he tried to keep his eyes on the road without punching something. It was just after seven p.m. and it was dark and foggy. Not the best visibility for banging his head on the steering wheel and screaming.

But he did it anyway.

Their car nearly hit the barricade on the right side of the road. "Damn, Henry. Chill. Relax, man. We'll use the goddamn app, okay? It'll be fine," Trainer assured Hank as he stifled the giggles still trying to burst out of his face. He thought hank losing his shit was fucking hilarious, but he didn't want to end up in a ditch just for laughing his head off.

"I know they have a sketch artist..." Hank started. "They just hate state cops. I know it."

Trainer started to say something, but Hank interrupted. "No... No, you shut the fuck up. You're not helping."

"Fine. Damn," Trainer said, allowing a few seconds of silence afterwords. "So this Darcy has nice titties, eh?" Trainer started to laugh some more and Hank punched him a few times in the shoulder.

"Yea, I'll bet she does," said Hank. A feint smile barely creeping across his face.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at Miss Darcy's house. It was a nice three bedroom house, in a newer development. One of those places where every house gets their own three square feet of front lawn and a flower bed.

As the detectives got out of their car, they could see Miss Darcy peeking out her front window, between the curtains. "There she is," said Trainer with a grin.

"Shut up, fat boy. You're married," responded Hank, putting his business face on. "Lets do this."

When they got to Miss Darcy's front door, she had already opened the door. Warm air wafted out into the cold night as she stood in the doorway. "State Police?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," answered Hank. "May we come in?"

"Of course," said Miss Darcy. "Cold out there tonight. And call me Sarah, please." She kept her eyes on Hank, while smiling that homemaker everything-is-wonderful smile. She pretty much ignored Trainer.

Hank introduced himself as he got inside. "I'm Detective Hank Miller," he said, reaching out his hand to shake with Sarah.

"Sarah Darcy," she said, still smiling. "Please, come have a seat." She gestured with her hands to the two chairs surrounding a coffee table. Sarah took a seat on the end of the couch, nearest the chair that Hank took.

Trainer was like a deer caught in headlights. Miss Darcy was beautiful. She did in fact have large breasts. Long, flowing brown hair. She wore a green skirt that barely came to her knees. Her blouse was nearly see-through white with lace and it showed way too much cleavage. Trainer was scared. He trembled. Everyone in the room was completely ignoring him. He cleared his throat a little, to make himself known.

"What?" asked hank, turning back to see Trainer, still standing in the open doorway. "At least close the door while you're standing there, Jack."

"Oh," said trainer. Like an ignored puppy, he did as he was told and closed the door. Then, he just continued to stand in the doorway. Hank didn't know it, but Trainer was terrified of attractive women. Always afraid he would say the wrong thing. Knowing that attractive women would never have anything to do with him.

Miss Darcy finally looked up at the big, confused man. "Please, have a seat. Detective..." she said, asking for his name.

Trainer stumbled to the chair next to Hank. He sat down and finally spoke. "Oh, sorry ma'am. Jack Trainer. Detective Jack Trainer. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry Jack," she said, and turned back to Hank. "Now, you wanted to know about my ex getting abducted at the Dairy Queen?" she asked Hank.

"Right," said Hank. He got out his notepad and looked up the notes he had from the interview he had with Mr. Glass. "Mr. Glass told us that one of his customers found your girls huddling in the back seat of your husband's... I mean, your ex's car."

"That's correct," said Sarah.

Trainer sat in his chair, silent and still scared to death. He continued to stare at Miss Darcy. Like her cleavage was a tractor beam of some sort, dragging him in.

Miss Darcy didn't notice one bit.

"And Mr. Glass said that your girls saw the guy who abducted your ex. We were hoping to talk to your girls. Maybe even try to get a composite sketch," explained Hank.

"Oh, I don't know how much help they will be. I don't think they got a very good look at the guy," said Sarah.

"It's worth a try, anyway," said Hank. "We have a nifty little app for the ipad that helps us make sketches. Should be pretty easy for the girls to at least give us give us some details, like was he white, have a mustache, what color hair, that sort of thing."

"Sure, okay. They're in their room right now. I'll go get them, if you like. Also, may I get you two something to drink? Coffee or a soda or something?" asked Sarah.

"Yes, I'll have some coffee, if you have some handy," answered Hank.

"And you?" she asked Trainer, who was still lost in lala land.

"Umm," he managed to say.

"Ignore him," said Hank. "He's not very social."

"You're the non- ..." Trainer tried to say, but failed to complete his sentence. His mouth still agape.

"Okay..." said Sarah, like she understood there wouldn't be any meaningful conversation with Trainer. She got up from her seat and went to the kitchen to fetch Hank his coffee.

"Get a hold of yourself, Jack." Hank whispered to Trainer, hoping he might come back from zombie land and actually do something useful.

"I umm," said Trainer.

"Oh my God. Seriously, what's wrong with you?" Hank asked, exasperated. "Did you at least bring in the ipad?"

"Oh," said Trainer. He got up, finally finding a purpose. He left the house to get the ipad from the car.

"Idiot," Hank said, under his breath as he sat, waiting for Sarah and her daughters. He looked over his notes a bit as he waited.

Sara came back shortly, handing him a cup of coffee. "Take anything in it?" she asked him.

"No, black is fine. Thank you," Hank answered as he sipped the coffee.

Sara went down the hall to gather her girls. Hank could hear one of them protesting. "But mom!!!"

Teenagers, thought Hank. Fucking teenagers. Great.

Trainer finally arrived, with ipad in hand. "Took you long enough," said Hank, noticing that Trainer had left the front door open. Again. "Seriously, again? Close the door. What's wrong with you?"

Trainer turned back, and closed the door. He was winded, breathing hard, and flustered from his surroundings. Still confused. "I uhh..." he said, handing the ipad to Hank.

"You keep it. Show the girls how to use it. Try to get something useful. And stop being a goddamn zombie," said Hank, not sure what to do with the big guy.

Sarah came back to the living room. "They're scared," she said. "They don't want to come out here and talk to you. Not sure that I blame them," she said.

"Okay," started Hank. "What if harmless Jack here..." he pointed to Trainer. "What if he went back to talk to them, with the ipad. Make it a game or something. Do you think they would go for that?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe. Worth a try. What do you think Jack?" Miss Darcy asked Trainer, who suddenly found a purpose in life.

"I'm on it!" he said with a start. He finally found a way out of the terrifying living room. Off to the back room he went, faster than Hank had ever seen him move.

"Okay then," Hank said. "I guess he's on it." He continued flipping through his notes and sipping his coffee.

Sarah went after Trainer, to introduce him to her girls. She tried to explain to them that Trainer was just a bit lovable teddy bear.

The girls jumped up and down and exclaimed "Yay!", then went up to Jack Trainer and started tossing around his fluffy hair. Just then, the zombie spell was lost and Trainer started to giggle uncontrollably.

Sarah went back to the living room and sat down in the couch, next to Hank. She stared into his deep blue eyes. Noticed that there wasn't a wedding ring on his finger. Not even a ring mark that some men would have after taking their ring off, to pretend they were single.

Hank completely ignored her. He could tell that she was staring at him. Felt her gaze. But, he was like a border collie with a frisbee. Obsessed with his case.

"Just looking at my notes here," he said. "It seemed to me, as I talked to Mr. Glass, that you two knew each other. Is that right?"

"Oh sure," said Sarah, smiling. "He goes to my church. Mark has always been kind to my girls, giving them free ice cream when we see him at the DQ."

"Go there often, do you?" Hank asked, staring back at the woman. Noticing their mutual attraction for the first time.

