Another commission. Readers should be warned that this one is not going to be to all tastes. The client requested a story with my usual strong dominant and very violent women, but written in the mould of the "Blaxploitation" movies from the 1970s. So what we have here is a tale about professional assassins out for revenge against a super-racist white police force. There is lots, and I mean lots of racial language and attitudes on display here, along with violence directed towards police officers.The 'N-word' is not used in this story, but much racially charged language is. For whatever it's worth, the characters of colour in this story are universally strong, smart, competent, and badass. The white characters are decidedly not. There is also my usual mix of violence and sex. If these things offend you, as they very well might, then this really is not the story for you and you should look elsewhere.
The main character of this story is called Angela Davis, and is very loosely based on the real life lady of that name. I in no way mean to imply that Angela Davis is or ever has been a physically powerful mass murdress for hire. Really the name, and a few aspects of her appearance, are the only things she has in common with her fictional counterpart herein. Again, if you find such a depiction to be trampling over the real person in an outrageous manner, then this is not the story for you.
If I seem to be belabouring the point here, then that's just a refection of how sensitive people can be on such topics.
If my writing style appeals to you and you want a story written to your exact requirements, drop me a line; we can work it out.
If you like the following, I'd also appreciate your letting me know. Writers are all total whores for feedback, you know? Hell, even if you hate it why not drop me a line to tell me why?
I can be reached here
The big black Mercedes Benz 280SL pulled up at the gates to the giant mansion. A guard sauntered over from the guardhouse. "Can I help you?" He asked. His tone was flat, neither friendly nor unfriendly. His hand rested on the butt of a Smith & Wesson Model 10, holstered at his hip.
Angela Davis looked out at him disdainfully. Both she and her companion could have killed the man in at least six different ways, had they wanted to. But that wasn't why they were here today. "We have an appointment to see Ms Queen," she said. "Now move your ass, before you make us late."
The guard didn't like her tone or her attitude, but his employer was not a patient woman, and she'd take it out of his hide if guests were late because of him. He waved to his companion in the guardhouse and the huge iron gate rolled open.
Angela drove up to the house - a considerable distance, the grounds were huge. A butler type met them at the door - a white guy, Angela saw with irritation. She said nothing, and he led the pair inside.
??Everything about the mansion reeked of money and high-class taste, from the marble hallway to the expensive artworks decorating the place. Angela was impressed, though she'd never show it. The butler led them through the house and into a big reception room.
In the centre of the room stood Ms Queen. That was all anybody called her or knew her as. She was the most powerful leader of the Black Mafia in Florida, and by far the richest person in the state. She was a tall woman, slim and beautiful. She dressed in simple, elegant clothing, obviously expensive and high quality. Three assistants, all white women, clustered around her as she tried on a coat - a long black fur thing.
In the corner stood a huge woman, as tall as Angela's own seven-foot frame. She wore a close-fitting leather outfit not dissimilar to Angela's catsuit, except that this garment incorporated a hood that completely covered the woman's face, leaving only an oval hole for her eyes and small holes for the nose and mouth. It left her arms bare, showing musculature that almost matched Angela's huge muscles. Her hands were covered in intricate tattoos. A shiny chrome Colt 1911 automatic sat snugly in a black leather holster on one hip; a short curved sword hung at the other.
Angela locked eyes with the woman, seeing no weakness there. This woman was tough, hard, and had the look of a stone-cold professional killer. Angela knew instantly that if things went bad here, this woman was the one she would have to be especially careful of.
Queen turned as Angela and China entered, smiling.
"Hello ladies, right on time I see. I like that." She smiled as she twirled, showing off her new coat. "Do you like it? It's brand new. Black Panther fur. Very rare and hard to get. They're endangered, you know."
"Yeah, it's a fine piece of fur," Angela said. She caressed the skin-tight leather catsuit she wore, running her hands down the sides. "But I prefer leather myself."
