Streetfight chicks 2

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
“She’s here,” said Sandy Munson, who followed the slim biker chick to the far stands on the opposite side of the football field. She watched the woman’s ass oscillate in her tight jeans, then stuffed her cell phone in her pocket. Some of the other girls were waiting behind the stands as the final moments of the game wound down.
Most of the fans on the visitor’s side over here had already left because Holmes High School was kicking their ass 56 to 3. On the top tier of the stands, toward the center and near the railing, sat a large shadowy figure who was, for the moment, hunched over scanning something on a cell phone. The illumination cast an eerie funnel of light on the figure’s hooded form.
The woman crossed the far track and walked along the side of the bleachers. She glanced back and scanned the area behind here. She sensed someone was following her but only saw a lone girl round the track and head for the other end. The girl looked forlorn or even lost with her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt and head down.
But Sandy was anything but lost. She took a couple dozen more steps, then sidled over toward the bleachers as the woman walked behind the stands to meet the other girls. Sandy stopped at the bottom row of seats and gazed up at the dark figure.
“You coming?” said Sandy.
“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” The voice was deep and forceful, which sent a chill wavering through Sandy. The biker chick had no clue as to what was in store for her.
Suddenly the large figure stood and teetered toward the steps. Sandy then walked to the opening in the railing.
A minute later, Greta German appeared by her side. She glanced down at Sandy, shot her eyes to the left and nodded. Sandy started walking for the side of the bleachers with the giant girl in tow.

“Hi, I’m Lynn Shane,” said the blonde biker woman. She approached the three girls who stood beneath one of the high field lights. They all looked young and about her height—five-five. But she had brought her .25 caliber pistol just in case. She had it stowed in the right pocket of her jacket.
The game ended and people started leaving the field. The lights remained on.
“You got the stuff?” said some redhead. The girl took a step toward her. Lynn stopped about five feet from her.
“Yeah. You got the dough?”
“Right here in my fanny pack,” said the girl. She unzipped it and flashed a wad of cash.
Lynn had brought the drugs, including three grams of heroin. She was delivering and collecting for her former boyfriend, who was a member of a local motorcycle gang. Why she was helping the asshole out, she didn’t know. But she needed the money. And if she crossed these motorcycle pricks, they’d hang her by her tits or kill her.
“What grade is it?” some brunette asked.
“It’s what you asked for, okay?”
“How do we know?”
“If you met me in the restroom or in a lit area, I could’ve shown you,” said Lynn. “Instead you bring me out her on a Friday night behind some fucking bleachers. But I had my orders, so here I am.”
Lynn heard someone shuffle up behind her. When she looked back, she saw the girl who had been walking the track. Behind her stood a huge girl in a black hood with hips that stretched four feet across. She was at least six-five.
Lynn’s heart started racing. Her throat churned. She reached inside her jacket for the pistol, but the immense girl lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. Lynn dropped the gun. She slapped at the girl with her other hand, just after the teen lowered her hood and revealed her fat face. The girl blocked her arm, grabbed her by the front of her coat and threw her against the back of the bleachers.
Lynn windmilled her arms as she flew through the air; her head struck a metal crossbar on the bleachers and she fell on her ass. She had just gotten to her feet, when the huge girl lunged forward and punched her in the gut.
“Uhhhhhhh”. Lynn bent forward at the waist, then dropped to her knees. The girl then grabbed the back of her head, jerked it forward and slammed her knee into her mouth and nose.