"Sometimes. Usually when the girls are just going crazy screaming 'DQ DQ DQ DQ' over and over. I swear they never grew out of their toddler years. It's their stupid father's influence, I think. He was always so immature," she said, noticing that Hank was actually looking into her eyes for the first time.

She sat back in her chair and averted her eyes a bit. Didn't want to be too obvious or desperate. Even though her money was running out and her ex was dead, so no more child support. She literally was desperate. If Trainer had taken any interest, she probably would have jumped at the chance.

But Hank, he was something special. She could tell.

"I see," said Hank, making a note. "So, you weren't seeing him then? I mean, romantically?" Hank asked.

"Oh no. Of course not," she seemed disgusted at the idea. Even though she probably would have hooked up with Mark if he had ever made a move.

"Right," said Hank. "Of course not."

Then, both Hank and Sarah turned to hear laughing coming from the back room, where Trainer was supposed to be getting a useful description from the girls.

Hank and Sarah shot each other a look and hurried back to the girls' room. When they got there, they saw Trainer showing the girls some stupid youtube videos of cats doing crazy things.

"Oh, look at this one," Trainer was going on. "This stupid cat thinks he can talk. Watch this..." and the girls just laughed and laughed.

"Iris! Sunflower! What are you doing? Jack?" She shot Trainer an accusing look.

"Oh yea, sorry about that, Miss Darcy. It's just... they were a bit scared, is all. Just trying to lighten the mood, you know," he explained.

"It's like him!" shouted Iris.

"Yea, him! Stubble, just like that. Gray stubble. Ewww, dirty," chimed in Sunflower.

"How old are they?" Hank asked Sarah, confused to see teenage girls acting like little kids.

"I know. I know, they don't act their age. Iris is thirteen, Sunflower is sixteen," the mom explained, with an exhausted look on her face.

"So, you started the app then?" Hank asked Trainer.

"Yea. Started it, got a few things down, but they got scared. They got stuck at the hair and stuff," explained Trainer.

"Okay," Hank started in with the girls. "So, the guy had gray stubble like me. How about his hair? Short cropped like mine, or longer and wavy like Jack's?"

"Jack's!" Iris perked up with a smile. "But gray, like yers."

"Yea!" said Sunflower. "But wavy and longer like Jack's!" she exclaimed.

"Okay Jack," Hank said. "Plug that into the app and lets see what we have."

Jack Trainer was so happy to be useful. It took his mind away from the beautiful woman and her distracting cleavage. He plugged in the new data and an image came up on the ipad.

It showed a white male, probably in his forties, wearing a blue baseball cap. He had tufts of gray hair poking out from under the cap, and scruffy gray stubble on his chin.

"Perfect," said Hank. "This will help us a lot. Thanks so much, girls. We really appreciate it."

"You're welcome!" they both exclaimed in unison as they rushed Trainer and gave him a big hug.

Trainer became a zombie again for a couple seconds. Not knowing what to do. "Okay, okay. That's enough now. Henry and I have to get back to work. Nice meeting you two," he finally said and stood up from the stool he was on. "You two be good now," he said as he walked out the door.

The girls said "Bye!" in unison and the adults walked back into the living room.

Hank handed Sarah a card and said "In case you think of anything else that might be useful. Please don't hesitate to call. Any time. Day or night."

"Of course. Sure. Let me give you my number as well," she said, but Hank interrupted her.

"Already have it. Got it from Mr. Glass at the Dairy Queen. I'll be sure to call you as well, if I have any more questions," Hank said.

Trainer just stood by the front door. As Hank flirted with Miss Darcy, Trainer could have sworn the two of them were about to hug, or even kiss. Hell, maybe they were just going to do it right there on the coffee table.

But Hank just said goodbye to Miss Darcy, and soon enough Trainer and Hank were back in their unmarked car, ready to call it a good days work.

"Iris and Sunflower?" Hank asked Trainer as they drove off in search of a hotel.

"Tell me about it," answered trainer and they both had a good laugh.

==============================================
DISCLAIMER: This is fiction, you fucking idiots. It's just a goddamn story.

This blog can also be found at http://killingeveryday.com
Check out my Tumblr http://killingeveryday.tumblr.com
Twitter @killingeveryday

Killing a fat turd in his truck

I knew that the cops had talked to the fat fuck manager at Dairy Queen, so he had to be taken care of.

I drove up to Dairy Queen in my car, which is a lot less noticeable than my big-ass truck. It was around noon when I arrived, and I was hoping to see the fat fuck manager leave the DQ for lunch.

The fat fuck wasn't even there. I guessed that he must have worked the night shift, so I just sat there, in my car and waited until the manager arrived to work.

I passed the time watching porn on my phone, so I almost missed the fat fuck when he arrived. He pulled up in a big, lifted F150. It was bright fire truck red. The truck totally screamed "Look at me, I'm too fucking cheap to buy a super duty truck."

The restaurant was only open until 8:30 p.m., so I figured the fat fuck manager must be closing up the joint. Time to find something else to do in the meantime.

I knew a whore who lived up the mountain at Gov. Camp, who's motto was "All holes open for business," so I gave her a call and told her I was on my way to fill at least two of her dirty holes.

"You know where to find me," she said. "I'll get started on the enema, honey." I could hear her dirty, evil smile through the phone.

She knew me well.

I drove up to Gov. Camp and spent a few hours with the whore. I fucked her ass and her mouth for several hours. Then, we showered together while the oven pre-heated.

She baked me some cookies and sent me on my way at about six p.m.. Best three hundred dollars I've ever spent.

I arrived back at the Dairy Queen at quarter to seven, so I sat in my car and drank some coffee from my thermos until eight p.m., a half hour before closing time.

Got out of my car and went over to the passenger side of the fat fuck manager's truck. Had a lock picking kit with me, but didn't need it. Fat fuck had left his prized truck unlocked, like a fucking idiot. I opened the passenger side door, and hopped in. No alarm, no nothing.

I got in the back seat of the truck and waited.

The fat fuck-stick finally got in his truck at nearly nine o'clock. I let him take off for a while up Highway 26 until I pulled my .22 pistol and shoved it to the back of his head.

"Howdy snitch," I said with evil dripping from my voice.

"What the..." said fat fuck boy, as he nearly wrecked the truck. He struggled to gain control.

"Try not to crash, snitch-boy. It'd be a shame for you to die in a horrible accident before I could kill you myself," I said as I pressed the small gun barrel harder against his head.

"Shit! I..." he started as he finally gained control of the truck and pulled it to the side of the road. "I didn't..."

"Yes you did, fucker. Now, keep driving up the mountain. We don't need any attention from sitting on the side of the road, now do we?"

"Okay, okay. I'm going. Damn," said the fat fuck manager, taking to the road again. "I didn't tell them cops nothin'."

"Right," I said, as I kept my face hidden behind his head. "You talked to those cops for an hour and you didn't tell them anything? Nothing? How stupid do I look to you?"

He tried turning around and I smacked him upside the head with the pistol. "Don't turn around, you fucking idiot," I explained. "It was a figure of speech."

"Well how am I supposed to know what cha look like then?" The big man asked, with no sarcasm whatsoever.

"Whatever," I said, with a sigh. "I don't give a flying fuck what you told those cops. I know what you told the cops. I want to know what you told everyone else."

"What...?" he asked, confused.

"I want to know what you told Miss Darcy. What you told your employees. Do any of them actually have any photos of me?"

"How the hell would I know? I don't even know who you are. Hell, I don't even want to know who you are. Just let me out. You can have the damn truck," fat fuck said, a little desperation in his voice.

"I'm the guy who dragged that retard up 26. Left his two retard kids cowering in their car for you to find. I'm the guy who's gonna burn you alive if you don't start giving me some useful information."

