Crimes Of Murder

by Darryl Harrison

had to be freezing wearing only a cotton dress. Jackson had an old blue sports jacket over a long dirty white t-shirt and baggy jeans. We strolled up to the motel---now closed. There had been a powerful smell of mildew, human waste and probably some dead bodies too. We had been two hours early.

  We strolled down the hallway of the motel. It was hella creepy. There were huge spider webs all over the place with some big spiders too. There were piles of human waste, clothes, dead rats, and hundreds of beer bottles and cans, utilized condoms everywhere, paper and trash. We got a cool view from a window to the alley where Marisa would likely meet this creep.

  “It smells awful in this place, man,” Mr. Jackson said bitterly.

  “Dude, you ain’t lying,” Sgt. Newsham said strongly and his eyes narrowed with disgust.

  As we anxiously waited, folks passed straight down the alley; many dressed up in casino clothing, clinging to umbrellas. Sometimes a vehicle would pass by. Newsham began singing Raise Up by Petey Pablo and smoking Marlboro cigarettes, one after the other. Jackson guzzled from a big bottle of Country Club beer.

  Right after two hours and thirty minutes, the sound of a vehicle and the brakes squealed to a halt, the motor stopped, a door opened and slammed...steps came closer and closer, right up until Ramos came into view.

  Ramos wandered up to Marisa she was terrified. He looked around.

  “You got the cash, baby?” she stated sharply.

  “No! I lied homegirl. You didn’t really think I’d give you seven G’s,” Ramos said bluntly with a crazed look in his eyes.

  “Well, What now?” she snapped franticly.

  Ramos pulled out a knife with a long blade having a wooden handle.

  “Dog, I’m going to work on that pretty face,” he said harshly, looking around. “Bruh, I don’t like no woman with a prettier face than mine. Where’s that homeboy? I know he’s here. I know you wouldn’t come alone, honey.”

  Newsham and Jackson moved quickly down the hallway, stepping on rats and homeless folks passed out.

  Marisa backed up. Jackson leaped out into the alley.

  “Dude, I’m right here. What’s up with it?” Jackson said yelled sharply.

  The coward let go of Marisa and ran off straight down the alley; Jackson chased right after him.

  Ramos ran across 6th Street nearly got run over by traffic. Jackson followed sprinting down the street. The horns were blazing, vehicles skidding out of control because the streets were still very wet, leaving drivers cursing. Before too long, Ramos started to get tired, passing the tenth block. Jackson was closing in on him and didn’t seem to be affected by all the running.

  Ramos stopped and turned around waving the knife at Jackson now standing in from of him, panting.

  “Come on, dog! Let’s busta move,” Ramos stated bluntly, panting.

  “Ok, gee! This is what’s up,” Jackson said harshly as he stood in a boxer stance.

  Ramos swung the knife wildly at Jackson and cut into his jacket. Jackson charged him low at the knees, pushing him into a van parked on the street. The impact made Ramos dizzy and he released the knife. Jackson chucked the dude on somebody’s front lawn. Once Ramos made an effort to get up, Jackson kicked him in the chest. Ramos winced as he back onto his back and wouldn’t get up. He just layed there panting. Jackson was panting too. He seemed a little disappointed because he expected a tough fight. Then folks came out of their houses tripping.

  “Hey, dog, I’ve had enough,” Ramos said sharply with a laugh. “I should’ve quit smoking!”

  “Me too, baby,” Jackson said strongly, panting. “All this running is for track and field!”

  “Stop that stuff!” one lady said bitterly. “I’m going to call the cops!”

  “I don’t care woman!” Jackson said firmly.

  Automobiles had been slowing down to find out what was taking place. Folks jogging by stopped.

  At this moment, the real murderer had been behind bars, which made the city a little safer for a moment. Xavier Ramos opened up to the murders. Colon Montoya is back with his loved ones. He paid Jackson four hundred dollars. The homeboy was hella pissed-off. Then Montoya and his family invited him out to a big Mexican dinner. They all had a great deal of fun.

  The Ugliest Superhero vs Oakland CA

  In West Oakland, a dark skin man dressed up as a rapper was beginning his sexual assault on a cream-colored woman. She had been about fifty and nicely dressed up.