"To each their own." Queen's expression hardened a little and she clapped. "Whites out. Now." She said.
Immediately the assistants and the butler chorused "Yes Ms Queen," and withdrew from the room.
"What's with them?" Angela said, frowning slightly. "You hire whites?" Unconsciously her hands flexed slightly. She didn't like the idea of a white being paid to do a job that a black could do in their place.
Queen shrugged. "I don't hire them. They're my slaves. I find whites make good slaves. They're naturally submissive to their black superiors."
Angela blinked at that, then smiled slowly. "You keep them here as slaves? How many?" She asked curiously.
"Oh, about thirty," came the offhand reply. "My bodyguard, Ms Mohammed, runs the slave pens for me. She's very committed to the idea that whites are the lowest scum on Earth; she viciously punishes any white slave who shows the slightest hint of disobedience to any non-white."
Angela smiled slowly, glancing at the formidable Ms Mohammed. "I approve," she said.
"Good. But enough of that. Let's go out in the sun and get down to business." She casually dropped the fur coat to the floor and headed out onto an expansive patio.
"So, you need people killed," Angela said as they sat.
"I do. A whole lot of them," Queen replied. "I hear you're the woman for that. The Black Panthers made you an honorary member because you've killed so many white pigs in the last couple of years. Along with your friend here, of course. The lethal China Black." Queen smiled at the diminutive lady. "Said to be one of the most skilled martial artists in the world, and an expert with guns, knives, and torture." China nodded in appreciation. " You and Ms Mohammed should exchange notes, she adores torturing whites."
"Who do you want dead, and where do I find them?" Angela asked.
Queen raised an eyebrow. "No 'why'?" She asked.
Angela shrugged. "They're white boys, right?" She asked and received a nod. "Then that's reason enough."
Queen smiled. "I like that," she said. "I think we can do business, you and I." She sat forward. "You ever hear of Cottonville, Alabama?"
Angela shrugged. "Can't say as I have."
"It's a town, just over the border between Tallahassee and Dothan. A couple of weeks ago my son was driving through there when the pigs pulled him over. They shot and killed him."
Angela winced. She only knew Queen by reputation, but even she knew just how big of a mistake those pigs had made. "You want me to kill the pigs that did it," she said.
"Oh, hell no," Queen said fiercely. "I want those motherfuckers here," she pointed to the marbled floor at her feet, "I want them right there at my feet, begging and pleading for their lives. And then I'm going to give them to Ms Mohammed. And she's going to do things to them that you wouldn't believe. The only thing that gives her more pleasure than torturing a white is torturing a white pig. And that goes double if they're a Christian on top. She hates Christians like you wouldn't believe. Those pigs are going to be begging for their death, in between screaming so hard that they'll puke blood. No honey, those two men are not going to die for a long, long time."
"A straight abduction, then?" Angela asked. She could almost feel sorry for the pigs.
"An abduction for them, sure," Queen said. "But I do want you to kill the rest of the police force they belong to."
"The police force?" Angela asked, so surprised that she couldn't even hide it.
Queen's face was set hard as stone. "The police force," she said. "The pigs who shot my son are gonna suffer, and hard, but I also want you to kill every last pig in the entire police force they belong to. All of them. I've done my research on that place - it's a nest of Klan and Nazi party members. They don't even let a white boy join unless he's in one or both of those things first. Scum, every last one of them. I want a massacre! I want that pig station to look like a slaughterhouse, with dead pig all over the place. I want to send a message to all the racist white shit in this country. I want it bloody, I want it cruel. I want the next pig that walks into that building to puke all over his shoes at the sight of it. You kill them all, and you bring me their badges. Those shiny gold badges that make them think they can kill blacks whenever they feel like it. Deliver the cops and the badges to Ms Mohammed here. And you know what? I'll drop ten thousand dollars on you ladies for each and every badge you deliver. There's about a hundred cops in that police department, which means you ladies could make a cool million dollars. Does that idea interest you, Ms Davis?"