"Look..." he started, as he continued driving up 26. "I told Darcy just what I told the cops. Told her that her ex left her kids stranded at the DQ. Told her... Shit, I dunno," he paused. "I didn't tell the cops this, but I told Miss Darcy that some guy in a big truck abducted her ex. I didn't want to get in trouble for not reporting it, ya know?"

"Well, I'd say you're in trouble now," I said with some snark in my voice. "How'd you know? Did you see the guy get dragged?"

"How'd I know? Look, it's hard to miss some guy getting dragged on the pavement out the DQ parking lot. Folks saw it," he said.

"Who saw it?" I asked.

"Some customers. Said some guy got dragged out our parking lot by his neck. Screaming bloody murder," he explained.

"Fucking hell," I said. If it was an employee that saw, I could do something about that. But, a customer? Never gonna find those fuckers.

"So, did you ask your employees if they have any pictures of that evening? Of that fucking retard taking 20 minutes to order? Of my face lurking in the background?" I asked, getting a bit frustrated.

"I asked 'em," the fat fuck started. "One of our counter girls did take some photos of that guy and his girls. Just cus they were being so stupid at the counter. Heck, I think she even posted some to Instagram, or Twitter."

"Son of a bitch," I swore so loud that I spat on the back of fat fuck's head.

He reached back and felt the dampness. "What the fuck, man?" he asked. "I'm trying to help ya out here. Whatcha spittin' on me for?"

"Shut up. Just frustrated. Fucking social media," I said, exasperated.

"Tell me about it," fat fuck went on. "My teenage daughter can't keep her face off facebook for five minutes. Whatcha gonna do."

"Shut up. Pull over up here, behind that car," I said, as I pointed to the car on the side of the road with my .22.

He pulled the truck over, put it in park and couldn't resist the urge to turn around and look me straight in the eyes.

"Hey! Yer that..." Was all he was able to say before I put a bullet through his head.

I left him dead in the driver's seat, got out and walked up to the car that I had the whore leave on the side of the road earlier. On the passenger seat was a loaf of fresh banana bread, with a note. "My asshole is bleeding," it read. "And it hungers for more of your cock. Enjoy the banana bread."

"Awww," I said aloud to myself as I drove home. "Nothing like a well trained whore."

==============================================
DISCLAIMER: This is fiction, you fucking idiots. It's just a goddamn story.
This blog can also be found at http://killingeveryday.com
Check out my Tumblr http://killingeveryday.tumblr.com

Twitter @killingeveryday

Hunting a killer on Highway 26

The drive to Dairy Queen from Frog Lake only took about thirty minutes. Hank Miller tried to ignore his chatter-box partner during the short trip, but it was impossible.

"Did you watch CSI last night? Man it was crazy..." Hank's partner, Jack Trainer went on about some stupid show. Some fictional account about some stupid whore that got chopped up.

Hank didn't understand how Trainer could be so obsessed about fictional murder when they had plenty of real-life murder to solve. "Can you believe that, eh Henry? He dumped her in a dumpster. A dumpster? How retarded is that?" Trainer trailed on.

Hank passed a broken down car on the side of the road and thought briefly about plowing straight through it, in the hopes that his partner would finally shut the hell up.

"We're almost there," Hank finally said. "Will you please shut the hell up?"

That got Trainer excited. He loved driving Hank insane. "Oh, am I distracting you? Losing your focus, are you? Awww. Bite me, Henry."

With that, Hank spent the rest of the ride looking for other obstacles that he might run into, to stop Trainer's incessant babbling.

By the time they arrived at the Dairy Queen, Hank was fighting his urge to beat the living shit out of his partner. Hank parked their car, and both detectives walked into the Dairy Queen.

Hank walked up to the counter and asked the girl at the register if he could speak with her manager.

"Oh sure," she said. "Should I tell him what it's regarding?"

"No," Said Hank. He flashed his badge and the girl went to get her manager.

To the other girl at the counter, Trainer asked "Hey, can I get a twist cone?"

"No," Said Hank.

"I'm not asking you, asshole," Trainer said. He waited for the girl's response.

"Dipped in chocolate?" she asked.

"What do I look like?" Trainer asked her, referring to his fat gut. "Of course I want it dipped in chocolate," he said with a chuckle.

The manager finally came around the counter and introduced himself to the detectives. "Mark Glass," he said. "What can I do ya for?" He was in his late thirties, big and country. If Dairy Queen would have let him wear a cowboy hat at work, he'd be wearing one.

"Can we use one of your tables?" hank asked Mr. Glass.

"Oh, sure sure. Over here," said Mr. Glass as he motioned for the detectives to follow him to one of the tables in the dining room.

"You guys go ahead," said Trainer. "I'm still waiting on my ice cream."

Mr. Glass and Hank sat down at the table, and Hank pulled out the picture of the Dairy Queen wrapper to show the manager.

"Oh yea, that's probably one of ours," said the manager.

"How do you know?" asked Hank.

"Oh, well there's really no way to know for sure, I guess. I mean, they're all the same, ya know," Mr. Glass said, as he looked over the picture of the wrapper on the ground, next to some tracks in the mud. "Where's it from?"

"Up at Frog Lake. Homicide scene up there, from a week ago," explained Hank.

"Oh, I thought that maybe this was from that thing up at Mirror," the manager guessed.

"What thing at Mirror?" asked Hank.

"Didn't ya see the news? Here..." The manager left the table to grab a paper from the counter. "Front page of the paper this morning. Well, front page in the lifestyles section, anyway," he said as he handed the paper over to Hank.

"This says these kids drowned in their raft. Why would we come here for that?" asked Hank, in all seriousness.

"Oh, that there is bullshit," explained the manager. "I know people were up there, friend of mine saw the whole thing. Paper says the raft got some hole from a stick or something, which made the raft sink, but that there is total bullshit from what I hear."

"What do you mean?" asked Hank.

"Both them kids had bullet wounds. Friend of mine saw the whole thing, like I said. Brad, he said there were bullet holes in the raft, and bullet wounds in them kids. Was no accident, that's for sure."

"What's no accident?" asked Trainer as he joined them. He couldn't fit at the table, so he just grabbed a chair and sat at the end.

"Apparently, some kids got shot, up at Mirror Lake," explained Hank.

"So?" asked Trainer.

"So?" Hank repeated. "We have three cases here. Don't you think that's a bit convenient?"

"What do you mean, 'convenient'?" Trainer asked. It was like he wasn't even a detective. More like a slightly trained monkey.

"They're probably connected, Jack. Jesus, be a detective, for once in your life," Hank said, exasperated.

"That's what I've got you for, Henry," Trainer said, with a stupid grin.

Hank sat back, and looked at the big, confused manager. "So, wait..." Mr. Glass started. "You're saying one of our wrappers was found up at Mirror too? Wow, what are the odds..."

Hank put his head in his hands. He wondered why he always had to be surrounded by retards. "Not that I'm aware," Hank said, looking up at the manager. "We never received that file, if there is one. This paper says it just happened yesterday. Even if there was a homicide investigation from Clackamas County, we probably wouldn't receive the file for another week or more." Hank said, as he perused the newspaper for more details.

"So, you think we have some kind of serial killer?" Trainer finally concluded. His ice cream cone was melting around his hand, as he was deep in thought for once in his life.

"Maybe. We won't know for sure, until we get more details from the other crime scene," Hank replied.

"So, what about that guy that was dragged up 26?" Asked Trainer, referring to a case he read about before they left the station that morning.

"Well, we have no reason to believe that had anything to do with these other two cases," reasoned Hank.

"What guy?" asked the manager, suddenly interested.

