The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore

by Garrett, Wade H.

  I kept walking. “Not interested, bud.”

  “How ‘bout sum booty? I got all sizes and types.”

  “You can keep ‘em.”

  He pulled down his sunshades and looked over the top of them. “Hey, pud, don’t ignore me. You in Big Daddy T’s part of town.”

  I stopped and glared at him. “What the fuck you rambling on about?”

  “I’m Big Daddy T, every man’s threat and every woman’s regret.” He held up his right fist and shook it. “This is my friend Larry.” He raised his left fist. “This is my friend Moe. When you had enough of Larry, you ain’t gonna want no mo.”

  I was looking at him like he was crazy. “Go fuck with someone who gives a shit.”

  His gold teeth sparkled in the sun as he smiled at me. “Boy, you don’t know who you be talkin’ to.” He threw his car in park, then pointed a revolver at me. “Get yo’ ass over here!”

  I put my hands out, palms up. “What the fuck you want from me?”

  “Fo’ starters, you can clean out yo’ pockets.”

  I pulled out my wallet and held it out towards him. When he reached for it, I pressed a hidden button, activating a CO2 cartridge that blasted his face with acid. He immediately dropped the gun as he covered his face while screaming. Before anyone had a chance to see what was happening, I pushed him to the passenger’s side and took off in his car. A few blocks down I pulled into an alleyway and strangled him until he was unconscious, then sliced through the ligaments and muscles at his wrists and ankles, severing them. I tossed his shit in the back seat so they couldn’t be reattached, then kicked him out onto the asphalt before I drove away. End of story.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Now he’s living off my tax dollars.”

  “He was living off them before that. Just because he was making money from crack and ass didn’t mean he was some sort of upstanding citizen who volunteered to pay taxes while refusing free Obama bucks.”

  Wyatt laughed. “You’re probably right. So, what happened after you took his car?”

  “I disguised myself as an old woman by applying layers of latex, prosthetics and makeup to create sagging and aged looking skin over my face and neck. I wore a thinned out, gray-haired wig and a colorful dress.” Seth looked at Wyatt. “This was when I really got into the makeup thing and spent considerable time applying all the tricks of the trade. Now in most cases I simply throw something together.”

  Wyatt looked intrigued. “What did you do next?”

  “Drove my rich old ass to the crappy side of town. And I can tell you one thing; an old lady in an expensive car will get a scumbag’s attention. I hadn’t been driving but just a few minutes when a lowlife came running up to the car while I sat at a stop sign. He opened the door and brandished a knife as he yelled for me to get the fuck out. I stuck a shotgun to his abdomen and pulled the trigger. He was rolling around on the street bleeding all over the asphalt as I drove off. I had shot him with a twelve-gauge silenced shorty with special ammo designed for scumbags.”

  “What’s a shorty?”

  “It’s a shotgun based on a Mossberg 500 type action. It has a seven-inch barrel, pistol grip and holds two rounds in the tube and one in the chamber.”

  “I didn’t know you can put a silencer on a shotgun.”

  “You can if you make them yourself. It’s still noisy, but muffled enough where it won’t cause a huge alarm.”

  “Nice. What did you mean by special ammo?”

  “I replaced the bird shot with rusted metal fragments that had been marinated in human shit. I call it thug-shot.”

  Wyatt had a confused look. “Why?”

  “When I blast a scumbag in his guts, the metal fragments scatter throughout his abdominal cavity creating a huge fucking mess. The rusted fragments combined with the human waste will cause a severe infection. This surgeon’s nightmare will either result in a very painful death or a colostomy bag; it’s a helluva lot worse than just killing the fuckers.”

  “That’s some twisted shit.”

  “No worse than what they do to innocent people. At least they’re asking for it.”

  “That’s true, I suppose… So, what happened next?”

  “Around eight blocks away I noticed two guys in a piece of shit car were following me. I had a suspicion they were going to pull one of those bump and runs.”

  “What is that?”

