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From: pleasecain@aol.com (PleaseCain)
Subject: Sunset Scarestory 2/2 by PleaseCain
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EXPLICIT MATERIAL NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS.
© 1998 PleaseCain@aol.com and Femmes Obscure -- Commercial use
prohibited without author's consent.  Removal of this notice is prohibited.





Bitch was getting uppity.

All night she waved her fat titties in his face, in a little haltertop that
showed
off her nipples (so juicy this time of year), one that slipped down more often
the longer they raved, the more tequila she drank, the tighter she grabbed
him.  They knew they were going to fuck: it was in her eyes, she wanted it.

So he drove her home, when he didn't want to leave in the first place, but he
was a good guy and she was with him, and he did what he had to do.  And
now she wasn't doing her part.

When he pulled over a couple blocks from her house, she started getting
weird, but even then she was up for a good time.  She put her hands up, but
he kissed her and told her how pretty she was, and she would relax ("I like
kissing") and let him slide her skirt down, and kiss some more and then her
pantyhose, and later her top, and then she wouldn't let go her panties until
he stripped down.  ("See?")

Then she came up with this "Lick me, please lick me," and he told her,
"Fuck that, I don't do that shit."  Then she said, "I want to suck you down,"
and he could go for that, but he could tell she was stalling and besides she
wasn't no good at it.

He went down on her and she punched and kicked and yelled loud, forcing
him to crank the radio way up, and he had a pretty bad set-up so there
wasn't no one going to hear her.  It was sort of funny until she started
kicking on his dashboard and CD deck and windows, and then he wasn't
playing any more.  If she would just get busy it would get done faster.

He broke her down.  For a minute, she stayed quiet and he was smooth,
with the whole Jeep rocking back and forth.  Then, scared the shit out of
him, this chick started screaming in through the window.  This wigged-out
naked chick, floating on the other side of the window.

Actually, Melody wailed when she spotted a dead jawless dog on the roof of
the Jeep.

Violetta opened her eyes and saw the naked chick and she screamed too.
Then the naked chick saw the couple inside and she screamed back.

But the naked chick wasn't really floating.  They didn't know until the giant
stooped and squinted through the glass.  Ho, fucking ugly!  Violetta sprang
against Tucci as he hiked his pants.  The thing pushed the Jeep until it
rocked as before, its god-awful face pressed to the window.

Tucci slammed the door.  "You got a problem, ugly motherfucker?  Fuckin'
with my ride?  You're dead, man!"  He gave up two feet to the beast.  "Say,
you got a nice mama.  That's the way."  He stroked Melody's legs and
reached for a nipple, erect from cold.  The monster slapped the hand away.
"God, do you stink!"

With a furry paw, it plucked the burning cigarette from Tucci's lips.

"Hey, you fuck!  And get that thing out of my face!"  The beast's massive
erection pointed threateningly at Tucci's chest.  Tucci slapped it aside.

The monster jumped and retaliated with a tap to the shoulder.

Tucci leapt and swiped at its face.

It slapped him back.

Like a broken marionette, the youth's head dropped askew.  The body
crumbled to the road.

Cigarettes rolled out of the corpse's tee-shirt onto the pavement.  It lifted
one tenderly.  Just like the vision.

Much to Violetta's further consternation, the monster lowered itself to the
window once again.  She shouted in terror, but the creature had no interest
in her whatsoever.  Carefully, it placed the cigarette behind his ear and
cocked it just so, like in the vision.  It grunted with pleasure and raised
himself to its full height.  And saw an amazing thing on the dark hillside
above.

Upon the lighted billboard towered the vision.  Like in the magazine in the
cellar, but larger than life, stretched across the sky.  The barechested hunk
carried the young woman as effortlessly as the cigarette behind his ear, and
her wispy blond hair, her coquettish limbs and the thin white material of her
swimsuit all suggested she was light as air.  Something differed from the
page the monster had secreted in the masonry at home, but it wouldn't know
that the green adcopy of the billboard proclaimed "I'm going to live forever!,"
in place of the wry observation "What do they know about fun?" on its home
copy.

This did not matter, as the piece evoked such happiness.  The savage had
not a clue as to that warm sensation, yet the buoyant ingredients--the sunny
yellow background, the laser-whie smiles, the mirth of play and expectation-
-conveyed an unmistakable message, and in this combination of goods lay
the invariable formula of elation.  The primitive knew an immeasurable awe,
and a purple, bobbing penis.  And the signs did not cease there.

