Lethal Experiment

“Jesus!” screamed Bickham. He tried to scramble out the driver’s side, but lacked the clarity of focus.

“I’m so glad your friend liked my tits,” Callie said. “But I saved something really special for you!” She pointed the gun at his face.

Bickham threw his hands in the air, surrendering. “No, ma’am, please! Shit! I didn’t mean nuthin’, I swear! I swear to God I won’t bother you! Please, Jesus, just let me go. You can have the van. Just, oh Jesus, please don’t kill me! Please!”

She looked at his crotch. “Did you just wet yourself?” Christ, Bickham, you’re the guy who was supposed to protect me!

He put his hands in front of his face, turned his head away from her, whimpering. His voice reduced to a squeak, he pleaded again. “Please, ma’am. Please don’t kill me.”

“You know,” Callie said, “it never ceases to amaze me how much damage these pre-fragmented bullets can do at close range.”

She pointed the gun at his crotch, pulled the trigger. He screamed in pain, started convulsing. Callie slid out the open passenger door while Bickham flayed his arms about, sobbing hysterically. The impact of the shot had knocked Charlie’s body back about six feet. She dragged it around to the front of the van and kicked until it was concealed beneath the fender.

The gorgeous blond with the wild tattoo and the dark brown eyes climbed back in the van and watched Bickham’s medical condition deteriorate until she saw headlights approaching from the dirt road behind the van.

“Sorry, lover boy. I’d love to stay and party with you some more, ‘cos really, you’re everything I look for in a man. Especially now that you’ve shit your pants! I can’t speak for the other girls, but that’s a real turn-on for me. Unfortunately, I’ve got to mingle, greet my other guests. You know how it is when you’re the one throwing the surprise party.”

She put a quick one in his left eye and stuffed him as far as she could into the floorboard. She climbed into the back of the van and opened the door about an inch.

The first rule of being a good hostess is knowing how to dress for the occasion. Callie had to decide how much skin to show the boys. George and Robbie were expecting to see her naked, so she had to show something. On the other hand, she was in no mood to show them everything. Her blouse was already torn open, so that was good. She made a mental note to collect the buttons later.

To honor Charlie, she lifted her bra, exposed her breasts in the manner he seemed to favor, and slipped off her jeans. She considered sliding them down to her ankles, but decided that might hinder her ability to move quickly in the event she miscalculated the situation. Anyway, showing boobs and panties ought to be enough for these pups. She lay on her back, knees bent, and spread her legs toward the back door of the van. Her left arm lay lifeless, her eyes half-closed. By her side, her jacket covered the gun in her right hand.

Moments later Robbie brought his car to a stop behind the van. The two boys stubbed out their weed.

George laughed. “Let’s mess with ‘em. Turn your lights back on.” Robbie did, and the boys noticed the back door of the van was ajar. They got out of the car and tentatively approached, trying not to giggle too loudly. Robbie tapped on the door.

“Yoo Hoo!” he said, “anybody home?”

George peeked first. “Oh my God,” he squealed. “Check this out!”

He flung the door wide open so Robbie could see. George was starting to say, “What’s that smell?” when the blond bolted up and fired twice.

George was dead before he hit the ground. Robbie was alive, but his chest wound was going to be a problem.

Callie put her outfit together, collected her belongings, and wiped the interior of the van clean. Then she walked over and sat next to Robbie.

“Wh-what are you d-doing?” he managed to say.

“Sitting here, watching you bleed out,” she said.

“W-why?”

“For the fun of it.”

She turned at the sound behind her.

“Hey Donovan, nice explosion,” she said.