  “These days, criminals are so lazy that instead of having to chase people up and down the street they follow you around in their air-conditioned car. They bump you at a stop sign or red light, and when you get out, the passenger in the other car steals yours. The car that was following me had two brown punks with afros. I wanted to see if they would actually do it, so I turned down a street that had no other vehicular traffic. When I stopped at a stop sign, the passenger jumped out and ran towards my car. I guess they thought they could take it without bumping me since I looked elderly. The punk was wearing a white t-shirt with a large marijuana leaf printed on the front. He tried to open my door but it was locked. I pretended as if I didn’t see him and pulled away at a very slow rate. In fact, I was driving so slow that the asshole was jogging beside me as the other guy followed in the car. I let the lazy fucker chase me until he gave up, which was just a half a block or so. The guy got back in the other car, and the same thing happened at the next stop sign, except he only jogged twenty-five feet or so. At the third stop sign they bumped me. By now I had prepared my next fuck and go. I have a specially designed device that I shove down the barrel of my shotgun for just such an occasion. The gun still uses a twelve-gauge round in the chamber, but it’s full of gunpowder with no projectile. The device looks like a harpoon; it has an eight-inch long shaft that slides into the barrel, and the end that sticks out has spring loaded barbs that pop out upon impact. The end also has an aircraft cable secured to it. I had the gun ready and the other end of the long cable was secured to my seat’s mounting bracket. When the guy ran up to my car I rolled down my window a few inches and spoke in an elderly sounding voice. “Oh my goodness, youngin’, I think we had a fender bender.”

  “Get the fuck out of the car!”

  I looked disturbed. “Does your Mama know you talk like that?”

  He grabbed the door handle and noticed it was locked. “I said get the fuck out, bitch!”

  I covered my mouth. “Oh my! What a potty mouth.”

  “Unlock the door before I break the glass!” He raised his fist.

  “I’m going to call the cops.”

  He struck the glass, but it didn’t break. He shook his hand for a moment to relieve the pain, then grabbed the top of the window and started jerking on it.

  I unlocked the door. “Okay, okay. Don’t break my window.”

  He pulled out a switchblade and motioned for me to get out of the car. “Let’s go!”

  I just sat there as if I was scared. He opened the door, and before he had a chance to stick the knife towards me I pulled the trigger, burying the harpoon deep inside his stomach. The cable was hanging out of a hole in his belly as I slowly drove off. He was stumbling around as the coiled-up cable on my floorboard was unwinding. I was looking in the rear-view mirror, watching as he was swept off his feet. While the asshole was being dragged ten feet or so behind me, his buddy was following us in his car. I was driving as I had previously done; slow and clueless to the world around me. I could hear the guy screaming as he left a smeared trail of blood on the asphalt. About a half block down, the other guy started honking his horn. I continued as if I was hard of hearing. Finally, he pulled up beside me, motioning for me to stop. I smiled and waved back. He sped up, then pulled in front of me and stopped. I floored the Mercedes and went around him, then to his horror I started doing donuts in the street. His buddy was flopping around like a rag doll behind my car while screaming at the top of his lungs. Eventually one of the rear tires got the cable wrapped up around it, tearing the guy loose from the harpoon. I continued to do donuts as I ran him over and over. Wh
en I finally stopped, the street had a large red circle of tire marks, guts, hair, skin, bones and shit. The guy in the car was sitting with a horrified expression as I got out and looked around. He couldn’t fathom how an old lady had apparently lost control of her car and killed his partner. He got out and ran over to the Mercedes; he wasn’t going to let a little thing like blood on the tires get in the way of him making a few bucks. When he was driving off a cop came around the corner and took off after him. The cop didn’t pay any attention to me as I was standing on the sidewalk holding a large flowery bag. I walked over to the punk’s car, tossed my bag full of weapons and gear in the passenger seat, then hauled ass.”

  Wyatt was excited after hearing the story. “Damn! That was messed up what you did to that punk. What happened to the guy that took the Mercedes?”

  “Not sure. I left the state right after that, but I bet if the cops caught him, they wouldn’t have believed his story about the old woman anyway.”

  “He probably got blamed for cutting off the drug dealer’s hands and feet, especially when they found them in the car.”

  Seth laughed. “They didn’t find them. I had tossed them out the window before my encounter with the two punks.”

