Responses to this message:
Here is how this would be enlightening --
The movie would begin as others with a man (or a woman), but for the love of females, I'll use a woman for this. Enjoy!
Jericho-Texas. . .
A dusty road and an empty promise forced her to ride a beat up Chevy into the endless abyss of sand and dust. The cacti watched her as she rode on to the unknown like a Prodigal child looking for hope in an endless trail of nothing. Her name is Jane Doe. A hard woman from the streets of Chicago. The sweat made her dark skin shone like a polished statue with her shadowy hair flowing in the wind. The white shirt soaked up most of her blood, but didn't help much to stop the sun from making the perspiration sting at the wound. It's a wonder what duct tape and cotton mixed with tequilla can do for you.
Jane was leaving the Midway to escape reality that always seemed to chase her in the open highways and roads of life. She heard Death in the gusts, "You can never win. You are a killer. A killer! You will submit . . ." Jane hated to admit it. Being a killer for hire was not nessarily a career choice for women. All women are supposed to do is worry about their hair, Prom, and . . . children. Hah! The very thought made her laugh out loud. What a hitman like her gonna do with kids? And the cost? Freedom. A price that was too much for her to pay. Jane loved her freedom to see anyone, go anywhere, and think anyway she wanted. To some, this paradise was a Texas, dirt road on the edge of nowhere, but to Doe - It was heaven!
Running low on petro, Jane sees a town off the corner of her eye. Money from the last job was running dry and she needed some quick fixes to get back on track. 'Maybe there is a gas station nearby I can shake down?' She thought as she headed towards the town. The dirt caked the sign up ahead, but it was readable: "Welcome to Jericho." Jane kept on going past the sign after making sure the nickel plated .45s were put away in the briefcase and put on her jacket to hide the bloody shirt. The buildings looked like wooden tombs. Each had a story to tell she bet. Looking around, Doe felt after hitting the station she might hide here for awhile to heal and lay low. Good plan until. . .
Jane put on the brakes just before she hit the crossing band of men that were escorting a brazen woman across the street. She looked hard at the female. 'Probably Mexican. I wouldn't be surprised.' Doe thought. One of the men came towards her vehicle. "Hey! You like the view? You some kinda dyke, hey?"
'Compared to what I'm looking at, does it look like I had a choice?' Jane wasn't gay, but she was not about to let guys talk to her in any tone.
"Well, well. Hey, guys! Check out this bitch over here!" The ugly thug said as more and more flooded her view. "You seem to be a very smart mouth, whore. You think you can back that shit up?"
She held the steering-wheel hard until her knuckles turned white. 'I guess not. . .'
"Good little bitch. That sounds more like it!" His name was Paul Reese. Second hand to Harry Flinnt's crew. Seems like Jane ran into the hot spot for a local bank robbing crew out of San Fransisco, California. "You see that twitch over there? That is the property of Mr. Flinnt. See? He don't like it when other people especially dykes like you looking at her."
'Funny? I thought slavery was over.' Jane can't keep her mouth shut too long with an idiot like this.
"Heh, you should know. Right boys!" The other men lauged with the cackling dummy.
'I thought this was a free country?'
The big thug balled up his fist and punched right through her car window, another kicked at her head lights, and one slashed her tires. "Ya free to go now," said Paul. "Oh, if you like to press any charges, the sheriff is right there to help you, he, he, heee!"
Jane went out of her car after the goon squad left and went towards the sheriff's office. The place was old and raggedy like the sheriff that sat right behind his desk facing the window.
"You know, I saw the whole damn thing through that window. Yeah. You know what I'm gonna do? Not a goddamn thing! Why? Because I'm not about to risk my ass for some dumb black chick who cain't keep her mouth shut!"
Doe looked awfully hard at the man, but smiled as she left, "I guess me and the Mexican lady are not the only pussy around here, hey, sheriff?' Jane went out the door before she could give the man a chance to react. Got enough guy talk as it is. What she needed was some cash and plan. Stroding to a saloon, she entered the polished bar and seated on the old bar stools. The bartender looked like a local here in this deserted town.
"Hi, there, want something to drink?" The hick said.
