A short story written while killing some time. Some violence, no bells and whistles.
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Campsite kittens
Case No.: 03
Crime Scene: Beach
Report by: Jacko Jack (homicide squad)
The current murder case lead my investigations from the housing estate to the campsite. My car rolled heavily on the gravel of the visitors parking lot. I read my notes again - the lead should start here. I got out and reached the front desk. The unpainted front door creaked.
"We're full," the old receptionist grunted at me.
"Up to the top". She farted and I took a step back. The stench hung sour in the air.
I withdrew my ID card. Asked for specific details.
"Parking space eight? These anti-socials stay for another week. "
“Anti-socials?” I asked.
The old woman stared at me like a fish. Open mouth, cold damp and bad breath.
"Bodybuilders."
"Pardon?"
"Muscle chicks," she whispered. And indicated with her hands two semicircles in front of her chest.
"Pardon me?" I asked incredulously.
"Big breasts. Women. Broad shoulders."
I looked at her questioningly.
"Well," she explained with a stinking breath, "disgusting. Last night they turned everything upside down. There was a guy with them who had been drinking. And then he smacked one. The two of them didn't thought that was funny.”
She pulled out a folding map of the campsite between cheesy souvenirs, I-Love-You pillows and other trinkets. She drooled on the paper and wiped it away with her hand. Delicious.
Parking space eight was right on the beach. I feared the worst. But instead of a caravan and smoking hippies, I found a tidy parking space. Two bodybuilders, one with fiery red curls and one with brunette hair. They looked splendid like Baywatch babes: long legs, high-cut red thongs and oversized white t-shirts. Including big fruits for my hands. For a while I watched the two of them packing up. Wonderfully developed leg muscles and strong biceps played in the hot sunlight. It was a pleasure to watch them and my patience was overly rewarded as they bent down again and again and again and stretched their round, crisp ball asses high into the air.
But duty called. I approached the beauties.
“Are you already dismantling? So, uh ... I mean the tent. Your bodies are fully inflated, uh ... built up. "
Annoyed, they turned around. "What do you want, little one?", the redhead asked from above and I was finally able to peek a tad under the T-shirt.
"Agent Jack, homicide."
Well, that worked not. The two looked at me unimpressed.
They took a deep breaths and I read the slogans on their T-shirts with relish. The brunette tensed the words: "Power" with her large breasts and the fiery red distorted "Baywatch".
I should have take a picture of them!
So I took out my cell phone. "I have to take pictures of you, you are suspects." This was so upfront approaching I wanted to add that they were suspiciously well and sexy built for suspects.
The fiery red kicked me in the balls. She grabbed my cell phone with her left hand, crushed it into its tiny silicon components, her right hand was already on my throat.
"Peeping tom!" she hissed and squeezed my breath away. "That phone could have been your balls."
I tried to knock her powerful arm from my neck using both my hands, but I could only manage to tore the side of her loose T-shirt. Two ripe melons without a top but brown areoles defying gravity.
"What an asshole!" snapped the redhead. She continued to hold my neck and I gasped.
The brunette stepped up to me from behind and tore my pants apart in one movement. Less than a second later my underpants lay in tatters in the sand. She cupped my stomach with both arms and squeezed. One, two, three ribs cracked and she kept pressing. The lack of air made me dizzy and I rolled my eyes. My tongue was sticking out blue.
"But I am ... with ... the ..."
"Let him breathe a little," the brunette coed, pressing my chest together more relentlessly. "If he's really a cop, he can be useful to us."
The redhead relaxed her steely grip a little and eyed me with ice-blue eyes. She rammed her hammer fist in my face and spat: "ID, wanker."
The pain made me lose my senses, I could barely got words out.
"Upper ... pocket ... inside," I gasped. My head was about to roll to one side when her fist rammed into it again.
"No dozing."
The brunette loosened her grip for the redhead tore off my jacket, shirt and undershirt in one smooth motion. She fished my service weapon and ID at the same time.
I coughed up blood and wanted to scream in pain. The fiery red hammered another one in the face.
"Let's see," she whistled, stuck my gun between her mighty tits and held out the ID to the brunette.
"OK," confirmed the evenly built, muscled woman behind me. "Now what?"
The fiery red laughed, tightened her hand again. She picked up the gun, released the safety and shot me in the foot.
That pain! I let out a agonized scream, yet her hand tightened around my neck. "Shut up!"
She shot me in the other foot while both of them laughed. The brunette continued her pressing process. My stomach rebelled - I wanted to burp, throw up.
"The rules: no investigation, no charge, nothing." Her icy eyes regarded me coldly, the brunette broke my ribs. Overcome by pain, I sucked her heavy perfume into my nose.
"Roger that?" the redhead asked, pounding my face three times. Some teeth were flying, blood was running and my jaw was kind of crooked.
"Wink if you understood."
I blinked my eyes, contorted with pain. The nightmare was about to end here and I was gurgling blood and phlegm.
The brunette opened her vice grip, kicked my ass several times. I groaned, gasped, gargled, was about to throw up.
The redhead squeezed again and let me fall to the ground. Like the brunette, she kicked my soft tissues several times and then kicked me a good 3 meters away in the direction of the trailer. Like a lump sack, I hit the outside wall - and dented it.
The brunette took off her shirt and clenced her fists.
"What a jerk! He's demolishing the trailer with his fat belly."
She charged me, grabbed one of the tent poles on the way and ...
... I passed out.