In the background of the gigantic photograph lay the final element, just over
the billboard girl's outstretched palm.  And there in the distance, beyond the
billboard, stood a larger, three-dimensional representation of this same
puzzle piece.  Stunned with a mystic's epiphany, the creature solemnly
affixed the cigarette in place, and embarked on the last leg of its quest,
starting uphill into the bush, blond companion screaming, as a convoy of
blue-and-whites skidded around the corner toward a body and a car with a
shocked and bleeding occupant.




Kennedy slammed the door of his unmarked and jogged to the entrance.
Charles "Hondo" Heston was waiting for him inside the glass doors, and
followed Kennedy's brisk pace through the foyer.

"How you holding up, mick?  How's Andie taking it?" he asked while Faye
the brunette receptionist buzzed them in.

"Well, Hondo," he spun into the breakroom and pulled a styrofoam cup, "I
could say that we haven't had sex in months and this won't help things," and
the three chirping rookies standing in front of the television fell silent and
looked.  Kennedy scowled and poured some joe.  "But we'll pull through
this, dammit.  She's a tough little girl.  And I'm gonna get that boat, and
we'll
leave this stinking town."

Heston gave him a beefy pat on the shoulder.

The convenience store videotape played, now computer-enhanced.
Kennedy wandered near.  The sequence repeated and repeated, fast, slow,
backward, louder, forward, with and without expert commentary.  The
officers sized up the situation.

"Will you look at the pumpkins on her?" commented one shavetail.

"That's not where I was looking," said another.

"You sons of bitches, that's my daughter!"  Kennedy cold-cocked the first
one, then threw coffee in the other's face, spun and landed a roundhouse
kick to the side of the head.  He would have gouged the third's eyes out, if
Heston hadn't locked his arms.

"Get the hell out of here!" he yelled at the youngster, straining against his
berserk partner.  In a minute he let go, both men huffing.

Kennedy tossed the empty cup at the prone bodies.  "Thanks Hondo, I owe
you one," he said and lit a smoke.

"You gotta cool down, mick.  The Old Man's just waiting on you to slip up,
you know."

"I know, I know.  Come on, we haven't got all night," and he was off down
the hallway.

"Mick, the Old Man expressly said he doesn't want you anywhere near the
War Room on this one.  He's going to bust your ass down."

"Don't you worry, I'll behave myself.  Besides," he paused outside the door,
"it's my daughter they're talking about, and he's got nothing to say."  He
slipped inside.  Heston shrugged and followed.

The room was dark but for the lamp of an overhead projector.  Frazzled by
the momentary interruption, a pear-shaped officer in thick glasses stood
open-mouthed in the glare.

>From the conference table, Chief Borgnine glowered at the newcomers
standing in the corner.  "Detective Hackett, you were saying?  About the
forensic data?"

"Yes?  Oh yes, the most fascinating aspects of this current situation may be
found in an apparently unrelated homicide occurring this afternoon a few
blocks from this cluster of earliest sightings.  Hadda Teller, white, early
eighties, found bludgeoned in her living room, laying in a pool of blood and
Halloween candy.  Teller was the widow of renowned cryptozoologist Anton
Spelczech . . ."

"Cryptozoologist, Detective?"

"An expert in mythic and disputed fauna, Chief Borgnine.  Spelczech
immigrated from Hungary after the Soviet crackdown in '56 and settled in
California, and died in 1989.  He signed a yeti track casting for me at my
first conference, a truly brilliant specimen that . . ."

"Yes, yes, Hackett, get to the point."

"Indeed.  Spelczech was renowned for his studies of the North American
sasquatch, popularly known as Bigfoot."  With his fingered, Hackett framed
caustic quotes around "Bigfoot."  "Spelczech consistently produced
evidence of the sasquatch arcanus that was distinguished for its biologic
uniqueness.  In a field where concrete evidence is rare if not spurious, his
samples were never shown to be hoaxes."

Impatient rustlings traveled around the table.  "Hackett . . ."