"Nothing," replied Hank.

"Some guy got dragged up 26, and turned into hamburger on the pavement. Pretty sick, if you ask me," Trainer went on.

"Nobody asked you," Hank stated planly.

"When did that happen?" the manager asked, fascinated.

"About a week ago," replied Trainer, just to piss off Hank.

It worked. "Will you shut the fuck up already?" Hank nearly screamed at Trainer. "It's none of his business."

"Pardon me," the manager interrupted. "But, there were two girls stranded here, about a week ago. Said their daddy been abducted."

"Say what?" asked Trainer.

"Yea, some customer found them huddling in the cold, in the back seat of their car, scared to death," the manager explained.

"What's this have to do with..." Hank started.

"I mean, I dunno if it's the same guy yer after, but them girls said their daddy was took by some crazy man in a big white truck," said Mr. Glass.

"Did the police get some kind of description of the guy, from those girls?" asked Hank.

"Oh, well... Didn't really report it, as such," said the manager. "Their daddy was a local tweaker, ya know. Meth head, I guess. Figured he just ran off like he usually did. I just called the girls' Mom, who lives in Sandy, just down the highway. She come, pick em up. That was that."

"That wasn't the smartest thing to do," Hank said. Even Trainer could tell it was a little bit insulting to the country bumpkin manager.

"Nice one Hank," Trainer said. "Could you be more of an asshole?"

"Well, what I supposed to do, mister?" asked the manager, a bit flustered. "Go out and look for the dumb tweaker myself?"

"Could have just called the cops," said Hank. "Then we'd have a description. Then we wouldn't have to make yet another trip, down to Sandy, to get a description for ourselves."

"Oh right," said the manager, finally understanding. "So, you want me to go down to Sandy and get that description for ya?" He asked, in all seriousness.

Hank put his head in his hands again. Breathed deep. "No..." he said under his breath. He looked back up at the manager. "Did you ever see the Dad in here, after that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Probably. See lots of folks come through here," said the manager.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" asked Trainer, a bit irritated that the manager was so dumb.

"What about your surveillance footage?" asked Hank.

"The what, now?" asked the manager.

"The camera, up on that wall. You have video tape of this guy, don't you?" Asked Hank, with as much patience as he could muster.

"Oh, that camera? See, that hasn't worked in ages. Just keep it up there to scare away some criminals, ya know," the manager explained.

"Shit," said Trainer.

"Is it possible that someone else, maybe an employee of yours took a photo with their phone?" asked Hank.

"Sure is possible," Mr. Glass said. "I could ask around, if you like."

"That'd be great," said Hank. "I'd like to see any pictures or video that any of your employees took of any of your patrons. Our killer was probably in here at some point."

"And that other guy," continued Trainer. "Those girls' dad. Probably that guy who got dragged up 26. They may have pics of that guy too." Trainer was finally adding to the investigation.

"Right, him too," confirmed Hank. "Also, could we get the phone number to the girls' mother? We need to contact her, drive down there and see if we can get a description from the girls."

The fat, country boy manager digged his phone from his front pocket and scrolled through his past calls. "Here it is," he said as he handed his phone to Hank.

Hank looked up at the manager. "Did you get her name?"

"Miss Darcy, fine lookin woman, that one," said Mr. Glass.

Hank dialed the number, with the manager's phone.

"Big titties?" asked Trainer, putting his hands out in front of his chest to suggest how huge them titties must be.

The phone continued to ring, as Hank listened to his slobbering partner.

"Oh hell yea," said the manager. "Out to here." And Mr. Glass put his hands in front of his chest as well, to display to Trainer the massive girth of the titties in question.

Someone finally picked up on the other end of the phone. "Mark? Hello?" came the voice of Miss Darcy.

"Oh, yes. Hello, Miss Darcy. This is Detective Hank Miller, from the Oregon State Police homicide division. My partner and I have some questions for you and your daughters. Mr. Glass, here at the Dairy Queen, has told us about your girls being stranded here last week," Hank explained.

"Right. Yes, that was horrible. Mark was such a help. Thank him for me, will you?" Miss Darcy said.

"Of course. Have you seen your husband, since the incident?" asked Hank.

"Oh, he's not my husband. We're divorced. But, no. Haven't seen him. Nor do I want to," she said.

"I see," Hank said.

"Ask her about her titties," Trainer interrupted with a whisper.

Hank put his hand over the phone. "Shut up," he whispered back to Trainer.

"So, my partner and I would like to come over to talk to you and your girls. Would that be possible?" Hank asked.

"Oh, yes. Of course. When would be a good time?" she asked.

"Could we meet up in about an hour? We'd really like to see if your girls can give us any kind of description of the man they say took off with their father, " Hank said.

"I don't know how much help they will be with that, but yes. An hour would be fine," and she gave Hank her address.

After thanking the woman on the phone, Hank hung up and handed it back to the manager. "She said to thank you."

"Oh, yea. Nice woman, that one. Cool. So, you're off to Sandy then?" the manager asked.

"Yes. Make sure to ask around to your employees, if any of them have pictures or video of your patrons," Hank said as he got up from the table.

"Titties!" exclaimed Trainer, as he got up from his chair and licked the remainder of his ice cream from his fingers.

"Hey! Don't you go touchin' them titties, now," the manager said with an evil grin. "Thems my titties," he said with a laugh.

"Sure they are," said trainer as he laughed along with the manager.

Hank held his breath as he tried not to say "Go fuck yourself." Because, he really wanted to say it to both fat guys. Just go fuck yourself and die in a big fat hole, he thought to himself.

"Come on fatty," Hank said to Trainer. Both fat guys followed Hank out the door of the restaurant.

"Not you," Hank said to the manager. "Just Jack McFatty here. Lets go," Hank said, gesturing to Trainer.

"Alright, alright," Trainer said as he followed along.

==============================================
DISCLAIMER: This is fiction, you fucking idiots. It's just a goddamn story.

This blog can also be found at http://killingeveryday.com
Check out my Tumblr http://killingeveryday.tumblr.com

Hunting a killer at Frog Lake

Detective Hank Miller loved his job with a passion most people didn't understand. He would get obsessed with cases so much that he never had time for a social life. He didn't want a social life. He wanted everyone to fuck off so he could get on with his work.

Hank was in his early forties, his hair already completely gray, as well as his perpetual stubble. He was fit, not because he worked out, but because he was always stressed, and always working.

He was a homicide detective for the Oregon State Police and he worked cases all over Oregon. He used to work homicide for the Portland Police Department, but found their case load to be light and unsatisfying.

Hank Miller needed a challenge, and he found it with the State Police. Cases came in constantly, from just about every county in Oregon. He just received a case file from Clackamas County, about some poor bastard that had gotten drawn and quartered up at Frog Lake, near Mt. Hood. As if that wasn't bad enough, the guy had also been dragged around the park by a motor vehicle. Then set on fire.

The M.E. report showed the time of death for the victim at around ten p.m. a week ago. Hank looked through the pictures of the scene that were included in the file, and saw that there was a big tree that the victim had been tied to. The pictures also showed a trail that the victim had been dragged along, by a car or some other vehicle. The result of which left the victim with one less arm and a very fucked up leg.

"Interesting." Hank said, as he sat at his desk, perusing the file.

Hank's partner, Detective Jack Trainer looked up from the file he was working on, surprised to hear anything from the usually quiet and obsessed Hank. Trainer was a big, bald guy. His love of doughnuts way surpassed his desire for work.

"Holy shit. He speaks. Must be a nasty one, eh, Henry?" Trainer asked, as Hank ignored him, deep in thought over the Frog Lake file.

