Due to a few comments, I've decided to post a warning on the Blog site the same as I do for the Newsletter and Facebook. Readers should be over 18. X-Rated - not for kidlets. Content at times contains sex, violence and strong language.
When we arrived at Talulu's rapist's house, which as it turned out was very close to Cool Hands place of residence, we parked down the street a short distance and sat in the car for a little while. The house was huge, ominous and dark; only one room on the top floor was lit up. Talulu said, “That’s where the bastard raped me honey. See the bars on the window.”
When we arrived at Talulu's rapist's house, which as it turned out was very close to Cool Hands place of residence, we parked down the street a short distance and sat in the car for a little while. The house was huge, ominous and dark; only one room on the top floor was lit up. Talulu said, “That’s where the bastard raped me honey. See the bars on the window.”
I was about to ask Talulu if anyone else lived with him or if he had a live-in caregiver when she said, “And from what I've heard, the ugly bastard lives by himself; he has a couple of people come in during the day to clean the place, fix dinners and run errands.”
“So how do I get in? I just can’t go up and ring the door bell at this hour. I guess there’s only one way; the direct approach.” Reaching under the back seat, I pulled out a long, tire-iron used for changing flat tires and said, “Wait for me to open the front door.”
Quietly shutting the car door, I crossed the street, walked around to the back of the house and smashed a basement window. When none of the neighbours lights came on and no alarms went off, which I thought was unusual, I unlocked the window and let myself in. As soon as I crept up the stairs and opened the door leading into the kitchen, I found out why there wasn’t an alarm system; I was face to face with a growling Doberman and he was about to eat it off. Now the thing about most viscious dogs, is that they try to bite the closet thing in front of them, so when I reached towards the dog with my left hand and he dove for it with his mouth wide open, showing his pearly-whites, I shoved the tire-iron as far as it would go into the dog’s maw and gave it a violent twist; the sound of the Doberman's neck snapping was music to my ears. Stepping over the dead dog, I listened for awhile but everything was quiet. No alarm; no sirens; just the muffled sounds of my feet as I headed out of the kitchen and made my way to the front door.
After I let Talulu in, she led me upstairs. When we reached the top of the stairway, we could see a sliver of light flashing intermittently under a door at the end of a short hallway and some indistinguishable sounds could be heard. I noticed a keyhole under the doorknob and hoped it wasn’t locked as I reached for it.
The door opened smoothly and quietly; the perv, his back towards us sitting in a wheelchair, was doing exactly what I thought he’d be doing; except he wasn’t watching Cool Hands being methodically beaten and murdered; he was watching himself raping and beating Talulu.
Talulu gasped at the extremely graphic images projected on a large screen as I grabbed the wheel chair and spun it around.
The creep was an ugly looking man: half bald, one side of his face hanging off his jaw, reddish hooked nose and one watery eye; probably the result of a stroke or perhaps from the beating Cool Hand had inflicted. His eyes opened wide when he saw Talulu and then glanced at me. Even though he looked like he was next door to death; could die naturally at any moment he mumbled, “Did you come to kill me?”
I glanced at Talulu and if looks could kill, that creep would have been dead but I said, “No.” Talulu looked at me as if to say why the hell not when I continued, “We want the video showing you killing Cool Hands.”
“Cool Hands?” he asked questioningly. “Who the hell is Cool Hands? I’ve never heard of him. And look at me; I couldn't kill anybody; I'm a useless fucking cripple.”
I looked at Talulu and said, “Well...what’s Cool Hands’ real name?”
Talulu looked at me and then at the poor excuse of a man slumped in the wheelchair. Bending down, making sure the pervert got a real eye-full of her shapely breasts, she whispered in his ear.
His eyes opened wide and he said, “I never knew you called your pimp Cool Hands?”
Talulu nodded and then looked at me, “Sorry honey; its private.”
Glaring down at his dispicable scowl I said, “So where is it? Where’s the video.”
He looked at me defiantly and said, “I don’t have one and even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you!”
“Well, is that so? We’ll see about that,” I calmly said. “Move away from the wheelchair Talulu, I’m about to get some answers.”
As I swung the tire-iron I yelled, “Does your body have any feeling or are you almost dead from the neck down?” When the tire-iron connected with both knee caps, almost removing them completely from his legs, the creep screamed in agony. “So, that hurt, eh?” “How about here?” I continued as I took aim at his shins and then broke them one by one. Tears were flooding out of both eyes now and were streaming down his cheeks as he squeezed the arms of the wheelchair, trying to contain the excrutiating pain.
Mumbling hysterically, sitting helplessly in his wheelchair, his eyes almost rolled up into his head I said, “Your arms are next, unless you tell me where that video is. And I wouldn't screw around if I were you, especially if you think your two goons and pet doggy are going to come to your rescue; because they aint; I killed them all. And you're next, if you don't fucking tell me where that video is”
Talulu appeared a little pale, and to tell the truth, I was feeling a bit queasy too – breaking bones and inflicting unbearable pain was not one of my traits. But I needed that video and come hell or high water, I was going to get it, even if it meant beating the son of a bitch practically to death.
