Found

Part 3

Anyone who saw them from afar would laugh. (No one in their right mind would laugh within earshot, of course). They looked like they had just come back from a war zone. Bigs' face is battered: a bandage crosses the bridge of his nose, and he has a bandaid under one eye and another on his temple.

And Smalls looked the worse. He wears a head bandage and a neckbrace; one eye sports a shiner; and his right arm is in a slinger.

They parked the car a block away. It was the seedy part of town, but Bigs is 6'5 and a good 270 pounds, so they aren't worried about being fucked with - no matter how banged up they look. Smalls is average build and slender, and he lets Bigs do the swaggering as they walk - especially now since Smalls is limping. Both of them have their fingers resting on steel, however. Better safe than sorry. In his other hand, Bigs carries a black bag that resembles a medical bag. He looks like a doctor making a house call in the middle of the fucking Bronx. Except for his banged-up look, of course.

They come to the address that Mr. G. had given them. It is a dilapidated brownstone building that looks like it was ruined in a previous war and never repaired.

Bigs kicks in the door like he is a cop, and the two run/hobble up the stairs and burst through another door. Corey is startled by the loud banging of the doors and footsteps and sudden activity. His head is spinning, though, and he feels removed from his body - no pain or feeling, just complete ecstasy as he floats in the room. Even the sudden activity seems distant, like he is watching a movie.

It is two guys; one is big as a house and the other one is a skinny motherfucker. Corey's slowed brain finally makes the connection - it is the two guys who were in Mr. G.'s office. This turn of events strkes him as very funny - everything is funny when you've snorted as much coke as he has; and dropping acid just an hour before just amplifies the humor. Indeed, it is probably the acid that is turning every event no matter how inconsequential into a profound and earth-shattering revelation - or a hilarious one. In this case, Bigs and Smalls are fucking hilarious.

"Heeeey, I know you guys!" says Corey with a big smile that was full of teeth. "Hey, these are 卆 re 卼 hese are my friends. These are my friends," he says in a slow and happy and slurred voice, introducing Bigs and Smalls with a slow wave of his hand to his three friends who also are all smiles and damn glad to meet them.

All four of them are skate punks and dress the part: baggy pants, athletic t- shirts. And they're all athletically trim and adrogynously beautiful, with long hair and boyish faces. And now, high as they are, their eyes are glassy slits. Although they dress and act like the guys in the college dorm that Bigs and Smalls visited previously, these guys are working-class. These guys aren't in college, and when they aren't getting high or skateboarding or otherwise being a menace to society, they hold down minimum-wage jobs.

Corey is the pretty boy of the group, although there is another one, too. Corey has straight blonde hair and pretty blue eyes, and his face is smooth and youthful. His bad-boy disposition, including a strut and swagger, and his eyes, always squinting in a James Dean-like fashion, runs counter to his adrogynous looks, yet makes him all the more, what, appealing? Cool? The other "prettyboy" is a kid with shaggy brown hair, brown eyes, and freckles.

"They're fucking high as a kite," said Smalls, putting away his gun. "Yeah, with Mr. G's stuff!" Bigs put his gun away, too, and opens the black bag. He produces a rope with a noose on the end of it and hands it to Smalls.

"Looky what we've brought for you, Corey," says Smalls, waving the rope before his dilated pupils. "Hey man, ya brought me a tift . . . a gift. You alwright, my man, you alwright."

"Glad we brought enough rope," said Smalls in a low voice aimed at Bigs as he watches Bigs remove three more ropes with nooses on their ends. "I told you, these types run in fucking packs," said Bigs, whispering but not really.

"Who wants to go fiir-iirst?" asked Smalls in a nursery-rhyme voice. "Cool, man. I go," says one of Corey's friends. It's the brown-eyed, freckled-face kid. Corey laughs. "Yeah, man, Eddy always goes first!" Eddy, thinks Smalls. Can't wait to see you dance.