Angela looked at China. The petite Vietnamese-black beauty smiled slowly and nodded. "Yes, we can do that," Angela said. "In fact, it would be a pleasure." She drew a huge cigar from a set of metal tubes on her belt and lit it, puffing with obvious pleasure. At her side, China joined her by lighting a much slimmer cigar. "You have yourself a deal, Queen."
"A grand adventure for the 'Black Death'," Queen said with a smile.
Angela didn't react outwardly, though she tensed up considerably on the inside. She hid it by taking a long drag on the cigar and puffing a big smoke ring. "What do you know about that?" She asked very casually.
"Oh, only the legend," Queen said with a smile. "That there was a black woman who was part of the army. That she was posted to 'Nam and decided that she didn't like being part of a white man's war. She decided that she'd rather kill the white man who sent her there instead. So, with the help of a young woman she met in 'Nam, a woman who was half Vietnamese and half black... she massacred her own platoon down to the last man. Then she deserted, and spent the next year killing white soldiers. The two women killed dozens of white soldiers over the next year, and they never laid a finger on her or her friend. According to the legend, her friend picked up a little habit in 'Nam. She liked to cut the ears off the dead soldiers and wear them as a necklace. That's how you know if it was the woman and her friend who had killed a patrol... their ears were cut off. They called the woman 'the Black Death'. "
Angela allowed herself a slight nod, her huge afro bobbing slightly. "And this has what to do with me?" She asked. Beside her China black reached up with one perfectly-formed hand to caress her necklace... the necklace which was made up of a slim gold chain with shrivelled black tokens spaced every half-inch. Twisted leathery shapes that looked just like mummified flesh.
Queen smiled. "Well that's the question. Nobody really knows who the Black Death is. The 'Nam killings stopped a couple of years ago. Just about the time you became active as a professional killer... right?"
"That's right," Angela said.
"Well, let me make one thing clear," Queen said. "The Black Panther's identity would be very safe with me. Anyone who has such a serious interest in killing whites is just fine with me."
Angela smiled. "Glad to know it," she said.
China reached behind her. With a whisper of steel, she drew a 16-inch kukri knife and casually sliced it through the air. "I think I'm going to enjoy this job," she said, "and after all, I could do with a fresh new necklace."
The three laughed.
There were more pleasantries after that, but the important points of the meeting had already been covered. Angela and China departed an hour later, heading back to their hotel.
"What do you think?" Angela asked China once they were safely ensconced in their hotel room. The beautiful girl smiled slowly as she slid her 16-inch kukri knife from its sheath. She examined the edge for a moment. "It's going to be a pleasure," she said.
"Man, these speed traps are boring." Cletus Johnson sighed as he stared out at the empty road - a road which had been empty for well over an hour now. "I need some action!"
Beside him his partner and mentor, Billy Joe Williams, shrugged. "I like the peace and quiet myself," he said. Four tours in 'Nam had given Billy Joe enough action to last a lifetime, and he was perfectly content to take things easy. His partner had done a year in 'Nam himself, and had been delighted at having the opportunity to beat, rape, and kill the natives pretty much whenever he wanted. He'd be back there right now except for that whole deal about having seen more than a few of his friends shot or blown up by landmines and booby traps.
Suddenly the sound of a powerful engine cut through the night. Cletus sat up just as a huge Mercedes Benz two-seater roared past. "Jesus, he must be doing a hundred!" He yelled. "Let's get him!"
Billy Joe was already starting the engine, and moments later the cop car was in hot pursuit, sirens and lights going full blast. They caught up with the black Mercedes a couple of minutes later, as the old church building loomed up ahead. Billy Joe flashed his headlights and the car swerved in to pull up in the parking lot in front of the church.
Cletus flipped on the PA. "Out of the car, with your hands up," he called out.
The doors opened and the most incredible sight greeted the two officers.
