I was out “scouting” with Martin. Not only did Martin not trust me. He did not want to be out with me. Martin spit on the ground as conversation.
“You want to go this way?” I ask.
Spit.
“You want to follow that guy?”
Spit.
Martin wanted IN the house. Martin wanted to do something big. When Martin sparred, he wanted 3 guys at once, 4 guys at once. Nothing was enough. He looked like a guy that had a moustache at 12. He had a low hairline, chest hair crawling up his neck, arms and legs black with hair. You could see his pubes growing down his legs. He was all testosterone, and had a crazy look in his eyes. Psychopath. A look that said “I want to kill”… probably had that look when he sang “Happy Birthday”.
“Well, I mean they didn’t say we couldn’t go in,” I said.
Spit.
The kitchen door is unlocked. Martin is very stealthy. I feel like we are playing at being Ninjas…but my adrenalin is pumping, my breath fast.
Two guys are on a sofa. A white and black guy. Not the typical kill-issue here. Both look like marines.
“I don’t know if we’re supposed to kill these guys,” I say in a low voice.
Martin stands and takes off his shoes. He walks up to them barefoot, pulls his shirt off and throws it on the floor. “GET UP!”
“What the fuck?” the black guy says.
“FIGHT OR DIE!”
The white guy is up and Martin spins, kicks him in the solar plexus. The guy stumbles back. The black guy is just sitting, looking resentful. The white guy runs at Martin. Martin assumes a boxing stance. Punches him hard. In the face. The white guy shakes it off.
“GET UP” Martin yells at the black guy.
He gets up slowly.
“FIGHT!”
The black guy comes to life.
Martin smiles. The two of them start to punch and kick at Martin. Martin parries each punch. He looks at me and smiles. A Vietnamese guy now comes from the kitchen area. Martin smiles big at me. Maybe he doesn’t hate me really I think. The white guy picks up a pool cue to use, but it is knocked free quickly. Martin leaps and catches the black guy behind the head with his foot.. tumbles him right into the white guy. Then turns to the Vietnamese guy, this kid who barely looks sixteen, and who is now in a fighting stance. Martin sweeps the kids legs out from under him and catches the head between his own legs. He snaps the kid’s neck between two slabs of hairy muscle.
The black guys voice goes up, “You just snapped his neck!”
Now yours, Martin says almost softly.
They start to run. Martin trips the white guy by grabbing at his legs. He pulls the guy backward and punches his skull, stunning him. He is still in motion as he catches the black guy by his shirt, ripping it almost off, pulling him into a sleeper. The black guy, who looks to be pretty well-muscled himself, squeals like a pig. Martin drags him back to where the white guy is getting up. He takes each one of their necks in an arm. He faces them towards me.
He is taking his time. I’m looking in their faces. They still look like they think they have a chance. Black guy tries to look tough, pissed, sputtering obscenities…. White guy looks like he wants his Daddy. Martin pulls his head back with the effort at cracking their necks. Martin’s own neck is a pyramid of muscle, now…striated with veins. His face turns red. His forearms are almost inhuman looking. The black guy is now giving up, he looks into the white guys eyes. The white guy is almost stroking the bicep around his neck. Martin then relaxes his hold. The black guy grabs his dick, then with a quick jerk, Martin snaps their necks, both at once.
He adjusts his posture and holds them up in his arms. Both have a look of dumb surprise on their face. He looks at me, but isn’t smiling.
“Impressive,” I say.
He drops them, spits.
“Now you,” he says.
I back up.
“No. I mean. You go. It’s your turn.”
“Did you leave anyone?”
“They can get more.”
“I don’t know… after seeing this… I just don’t know if I can do….”
“What did you come here for?”
I had to kill. It was do it or be exposed and very likely be put into an exhibition fight myself. I picked at random. I knew it had to be random. No choice involved. Of course, my random choice turned out to be someone a foot taller than myself, probably a basketball star in his high school days, a junkie or a fugitive or something now that got his ass snared. Red hair, goatee, shoulders like grapefruits, long biceps, long neck. He was shirtless and in shorts. His legs could have severed my body, I knew guys like that in school…bicyclists, long legs, but huge quads, and big round calves.
I had to keep myself away from those legs. I thought I would drop down on the guy from above, like Tom Cruise in MI….get my legs around his neck and finish it quickly. My legs are short but I get some stares when I do squats at the gym. I can lift a lot with my legs. And I don’t have to see the guy’s face when I do it.
I gave Martin the plan. We found a balcony that I could hide beneath. Martin was supposed to lure the long skinny fuck under there and position him just right… otherwise he said I’d be waiting all night for him to get underneath where I could drop on him.
It went pretty well. I watched Martin’s face as I tried to snap the guys neck with my legs and hang onto the balcony deck too. He looked like he was watching football, but just maybe a second down….. and nine. The guy finally pulled me down. Something happened when I was on the ground grappling with this guy.
I wanted to see his face. It was fucking sick, but I fucking had to see the eyes when I snapped his neck. I was almost there, the guy was groggy. I stopped, unwrapped my legs from his neck and climbed on top of him, belly to belly. I looked in his face, looked at that long neck. I wrapped my hands around it. I squeezed. The tongue came out, the face went red. He surfaced from unconsciousness, and looked in my eyes with panic. Sheer panic. It felt like the guy was getting a hard-on. I backed up so I could get his face in focus. I saw my forearms were all veins. That thick long neck. I thought of a guy in school that I hated that had that same neck. I kind of got a hard-on. I strangled that fuck dead. I heard the gurgle, the wheeze, the desperate whisper. I knew he was dead, but I wanted it to keep on going. Then I missed not hearing that snap that the other guys got off on.
“Should I snap his neck, too?” I asked Martin.
“He won’t mind.”
I gave the head a twist, just like in the fucking movies. It was easy if you go far enough. The neck was then something soft and pliant, almost sensual.
“Your dick is hard,” Martin said. “That’s a problem you got there.”
I suppose it was.
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