Smalls gently places the noose around Eddy's little neck. He doesn't even get up from his comfortable resting place on the dirty floor. All four of them are resting their backs against the wall with their bare feet splayed out before them, their eyes large with drugged wonder.

Bigs places a noose around the other three as well. Smalls ties all four ropes over a pipe, creating four pulleys. Enough rope is left for Bigs to grab hold of and use his body weight to lift them to their suspended and invisible dance floor. Smalls takes out his gun and stands by the door. If anyone tries to get away, or gives Bigs any trouble, he'd blow them away. Simple as that.

"Without further ado, gentlemen, I say let the dancing begin," announces Bigs. "Yeah, man, cool," says one of the four.

And with that, Bigs takes hold of the rope attached to Eddy and pulls with his weight. The pretty little punk is yanked off his ass immediately. The guy is light, so Bigs has no trouble pulling the rope, then tying it into position as the young man kicks and struggles in mid air.

Eddy's brown eyes jerk wide open as he suddenly sobers and begins to put up a big fight, his feet kicking, his body jerking. Spittle oozes out of his mouth and he starts to make gurgling sounds.

Bigs stands beneath him, staring up at the struggling prettyboy along with the other three kids, all of them lost in amazement as they watch Eddy jerk and gasp and gurgle and kick.

The stretching of Eddy's slim body brings his t-shirt above his middle, exposing his taut stomach. Eddy has a large outie knob of a navel that protrudes from his slender belly.

Eddy's kicking brings his baggy jeans below hips hips - they already hung low on his slender body before the hanging - revealing Abercromie underwear. His baggy jeans easily slip down his thighs, to his knees, and then down to his ankles before falling onto the floor below his jerking body.

Bigs reaches up and grabs the boy's underwear and rips it off. The kid is now naked except for his t-shirt.

Eddie, his legs swinging wildly, is completely pre-occupied to care that Bigs has ripped off his underwear, leaving him nude before his friends. He is too busy trying to get air, any air, as he digs his hands into his neck to try to get his fingers in between his throat and the rope. He is able to claw a couple fingers beneath the rope with his right hand before an unbelievable series of spasms made him thrash violently as his tongue swells up and begins to protrude through his lips. His penis starts to grow out fully then and, before it is even fully engoged, dribbles out semen that came in a wave at first, and then began firing off like a machine gun. Blood and spittle drains from the tip of the boy's tongue, and just as suddenly as the spasms hit, the boy's jerking ends entirely. He then sways listlessly, his brown eyes staring, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Remaining semen drains from his penis, followed by a couple of spurts of urine. A wicked series of twitches jiggles his penis, which in turn leaks more fluid.

Corey and the other two stare with wide-eyed wonder at their dead friend hanging naked above them. Their pupils, which were large and dilated when Bigs and Smalls arrived, are noticeably less so now as they start to come out of their drug-induced haze. Something is terribly wrong, their brains are telling them, but the fog is hard to lift...

"Oh, fuuuuck..." says a kid with black, dreadlocked hair, as he removes the noose around his neck and gracefully rises to his feet in one agile motion.

The kid's eyes are wide and they dart around, looking for a quick exit, and his body was already launching into a full sprint towards the door as Smalls raises his silencer and - pffff! - the boy's eye bulge outward momentarily after his body seemingly bounces off an invisible wall. The kid deftly keeps his balance as he falls backward to the ground, but, springing back up, he is tackled by an unseen force, sending him sprawling onto his back. His back arches and he makes an awful wretching sound as a volcano of blood bursts out of his mouth, spilling down his cheeks. His smooth stomach, fully exposed beneath a crumpled t-shirt, tightens hard, and then he arches his back even more, like an acrobat, and the boy's mouth opens wide as he project-vomits blackish blood.