The first out was a black-skinned chick with Asian-looking features. She was tiny, maybe five feet tall. Cletus had spent half his life telling anybody who asked and many who didn't that black women couldn't be beautiful, not really. It would be like fucking an ape, he claimed. But in face of this gorgeous woman, he immediately had second thoughts.
Then Angela Davis climbed out, and his jaw literally fell open. She was spectacular, he thought. She stood a good seven feet tall - and that was before the knee-length black leather boots with gleaming metal five-inch stiletto heels, and the huge afro which added who knows how many extra inches to that! She was wearing a skin-tight catsuit of thin leather which clung to her body, revealing a physique that would have made any bodybuilder ashamed to call himself by the word. Bulging biceps, thighs thicker than anything he'd ever seen, broad shoulders that almost looked like she was wearing football pads under there.
Except that he could tell she wasn't because the front of the catsuit was unzippered almost down to her navel. Rippling abdominal muscles stood firm and proud, whilst above the largest pair of breasts he'd ever seen stood even prouder. He could see that she wore no bra, yet those melon-sized tits stood up as high and firm as any he'd ever seen. Cletus could barely take his eyes off of them, and honestly, he was perfectly fine with that.
"Well what the fuck is this," his partner murmured, just as awestruck by the pair of incredible beauties. The strange thing was, neither one of them looked at the cops with the slightest hint of nervousness, let alone fear. That was unusual for any civilian, very unusual for one travelling in Alabama, and almost unknown for a black woman in those circumstances. If anything, Cletus would have said that both of the women were looking at the cops with... disdain. Contempt. Like a person might look down at a particularly large pair of cockroaches that they'd found in a punch bowl. That expression should have been off-putting... but somehow, both officers found it even more attractive than a comely smile would have been.
Billy Joe was just as much of a racist sexist pig as his young partner was, if not more so. He'd spent his whole life believing that women were the weaker sex and blacks the inferior race. Now here was a sight that threatened to shatter those notions on the spot. For a long minute both men just sat there, entranced by the sight. Neither would admit it, but either would have crawled over broken glass for the privilege of spending one hour in the company of these two beauties.
Finally, Billy Joe thumbed the microphone. "Um... would you ladies like to put your hands up?" He'd meant to bark it as an order in his most authoritative tone of voice, but somehow it came out as a question in a tone that reminded him of a girlfriend trying to make nice after he'd given her a beating.
Now the tall one spoke, and her voice was liquid sex - with a heaping of cold derision on top. "No," she said, "we would not."
Billy Joe was at a loss for words. Nobody had ever treated him like this, not when he was wearing a uniform. He wanted to go out there and smash these bitches up, almost as much as he wanted to crawl out there and beg them to give him a pity-fuck. But several alarm bells were ringing in his mind. Something was badly wrong here, and he wasn't sure what.
Cletus, younger and rather less experienced in the world, wasn't paying attention to his alarm bell. He jumped out of the police car, setting his hat in place. He was suddenly, freezingly aware that he had an enormous erection tenting out the front of his trousers. The tall woman looked down at it and gave a contemptuous laugh. Cletus packed a solid eight inches in his pants, and he was not used to women having that reaction. It didn't occur to him that when Angela fucked, she liked to fuck black men; eight inches was well below her requirements for a male.
Furious now, he strode forward. "Get your damn hands up, bitch!" he yelled, putting his hand on his police-issue .38 revolver.
"And if I don't?" She asked.
Cletus was aware of his partner stepping out of the car and coming up behind him. Billy Joe had finally managed to tear his eyes off Angela's immense tits and place a quick call for backup. Then he'd spent a couple of minutes working up the nerve to confront these women, along with trying to make his own erection sit in his pants in a way that didn't make it quite so obvious. Finally, he'd just resigned himself to having it visible and climbed out to join his partner. "If you don't," he said, "then you're asking for the kind of trouble you don't want. This here's Alabama, and in Alabama we don't take kindly to having uppity negro bitches disobeying police orders."