  Abruptly this hideous figure sporting an orange and black cape swooped down on the man from the backside. He snapped up the man by the back of his head with his big creepy hand and ripped him away from the woman like some big monster. The rapper rammed a knife into the ugly man’s shield but the blade broke. The dude in the cape put his hand over the rapper’s face and squeezed the man’s face until the bones crumbled and eyeballs popped out of his face. Blood and his brains gushed out of his eye sockets ears, mouth and nose as his head just fell apart. After that, he chucked the lifeless man into the wall just as if he had been a ball.

  The lady looked up at the homely dude. She had been so frightened she pissed her pants, leaving a big puddle on the ground.

  “Please, sir! Don’t hurt me!” the woman cried franticly.

  “Don’t worry! You’re fine now. You’re with a superhero. Baby, I’m not going to harm you. My quest is always to end crime in the city,” he boasted strongly.

  “Thanks. You’re the ugliest superhero I’ve ever seen,” she stated firmly.

  “Let me take you to a medical center. You’re most likely in shock, baby,” he said sharply.

  “Thanks again!” she said sharply with a laugh.

  “You are welcome,” Mr. Blueitt said sharply.

  Mr. Jing Blueitt (The Ugliest Superhero) checked into a decadent motel known as The Last Inn. Looking out of a window into East Oakland, he could see the criminal element. He searched in the mirror. His face appeared ghoulish. His right blue eye slid down to his cheek. His left black eye had been big and bloody. His nose had been flat with three holes. His face appeared as if somebody had taken a blowtorch to it. It appeared to be a cat’s paw growing out of his other cheek. And you couldn’t tell what race he had been due to the fact his face had been full of scars, cuts and burns. His costume had been orange and black. There had been a black steel plate on his chest with orange letters TUS stenciled on it. His boots had been black with orange high-heels.

  One night two weeks ago, Mr. Blueitt had been watching TV with his son. He had been doing Meth and drinking Jack Daniels. Later on, his wife came over and got his son. The following morning once Blueitt woke up, he discovered a complete transformation. He felt different. He looked in the mirror. He had been as ugly as sin. The mirror shattered into pieces. What happen? What exactly had been in that Meth? What exactly had been in that whiskey? He went inside a phone booth and once he came out absolutely nothing had change. He had been still an ugly slime. Why? It proved helpful for Superman. He drank whiskey and used Meth, praying he’d change back. The subsequent morning he still appeared shabby and looked it too. Yet he felt different and spiritually sound. He felt the urge to do well. He needed to help folks just like superman. Following a hundred attempts, he named himself The Ugliest Superhero. God created him in this way for a reason a very good reason.

  From a blackberry, he called his ex-wife Melinda. She had not been thrilled to hear him. She’d favor root canal than speak to him.

  “Hello. It’s me Jing,” he said sharply.

  “Jing?” she snapped.

  “That’s right, baby,” he said strongly.

  “What the hell do you want, frog-brain? Dude, I can’t stand your butt anymore,” she said hotly.

  “Dude, I don’t want to talk to you trashy lady! Dude, I want Randy,” Mr. Blueitt said bluntly.

  “Dude, I told him you were dead, jerk,” she said bitterly.

  “Why did you do that?” he snapped harshly.
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  “It’s best. He doesn’t need a slime-filled soul like you in his life,” she said boldly.

  “Who are you to say this? To poison his mind against me baby!” he said defensively.

  “Jing...dude, you’re messed up,” she stated strongly.

  “Baby, I’m much better now,” he said strongly with a laugh.

  “You’re messed up, man. All that you do is lay about doing Meth and watching porn with Randy. Dude, you’re a negative influence,” she said sourly.

  “That had been the old me, baby,” he said firmly.

  “Bull!” she snapped.

  “Dude, you had been smoking marijuana with him, dog!” he said defensively. “And you and all your awful friends get high and molest Randy. Dude, you teach him how to make Meth. You’re an unfit mother, dude,” he said hotly.

  “I don’t remember that!” she said bitterly. “Beside, he needs to know how to survive when he gets older.”

  “Not making and sell drugs!” he shouted vociferously into the phone. “He needs to stay in school and learn cool stuff.”

  “At least I didn’t have the neighbor’s seven year old daughter in bed with him,” she stated candidly.

  “That doesn’t make our son a bad kid,” he said bluntly.

  “You’re still not seeing him,” she said bluntly.

  “Bruh, I’m different now. Bruh, I’m a superhero. Just like Superman, Captain America, Batman and Spider-man. My goal is always to help make communities safer to live in. Dude, I’m planning to end crime in Oakland and all around the globe. You’ll see,” he