The kid is choking on blood as his hands claw weakly at his wirey chest, pushing his t-shirt up to the top of his chest, to the base of his neck and shoulders, and his body twitches softly. But his hands soon go limp, one resting on his bony middle, the other at his side, as his slender body continues to erotically twitch. His eyes and mouth widen then from an untold surprise, and his eyes lock into place, the pupils enlarging. The boy kicks hard once, then twice, and then is still, one leg resting under the other. The kid's head lolls to the side as a spasm shudders through his body, his eyes still fixed wide open. The kid is clearly dead, and the neat thing about it is that his slender, tight body sports two tiny bluish holes, both in the bowled-in stomach, and both of which leak no blood at all. Yet there seems to be a lot of blood, but it had all come out of his delicate mouth.

Corey, meanwhile, is now fully frightened and sober. His last remaining friend is jerked off the ground by Bigs' weight, and he, too, kicks his feet wildly in thin air. Corey seemingly rises up along side his friend Billy, but of his own volition, and darts for the door - forgetting the noose around his neck. As Billy makes wretching noises while clawing at the rope at his neck, Corey bolts for the door. But Corey's feet swing out from under him as the rope runs out and tightens suddenly at Corey's throat.

Smalls, his silencer raised and pointed at Corey, lowers his pistol and laughs at Corey, who now writhes on the ground while clawing at the rope that has tightened at his neck.

Every movement simply makes the rope even tighter, and soon Corey's tongue is sticking out of his mouth as he struggles, his blue eyes bulging.

Billy's pants, meanwhile, slip to the floor like Eddy's had done, as the kid shudders, and Bigs tears the boy's underwear away like he did with Eddy. Billy starts to jerk about violently, and his penis begins firing pellets of semen practically across the room.

Corey manages to get three fingers between his throat and the rope and, leaning his head way back, is able to create some room and suck in some air.

But Bigs is already stepping over to Corey's rope and, using his weight, simply pulls down.

The rope snaps tight around Corey's neck like a vice, closing off Corey's air immediately, breaking his fingers and crushing his adam's apple as his body is jerked backwards across the floor.

Corey's tongue surges outward and his head snaps to the right, his neck making a series of popping noises, and all of his writhing and jerking and fighting stops dead - and is replaced instead by unbelievable convulsions wracking his entire body from head to toe, making a pitter-patter sound as his arms and legs and hips jerk about as though by electrocution. And then it all stops, suddenly, with one last pop of Corey's neck. His body, now completely limp, is lifted into the air.

Corey is already dead, his neck snapped, and his baggy pants just slip off his thighs since his legs dangle straight down, and Bigs tears off his underwear. The boy's penis is only partially engorged, but semen leaks out of it like squirts of milk at first, then it just drips.

Billy's jerking about, meanwhile, is replaced now by waves of convulsions that come and go. Indeed, he may be dead already, too, for his eyes are as fixed and vacant as Eddy's and Corey's.

Bigs and Smalls gawk at their handiwork. One boy lying twisted on the ground, shot dead, his back slightly arched, his belly bowled inwards, his eyes staring up at the bodies of his three friends hanging from a beam across the ceiling.

And Corey and his friends Billy and Eddy, each of them slender skate punks, are nude except for t-shirts crumpled up to their midriffs, thier penises dangling limply between their dangling, limp, athletic legs.

Their bellybuttons are tenderly youthful and shallow, except for Eddy's, whose navel is an elongated outie. Their dangling penises leak semen or urine or both like three leaky faucets: drip, drip, drip, drip...

A shudder travels up and down Smalls' back. The sun is setting, and its rays are coming in at a strange angle, reflecting in the three boy's dead, staring eyes. They sway gracefully, the bodies bouncing into each other. It's an eery, weird sight, as Corey's and Eddy's bodies bounce into each other, their navels touching, their penises bumping into each other's, dribbling more semen, their faces staring nose-to-nose, their eyes staring blankly at each other, their tongues sticking out of their mouths.

Another shudder rides up the spine of Smalls. "Let's get out of here," he says. "It's kind of spooky."

As Bigs and Smalls depart, the only sound remaining in the warehouse is a steady dripping of semen and urine from the penises of the three dead, hanged boys.