"Give us all the trouble you've got, white pig," Angela sneered. And she loaded those final words with such scorn, such venom, that both cops actually flinched. They had never heard anybody use the word 'white' like that before, as if it were an insult in and of itself.
Billy Joe snarled and started to draw his .38 as he walked forward.
Angela's hand moved almost faster than he could see, flashing up to her armpit. It was only at that moment that he realised she had a gun there - it had been mostly hidden by the huge curve of her left breast.
Quicker than a striking snake, she had the gun out - and fucking hell, Billy Joe's mind screamed, that wasn't a gun, that was a fucking cannon. Where did she even get something like that?!
It was the last thought he ever had. Angela's .44 Automag barked like thunder. The bullet hit Billy Joe right between the eyes and blew the entire back of his head out. Blood, brain and bone splattered all over Cletus, who was paralysed with shock. Billy Joe, one of the toughest, hardest men he'd ever known... just gone.
China Black had sprung forward as Angela moved, only a hair slower. Now she leapt, one booted leg lashing out in the most perfect spinning kick imaginable. Her foot smashed into the side of Billy Joe's head. So great was the damage from the awesomely powerful Automag that the remains of his skull simply disintegrated, spraying another load of gore over his partner. The body swayed for a moment, then slowly toppled backwards.
Angela reached for her belt and extracted a large cigar from a set of slim tubes attached there. She lit it and took a long drag, breathing that sweet smoke deep into her lungs. Then she leaned her head back and puffed a series of four perfect smoke rings up into the sky.
"Your move, white pig," she said softly as she looked down again.
Cletus felt dizzy. He was a mass of conflicting emotions. He was outraged. He was terrified. He was, to his utter shame, even more turned on than before. The casual ease with which this woman had murdered his partner... it was incredible. There were a hundred things he should be doing right now - pulling his gun, taking cover, calling for more backup. Instead he just stared at her, his cock throbbing hard in his pants. Deep down inside he knew that whatever happened next, it would be because this astonishing woman had decided to make it happen.
"What are you going to do?" He whispered. As if in answer, the Automag centred on his face.
Cletus, a man who had been in combat dozens of times, immediately began to cry. "Please," he begged between sobs, "please don't kill me!"
Angela laughed. "Call that begging?" She taunted. "Give me detail. Why should I spare your life?"
"Please," he gasped, falling to his knees. "I'll do anything, just so long as you let me live!"
"Your life belongs to me," she said. "Say it!"
"My life belongs to you," Cletus whimpered. "It's yours to take, and yours to give," he added, getting into the spirit of things.
"And you're just a disgusting little piece of shit white boy, aren't you? Not worth the price of a bullet?"
"Absolutely," Cletus blubbered. "I'm white trash, plain and simple. I'm low filth, I'm worthless, I'm nothing!"
Angela placed the barrel of the Automag between his eyes. "Tell me how superior I am," she said, "how superior all blacks are compared to whites."
"Absolutely," Cletus snivelled. "White people are the lowest form of shit there is... blacks are our superiors, especially an amazing Black Goddess like you."
Angela nodded, satisfied. "Alright," she said. "I won't shoot you."
"Oh, thank you, my Goddess," Cletus gasped with relief.
"Would you like us to fuck you, pig?" China asked.
Cletus's eyes widened. He hadn't dreamed that he could be granted such a privilege! His cock throbbed, ejaculating into his pants at the very thought that he might be permitted any kind of sexual act with these incredible women. "Oh Goddess, that would be so amazing," he whispered.
Angela walked over to her car and opened the trunk. As she did, China Black put a hand in Cletus's back and shoved him forward to the front of the car. He was just reaching it when Angela stepped out into view.
