Peyote Justice – Short story

The second we hit the field, the heads started bouncing around in the trunk like shoes in a dryer. After 10 or 20 yards, it really wore my balls thin. I said, “Keep it down back there! Are you insane?”

The heads were the heads of the heads of a dangerous drug cartel. Except for one of the heads which came from a guy who may or may not have been an innocent bystander. It’s hard to say for sure when flamethrowers are involved. Things move fast in a drive-by.

Jackie said she clearly saw at least thirty-five automatic weapons trained on us when the SHTF but I think she might have miscounted. I only saw none. But you don’t take chances with serious drug lords. I torched and decapitated them, it was the only way to be certain.

Julio disposed of the charcoaled bodies for us but he couldn’t handle the heads, something about dental records. I wound up grabbing them by the hairdos and tossing them into the LeSabre. I figured they would keep while I decided where to stash them but they were so damn noisy.

I needed to get rid of them.

When the LeSabre’s transmission fell out on the Gonzales’ back 40, I knew I had to act fast.  I drop-kicked the first head as far as I could which, I was surprised to find, wasn’t very far. I heard that old familiar sound, the one you hear when you break those tiny bones in the tops of your feet and decided to throw the rest by hand.

I made it my goal to get the heads to the palm tree line since I didn’t want them found. I tossed them like a world-class discus thrower, spinning and spinning and letting them fly. One of the head’s ears came off in my hand and it didn’t fly as far as the others but I played it cool, folding the ear into my back pocket like a fifty dollar bill.

Jackie sprawled out on the hood watching clouds drift by the full moon. She tore the filter off a Virginia Slim and fired it with a wooden match.
“Should we go to Reno?” she asked lustfully.

I matched her smoldering desirability with some forbidden seduction of my own. “I hear it’s nice in Tijiuana,” I growled.

Passionately, she exhaled a bunch of sexy smoke. “The one gentleman didn’t do anything,” she said.  “He was an innocent bystander.”

“It’s too bad,” I said. “Did you see where he landed?”

“He sailed over to the left,” she said waving a casual finger in a general direction.

“I’ll find him. He can come with us,” I told her.

And I set out for the trees.

 

 

 

 

 

Author: FredRock

Pulp fiction. Noir. Hardboiled.

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