"Hank!" Trainer shouted, tossing a bagel at his partner. "Speak up, Hank. What is it? Can't be worse than the one I've got here. This guy got dragged up Mt. Hood for miles. Took those guys in Clackamas County several hours just to pick up the scattered body parts off the highway."

Hank continued to ignore his partner, as he looked at pictures of the tracks that were left at the scene at Frog Lake.

"Frog Lake." Hank finally said.

"What about it?" asked Trainer.

"We're going to Frog Lake. Also by Mt. Hood, like your case. Two birds, one stone." Hank said, getting up from his desk and grabbing his coat.

"Now?" Trainer asked. "Fuck, man, I just ordered Chinese food." But, Trainer knew that Hank Miller didn't give a shit. He watched Hank walk down the stairs, to the lobby of their office.

"Goddammit, Henry!" Trainer yelled, as he got up from his desk and trailed after Hank. By the time Trainer got down to the lobby, Hank had already gotten their car and stopped it in front of the station, waiting impatiently for Trainer.

Hank rolled down his window, staring down Trainer, who was finally coming out of the station. "Get in," he said. "And stop calling me Henry."

Trainer got in the car, and Hank hit the gas. From Salem, it would be about a ninety minute drive to Frog Lake, and Hank wasn't looking forward to Trainer's motor-boat mouth.

"Fine." Trainer said, as they hit the road. "But, it's your name. Henry Miller. That name is famous, man. What's wrong with Henry? Everybody loves Henry. It's a great name..." And so the Trainer motor-boat mouth went for the ninety minute drive.

By the time they got to Frog Lake, Hank pretty much wanted to kill himself. His partner's incessant yapping was driving him insane.

They had called ahead to the Clackamas County Sheriff Department, so someone would be at the Frog Lake scene when they arrived.

Hank and his partner got out of their vehicle and wandered over to an officer who was parked close to the scene of the crime. The officer got out of his warm cruiser and met the two detectives.

"You the guys from State?" The officer asked. He was an average looking guy. Fit, but boring. Could only been on the job for a couple years. He wasn't a detective. Just an errand boy for the chief, mostly. He was only familiar with this case because his chief said to read all of it before he came to the scene.

"Yeah," said Trainer, as he came up to the officer and shook his hand. "I'm Detective Jack Trainer, and this here non-social bastard is Henry Miller."

"Oh, okay. I'm Officer Daniels, from County. My chief told me you guys were on your way. Nasty crime scene we got here." Daniels said, as he took Trainer over to the tree where the victim had been tied. Hank was already there, squatting down at the tree, inspecting it.

Officer Daniels watched Hank, as he worked. "So, is he like some kind of consultant, or something?" Daniels asked, since Hank hadn't been referred to as a detective.

"Oh no. He's lead detective, actually. I just like to fuck with him. Ain't that right, Henry?" Trainer taunted Hank, with a stupid grin.

Hank ignored him. "So, the right arm was tied up here, then?" Hank finally asked the officer.

"Yea. I mean, as far as we can tell." Daniels answered, not really sure of the facts, just what was written in the file.

"I saw from the M.E. report, that the vic's left leg was nearly separated at the knee. Is that right?" asked Hank.

"I believe so," said Daniels.

Hank traced the grooves made on the tree with a gloved hand. He looked close to the bark, inspecting it for fibers from the rope that the report had mentioned. After tracing the grooves all the way around the large tree, and looking at every inch, he found nothing to suggest that a rope was used.

"Your report said that a rope was used to tie the vic's right arm to this tree, correct?" Hank asked the officer.

"Right. I think so, yea. I just read the report this morning, so..." Officer Daniels said, trying to convey to the detectives that they really shouldn't expect much from him.

"Just leave the poor kid alone and do your thing Henry. You don't have to verify every goddamn thing with this guy, for christ sake." Trainer said, being impatient and useless as usual.

Hank ignored him, as always. "Did your crime scene unit find any rope fibers in the bark of the tree? I don't see any here, but I'm sure your guys would have picked them out and filed them. I don't remember any mention of fibers being found in the report."

"No, none that I remember either," said Daniels.

Hank stepped away from the tree a few feet to get a feel for the scene. "Okay, so it's probably not a rope. With the amount of force it takes to rip the vic's arm off, a rope would have left fibers, for sure. My guess is, he used a chain. You can tell from the shape of the scraping here, on the tree. It was most likely a chain."

Trainer looked confused. "Oh come on, how could you possibly know that? A rope would still dig into the tree, with enough force."

"Shut up, Jack. Show me the fibers. There are none." Hank said, as he still studied the tree and surrounding area.

"Do I need to leave you two alone for a while?" asked Daniels. "I mean, I don't want to interfere."

Hank ignored the question, but Trainer answered. "Nah. There's really no new information here, anyway. I don't even know why we came here, really. There's nothing new. I doubt we will come up with anything you guys haven't already found."

"Detective Miller seems to be finding something. I mean, we kinda thought it was a rope. Not that it matters or anything." Daniels trailed on, as Hank studied the scene some more.

Even though it had been a week since the incident, Hank could still see the trail on the ground, where the vic had been dragged. There were burn marks everywhere, following the trail around park picnic tables and other trees.

"So, since the vic's left leg was nearly separated, I would think that his left leg was tied to whatever vehicle was used to drag the body around the park." Hank surmised.

"Well, we thought it was a small car," said Daniels.

"I saw in the report that your crime scene unit found two sets of tracks in the dirt, near the scene. Your guys traced the larger set to a Ford F series truck, correct?" Hank asked the young officer.

"F350, I believe. They think maybe it was pulling a trailer, too." Said Daniels.

"So, how could the smaller set be a small car?" Hank asked. "The tracks made by the vehicle that pulled our vic are way too narrow for even a small car. Most likely an ATV. Maybe a tractor, but probably an ATV," explained Hank.

"That makes sense," Daniels replied.

"Oh stop it. Don't encourage him," Trainer chimed in. "He gets way too full of himself. Don't ya, Henry?"

"The crime scene guys took molds of the vehicle that pulled our vic, did they not?" asked Hank, ignoring Trainer again.

"Yes," said Daniels. "But they couldn't match it to a make or model."

"Have them run it against ATV tires." Hank advised the young officer.

Daniels took the hint and went to his cruiser to radio in the new information. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long to get the results.

Hank got down on the ground, in front of the tree that the vic had been tied to. He smelled the ground. As Hank had his face to the ground, something smelled familiar.

"Jack, make yourself useful, and go get the bottle of lighter fluid that I have in the trunk."

Jack Trainer just stood his ground. "Why would you have a bottle of lighter fluid in our trunk? Why? What possible reason would you have to keep a bottle of lighter fluid in our trunk?"

"Just shut up and get it," Hank insisted, and finally Trainer moved his fat ass to fetch the fluid.

Hank sat up, in the charred dirt, as Trainer handed him the bottle of fluid. He smelled the bottle of lighter fluid. Then, he put the bottle aside, and put his face to the charred ground, under the tree once more.

"Yup. It's lighter fluid," Hank finally explained, as Officer Daniels left his cruiser to join the conversation.

"What's lighter fluid?" asked Daniels. "That's not in the file."

"No question. It's lighter fluid," explained Hank. "It looks to me, that the unsub doused the vic with lighter fluid, here at the tree. Probably even set him on fire here, before he took off with the ATV. You can see clearly that the charred ground starts here, under the tree."

"This is all guess-work," said Trainer, kicking a stone with his foot, bored out of his mind. He really hated his job, and was perfectly aware that he was very bad at it. His father was a cop who pretty much insisted that Jack Jr. would be the best cop there ever was. Unfortunately, Jack Jr. hated his father, and was bad at his job out of spite.

