Bloody Bank Heist (5 page)

Chapter 13

June 10, 2013

     “Darren,” Michael said. “Darren.”

     “What do you want?” Darren yelled. He was no longer in the mood for Michael or his bullshit. If he wasn’t hanging from a meat hook, he’d kill him himself.

    
“I have to shit!” Michael said.

     “What do you want me to do? Wipe your ass?”

     “What do I do? I gotta shit bad. It hurts.”

     “God Michael. You’re so disgusting,” Jenny said.

     “I can’t help it,” Michael said, grunting. “I’m gonna have to shit.”

     “Go ahead dumbass
,” Darren said.

     “Great, I’ll have to smell it
, Jenny said.

     “We all will
,” Darren said as Michael kept grunting. A stream of urine came from his penis as he grunted. Nuggets of shit dropped to the floor, one after the other. When he was done, there was a neat little pile of shit with a puddle of urine next to it.

     “You feel better?” Darren asked.

     “A little,” Michael said.

     “You fucking idiot
,” Jenny said.

     “Hey, shut the fuck up! I sat here while you kept puking on yourself.”

     “You’re the reason we’re in this mess,” she said.

     “I’m not the one who kidnapped fucking Hannibal Lecter in there!” Michael argued.

     The steel door slid open interrupting their argument.     “Well hello folks,” Duncan said looking at each of them. “Well, well. It looks like someone had an accident.”

     “Duncan, look man. I’m sorry we kidnapped you
,” Darren said. “Money has just been really tight lately. We just needed a break, so we robbed the bank. We didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and we shouldn’t have kidnapped you.”

     Duncan walked over to the table in the corner without looking toward them.

     “Well I agree with that last part. You shouldn’t have kidnapped me. I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I on the other hand, do mean to hurt you. I’ll be honest with all of you. I’m going to cause you each a great deal of pain. More pain than you ever knew existed.” He picked up a scalpel off the table and rolled it around in his fingertips.

     “So, this pain. It will both be physical and emotional. In the process, you’ll all learn things about yourselves and about each other. Things you never thought possible. In the end, death will be a welcome release. You’ll see death coming and embrace it with open and loving arms. But only when I am ready. Not one minute sooner
,” Duncan continued.

    
“You’re a sick fuck!” Jenny yelled.

     “Yes, my mother used to tell me that a lot. Then I ate her.” He walked toward Michael with the scalpel. “Ok, let’s get started, shall we?”

     He held the scalpel in front of Michael, waving it in front of his face as Michael wiggled around, literally like a worm on a hook. Duncan took the scalpel and made a long cut down the center of his chest. Michael screamed as he then cut a “Y” incision into the top of his chest.

     “This is what it looks like when they do an autopsy you know. From here, the medical examiner peels the skin back.” Duncan pulled the flaps of skin away as Michael kicked and flailed.

     “I’m gonna kill you motherfucker!” Michael yelled.

     “Let him go! Please!” Jenny screamed.

     “Oh, I don’t think you’re killing anyone,” Duncan said as he reached into Michael’s stomach and began pulling out his intestines. Clumps of blood splattered onto the floor as his guts followed behind.

     “Oh fuck!” Michael screamed. “Holy fuck that hurts!”

     Duncan ignored him as he pulled the small intestine out.

     “You know they say the small intestine is around twenty to twenty-five feet long? Can you believe that? This tiny little fellow would have something that long in his body.”

     “You fucking sick freak!” Darren yelled.

     “I believe you said that already
,” Duncan said as he began cutting around Michael’s forehead. “It was common for the Native Americans to take the scalps of their enemies. It was a sign of their victory. Warriors would return from battle with hundreds of scalps from their enemies.” He grabbed Michael’s hair and tore his scalp the rest of the way from his skull. Michael howled and screamed as Duncan walked over to Jenny, holding the bloody scalp in front of her.

     “See that? Look at how clean of a cut that is. Don’t think that
it is easy either. It took me years to get it that smooth.”

     “
Leave him alone! Stop hurting him!” Jenny screamed. “Darren! Make him stop!”

     Darren looked at her, unsure of what exactly she wanted him to do. He’d been trying to look away so as not to see the horror taking place to his left.

     “I told you all I’d hurt you. I just started with him. You should be happy though,” Duncan began. “This is all a surprise for him. At least you get to see what you’re in for.”

     “You’re sick! You’re fucking sick!”
she screamed.

     “I believe we’ve established that. Now where was I
?”

     Michael was looking around, his face covered in blood. Darren couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open or not. Duncan walked back to his table and picked up a stun gun.

     “Now this, I haven’t used in a long time. This is pretty effective at immobilizing an attacker. That or just making someone hurt really bad.” He took the stun gun, pressed against Michael’s testicles and pushed the button. The stun gun buzzed as Michael let out a screaming, gurgling sound as he shook and gyrated, his internal organs shifting about with each movement.

     “Be careful Michael,” Duncan said. “You might lose something.”

