Stories from outside your window part 8

The four friends met at their rendez-vous spot. Exchanged handshakes and back pats. They had known each other for several years years now and formed their own group . It was their last day together and they had decided to spend it as a collective memory setup, something they could all talk about yaers after. They had the same age and more or less the same interests, music and movie wise. Other than that, they shared this peculiar form of violence.
-So, what are we gonna do tonight? one of them asked, looking the other three in the eyes.
-Well, drinking comes out of the ecuation. That shit is overrated, my niggas.
They weren't black , but they acted, talked and dressed like the stereotypical ghetto guy that hip hop videos create into one's mind.
-We've got to act up! Do some crazy shit, we might not see each other from tomorrow on. I mean we'll do, but shit, not like up until now.I'll be here, Mark and Jonesy will be sent to the other neighborhood and by the time we know it, we won't even remember our phone numbers. And that is fucked-up, my niggas.
-Word! the others reacted.
-Have you got the camera? the first one named Phill asked George, the one that had gathered them all.
-Yeah, dawg! Fo' sho'! And he took it out his baggies, showing it to the rest of the gang.
-I got it from this asshole that asked fifty bucks for it. I put my knife under his balls, he let go of his wallet plus the camera. Can you believe the prick? 50 bucks!? Fucking jerk!
They all started to laugh. They decided to move on and on the way they'd find something worth of rising their adrenaline to wanted level. They looked like a rip-off version of Alex and his droogs, all hungry to whoop some ass.
Firstly they broke a window of a electronics store. Didn't want to take anything from inside, just make some noise and some rumble. By the time they had gotten to the second and third stores trashed it had already gotten midnight.. The boys needed another kind of excitement. This was just a warm-up. They reached a deserted car-wash where inspiration struck them. They had a marvellous plan to have fun. After several attemps, George stopped a car.The only lights around were the traffic ones, the streets and surroundings looking eerie in the dark.
-Help me please, sir, my friend is hurt.He got hit by a car.We've got to get him to a hospital.
-What?.....the guy behind the wheel tried to ask back.But it was too late to get anything figured out.The street was poorly-lit, to say at most.As soon as the driver got out the car, Phill came swiftly behind him, kicking him with a baseball bat. The guy fell on the floor, gasping for air. The other two jumped on his back, holding him, George took out his knife pointing it to the driver's throat.The man was black, the adventure of the four could have not been better.
-Listen up, you piece of shit. Either you do as we say or you'll see your blood sprayed all over this goddamn nice Grand Torino.
The driver nodded.
-Now, get behind the wheel and get us to the old Billie's warehouse.

All five of them jumped in the car.George was still holding the knife at the black guy's throat from the back seat.
-Don't go too fast or too slow, nigger. Don't do stupid shit, don't fuck this up.
The driver was sweating like a pig. It was around 28 degrees C, but one could not close its eyes in front of the situation he was in as a major key pawn in his heavy perspiration. They reached the warehouse.
It was an abandoned site, one of the many closed facilities that lost its labouring hands to robots and production lines when the big economic boom had hit the city.
One could easily mistake it for a haunted site, hence it looked like witches and demons would call it a proper home.
They tied him to a water tube, stripping him waist up. Pointing three flashlights into the black guy's face, they created a blinding envrironment for them to consume thir sadic violence thirst. On the other hand, their faces were impossible to make out in the dark.They started kicking the blck man, punching him, taking turns. Each blow was stronger, faster, more violent than the previous ones.
-You niggers, you reek like shit even after taking a shower...Do you want to take a shower now, nigger? asked Jonesy.
But the black guy barely could lift his head and keep his eyes open, much less responding.
George, the knife expert, then started to carv lines with the blade into their ''fun mascot for the night''s flesh.
The whole torture had taken more than 40 minutes to perform and had left the hungry-fo-blood pack exhausted, their victim with all his ribs broken, one kneecap squashed by the baseball bat, twitching violently in his last stages of life. A prisoner at Guantanamo would've blushed seeying the bruises on the young man's crippled body. It was time for the next step.
-Mark, start recording this shit, dawg....said Jonesy.It's going down...
Phill took the knife from George asking if he was allowed to have the pleasure.
-For you nigga, everything, do us proud! screamed George.
With a swift move of his arm, the blade cut thick into the victim's jugular.
-This is how we used to kill pigs at my grandpa's time. Die pig-nigger, die! was yelling Phill triumphantly.
The black man could not hear him anymore, he was dead, not only his body tortured, but the look on his face too.

The young jackals had graduated from Junior KKK to full-time Charles Manson's followers.
They turned off the flashlights and left the warehouse,the black man still tied to the water tube, blood dripping from his throat. They jumped in the car and drove off.
None was really a driver, but Phill took out the spot, he had learned a bit from his alcoholic dad when he used to work at a garage.The awainting next day was the one that had led them to get together for fun session. They were only 15 and going to highschool, different ones.
Not having much experience with handling a steering wheel, Phill had crashed into another car, when traffic lights were red. The next day, they were brought to a hospital, all being in grave conditons, Jonesy being serious wounded, not able to walk anymore from the hit he had taken to his spine. A correctional facility was awaiting them all, as soon as the injuries had been cured and they had gotten out of the hospital.
It was the first day of highschool, but the bells didn't ring for them.....