She was still dressed neck to toe in black leather, Cletus saw. He'd hoped she would take her top off to reveal those amazing tits to his eyes. Then he realised that she had added to her outfit, not removed from it.
Thick black leather straps were buckled about her hips and thighs, a harness of some sort. And standing out from it was a rubber phallus. Cletus's jaw dropped open. His member might be big by white standards, but this was like nothing he had ever seen. Angela's cock was fourteen inches long and three inches in diameter; his was a limp toy in comparison.
"Pants down, bend over the hood," she snapped. Cletus obeyed without thought; disobeying a Goddess was blasphemy, and in this case, he knew that the Goddess would not take that lightly. "Now beg for it," Angela ordered as she placed the big rounded mushroom-head of the cock against his asshole. Behind her, China Black was stepping into her own equally large strap-on. On Angela's seven-foot-plus frame the thing looked big; on China's diminutive body it was absolutely obscene.
"Please, Goddess Angela," he begged pathetically, "please fuck my worthless white asshole. I know I am not worthy even of your humiliation, but I beg you, humiliate me. Turn me into a cock-loving faggot for your pleasure!"
Angela laughed. "I like nothing in this world better than teaching a white boy his place," she said. "And his place is always at the bottom!" With that she shoved the cock into his ass. Cletus would normally have been a difficult target for sodomy; he was tight-assed both literally and figuratively, and even an experienced anal whore would have found it hard to take Angela's monster cock.
But the only thing bigger than Angela's huge cock was Angela's huge muscles. Her thighs bulged with pure feminine power as she slammed her hips forward. Cletus's poor sphincter resisted for a fraction of a second and then burst in a dozen places as the massive black cock rammed home. Every inch of the monster buried itself in one long, incredibly powerful thrust, ripping into his bowels and doing tremendous damage there.
Cletus screamed in agony and ecstasy as Angela began to fuck him. There was nothing loving about it, nothing tender. She rammed the immense phallus into his abdomen as fast and as hard as she could. He could feel it doing horrible things to his insides, but he didn't care. His Goddess was bestowing this upon him, and that was all that mattered.
Angela took a handful of hair, pulling his head back. "Take it, white bitch," she hissed. "Take my big black cock! You're Angela's faggot cock-whore now!"
She fucked him like that for almost fifteen minutes. Somewhere along the way she thought she'd felt his pelvis break under the power of a particularly hard thrust. By the time she pulled out, his entire abdomen had turned almost black from the internal bleeding.
"You know what happens to you now, faggot?" She asked.
Cletus tried to stand, but he could feel blood practically gushing from his rectum. Blood, and what felt like chunks of... something.
"No, Goddess Angela," he whispered.
"Now it's my turn," China said. His eyes widened in fear, but he couldn't help himself; his will had been broken utterly.
"Yes Mistress," he whimpered. His eyes widened in fear, but he couldn't help himself; his will had been broken utterly.
If anything, being fucked by China Black was even more humiliating. Whilst Angela was about power and brutality, China was almost gentle in comparison. But whilst she slid the monster cock into his ass in long, slow strokes, she kept up a constant stream of whispering into his ear. "Good little cock whore," she murmured. "Taking cock like a faggot. Not a real man at all, are you? All these years you've been trying to show off how manly you are, trying to tell everyone how good you are with women, and all the time you've been hungry for a good ass fucking by a big black cock, haven't you? It's okay, you can admit it to China. I know what you really are, white boy. Just a whore for big black cock."
The words went on and on, drilling into his psyche and shredding his pride, his ego, his ability to resist. By the time the flashing red and blue lights appeared in the distance, he was openly sobbing in shame.
"Trouble coming," Angela said. She extracted the magazine from her Automag and inserted a fresh one.
China looked up to see the police cruiser heading for them. She pulled her cock out of Cletus's ass and dragged him upright. "No more need for this one," she said. She snap kicked him in the groin, following up with a series of vicious punches to the abdomen and chest. If anything, she was even faster than Angela - and she struck his vitals with the precision of a world-class karate expert. Cletus crumpled to the ground, barely conscious, and as he fell China delivered a brutal karate chop that snapped his neck.