When Talulu’s tormentor stammered, drool and tears dripping off his chin, “Then why…why don’t you just kill me; get it over with?”
I just grinned at him and said, “I probably should, because you’re most likely enjoying all this pain; you masochistic, sadistic, demented son of a bitch.”
As I stood watching him clench his teeth, half of his face grimacing in agony, I nonchalantly continued, “I’m not going to kill you but before we leave here, if you make me rip this whole fucking house apart searching for the video, I am going to make certain that you will only be alive from the neck up, and oh yea, I’m going to poke your eyes out and cut your tongue off too. Now where were we Mr. big-shot in a wheelchair? Ah yes, let’s see how amusing you’ll feel; see if you're going to laugh and giggle, squeal with delight when I break your funny bones one by one – somehow I don't think you'll find it very humorous but it’s going to give me a big laugh.”
As I wound up the tire-iron like I was a batter in a big league baseball game and took careful aim at one of his funny bones, I knew I’d won.
The DVD was laying in plain sight by the computer, which was connected to a projector - what a goof - even if he hadn't told me, I'd have found it. The DVD had a small label glued to its shiny gold surface and was called, Death of a Pimp. After I hit the eject button on the computer, took out the DVD of Tulala, which was called Hooker Gets a Banging and put it it in my pocket, I placed Death of a Pimp into the DVD tray, pushed it into the computer and then clicked Play.
I heard Talulu gasp when she saw the two thugs, who had broke into her decadent workplace of sexual delight, beginning to brutalize Cool Hands. I wasn't interested in watching any part of his death; just seeing the horor on Talulu's face was hard enough. Like that night at the pizza restaurant, when I watched Bernie grab that child molester by the hair and throw him face down on the floor, I grabbed the pervert sitting in the wheelchair by his shirt collar (he didn't have enough hair) and tossed him out of the wheelchair like a rag doll. Then I dragged him; his shattered bones scraping across the hardwood floor and propped him up against the wall so he could watch the video of Cool Hands being savagely tortured and beaten to death. After taking a deep breath to cool my anger, I walked over to a phone, which was sitting on a small table near the computer and watched the video for a few moments before placing the call. When Bernie answered, I gave him the address and told him there was an interesting video he should watch. Knowing how much Bernie detested perverts, I also told him that the perv who had recorded the video was so engrossed in what he was filming, failed to see his own reflection in a large mirror that was hanging on a wall near the vicim.
The DVD was laying in plain sight by the computer, which was connected to a projector - what a goof - even if he hadn't told me, I'd have found it. The DVD had a small label glued to its shiny gold surface and was called, Death of a Pimp. After I hit the eject button on the computer, took out the DVD of Tulala, which was called Hooker Gets a Banging and put it it in my pocket, I placed Death of a Pimp into the DVD tray, pushed it into the computer and then clicked Play.
I heard Talulu gasp when she saw the two thugs, who had broke into her decadent workplace of sexual delight, beginning to brutalize Cool Hands. I wasn't interested in watching any part of his death; just seeing the horor on Talulu's face was hard enough. Like that night at the pizza restaurant, when I watched Bernie grab that child molester by the hair and throw him face down on the floor, I grabbed the pervert sitting in the wheelchair by his shirt collar (he didn't have enough hair) and tossed him out of the wheelchair like a rag doll. Then I dragged him; his shattered bones scraping across the hardwood floor and propped him up against the wall so he could watch the video of Cool Hands being savagely tortured and beaten to death. After taking a deep breath to cool my anger, I walked over to a phone, which was sitting on a small table near the computer and watched the video for a few moments before placing the call. When Bernie answered, I gave him the address and told him there was an interesting video he should watch. Knowing how much Bernie detested perverts, I also told him that the perv who had recorded the video was so engrossed in what he was filming, failed to see his own reflection in a large mirror that was hanging on a wall near the vicim.
After I hung up, I walked over to Talulu and put my arm around her and as I led her out the door she said, “Just a sec honey.” I have to admit I cringed when she went over to the busted up son of a bitch slumped against the wall and stomped on his balls with her high heels. Ooh – ouch – that must have hurt.
Once we were back in the car and heard some sirens approaching, we just laughed and nodded our heads; it was time to go.
Several years have gone by since I interviewed Talulu and a lot has happened since then. She actually retired and got married like she said. And so did I; got a couple of kids too and here they come to answer the door bell.
When they opened the door they both yelled in unison, “Hi Grampa! Hi Gramma!”
While they were taking off their coats and hanging them up in the closet, I walked into the kitchen and said, “Hey Talulu; your folks are here?” Fancy that, her real name was Talulu but not the Tight-Thighs part; she just made that up. And oh yeah, my name isn’t Len but I guess there’s no reason to tell you my real name, so I won’t.
EMAIL COMMENT:
EMAIL COMMENT:
Ian B: Great stories Len. You are spending too much time in the shed though, haha. Maybe Holywood will be calling on you for a script:)
Len: Thanks Ian. At least I'm not in the doghouse - not yet anyway. I doubt Hollywood will be calling me for any scripts but thanks for the complement.
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