The Hawks Start Nesting

The surly clown known by most as Spaulding heard many voices coming from outside his gas station/museum of freaks and went to the window to investigate. Oh man, not those protesters again! Jesus in a fucking manger, won't they find something else to do? That busybody Pastor Duke was bringing bad press to his establishment and hurting all the tourism in this area. How else can we get fresh meat without dumbass, nosy tourists? Spaulding considered calling the cops, but he hated pigs almost as much as these ninnies outside his window.

It was a group of thirty or so concerned citizens, signs and all, exhorting any passersby to not partake in 'glorifying the misery of others' and 'the morbid and macabre'. It was Satan's work, the pastor was shouting. The clown gave serious thought to throwing down on the idiot and tying a knot in his ass, but he was wearing his best clown suit, the one he'd sent away for. Ravelli was standing outside, dressed in filthy clothes and grimacing at the women churchgoers in a very unsettling manner, and it was working, but it would take more than that to get them to leave.

Mebbe he should give Otis a call--those two bitches he goes around with now brought somebody who might be able to fix this problem. If Otis hadn't knocked him off yet, heh heh. Pluse he'd like to make his old eyes feel better lookin' at some hot chicks. His dirty magazines were getting worn and boring.
Spaulding could smell the soap the redhead used that morning, and her sweat as it dripped down between her massive breasts. He stifled an urge to lick them as he gave Moon, Sandoz and their male companion the rundown. Exchanging glances they all broke into grins. "I think we can help ya," spoke Moon, distracting the clown from San's rack with her own smaller but enticing curves. Otis rolled his eyes, chewing licorice.

In Sandoz's car they discussed how to go about doing it...it needed to look like an accident so torching the whole congregation en masse was out of the question. Even though Sandoz was tempted, having been raised in a strict Baptist home.
Catching the good pastor home alone was an exercise in patience, and a well-played call from Moon to Mrs. Duke posing as a runaway in need of assistance and afraid to ask help of anyone else. Taking the children with her she took the bait, leaving San and Jason to stealthily place explosives around the foundation of the house. The interfering preacher was eating his supper of leftovers when explosions rocked his home, one after another, and the whole place went up in flames and smoke. He was dead of smoke inhalation before he could cry out, and the pair of pyros doused the kitchen with homemade napalm to speed the fire's work. His body was soon reduced to dry ash.

Destroy the evidence. Eliminate obstacles.

They were to separate and meet up with Moon back at Spaulding's. The big redhead left her boyfriend admiring his handiwork, eyes shining with excitement. He was beautiful, indeed, revelling in the feeling of being so alive.

Otis was waiting on San when she hitched back to the gas station, Moon having driven the car (albeit not very well, but no mishaps occured) to keep from raising suspicion. She was currently on the phone with Baby. The slender reptile in man's clothing grasped her hand and pulled her to the back room. "So it's done?," he asked her in spite of the soot on her face and clothes and smoky scent to her hair.

"Yes," she whispered, trembling with his nearness.
Running his artist's hands over her body he pressed against her, pressing her against a dusty old desk. "I shoulda been there to push that lil terd in the fire," he said between devouring her lips with his mouth.

"You wouldn't dare," she said, taking hold of the collar of his worn tank top and tearing it all the way down, relieving him of it.

"You're mine." He dug his jagged nails into her lower back, drawing blood. Moaning she bit and held his lower lip.

"You gonna fuck or complain, Driftwood?"
His answer was to cut her belt with his ever-present knife and have them shucked down to her feet before she even realized it had happened. His whole body sought to possess her, it seemed, his mouth kissing her, hands kneading her breasts as he finally entered her roughly. She wasn't a passive, unwilling victim, however--she kissed back, wrapped legs around his narrow hips and scratched gashes into his pale flesh eagerly. Oh, god, it was such a fucking relief for both of them. The floodgates had opened and they stopped fighting it.

"Oh! Fuck!," she cried.
They both walked to the front looking like they'd just picked a fight with a drunken gorilla. Spaulding, unbeknownst to them, had watched through a crack in the wall and jacked off, so he was happy, too.

Moon had drank some beer and talked to Baby on the phone.

The only one not happy, was Jason, who gazed at Sandoz and Otis with hurt eyes.
Shrugging the cold stare off the barechested Otis stepped forward, guffawing "Well, boy, not bad. Not bad a'tall. Shit, you can come back home an' fuck my sister!"

Jason half-considered it, after being snubbed by a girl in favor of such a weatherbeaten scruffy specimen. Not responding he grabbed Sandoz's arm and pulled her toward the exit. "Let's go," he hissed venomously. "There's much more profitable places to hit."

"I ain't goin anywhere!," she declared, wrenching out of his grip and astonishing the young man. "This is my home, and you just have to accept it!"
"Get yer ass on home," says Spaulding, pushing Sandoz and Jason outside. "Crazy kids. Go on an' fuck each other! It'll be good for ya."

Grumbling, Jason gets in the Ford Maverick along with Moon, San taking the wheel as usual. Moon lays her hand on the man's thigh as they pull out, distracting him from his sulking.

Otis thoughtfully watched them go as he drank a bottle of beer, still bare from the waist up and covered in Sandoz's teeth and nail marks. He felt too damn good at the moment to kill that pretty boy. At least he knew she still wanted it too. Pretty badly, from the looks of things.

"Man," Spaulding said whilst scratching his crotch. "That boy's so purty it makes ya wanna stick yer dick 'tween 'is butt cheeks or kill 'im, one or t'other."

Otis chuckled, snorting, "Or both."