The approaching car pulled up and two pigs tumbled out. Angela brought her hand cannon up and the mighty weapon roared, shots so close together it sounded like automatic fire. She blew holes in the windshield, the engine, one of the doors, and the bodies of both of the white pigs. One of them she hit in the neck, blowing his head clean off his shoulders. The other was gut-shot, throwing a spray of intestines tumbling to the ground. He collapsed, emitting shrieking screams of agony.
China walked over, clutching her favoured firearm - an 9mm Uzi submachine gun. She inserted a 40-round magazine as the pig screamed and pleaded for mercy. Without hesitation China raised the weapon and emptied the entire magazine into the pig.
"Should have left him to bleed out," Angela said contemptuously.
China shrugged. "The noise was irritating me."
"What in the name of God almighty is going on here!" A new voice demanded. Angela spun, whipping the Automag from its holster.
Behind them was a new arrival, an older man. He was skinny, with longish ragged white hair. "I am the pastor of this church!" He said angrily. "I demand that you black bitches get off church grounds, right now! We don't want your kind here, and-" he broke off as he saw the bodies and realised how much trouble he was in.
"Well look at this," She said softly. China started forward, the Uzi dangling from her shoulder as she raised her kukri knife. Angela put a hand out, stopping her. "No," she said. "This one we spare."
"Why's that?" China asked, surprised.
"Stick him in the trunk," Angela said. "A white, male, protestant pastor? I'm going to give him to Ms Mohammed as a gift."
China smiled and advanced on the man. From her belt she drew a small spray bottle, which looked for all the world like a bottle of perfume. With her customary speed, she raised it and sprayed it into the pastor's face. Her jerked back, startled, as the powerful fumes covered his mouth and nose. The most powerful smell he had ever experienced sent him reeling back, and as the drug took hold he collapsed into unconsciousness.
As China dragged him to their car, Angela went and yanked the badges off the dead pigs. Several were smeared with blood, which she thought made them look rather pretty. She glanced at their nametags.
Once the pastor was locked safely in the trunk, Angela went to the cop car and pulled the radio out. "Calling base, and anybody else who can hear me," she said into the handset. "I want you all to know that Pig Officer Williams and Pig Officer Johnston are dead. So are Pig Officer Kandy and Pig Officer Becker. Two superior black women murdered all four of them. Pig Johnson was especially fun to murder, seeing as how we raped his asshole first. Man, that was Fun! I know you won't believe me, so you'll find their bodies lying on the ground in the parking lot of the First Baptist Church outside of town! It's a lovely sight to see, a missing pastor and four dead pigs!"
Her voice turned more serious. "And I want y'all to know, these black bitches are coming for you all next. You suckers made a big mistake when you killed Queen's boy. She's pissed off about it, and so are we! So, we're coming right into town, right to your police station, and we're going to kill every single white pig there. You get your men together, and you get your guns ready, and you lock that station down as tight as you like. It won't make a bit of difference, because the Black Panthers are riding high tonight! Death to all white pigs!"
China smiled as she took a cap from the back seat of the pig car. "Hey, look at this," she said. It was a Nazi SS uniform cap. China perched it on her head at a jaunty angle. "How do I look?"
"You look gorgeous as always," Angela replied with a smile as she tossed the handset aside.
"That was clever," China said, gesturing to the radio. "Once they've checked the church out, that will bring every cop in the force in."
"The more, the better," Angela said. "One nice big fat juicy pig target for us to take down." She headed for her own car. "Now let's blow this joint. We got some killing to do!"
The Mercedes Benz rolled through Cottonville at just past two in the morning. Angela had driven round in the roads outside of town for a couple of hours, delaying to give the pigs time to find their fallen comrades and then call in all the off-duty officers. Now it was time to make their move.
