Jinx is in one of her black moods. She has been finding her returns short, extremely short. One of these cock sucking runners is stealing. Biting into the delivery. On one end or the other either her guys or the other side is playing with her. She has tried to narrow it down, find out who thinks they are smarter than her. There is no good answer, it can’t be just one of the runners or local pushers, amount gone is too consistent from different locations like somebody in on the count is alternating the skim to hide the source. An example needs to be made so she picks a dude named Daryl “Dogshit” Oats from a smaller turf that wouldn’t be a major loss. Not like letting people think she is weak.

She decides if Dogshit Daryl is even one penny short, something dark and satisfying is coming. Dogshit has a kind of feminine way of talking, wears rhinestone shirts and has a ridiculous hair cut from the disco era. He wears a fake diamond ear ring and greasy mustache like the singer of Cameo, wears outdated fashion like its still 1986 in a Midnight Star video. He thinks he is so charming. Jinx lights a cigarette and passes loud gas that pauses his line of bullshit with what she guesses was a question because she wasn’t listening. Tug Tug and Sorrow-Man laughing and covering their noses from the heavy steak eating odor from Jinx’s asshole. She isn’t smiling and Dogshit starts to second guess himself. Stuttering. Jinx has a cruel tone to her voice, shrill and biting, an inflection women use when they want to provoke violence when they got you at a disadvantage. She says, “Nah fuck that! Keep telling me its a coincidence every time you fucking short with my shit, but driving around in a brand new white BMW with your faggy little boyfriends down La Brea and La Cienega!”

She isn’t even listening as Dogshit goes through some story about being tricked by some dope fiends in an abandoned house and how he put in his own money to bring the count up close to normal. Dogshit seems so sure of his BS. Its always a coincidence she thinks. As Dogshit smiles and winks with his jive charm she gets up to pour a line and Dogshit asks her to hook him up. Placing a mirror in front of Dogshit, he snorts a big rail of what he doesn’t realize is crystalized battery acid. She nods towards Sarrow-Man and a big killer she employs named Tug Tug to close the steel shutters she installed inside the doors and window to be hidden from outside. Dogshit starts whining about the sting, frantically trying to rub water in the nostril he just filled with caustic sulfuric acid crystals. Once Dogshit leaps to his feet to rush to the sink, the trap is set. Jinx lets out a rage filled war cry and smashes Dogshit in the mouth with heavy square meat tenderizer, the heavy kind with rows of triangle blocks. Turning his mouth into splinters of bone. Dogshit lets out a “little richard” sounding shriek, before he can react to cover his face Sarrow-Man and Tug Tug jump on him. Each taking hold of his arms, while Jinx rips up chunks of his scalp and face like a Roman scourge. Daryl flays around like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Murmuring some pitiful lies. She is actually curious and puts her face next to his and thinks he said “He is a cop…” Before she can process that he bites down hard into her face. Taking her chubby cheek into his teeth and shaking it like a wild dog. She hits him in the eye with a hook with her tiny hands. Tiny boney fists full of nasty rings. The punch resounds with a hollow knock sound. She either broke her hand or his face. Dogshit lunges at her with a savage growl like a chihuahua, sinking his teeth into her shoulder. Tears a third of her right trapizus muscle off with a yank as he falls to the floor. Sarrow-Man drops a cruel knee onto Dogshit’s pelvis and hip bone, breaking them like twigs with one wrap. Tug Tug has retreated to get plastic drop cloths and a hacksaw for disassembling the body. Dogshit has got a hold of a gun from his waistband in the ruckus, firing 2 shots at Jinx legs, grazing one. She can’t believe it and stomps the gun from his hand. Feeling possessed by unquellable rage, she pours a bottle of cognac over Dogshit and lights him on fire. The polyester bullshit he is wearing burns off his back in seconds but his slack pants stay aflame, searing his thighs a magenta color.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Now he is kicking at her. She takes a step back and kicks his testicals like a kicker in a championship game. Sarrow-Man turns up the radio full blast to En Vogues “Free your Mind” before he and Tug Tug join in with crow bars and tire irons. This goes on for a few minutes until they decide to drag Dogshit Daryl into a half remodeled bath room with a crawl space to the pipes under the house cut in the floor. Putting Dogshit’s body in the bathtub they take turns holding him and tying him up with bungie cords while the others saw away, taking his arms and legs off slowly over hours. Dogshit now can only make pitiful sounds like a buzzing as his vocal chords are totally shot from hours of trying to scream while he is cut into pieces still alive. Removing his gag he hisses some half curse, half promise to lead them to a stash of the missing money. Laying there in the tub he eventually stops breathing from blood loss, in a tub full of blood so dark it looks like burgundy wine. His eyes glazed over and lifeless. Jinx is a little annoyed, she had been watching videos on CIA trained Contras using jumper cables on school teachers in Nicaragua. Something she has been wanting to try out. Now they need to burn the stash house and take Dogshit’s torso elsewhere, since jinx has rules about these kind of things. Never bury a body where it expired, never leave a witness with a rep as a bragger and always try to feed starving animals.

Now that the abandoned hideout is covered in so much blood they might as well cleave the torso in two. Guts in one bag, halved arms, legs and head in another. Third the empty torso in the last. While Tug Tug removes what’s left of the weeks count, their bricks of money are totally covered in blood. Jinx tells Sorrow-Man to wash the money with acetone and not to forget left over kilos, plastic wraps and scales, power tools, any remains of parties, beer cans, wine glasses, ashtrays. Nothing with any DNA or fingerprints can remain. Jinx and Sarrow-Man walk around the neighborhood throwing pieces of meat, organs and bone into yards with neglected dogs. Leaving piles of muscle for raccoons and cats at the edges of the oil fields off Stoker. Head, brain and internal organs separated in separate garbage bags to go in a homeless bon fire pit in the LA river. She takes trips down to the shipping yards in Long Beach and San Pedro to dispose of lyin ass thieves who ended up cut apart with an electric knife or buried under a footings for a commercial warehouse across the county. Sometimes she even goes out to Riverside and 29 Palms to dispose of shit talking informants or rival dealers. One time they even went out to Vegas to feed the stray dogs and hit the slot machines.

They have this disassembly down to an art, most efficient ways to break up the bits of skull and nails over behind the golf coarse. She read a couple books on Jeffrey Dahmer and Roy DeMeo to learn new ideas like using acid or commercial freezers. Only once or twice she left a body in a vacant lot or rival gangs territory. Leaving a body in a skid row tent or beside a freeway was something she enjoyed early in her career, the body had to completely liquify and become too putrid to identify first. That means she had to have several spots to leave them like abandoned factories rolled in a carpet or wrapped up heavy canvas or mummified in a couple inches of dry paint. Every couple weeks they have a bbq where they dispose of skull fragments at the beach. Putting them into potato sacks on the street, smashing it up as cement trucks roll by to the quarry. She always throws loose teeth in the ocean or percolation ponds. This isn’t the first time. She just wanted every body in her sphere of influence to know Jinx will cut out your fucking heart and curse your god damn soul if you come short. She has a lot of little graveyards around the west side, near high tension wires and on bluffs where the city tore down luxury houses at the foot of LAX runways, beside culverts and even in yards of some fancy condos when she had a gig cleaning houses for a realtor. The big mucks out in Beverly Hills and Malibu never realized their slutty french maid came to work with a bag of bones in vacuum bag or human ashes in a coffee thermos to pour out the window to mix with the high end manicured lawns of mansions along Sunset Blvd by the University.