Free Blood & Tacos #2 by Josh Stallings, Ray Banks, Andrew Nette, Frank Larnerd, Jimmy Callaway

things and followed the Junkman’s shouts to the bedroom.
    He struggled, but I sat on his chest and squeezed the bucket over his head.
I had cut a hole in the bottom and nailed the upholstery over it. An X-shaped
cut ensured a tight fit; the nails kept it in place.
    The Junkman’s voice echoed from inside the bucket. "You little
shit! I’ll fucking kill you!"
    I ignored him, opened the trap, and dumped the scrambling rats into the bucket.
Before any could escape, I slipped on the lid.
    After that, I climbed in the barber chair, watched and listened.
    Once the Junkman had quit moving, I grabbed the box of matches from the nightstand.
I pulled one across the strike strip and watched it flare to life.
    I could still hear the rat’s claws scrape against the inside of the plastic
bucket, along with their hungry gnawing.
    I threw the match on the bed. It burned faster than I thought it would.
    When I left the trailer, Stevie was on the steps. He was rubbing the palms
of his hands over his thighs. I sat next to him and slipped on my shoes.
    He looked up at me, his eyes wet and angry.
    "He was my best friend."
    I stood up. Flames licked at the trailer’s windows as smoke drifted up
into the starless night.
    "Fuck him," I said.
    As I walked to the gate, Stevie called out me.
    "You’re cruel!"
    I didn’t look back.

    Stevie hadn’t changed. Sure, now he was built like a tank and had seven
hundred dollars in gold chains, but behind his eyes, I could still see that
little boy.
    He leaned down and grabbed my ear.
    "I’m gonna make you scream."
    I strained against the shoelaces, but it only made the knots pull tighter.
    As Stevie scraped the blade through my flesh, my fingers brushed against something
smooth on the floor.
    I cupped the shard of broken light bulb between my fingers and sawed at the
shoe laces. I didn’t scream, not even when Stevie stopped cutting and
tore the top of my ear free.
    He held it up, admiring it.
    I felt the blood as it streamed down my neck and over my chest. The piece of
light bulb cut into my fingers, but I kept sawing.
    Stevie said, "Doesn’t that hurt, bitch?"
    I felt the shoelaces pop loose and said, "What’s that? I didn’t
hear you."
    He leaned closer and grabbed my other ear.
    I slammed my fist into Stevie’s balls as hard as I could.
    He staggered back, his mouth hanging open, his hands cupping his nuts. I grabbed
the nunchucks off his neck and bolted for the door. My cuts burned and I felt
a little faint, but I pushed myself up the stairs. Below me, I heard Stevie
shouting and the rumble of pursuing footsteps.
    At the top of the stairs, I crashed through a door marked "Roof."
The sky had grown dark with gray rippling clouds. In the distance, a universe
of lights glowed across the bay. Beneath me was a six-story drop to the parking
lot.
    "Nowhere to go, asshole!"
    I turned around. Stevie had the .38 in his hand. Beside him were 3-D, Charlie
Brown, and Sello.
    I held up my hands as Stevie pointed the gun at me. He pulled back the hammer
and licked his lips.
    Hollow points are nasty bullets. They’re designed to explode, spreading
like shrapnel, inflicting massive tissue damage.
    It helps if you put them in the right gun.
    When Stevie pulled the trigger on the .38 there was a loud bang and a flash
of flame. He fell to his knees, the fingers he had left dangled by strands of
skin.
    I twirled the nunchucks like a buzz saw and flung myself at them, inflicting
maximum damage.
    After a while, my arm got tired.
    On the roof around me, Sello and his gang moaned, clutching at broken arms
and fractured ribs. Stevie had gotten it worse.
    His face was a wheezing red pulp and his limbs all extended at odd, broken
angles. I dragged him to the ledge and pulled him up on my shoulders. My cuts
roared with pain, but I pressed him over my head and howled.
    Stevie fell face-first into his Corvette, crumpling the roof and blasting the
glass from the