"No, no... I think he's onto something," said Daniels. "We thought that the perp, or I guess yer calling him 'unsub'? Well, we thought the unsub just set the guy on fire after he was done pulling the limbs out with his car or ATV, or whatever. Thought he was just trying to cover up something."

"He wasn't covering up anything," said Hank. "He just wanted the poor guy to suffer as much as possible. Yanking his limbs out wasn't enough. He had to make the guy burn at the same time."

"Wow, that's sick." Said Daniels.

"That's bullshit," said Trainer. "No way. You don't set someone on fire, then go riding around the park with him. You set him on fire to hide some evidence. We're not looking for some sick fuck, we're looking for an organised killer who covers his tracks."

"I don't think he tried to cover his tracks at all," said Hank. "He was just having a good time, enjoying himself. Not a care in the world."

"What makes you say that?" Asked Daniels, curious.

"I'll show you," Hank said, as he went to his car and pulled out his copy of the Clackamas County report. He grabbed one picture in particular, one of an evidence bag that held a Dairy Queen wrapper.

He held the picture up, so both Officer Daniels, and Trainer could see it. "How do you explain this wrapper?" asked Hank.

"No way," said Trainer, with a dumbstruck look. "Where the hell did those crime scene guys find that? It could be anybody's stupid Dairy Queen wrapper."

"The report said they found it right by the truck tracks," explained Daniels. "They found prints and DNA, but haven't found any matches yet."

"Did they run it against state and federal employees?" asked Hank.

"I don't know. I don't think so. Usually just the IAFIS criminal database," said Daniels.

"Well, I'm just saying that if you want to widen the search, check the federal employees. If there's still no match, check state as well." Hank said, as he looked over the pictures of the truck tracks.

"Good idea," said Daniels. "I'll have them check those databases as well."

"Yea, good luck with that," Trainer said, losing his patience.

"I'll bet this Dairy Queen wrapper fell out of the unsub's truck as he got back in to leave," Hank said.

"What the hell are you even talking about Henry? How do you even know the unsub is a 'he' for Christ's sake? Could be some pissed off bitch that caught her lover cheating or something," said Trainer, just trying to crack Hank.

"It's not a woman," Hank said, sure of himself.

"Come on..." Trainer started. "So the girl and her boyfriend go up the mountain to ride their ATVs. She decides on the way to finally get rid of him for good, so they stop here, she goes all she-bitch, sets him on fire and takes off. How's that?"

"No tracks on the driver side," Hank explained. "Someone waited in the truck as our unsub killed the vic."

"That's cold," said Daniels.

"Okay. Fine. Now what, Sherlock?" Trainer said, hoping Hank didn't have the answer, and they could finally go home.

"Looks like we're off to Dairy Queen," Hank said.

"Goddamnit," Trainer grumbled, as he got into their unmarked car.

Hank thanked Officer Daniels for his help, gave him a card and said to call if they found a print match.

"I'd better at least get some ice cream out of this," Trainer said, as Hank finally got in the car and started to drive down Highway 26 towards the Grill and Chill.

==============================================
DISCLAIMER: This is fiction, you fucking idiots. It's just a goddamn story.

This blog can also be found at http://killingeveryday.com
Check out my Tumblr http://killingeveryday.tumblr.com

Killing a cabin-boy for shark bait

I drove to the South Beach Marina in Newport, Oregon to do some deep sea fishing in my boat that I keep moored there.

It was about ten AM by the time I got to the Marina. I Grabbed my cooler and a bag of gear from my truck, and walked on down the dock to my boat. I thought it was strange that the door to the cabin on my boat was a bit ajar. The only explanation, in my mind, was a possible intruder.

I got a knife out of my bag, and slowly pulled the cabin doors open. There, sitting at the kitchen table was a boy eating cereal. He looked up at me, like a deer in headlights. "Ummm..." He said, mouth still full of cereal.

"Yea..." I said, staring him down. "What the fuck are you doing in my boat?!" I pointed the knife at him and he looked like he was about to pee his pants.

"I..." Is all he said for about a minute, as I waited in the doorway, still pointing the knife at his face. "My... My parents kicked me out." He finally said. "I was like, homeless, you know?"

Was that a question? How the fuck am I supposed to know this stupid kid's problems? Kids these days...

"So, you just decided to break into my boat and have some cereal?" I asked, still trying to understand what the fuck he was doing there. "Like, you don't have any friends you could crash with? Come on, yer like what, eighteen?"

I learned a long time ago that one way to get people to like you, is to talk like them. Mimic them. Not overly so, just in a subtle way. They will be instantly drawn to you, like you understand them. I do these little tricks all the time, unconsciously.

"Nineteen." The kid said. "So, I'm like an adult, you know? So, like they just threw me out. Said 'Go get a job' or something. Be an adult. But, like, I don't wanna be an adult, ya know?"

He didn't answer my question. Kids today. "So... Like, you don't have any friends?" I finally lowered my knife, hoping it would allow his brain to work.

"Oh yea, man. I mean, I had friends, you know?" I knew it wasn't a question, but he kept going up at the end of the sentence, like a question. Fucking kids.

"So like, then what happened?" Another get them to like me trick. I sat down at the table, across from him.

"Well, I came out of the closet, like a year ago, ya know? And like everyone hated me. My parents hated me, kids at school hated me. My friends all dis-owned me. Bullshit like that, ya know?" He almost stared to cry.

"Fucking bullshit." I said. "Didn't you have a boyfriend, or something? Someone to comfort you? Someone you could stay with?"

"Yea man. Had one. That's why I finally moved out of my parent's place. He let me stay at his place, and it was cool for a while, but then..." He actually started to cry. What a goddamn pussy.

"It's okay." I said, as I started plotting his death in my head. "It's his loss anyway. I mean, you're a nice looking young man. You could get any guy you wanted, really."

"Nice of you to say." He said. "But, I don't know... I haven't really gotten used to the gay lifestyle, you know? I even put Grindr on my phone. People kept sending me dick pics, but how do I just pick up a stranger and like, fuck them? It's so weird."

"Well, it starts with you sucking my dick." I said, as I stood up from the table and pulled my cock out. "I'm sure as fuck not gonna let you stay here for free. Just suck my dick and we'll be all good."

He smiled. "Been a while. But yea. That's cool, man." He said, as he finally got down on his knees in front of me.

I wanted to toy with him for a while, so I just put my cock in his mouth and fucked his face for a few minutes. I really wasn't that interested in oral, but I know young faggots just love the cock. So, I let him slurp on it for a while as I tried not to think about how I was going to wreck his pretty-boy asshole.

"Nice." I said, as he continued slurping on my wet cock. "Now, take those close off, and come with me to the bed." I said. He took his clothes off, and I led him off to the bed at the back of the cabin, towards the bow of the boat.

He was quiet as he followed me to the bed. I liked that in a submissive. "Get up there." I said, as I slapped him on the bare ass. He bounded up on the bed and stared back at me with a grin.

"Turn over. Put that ass in the air." I commanded him. He started to frown a bit, worried. "What is it?" I asked.

"Well..." He hesitated. "Like, never really done anal, you know? Just blow jobs. I can just finish you off, okay?" He asked, with a smile, with hope in his eyes.

I wasn't going for it. "Turn over, on your stomach. I just want to rub down your back and your ass. It turns me on, okay? I have a bottle of baby lotion right there, next to the bed. Just turn over."

And, he finally turned over. I also had a roll of duct tape near the bed. I opened the drawer and pulled the tape out. I also got the oil out and I started to oil up his legs, down to his ankles.

"Ahhh, that's nice man." He said.

