Free Sin City Homicide by Victor Methos

sometimes hookers, illegal porn, and false IDs. As he passed a light, a man on a corner held out his arms, challenging him. He chuckled to himself and continued driving.
    The red-brick home at the address Mateo had given him was a modest two-story with a lawn that looked as if it hadn’t been cut in years. He drove past it then spun around the block before parking two houses away. Parr leaned back in his seat and watched. He turned on the CD player, blaring Creedence Clearwater Revival. He turned it down until it was loud enough that he could just barely hear it.
    The neighborhood was quiet , and no one waited on the corners. Even the pit bulls, which he knew should be prominently displayed, were inside. The locals had been tipped off.
    He punched his steering wheel. “Damn it!” He would have to pay another visit to Mateo.
    As he reached down to turn on the car, he saw the curtains of the home he was watching open about six inches then close quickly. Mateo could deny he’d tipped off Chico, but he couldn’t deny it if he had given Parr the wrong address. Chico was probably in that house.
    Parr took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. There was a shotgun in the trunk , but he opted against it in case civilians were inside. Most of the dope dealers, even the ones making six figures a year, still lived with their parents. The trunk also held a Kevlar vest, and he thought for a moment about putting it on but decided against it. He was probably being watched from all sides right now. If they knew he was sporting a vest, they would only aim at his head.
    He looked behind him at all the houses on the street , but when he got to the driveway, he didn’t hesitate. If he did, they would see his fear and know he didn’t have an army of officers waiting around the corner. He opened the chain-link fence, walked right up to the door, and knocked. He rang the doorbell a few seconds later and glued his eye to the peephole. He couldn’t see into the house through the peephole, but he would be able to see light if no one was on the other side, looking out. He kept his eye on the light, and the second it went dark, he cocked up his leg and bashed his boot into the flimsy door.
    Splinters rained down as the door slammed into the face of a Hispanic man in his twenties. The man grabbed his nose as blood began to flow. He tried to lift the sawed-off shotgun in his right hand. It was too late for Parr to go for his sidearm, so he grabbed the shotgun. The barrel was pointed at his hip, and he twisted to the side just in time for the buckshot to spray behind him.
    “Motherfucker!” the man yelled.
    Grunting, Parr braced his legs and pushed back, slamming the man into the wall. He wrapped both hands around the handle of the shotgun and got his finger over the trigger. He pulled it, spraying another shot into the floor and loosening the man’s grip with the recoil. Holding his finger under the trigger, he prevented another shot from being fired.
    Parr spun with his elbow up , and it impacted against the man’s nose and flung his head back. He landed a punch into his throat while his head was up, and the man gasped for air. Parr ripped away the shotgun and threw it behind him. He pulled out his Browning and pressed it into the man’s left eye.
    “You have ten seconds,” Parr said, breathing hard. “I don’t like what I hear, you die.”
    “Fuck you, puto .”
    He cocked back and slammed the butt of his gun into the man’s nose. It crunched , and the blood that was already flowing erupted down his neck and chest. Parr spun him to the ground onto his stomach. He put his knees into the man’s back and lifted his chin with his palms, putting pressure on his spine. He lifted until the man screamed then lowered him.
    “I lied . I won’t kill you. I’ll turn you into a fucking vegetable so you can lie in bed all day. You won’t move. You won’t talk or fuck or shit or eat. You’ll just lie there.” He lifted the man’s chin