     “Stop, please,” Michael pleaded.

     “Oh, I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

     “Padre…” Michael began.

     “Who?” Duncan asked.

     “Padre? Are you El Padre de la Muerte?”

     “I don’t know who that is, but I suppose for now, I am him. At least I am for you that is
,” Duncan said as he gave his testicles another jolt from the stun gun. Michael shook and grunted again as Jenny continued to scream. Darren closed his eyes and tried to think of anything that he could to drown out Michael’s screams.

Chapter 14

Somewhere in Mexico

    
El Padre de la Muerte looked at the man strapped to the table. Even though the man was in his thirties, he was crying and sobbing like a little girl.

     “Please? Please Se
ñor. I will double what they are paying you! You know who my father is?”

     The Padre knew, but he didn’t care. Every job went this way. Someone begging for their life, begging for mercy and then offering double what he’s being paid. He never went for it though. His reputation was that of a freight train. Once he was set in motion, there was no stopping it. There were no second chances, no recalls or refunds. On a few occasions, he had to kill an employer for trying to interfere. That only happened once.

     The Padre picked up the hose attached to an acetylene torch and fired it up. He held the flame inches from the man’s face. The man sobbed as the heat lightly burned the side of his face. Waving the torch around, he moved it down the length of his body down to is ankle. From there, he let the flame burn the man’s ankle. He screamed as The Padre waved it back and forth as if he were airbrushing his leg instead of burning it off.

     Flesh turned black and shriveled away as the man screamed and struggled against his restraints. The Padre was thorough, burning the back of his calf all the way up to his knee
and back down to the top of his foot. By the time he was done, there was nothing but bone showing. The smell of burning flesh didn’t bother him one bit. He was used to it. The man’s leg looked like a recently eaten drumstick.

     He began burning the other leg when the satellite phone behind him began ringing. The Padre tried to ignore it over the man’s screams as he watched the flesh burn away. The phone stopped ringing, then started up again. Turned the torch off and answered the phone.

     “Si?” he said. The man on the other end was his handler. The handler gave him instructions for his next job. This one was in Texas. He hadn’t been to the states in years. It sounded complicated, but he didn’t mind a challenge. The handler took all his calls for him. No one spoke to him directly. Once the handler had given him the info, he hung up the phone.

     “Please!”
the man on the table said. “You’ve hurt me enough, please! Just let me go! I won’t tell anyone!”

     The Padre ignored him as he lit the torch again and
went back to work on the man’s leg. From there he burned off the man’s arms, burned a hole in his stomach and finished off with his face. By the time he was done, his victim was a charred skeleton with a few chunks of flesh remaining. He put the torch away and undid the restraints.

     He pulled the man’s skull away from his body and walked over to the trash can and dumped the brain matter into the trash, and scraped as much as he could with his knife. Once that was done, he walked to the sink and rinsed it off and sat it in a tank filled with maggots. He sat there and watched them go to work. It would take a few days, but they would clean any meat off the skull. Once it was done, he’d add it to his collection. He wasn’t quite sure how many
he had at this point, but there were plenty.

    
After he was finished cleaning up his workshop, he packed up some tools into a bag and headed to his car. It was an indistinct blue Ford Taurus. He put the tools in the trunk and began his drive to Texas. The drive took a few hours but was uneventful. When he was thirty minutes from the border, his handler called to tell him which lane to enter at the border. That Border Patrol agent was in place for them.

     The Padre drove to the correct entry point where the agent waved him through. His handler texted him the GPS coordinates of the address where he was needed. It was still a good five or six hour drive. He drove all the way through with only a few stops for gas and food. It was dark once he arrived in the neighborhood where he drove to the coordinates until he was sitting outside Duncan Kincaide’s home. He looked at the home, studying it.
He texted his handler.

I’M HERE. HOW MANY?

     He sat in the car and watched as a few cars went by. A man came out of the house and wheeled a garbage can to the curb and strolled back inside. It was a little past 10 P.M. The neighborhood was mostly quiet. Dogs barked in the distance and one man jogged past. Quiet neighborhoods were good. But this one was upscale. Which meant neighbors were nosy. Always looking outside, seeing what people were up to.

     Doing his job in Mexico was much easier.
People disappeared all the time down there and police were easy to pay off. The U.S. was much different, but not impossible. He just had to be a little more creative. That’s what made his job interesting. He waited several minutes for a response from his handler. Finally his phone went off. When he checked the message, it told him everything.

THERE’S THREE OR FOUR OF THEM.

KILL THEM ALL.

Chapter 15

     Carlos sat on his couch drinking a beer and watching TV. Despite the few beers he’d already had, he couldn’t stop tapping his fingers. It was already 1 A.M. and there had been no word from The Padre. How long could it take to kill those assholes?

     “Shit, we’re gonna have to go over there,” he said to Miguel who was sitting across from him.

     “Didn’t that handler guy say not to interfere? Let the guy do his thing, man.”

     “Fuck that. As much as I’m paying this cholo, he should have been done with them hours ago.”