  “Let me guess; so, they couldn’t be taken to the hospital.”

  “Of course.”

  “That was a close call with the cop.”

  “Sure was, thanks to freakin’ Murphy’s Law.”

  “Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”

  “I do my best not to be. And I always have a trick or two up my sleeve.”

  “How do you get away with all you do? Cops are everywhere and there is always someone watching. How do you stay hidden?”

  “That’s just it, I don’t always hide. This is where I differ from others who try to get away with shit. It’s taken years to perfect, and there is a lot to explain about it.”

  Wyatt showed interest. “If you don’t mind, explain it.”

  “It’s a combination of things. First, I do the unexpected. My actions are usually opposite of what someone would expect from the typical lunatic that goes around killing people. I also understand that human minds are automatically programmed to calculate a situation, creating a solution based on everyday experiences. That allows me to be right in the open as if I own it, considering whatever I’m doing my appearance isn’t out of place. And remember, things aren’t always what they seem. People will usually not pay attention to shit around them if everything appears normal.”

  Wyatt looked confused. “I kind of know what you’re talking about.”

  Seth knew he didn’t. “Here’s an example: what would you do if a cop turned on his lights while you were driving down a highway?”

  “I’d pull over.”

  “Okay, why?”

  “That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

  “He parks behind you, but further on the shoulder, almost in the median. When he walks up to your window, you notice he is older and dressed in a proper uniform with a badge, and as he is communicating with you, you can tell he is experienced and a seasoned officer. He asks you to exit your car. What would you do?”

  “I would get out.”

  “What if he wanted to search you?”

  “I would let him.’

  Seth shook his head. “For future reference, you don’t have to exit your vehicle or consent to a search unless you have been suspected of committing a crime with exigent circumstances. But, since you didn’t know that, you allow the cop to search you. The cops wants to run your license, but he tells you he is concerned for your safety because of where you stopped on the side of the busy highway, so he asks you to come sit on the passenger side of his car. You notice his car is parked at a safer distance. Would you go sit in his car?”

  “I wouldn’t have a problem with that.”

  When you get in, the cop jabs your leg with a needle, knocking you unconscious, then hauls ass.”

  Wyatt looked confused.

  “I was the cop, you were a scumbag. The scumbag had no reason to doubt there was something out of the norm because of the way we are programmed to deal with everyday occurrences. Nobody sees flashing lights behind them and thinks, oh shit, this guy might be a deranged lunatic that is going to skin me alive.”

  “Did that really happen?”

  “Yes. This is what I was explaining about doing things right in the open as if I owned it. A person’s normal response is to pull over and follow orders because that’s how it’s done in society. Seeing the cop’s car pulled to a safe location only substantiated the situation.”

  “That’s very interesting how you do things out in the open.”

  “It’s worked well for me so far. If your buddy Jim understood this he would have busted me back at the hotel.”

  Wyatt’s eyes got big. “What did you do to him?”

  “After I moved you to my car, I went back into the building and waited for Jim. I was disguised as a black dude with a large afro. When Jim and his team arrived, they had to take the stairs because I shut off the elevator. I was on the eighteenth floor and I knew their every move because I had a radio tuned to their frequency. After I messed with them for a while, I turned the elevator back on, then held the door open to give Jim time to get back to the first floor. I had brought a large boom box with me and was playing a nasty rap song as I waited. The music was like a mating call for scumbags; five thugs came out of their apartments to hang out with me. When I told them I was heading down to see what the po po was up to, most of them scattered, but one brotha wanted to go, so down we went. When the elevator door opened, Jim was standing there madder than an old wet hen. I was being very obnoxious and in his face with the music, my attitude and actions. Jim was so focused on busting me that he didn’t even stop to analyze the situation. After he told us to move on, I strutted right on out of the building.”

  “No shit? I can’t believe he didn’t put two and two together.”

  Seth laughed. “He did when he found the costume package that my afro came in. And think about what I said; I was being very obnoxious and in his face. His programmed brain was looking for a person who was trying to avoid the cops.”

  Wyatt thought for a moment. “Now I get what you mean by doing things in the open, but why would you risk doing that with Jim?”