"Of course.  Judging from the massive trauma to Ms. Teller's body, the
perpetrator had to be tremendously powerful.  In fact, superhuman.  And
Homicide too discovered hair samples at the immediate site that are thus far
unidentifiable, not belonging to any creature, human or otherwise.  We found
more of these samples here, in the basement, which smelled particularly
rank, and where we also uncovered other evidence, including these
oversized stool specimens, which I'd recognize anywhere as similar to this,
Spelczech's famous Sample #12/77, which he claimed was the verified
stool of . . . sasquatch, the Bigfoot!"  He switched to a transparency showing
side-by-side still frames from the convenience store tape and the famous
Patterson-Gimlin film of the sasquatch.  "I believe that further examinations
of the Teller premises will confirm my hypothesis."

The room was in an uproar.  "Detective Hackett, are you proposing that a
mad biologist brought one of these Bigfoot creatures in West Hollywood,
and it's now running loose in our city?"

"I am!" he thundered above the din, riding the wave of discord in a grand
manner.  "It is obvious to me that Spelczech held a sasquatch specimen in
his home for years, and for whatever reason the creature has now escaped
and is at large in our fair community!"

"This is all rather outrageous . . ."

"Gentlemen, we are presented with a historic opportunity to capture a live
sasquatch.  With proper planning and care, this day may prove a boon to
science and to our own department."

"You freak."  The lights glimmered on; it was Kennedy's hand on the
switches.  He staggered forward, clumsy with rage.  "There's a monster out
there, damn you!  We already have one body on our hands, and you
propose we coddle this . . . this . . . thing, until we have bodies stetching
from here to Pasadena."  He dove across the table, where he struggled with
a dozen pairs of arms, and the lecturer hopped atop the projector.  Dragging
out the door, Kennedy spat, "We need to destroy this monster, before it
rapes more of our women and children!"

A minute later, the men straightening their uniforms, Borgnine emerged and
signaled over his shoulder.  "Kennedy, my office," and kept walking.

"You're in it now, mick."

"Yeah, time to face the music.  Thanks, guys, l got drinks later."

"Good luck, Kennedy," they muttered as he shambled away.

The heavy door was ajar at hall's end.  Kennedy rapped.

"Come in.  Sit.  Cigarette?  Meredith and the doctor'll have my balls if I
don't
quit soon, but they don't work 15 hour days and answer to the mayor.  Know
what they have me eating?"  He lifted a plastic bag like holding a mangy
rabbit.  "These.  The chief of police, eating fucking rice cakes."  Leaning
forward, his voice became grave.  "You probably think I'm going to tear you
a new asshole, but I'm not.  You must be going nuts with that girl out there,
what's her name . . ."

"Melony."

"Melanie.  Kennedy, we're on the same side."

"I appreciate that, Borg."

"You want your family back, and we both know all the copy-catting this is
stirring: there's no way all those flags come from the same perp.  This
monster (if that's what it is) has got every nutso and dimestore johnny out on
our streets.  It's a world of evil out there, and we've got to shut it down."

"I realize that, Chief, but what are you going to do about it?  Go out there
with white gloves and leashes and bring back a little something for the zoo?
Collect our guns and make us wear control-top pantihose and . . ."

"Kennedy!  Kennedy!" the other interrupted.  "Kennedy, you've got to trust
us, we'll get the girl back, but . . . you're off the case.  I'm sorry, but
you're
too damned close to it, and the last thing we need with all this bedlam on
our hands is . . ."

"Is an honest cop who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty.  Or don't you
remember cop work, Borgnine?"

"Now Kennedy, let's not get nasty about this."

"People are getting torn to shreds, windows breaking, out there, and all
everyone talks about around here is bureaucratic rules."

"That's enough out of you, Kennedy.  You're off the case, and that's that.
And I'll bust you down to janitor if I find you anywhere near it."

"Oh yeah?"  He rose, his scarlet forehead and ears turning his crew-cut hair
lighter.  "I want to give you a shoe up the ass, but I'll give you this
instead."
He slammed his badge on the desk.  "I don't need it anymore."

"Yeah?  Thanks."  He fingered the famed bullet-ding on the shield.  "I've
been looking for this a long time.  You've been marked ever since you
planted that glove!"

"You son of a!" he rushed, but Hondo pounced from his listening spot
outside the door and pulled Kennedy from the chambers.

