Gang Shit

The metal bat connected with his arm once more, his limp body falling against the wall.

“Listen…” he gasped, looking up at the 4 ski masked covered figures.  The bat swung at his stomach, bile and spit exited his mouth.

There was a knock on the door, three of the figures looked over, the one with the bat bent down and lifted the man’s head with it.

“Tell them to hold on,” they grunted.

There was another knock on the door.

“J-Just a moment!” the man managed to squeak as his assailant pressed the bat into his Adam’s apple.

“Yo, you good in there?” someone said from behind the door, the door knob jiggling.

“I said wait!” the man yelled out, as the door started to open.

Another man stood before the five.

“The fuck is going on here!?” he called out.

Three of the figures made motions to their belts, their fingers on the trigger to a handgun.

“E-Everything will be fine,” the man with the bat to his neck whispered.

“You’re right,” said one of the standing figures in between the other two by the door and the one holding the bat.  “It will be.”

They pulled their gun from their holster in the blink of an eye, shooting the intruder right in the head.  They quickly turned around, pointing the gun at the man on the floor and shooting him in the head, too.

The four figures rushed out the house, going west.  As they turned a corner, a car turned their lights on and chased after them.  The four took off in a sprint, breaking apart and diving onto the sidewalk.  The car squealed to a halt, the male driver and a male passenger stepping out and firing at them.  The four fired back, slowly moving up.  Sirens started to go off a few blocks down.

A motorcycle quietly raced down the street, lights off, one hand on the handlebars, another hand gripping a billy club.  One of the men from the car heard the quiet futuristic hum of the bike and then flinched when the lights flashed on, blinding him.

“OH, SHIT,” he called out, as the billy club hit him in the mouth, his teeth shattering on impact.  The billy club slammed itself onto the head of the other man when he heard the commotion.

The biker waited for one of the four to hop on the back, the other three hopping into the men’s car.  They drove off, the cops and ambulances pulling up as the car rounded the block.

“Holy shit,” one of them said, pulling the mask off their head.  “I can’t believe we pulled it off.”

“It’s what I do for a living, nigga,” the driver said, making the other 2 laugh.  They small convoy pulled into an empty parking lot.  A van sat in the back corner.  The biker threw open the back doors, duffel bags of clean clothes inside.  The four hopped into the van, the biker following behind on their bike.

An hour later, they were sitting in the backyard of the biker’s house, burning their old clothes and drinking brown liquor.

“To bonding over killing your rapist and new friends,” the biker said, holding up their glass.

“Yeah… I like that.  To bonding.”

“To bonding!”

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