I took the tape and quickly wrapped the boy's ankles together. "What the fuck, man?!" He screamed. I got another piece of tape and wrapped it quickly around his stupid face.

He started thrashing around on the bed, trying to grab me with his hands. I taped them down, behind his back.

I straddled his thighs, staring deep into his ass crack. "Never had anal, eh?" I asked, with an evil laugh. I smacked his ass cheeks a few times and the boy let out a muffled scream from behind the tape.

"Oh yes. Scream all you want. Anal is always better with screams." I said, as I jammed three fingers into his brown hole. He clenched his buttocks and i punched him in the kidney.

"You're going to let me fuck your ass, little boy. You're going to love being fucked in the ass. You will love it, or I will slice your stupid throat and throw you overboard for the fishies. Got it?" I traced his ass cheeks with the knife, and he mumbled that he understood.

I fucked his ass, hard and furious. I saw the boy cringe, his face turning a dark red and the vein in his forehead bulged out. He was in terrible pain, and I loved it.

I kept pounding his ass for a solid ten minutes, while I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and gave him gentle kisses on the back of his neck. He cringed at the kisses almost as much as the pounding on his ass.

His fear made me smile, and I came. Pulled out of his ass, and a trail of blood followed. Fucking kid ruined my perfectly white sheets.

I left him there, in the cabin, still taped up. Went back to my truck to get the rest of my fishing supplies, came back to the boat, and cast off from the dock.

I drove the boat a few miles out to sea. It was poring rain like a motherfucker and the sea was quite choppy. I found a nice solid rope to tie the kid up with and went back to the bed to fetch him.

He was crying on the bed, sobbing through the tape. I took the tape off his mouth. "What the fuck are you babbling about?" I asked.

"You fucking raped me, man. You raped me... I think I'm bleeding. I wanna go home." More crying.

"Too bad, kid. Picked the wrong cabin to break into. Welcome to adulthood, motherfucker." I said, as I tied the strong rope around his ankles, hoisted him over my shoulder and took him to the back of the boat. I tied the other end of the rope to a metal hoop on the rear of the boat and gave the kid a daring smile.

"What's going on?" He said, through continued sobbing. "Where are we... Going?"

"Oh, well I'm going shark fishing. You're bait." I said, as I slashed his chest with my knife, drawing just enough blood to attract a big fucking shark. Then, I tossed him over the back of the boat. I jammed on the throttle and I saw the kid thrashing in the waves. Bobbing up and down, like good bait.

I didn't want him to drown, really. I just drove at full speed for a few minutes, then slowed down, to see if he would come back to the surface. More thrashing, back to the surface he came, flopping about like a good bait fish.

I hit the throttle again and turned on the GoPro that was aimed at the back of the boat. I wanted to watch this kid getting eaten by a big ass shark over and over. Good times.

A few minutes later, I got my wish. A huge fucking shark jumped out of the surf, near the kid. He screamed bloody murder. The shark came up behind him and snapped at one of his arms. More screams.

After the shark toyed with him for a while, it finally took a huge bite. I could tell, because I could feel the pull against the boat. I looked back and could still see part of the kid bobbing up and down amongst the waves. Got out my binoculars and saw that his head and chest were gone.

Just then, I saw in the binoculars the huge shark taking the last bite of the kid. It lunged several feet into the air, with the kid hanging out of its mouth. After that, it was over, so I untethered the rope from the boat.

Got out my Iphone, and watched the GoPro video of the kid getting ripped to shreds. Over and over. Until I came.

==============================================

DISCLAIMER: This is fiction, you fucking idiots. It's just a goddamn story. 

This blog can also be found at http://killeveryday.wordpress.com

Check out my Tumblr http://killingeveryday.tumblr.com

Killing a smug Prius driver

I was at Safeway, getting some groceries, like a normal person. Walked out to my truck, and there is some crazy lady staring at it. 

"Can I help you?" I asked her, as I put my groceries away in the back seat of the cab.

"How can you drive this?" She asked.

"Easily. Pulls like a motherfucker." I said.

"Language!" She shouted at me. Nearly hit me with her purse.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Don't talk like that! I'm a christian." She declared, like that should have some meaning to me.

"Hey, whatever sky wizard you want to pray to is fine by me, lady. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do." And with that, I hopped up into the driver's seat in my truck.

Apparently, she wasn't finished with me. "I can't believe you talk like that." She went on. "The nerve! And to drive such an obnoxious truck! My Prius gets 60 miles to the gallon and here you are driving this huge truck to the grocery store. Shame on you." She said, waving her stupid finger in my face.

"I hate to tell you this..." I explained. "But, your precious Prius does not get 60 miles to the gallon." Because, they really don't. I sold the stupid things in a previous life, and I know the Prius is just marketing bullshit.

"But..." She started as I shut my truck door in her face and started up my diesel engine. I could tell she was still talking because her stupid face was still yapping along, but I just didn't care. I revved the engine up a few times just to burn some of that precious fuel she cared so much about.

Then, she started smacking the glass on my window with her umbrella. I couldn't fucking believe it. I really just wanted to ignore her and get on my way, but she was making it quite difficult. I wasn't about to just go away after some stupid bitch smacked her umbrella at me. I rolled down my window. "What?!" I finally asked, exasperated.

"I said, apologise! Don't you go slamming doors in my face after talking to me like that!" She said, her brow furrowed and stern looking. Oh no. I started shaking in my boots. This smug bitch is so scary.

I just stared at her stupid smug face for a while, trying to decide if I should just shoot her in the head right there in the parking lot. I was really tempted. "Go fuck yourself." I finally said, and rolled up my window. I revved up my engine some more just to piss her off. She screamed something at me, but I couldn't hear it.

Finally, she stomped off to her stupid prius. I waited for her to pull out and then followed her out the exit. I could see her watching me in her rear-view mirror. She still had that smug anger in her face. How dare I drive such a big truck. Stupid cunt.

She took a left on Highway 26, towards Mt. Hood and I followed closely. I wanted to know I was back there. Hard to miss my big obnoxious truck in her rear-view mirror. After about 10 miles up 26, she took a right on a side street and I followed along. It was quite a curvy road, with a cliff on the left side. It was raining like a motherfucker and I could tell the smug bitch was having trouble driving because she was gripping the steering wheel of her precious little Prius with both hands. There were patches of snow on the right side of the road and their may have even been a little ice, but I couldn't really tell because my truck is heavy as fuck and traces of ice don't do shit to the beast.

I still had some work that I had to do, back at the house, so I figured it was best just to put this smug Prius cunt out of her fucking misery. I tapped on her rear bumper a tad with the grille guard on the front of my truck. The Prius skidded a tad, but still stayed on the road. I tapped it again, this time digging in from the right side, trying to push her to the left, maybe even off the cliff. The Prius bounced to the left a bit, but still stayed on course.

I hadn't really done this before. Never really ran anyone off the road. Not like it's hard. The concept is simple, especially with a big truck against a puny little prius. I knew how to do it, but I was really just toying with the smug cunt. I wanted to see her squirm and cry to her sky wizard for help. I just wish i could see the look on her face when her god failed to answer her call.

I let off the gas and fell back a bit to get some room between us. I wanted to get a good run at her, instead of just giving her a gentle tap. So, I hit the gas hard, and smacked the back of the Prius something fierce. The hatchback caved in and her left rear wheel started to wobble. She was all over the road, after that. Still trying to hang on, but the car was having trouble staying in the lane.

I saw the stupid cunt practically crying in her rear-view mirror. Looking back at me. Pleading. I backed away from her Prius once more, slammed on the gas, and hit the tiny car hard from the right side. It hit so hard, the right back quarter panel of the Prius completely crumbled. Her right rear tire folded into itself, and the tiny car finally slid off the pavement and down the cliff off the left side of the road. Success!