A lieutenant sidestepped the entwined wrestlers and entered the head's
office.  Inside, he reported, "Sir, we have positive confirmation of the
perpetrator's forty: the Hollywood Hills, the vicinity of the sign, sir.  We
also
have another body and an apparent sexual assault."

Kennedy and Heston were already in the parking lot.

"I must be nuts or something."  Heston gunned the engine.

"Just a routine arrest, Kimosabe," Kennedy answered and slapped the light
on the roof.  Heston observed his jaw tapping the way it did whenever there
would be trouble.  He pulled away.

They passed no less than three roadblocks  They didn't need the scanner to
know they were on the right track.  The traffic leading there was astounding--
VW vans, Star Trek freaks and Entertainment Tonight, beside the usual
throngs of gapers and well-wishers.

"Scumbags," Kennedy hissed as they passed on the shoulder.  He hadn't
seen so many patrolcars in the field since Northridge.

Hondo expertly wove a route through relatively clear access roads.
Ironically, despite all the activity on the hills, they passed a dark spot from
which stretched a panorama of the Valley, so beautiful on that clear evening
that Kennedy remembered for an instant why he had stayed in L.A. so long
ago.  It was like a reflection of heaven, a beautiful bowl of stars.  Except
for
the smoke clouds billowing from the brushfires to the southwest.

They rounded a bluff and the scene unfolded before them.  Floodlights
blasted the Hollywood sign a few hundred yards uphill.  Flashing emergency
vehicles blocked the accessway, so they parked the squad and went on
foot.  A tank ground to a halt ahead, gun tilting skyward.  Snipers held at
least two positions in the foreground.  The cops who didn't notice and fall
away from Kennedy's approach, squinted through binoculars and elbowed
each other, searching.  The grizzled veterans pushed their way through to
the command center, headed by an old friend, Captain Brown.

"Jim, what do we have here?"

"Mick, Hondo, glad you're here.  They're up there somewhere, but we
haven't spotted them."

"Nothing?"

"We're doing the best we can.  Can't very well pack any more hardware and
manpower on this rock, can we?"

"I know.  Sorry, Jim."   A second later, the binocular boys snapped to, and
rifle carbines clicked.  The searchlights focused on a single spot, and the
crowd wailed its surprise.  Scaling the letter D, the hirsute man-beast stood,
carrying the shrieking nude woman.

"Holy god in heaven," gasped Kennedy.

Raising a hand to unsuccessfully block the glare, the gargantuan leaped to
the adjacent O and the next O, but he could not escape the swiveling
beams.  With each jump, the onlookers oohed.  It hurdled to the W, and then
back again, where it roared in frustration and challenge.  The captive shrilled
louder.

"Don't worry, mick, my boys are under strict orders to avoid collateral
damage."

"Jim, does this thing respond to speech?  I mean, have you tried talking to
it?"

"No dice, but what would help is if you tried calming that little girl down,
make our job a whole lot easier, diffuse the situation."  Brown handed him
the megaphone.

Kennedy scratched his head, cleared his throat, lifted the horn.  "Uh, ahem,
M-Melony, Melony, this is your father, daddy, I'm down here."  His wide
eyes surveyed the cameras and watchers on both sides.  "Now listen honey,
I know we've had our tough times, and, see, but you've got to quiet down up
there, settle down, and you know I'm no good at this speaking stuff, and
how can I put this, well, I, I need you so, uh, Melony, that I could cry, yeah,
and, and I love you so, and that is why, whenever I want you . . ."

But he was almost immediately drowned out by the deafening thumps of a
helicopter ascending the ridge.  It drew nearer the sign, trained its gaze at
the monster and hovered menacing as a cobra.  Viper-quick, it buzzed the
swiping, defiant creature and circled around.

Monster and beauty disappeared from view, while the chopper scanned the
length of the sign for long seconds.

Brown spotted them in his night goggles.  "It's destroying the sign!" he
barked in his headset.  "Act now!  Do not hit her!" just as the copter's beams
locked on the crouching figures, the monster kicking at the support of the
letter on which he stood.  The first O wobbled and teetered.

The monster shook a fist at its foe, and the gun spit a staccato flurry of
lead,
in only two seconds creating dozens of explosions of blood and fur, and as
many tiny craters in the girl's creamy flesh.  Red cascaded down the O, and
two bodies tumbled like a spider down the ravine.

They did not hit the sign.


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