The sound of fist hitting flesh sickened Sandy, as she watched Greta pound the hapless woman. Her entire face was bloody.
“That’s enough,” said Sandy.
The girl looked back at her and snarled. “I’ll determine when it’s enough.” She turned and whacked the biker chick with the back of her fist.
Cusssshhhh! The woman went flying toward a small sapling. She landed sprawled on her stomach. She tried to push herself up but Greta stomped on her ass.
Greta bent down and searched the biker chick’s jacket for the drugs. When the blonde stirred, she pulled her up by the back of her hair and slammed her face into the ground. That quieted the bitch.
Greta pulled the drugs out of the woman’s coat. “Take these back to your car,” she said. Sandy walked forward and grabbed the drugs. “Now, all of you get out of here. I can’t have you witnessing this.”
“Witnessing what?” said Sandy.
“Never mind. Just go.”
The four girls walked toward the track without looking back. Greta pulled the biker chick up and dragged her about twenty yards through the woods behind the bleachers. When she came to the steep hill overlooking a narrow creek, she hoisted the woman up between her legs and tossed her down the hill.
The woman rolled down the hill, head over heels, and struck some trees and rocks on the way down. She then hit a large stone jutting from the side of the embankment near the steepest part, which launched her into the air. She landed a couple feet from the creek face down.
Greta tottered down the hill; she was winded. At 380 pounds, she knew she needed to start losing weight. But at seventeen, she was a long way from worrying about any potential heart problems.
She slid to her ass along the steepest part of the hill, scooted alongside the big stone and slid down the embankment toward the blonde, sending loose rocks rolling down the acclivity. She stood and waddled toward the creek, grabbed the back of the woman’s jacket and pulled her toward the water. She then shoved the blonde’s face into the murky water.
“This’ll teach the bikers and their bitches not to sell drugs to teen girls,” she said. But the woman couldn’t hear her. She thrashed her arms in the water and kicked her boots. Greta pulled her head out of the water. The biker chick gasped. “This is your unlucky day, bitch,” she said. “I’m gonna make an example out of you.”
“Please. No. Oh please don’t . . .”
Greta shoved the woman’s face in the water and held her under. Three minutes later, she stood and turned toward the hill, the lower arms of her sweatshirt completely soaked. The woman’s body lay still— her head and most of her jacket submerged, lower body planted on the creek bank.

Lauren Montgomery stormed out of the Nashville Coyote Ugly bar into the warm spring night. Her heart was pounding as she clinched her fists and shouted, “Fuck” along 2nd Avenue North. She was fuming. After all the dance lessons, gymnastics and shaking her ass on top of the bar, not to mention making a fool of herself in front of hundreds of people, she hadn’t made it as a Coyote Ugly girl.
It was her own fault. She had drunk several beers before her last number and stumbled around. Despite winning beauty pageants as a teen and possessing a body to die for, she was now just one of the rejects.
She walked down the street in her tight indigo Wranglers, sleeveless shirt, white cowboy hat and boots. She rounded the corner on the way to her car and kicked a garbage can. The metal bin tipped over and struck a dirty white pickup that was parked on the street, denting the front side panel.
Lauren thought she saw someone stir in the truck, but didn’t bother to take a second look. She hustled back to her Chevy Malibu a block away and headed home.
She pulled down a street of which she didn’t know the name and searched for the expressway. The longer she drove, the more she realized she’d probably missed the exit. She was not familiar with this section of town, as she lived in the suburbs, and had only resided in the area for six months. Ten minutes later, she made a right and entered a seedy section of town. All the businesses were closed on the street and only a few lights illuminated the immediate surroundings.
“I’m lost,” she said. “What else could go wrong tonight?”
Lauren made a left down a narrow road and passed a couple industrial buildings. The streets were now deserted as several paper bags skittered across the intersecting road, then one lifted up into the air toward some busted-out windows. More paper debris skittered along the pavement. Lauren made a right then another left; she slowed down as the wind howled through the slit in the window. At the end of the street in the distance, she spotted another vehicle. It was heading straight toward her.
At first, she thought she had turned down a one-way street. But there were two lanes in the road, though both were extremely narrow. Lauren switched lanes. She tried to get around the vehicle, but the driver turned the steering wheel right. Lauren made a sharp left to avoid hitting the truck and slammed into a telephone pole. Her airbag deployed and smacked her in the face, buffering her from the collision.

(Sample only. Go to my bookshelf to order rest of story. Only 99 cents.

Table of Contents

Chapter Sample

Submitted: September 12, 2016

This is an excerpt from "Coyote Ugly Rejection," one of the stories in the book. Read Chapter