     “Wasn’t he coming from Mexico? He might not even be there yet,” Miguel said.

     “I don’t know. That guy you talked to sounded pretty scary about it. Said don’t interfere and don’t even try to make contact. No one has seen that dude and lived man. And you want to go marching in there while he’s there doing God-knows-what? Why’d you even hire him?”

     “I wanted to send a message. Shit. This waiting is killing me. They got a lot of money in there. The news said they got away with over five-hundred thousand dollars. That shit is mine!” Carlos said as he threw his beer against the wall. “I want my fucking money.”

     “What the fuck was that?”
a voice said from the doorway. Jose was standing in the doorway. “You fuckin’ woke me up!”

     “You forget who you’re talking to bitch?” Carlos said.

     “I know who I’m talking to. You might be the boss, but I’m not your bitch!” Jose said.

     Carlos stood and picked up his gun, pointing it at Jose.

     “You think you’re tough bitch? You gonna try and talk shit to me?”

     Jose put his hands up and took a step back.

     “Hey man. I’m just tired. You banging shit around in here woke me up and I got pissed.”

     “Yeah, you got pissed at the wrong dude
,” Carlos said.

     “Hey Carlos, we all been drinking tonight, how about just letting it go?” Miguel said.

     “You stay the fuck out of this!” Carlos yelled as he pointed the gun at Miguel. He spun around and smashed Jose in the face with the butt of the gun. Jose’s nose crunched and blood sprayed from it as he fell straight back, knocked out cold. Carlos wasn’t done, however. In a blind rage he straddled Jose and continued to hit him in the face with the butt of the gun. Each strike made a dull
thud!
as blood continued to splatter onto Carlos’ face.

     After a few minutes, the sound changed to a squishing sound as Jose’s face was literally smashed in. There was only a swollen, bloody lump where his face had been. In his final breaths, a few bloody bubbles gurgled from his mouth. Then he was still. Carlos sat there looking at him and looked over at Miguel who looked horrified. Carlos stood and walked toward the couch.

     “Fuck it. We’re going over there. We’re getting my money,” Carlos said.

     “We?” Miguel asked.

     “Yeah. You heard me. You’re driving. Let’s go.”

     Miguel slowly stood and followed Carlos to the car. They climbed in and drove the twenty minutes back to that side of town. As they got closer, he turned off the headlights and parked half a block away from the house. Carlos could see a blue Taurus sitting across the street.

     “That piece of shit car, I bet that’s him,” Carlos said.

     “Is he in the car?”

     “I can’t tell. Why aren’t the cops fucking with him? Shit. We were here two minutes and they were harassing us.”

     “I don’t know, man. Maybe they’re scared of him.”

     “Fuck that. All that legend bullshit. It’s just shit he made up probably. Its good marketing is what it is.”

     “Marketing? What the hell man?” Miguel said.

     “Yeah, he totally created his whole legend thing. Get people all scared of him and shit. Then we all want to hire him because we think he’s so ruthless. I used him once before, I wasn’t that impressed. I hired him this time because I know at least he’s professional. He’s not gonna jack my shit like these local assholes would. That’s if he ever does the fucking job.”

     Carlos opened the car door and stepped out.

     “What are you doing?”

     “I’m gonna see if he’s even in his car. If he’s not, then he’s probably in there killing them now. Come on
,” Carlos said.

     “Shit man. I don’t like this.”

     “I don’t give a fuck what you like. Get out of the car and come on.”

     Miguel climbed out as they both took out their guns. They walked toward the Taurus, staying in the shadows and avoiding any street lights. Carlos slowly walked up to the passenger side of the Taurus. He looked in the window, but the car was empty.

     “No one’s in here,” he said to Miguel.

     “That might not even be his car.” Miguel said.

     “True. I want to know what he’s doing to them.”

     “Jesus. Can’t we just go?”

     “We will. Let’s go up to the house. See if we can see anything.”

     Carlos ran across the street and around the back of the house. Miguel followed close behind. They crept just below the windows. Carlos found one that didn’t have the blinds drawn. He looked inside, but it was mostly dark. It looked like a laundry room. There was a washer and dryer in the corner and piles of clothes lying around. He listened
for any noise, but everything was quiet.

     “Mother fucker. That dude isn’t doing shit!” Carlos said just above a whisper.

     “Maybe he already killed ‘em all.”

     “Then where the fuck is my money?”

     “I don’t know, man.” Carlos looked at his phone, but there were no missed calls. The handler was supposed to call him with a location to pick up his cash.

     “That’s it,” Carlos said. “We’re going in.”

     “This is a bad idea man.”

     “Shut the fuck up. Come on.” Carlos stood and walked around the front of the house. Miguel reluctantly followed behind him. He checked each of the windows as he walked around, but they all had the blinds drawn. He finally made it to the front door. Miguel stood on the other side, both with their guns drawn.

     “Ok,” Carlos said. “On the count of three, I’m gonna kick the door in.”