  “I have a special relationship with him. And besides, I know it pisses him off to no end.”

  Piss Flavored Lemonade

  Seth dragged his bag to the front seat. He pulled out a box, then opened a small plastic container filled with theatrical makeup and facial hair. He started applying a thin layer of glue to the backside of a fake beard. Wyatt shook his head as he looked at Seth’s bag, noticing it was packed full of items. “You sure carry a lot of stuff with you.”

  “It’s one of the downsides of what I do.” He looked in a mirror that was mounted to his sun visor. He stuck one side of a beard to his left cheek, then started applying glue to the other piece.

  “Is it really necessary to carry that much stuff?”

  “Absolutely. This bag has essential items that protect me and I can’t afford to lose it.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Medical supplies, disguises, non-traceable cell phones, laptop, handguns, fake identification, maps, lock pick set, money.” He looked at Wyatt and smiled. “And of course, cigarettes.”

  “Yeah, cigarettes, those are important.”

  “I’m glad you understand.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “I know. I also have two more bags in the back that you can make fun of as well.”

  “What else could you possibly carry?”

  “One is packed with more interesting items that I can leave behind if necessary, and the other has tactical gear such as body armor, larger weapons and ammo.” Seth stuck the other beard to his right cheek.

  Wyatt noticed there was an oxygen tank in the backseat. “What’s the deal with the tank?”

  Seth shrugge
d his shoulders. “You never know when one might come in handy.”

  Wyatt noticed another sign. “Can we stop at the truck stop ahead?”

  Seth was applying some makeup to his face. “I was planning on it—that’s why I’m putting on a disguise.”

  Wyatt pulled into a parking lot filled with big rigs and parked out away from everyone else. Seth was dying his goatee so it would match the beard, making his entire facial hair look as one. He put his things back in his bag, then handed Wyatt a cap that had an attached wig. “It’s a cheap and simple Halloween prop, but nobody will be the wiser.”

  Wyatt put the cap on. He looked in the rear-view mirror and noticed he looked silly as the dark hair hung halfway down his neck and covered his ears. “This looks stupid.”

  Seth handed him a fake mustache. “Put this on also.”

  He stuck the mustache to his face, then took a deep breath as he looked back into the mirror. “I look like an asshole.”

  Seth held out a pair of sunglasses. “A cool asshole.”

  Wyatt put the glasses on, then looked at Seth and noticed he looked like a redneck; he was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, had a full beard and the makeup gave the illusion that his skin had a dark tan, almost leather like. Wyatt seemed a little aggravated. “I look like a dumbass.” He looked at Seth. “Your costume looks realistic.”

  “Costume? We’re not going to a fucking Halloween party. And besides, I have been doing this for a long time.”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “Whatever.”

  “And by the way, yours might be a costume, but I consider mine a disguise. Costumes are for fags.”

  He wasn’t sure if Seth was being serious. “I’m sorry.”

  Seth laughed as he got out. He opened the rear door and pulled out a jacket. Wyatt noticed a holster was secured on the inside of it. “Expecting trouble?”

  “Not at this place—there’s a sign over there that states criminals are not allowed on these premises.”

  He looked for the sign. “I don’t see it.”

  Seth shook his head as he walked off towards the restroom. Wyatt followed when he realized he was being a smart-ass. When they came back out they heard a commotion; a dog was yelping and someone was cursing. Seth looked over towards a big rig, noticing that a stocky bald man with a long goatee was kicking a dog. An older couple started yelling for him to stop. The man shouted back, saying the dog had pissed on his tire, and if they didn’t like it that they could go fuck themselves. The dog finally was able to get to all fours and limped over to the couple. Seth gritted his teeth when he realized the dog apparently belonged to them. He knew as with most people in society that they were afraid of getting in trouble, or simply didn’t have the courage to stand up to the bully. Seth began drooling as he thought about ways he could vindicate them and the dog. When the man climbed into his rig, Seth looked at Wyatt. “Take the car. There’s a Home Depot about ten miles down the road on the right. Park away from the building. I’ll catch up with you later.”