Knowing bartenders, they always knew a thing or two about people. Jane pulled out a stack of twenties - her last good roll. The bartender was relunctant, but it was better pay than what the robbers had shelled out. He told Jane the whole story about those guys being bank robbers and that every year or so they hit off a major score and stashed the loot here in Jericho in the old Oregon Motel. He said that tomorrow they be all gone before the local state police and FBI come by to investigate the town following a leads they got from "America's Most Wanted." Fine by her. She had no desire to stay in this town that God forgot. Doe had to act fast. Riding the car just off the edge of the town, she took out all the ammo and guns she had. A sawed-off shotgun, two .45s, and a revolver. The .45s got at least 10 clips for about 20 men. The shells for the shotgun were scarce; only four. The revolver had five bullets inside. She did the only woman thing she could do - think.
The plan: kill all of the gang members. Find the loot. Drive away before the FBI start infesting the town with agents. What about the Mexican woman? 'Fuck her!' That sounded strange to Doe. Is she that inhuman? Or less feminine? What's wrong with her? She realized she was the same mold of trash the robbers were. Was it the Mexican woman's fault that she got mixed up into this? A victim. If that was the case, women would put that on their resumes. It was a way of life. No regrets. Little gained, but not today.
Jane loaded up, strapped up her guns, and went to face the whole crew. She could hear ddeath laughing the background. If Death were a cock, she kick him in the balls to shut him up. The Motel was big and the doors left no way to hide her arrival. Paul noticed her armed to the teeth. "Holy shit, the bi. . ." The last words of a dying man. Shots rang out like fire crackers. Each made had a death wish and Doe was their genie. Bodies of ten men littered the floor. Second floor. Jane peeped out to see and was welcomed by harmonious gun play near the stairs. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and threw it at the gunmen. More and more bottles flew. The men didn't know what she was doing as they were soaked with alchohol. Jane grabbed a table. The strain was tough due to the gun wound, but she managed to get it up the stairs. The shot rang out like some crazed bell. Jane rose from the table and said, 'Alright! I give up!.' They stopped and saw her stand with a bottle on hand. The gunners said, "Enjoy your last drink, bitch!" Jane took a big mouthful of rum and with a flick of her wrist got the lighter up in front and blew flames at the unsuspecting men. All she heard was their screams as the flames ate away at their flesh. That's 12 down. Eight to go. There were seven waiting at the door of Mr. Flinnt's room. She fired off the last of her .45 rounds. All there was left was the shotgun and the revolver. She looked passed the hallway from the room and saw four already dead. Four left standing. Suddenly in a blinding rush, the three ran straight towards her with guns blazing. The shot gun took out only one while the other two come fiercly close. Dropping the shotgun, Jane pulled out the revolver and prayed to get lucky. Leaping to the stairway, Doe let out one shot. One fell down. Another, no luck. She landed hard on the wooden floor, but let out the last shot Jane could muster. . . There in front of her was the dead man with his ski mask on mocking hid dead body. Jane could see Death smiling at her. A hard jerk came from her neck and she was pulled up by someone. Harry Flinnt.
Flinnt yelled at her and punched in the head many times. Kicked her sides good to make sure she don't get up. They were on the dirt road. "Fucking bitch! Goddamn, I had a good thing going here until you showed up! Fuck!" Each word was followed by a kick or a punch until she felt the muzzle of a nickle plated .9 mm on her temple. Click. . . Bang!
Flinnt lied there dead right beside her. The Mexican woman was right there with the revolver she had used to kill the others. 'Thanks,' said Jane. Doe noticed that the brazen woman was carrying a large heavy suitecase. 'The loot?' She nodded. 'Good, we can go now. C'mon, let's go.' Jane started to limp towards the direction of the car with the woman behind her. They reached the car. 'Okay, we're. . .'
The last thing Jane Doe ever said before the bullet crashed into her skull. She fell hard on the dirt. "What do you mean we, bitch?" The Mexican woman said as she fished the car keys from her jacket. Who knew that she was the leader's girlfriend? Certainly not Jane. She got into Jane's Chevy and rode out into the sun. Doe layed there with her face on the ground. Betrayed by her own demons. Her own kind. Death was heard luaghing in the wind. . .
Responses to this message:
Post a response to this discussion thread