I stopped on the side of the road, and got out to watch her stupid Prius tumble down the cliff. It had gotten lodged against a huge tree about a hundred yards down. It was on its left side. The top of the car was lodged against the tree. The bottom of the car was facing up towards me. Perfect, I thought.

I went to my truck and got out my .22 rifle, which had a pretty good scope on it. Got to the side of the road and aimed down the ravine to the tiny little Prius and its vulnerable gas tank. I could see through the scope that the smug Prius lady was trying to open the right side door, to climb out the top. So, I took a few shots at her gas tank. I shot it until the car finally exploded. I could see the smug bitch burning, still inside the car.

"Mmmmm." I said to myself. "I could really go for a flame-broiled Whooper right now."

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DISCLAIMER: This is fiction, you fucking idiots. It's just a goddamn story.

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Killing a girl on the MAX train

On a Thursday evening, around ten PM, I drove to the Cleveland Ave. MAX station in Gresham. Okay, I didn't actually drive to the station, I parked a few blocks down, so the cameras didn't pick up my licence plate.

I walked up to the station with a hoodie on, to cover my face. Then, I blacked out all the cameras I could find with a can of spray paint. I'm sure there probably were more cameras, but that's what the hoodie was for.

Nobody else was at the station. After about ten minutes, the train arrived, going west towards Portland. I hopped on and took a seat. I placed my kill bag, full of fun killing toys, in the seat next to me, and just rode the train to Civic Drive. I got off there, and got onto the train going back to Cleveland Ave., in hopes of catching some vulnerable girl.

Nobody was on the car that I was in, but I just sat there patiently, hoping some poor girl would wander on in the next few stops. While I was waiting for the next stop, I got up and scanned the car for cameras. I found two, one at each end of the car. I blacked both of them out with the spray paint, then got back to my seat.

At the City Hall station, a couple pasty-white thugs got on the train. Fucking white punks gotta ruin my fun. I stared them down, in hopes that they would start something. I wasn't going to kill them, I just wanted them out of the way.

One of them noticed me staring. "What's yer problem, homes?" He asked me, sounding kinda Mexican. He wasn't Mexican. He was a fucking suburban white-boy cunt.

"Get off my fucking train, ese." I said in my most white-boy spanish accent.

"What you say, homes?" He asked, keeping up the Mexican thug thing.

"I said, you ain't Mexican. You're a stupid-ass suburban white-boy. Now, get off my train." I said, in the most matter-of-fact way.

The other thug chimed in. "Shut you're whore mouth, man! We own this train. You get off OUR train, bitch." I guess this other thug though he was a black guy or something. Had on a doo rag and everything.

I saw the next station coming up, so I wanted to get these guys out of my face as soon as possible. I pulled the .22 from my back pocket and pointed it at them sideways, like some black guy would do in the movies.

"I said, get the fuck off my train, bitches." And they both backed the fuck off. It cracked me up, they were so scared. They just backed up, put their hands up and stared at me in disbelief.

"Alright, man. Chill. We'll get out at the next stop. Damn." The black white-boy said.

"Good." I said, and put away the gun. Just a few seconds later, and we were at the next station. The white boy thugs got off and some helpless girl got on. Thank god.

For a second, I thought the thugs were going to get back on another car on the train, but they just stood there as our train finally passed them. They still stared at me in disbelief from the station.

Finally, my attention turned to the girl who had gotten on the train. She was probably about twenty-something. Long brown hair, a modest skirt, and a red patterned sweater. Fairly hot, really. I'd say she was a seven, on a good day.

She had taken a seat furthest away from me, at the other end of the car. I didn't blame her. I look like a crazed serial killer, for fucks sake.

I started to cry, loudly. Like a little girl. As pathetic as I could. "Why?!" I hollered. "Why god, why?" More pathetic sobbs. The girl looked over, but didn't move. I started sniffing a lot, like crying people do. Wiping pretend snot all over my jacket.

I bit my lip until blood came out. Actual tears came to my eyes, from the pain. I looked over at the girl again, and our eyes met. She had a caring look. I got up with my bag, and went over to sit on the seat across from her.

"You wouldn't happen to have a tissue, would you?" I said, in my most pathetic voice.

"Oh sure. You poor thing, what happened?" She asked as she digged a tissue out of her purse.

"My mother just died at the nursing home. We were so close." I said, trying to sob some more. Hoping more tears would come. Girls are suckers for mama's boys.

She handed me a tissue across the isle. "Thanks." I said, as I wiped away a little snot that had built up because of my real tears.

"I'm so sorry." She said. "About you're mother. What happened?"

"Cancer." I said, as I calmly opened my kill bag. Reaching in, to find a roll of duct tape. "She had been fighting it for quite a while. Here, I have a picture." I said, as I got hold of he duct tape.

In one quick motion, I slid across to her with the duct tape in hand. She wasn't on guard quite yet, because she expected me to come over to show her a picture. But instead, I came over and put my left arm around her neck, in a choke hold. She screamed, and I quickly placed some duct tape across her mouth and around the back of her head.

"There you go, my dear." I said, taking some more duct tape and taping her arms behind her back.

The next station was coming up shortly. I wasn't worried. I was excited. "Lets see who gets on the train now." I whispered in her ear.

The train stopped and the doors opened. Seconds passed, and my heart raced. I hiked up the girl's skirt as we were sitting on the bench, waiting for someone to enter our car. I took her panties down around her knees. I held a knife close to her throat.

Someone entered our car. An older lady. My heart raced. For a second, I thought she wouldn't even notice us. Most people, when they enter a train car just try to ignore everyone and get on with their ride. Reading a book, or just staring into space. Not this woman.

She stared right at us as her feet crossed the threshold into the train. She stood there in shock for a second as she stared at me with that evil grin on my face. Duct tape over the girl's mouth. Her skirt hiked up. Panties around her knees. The knife that I had held to the girls throat. "Good evening." I said, with a smile.

The old lady screamed. Threw up her hands, and backed out of the car as fast as she could.

The next stop would be Cleveland Ave., where I would get off. It would only be about a ten minute ride. I didn't have much time.

I slammed the girl's face to the floor and straddled her, right behind her ass. I spat in my hand and rubbed it into her asshole. I cut into her ass cheeks a bit, around her tight hole. Pulled my cock out and shoved it in her ass as fast and deep as I could.

The girl screamed, under the duct tape. "Good." I said, as I pounded away at her ass. "Scream some more. I love it." And she did.

I reached over to my bag, as I was fucking her, and brought out a small rope. I wrapped it around her throat and pulled it tight. I choked her with the rope as I thrusted into her asshole. She coughed and gagged under the duct tape. She struggled and kicked, thrashing around like crazy.

Finally, she stopped moving, and I came. The best feeling in the world, cumming as a girl dies. I slapped her ass a few times as I pulled my cock out of her tight hole. Pulled my stuff together, and waited patiently on the bench as the train started slowing down for the last stop.

My heart raced like crazy. Someone else could get on the train. This stop was where I was getting off. If someone got on... My mind raced. I didn't know what I would do. I was in that post-orgasm haze. My brain was fucked. I started to panic.

The train came to a stop. The doors opened. I just sat there, like a fucking idiot. Deer in headlights. What do I do? Just get up, and get the fuck out you goddamn idiot!

So, I stood up. Leered out the doors. Nobody there. I walked out of the car, into the cold February air, and breathed deep the air of freedom.

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DISCLAIMER: This is fiction, you fucking idiots. It's just a goddamn story.

This blog can also be found at http://killeveryday.wordpress.com