The streets were deserted, and an eerie silence lay on the town. Angela guided the car towards the station, keeping it slow so that the roar of the powerful engine wouldn't alert anybody to their approach. Both she and China Black were puffing on huge cigars, enjoying the moment of calm before the oncoming storm.
Two streets from the pig pen she pulled into an alleyway, and deep shadows swallowed the black car. The two women went to the trunk and opened it up. The white-haired pastor still slept, lying on top of an arsenal of weapons. China rolled him to the back of the big trunk.
Angela pulled a pair of large duffle bags out and began to unpack them. She withdrew half a dozen slides for her huge .44 Automag, loading them into pouches on her belt. She also added a vicious black leather bullwhip. Next came a 12 gauge Ithaca 37 shotgun. Angela had cut the barrel back to the end of the feed tube, making the weapon nice and short for indoor use. Twenty or so shotgun shells filled the rest of her belt.
China preferred knives when practical. She inserted half a dozen of them into various sheaths about her body. She did, however, recognise the value of bullets in a lot of situations, and this was one of them. Thus, she also armed herself with her Uzi submachine gun. She slipped a fresh 40-round magazine into place, then added half a dozen more to pouches on her own belt. As a final flourish, both women added half a dozen grenades.
China laughed as she slotted the last ones into place. "We have utility belts," she said merrily. "I'm Batman!"
Angela chuckled. "I'm a hell of a lot tougher than Batman," she laughed. They shared a smile before turning serious again. "Ready?" Angela asked. China nodded. Angela bent down, lifting her lover into her arms as the two shared a long, slow, deeply sensual kiss. "Now let's go kill some white filth," Angela whispered into her ear.
They exited the alleyway and made their way towards the police station. Angela smiled to see half a dozen pigs standing across the front of the building, all of them holding their pistols at the ready. Little men with little guns, she thought as she hefted her shotgun.
She waited whilst China made her way around to the back of the station, darting between parked cars, finding pools of shadow to hide her approach. In a few minutes she had worked her way right up to the building. A back door was there, securely locked. China dropped to her knees, pulling a lockpick set from inside her outfit and going to work. A few seconds later the lock clicked open.
"Let's rock," she murmured as she pulled the door open.
Officer Wiggins walked out of the cell block with a satisfied smile. He'd spent the last half hour beating prisoners with the heavy nightstick he carried, something he did on a regular basis. He only wished he could have had a black prisoner back there. Beating prisoners was one of life's great joys for Wiggins, but nothing equalled beating a black. Especially a female black! Like all of the officers in the building, Wiggins was a barely contained ball of fury at the news that four of his brother officers had been brutally murdered, apparently by a black woman. God, if only he could get some time alone with that bitch, he thought to himself. He'd rape her all night long and then beat her to death in the morning. How dare some negro bitch put so much as a finger on a good loyal white cop!
It was an ironic last thought, because two seconds a leather-clad petite black woman sporting an immense strap-on dildo stepped around the corner. Wiggins' mouth dropped open in shock. Somehow he knew, just instantly knew that this was one of the women who had put out that obscene call on the radio, here to make good on her threat.
China already had her kukri ready. She spun with blinding speed, the blade lashing out and separating the pig's head from his body. Officer Wiggins collapsed in a heap as his head bounced down the corridor.
China made her way stealthily through the building. Her superb hearing picked up voices here and there; she avoided groups for now, hunting lone prey. Within ten minutes she'd picked off half a dozen pigs, her kukri slicing through bone and flesh as though it were soft butter.
Out front, Angela waited... waited. She knew China would be having fun and wanted to give her some time before Angela embarked on her own more direct approach. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen.
Enough; she couldn't wait a moment longer. She pulled the pins on two grenades and released the levers. One... two... three... Angela flung the pineapples with perfect precision, sending one bouncing through the open front door of the pig pen and dropping the other amongst the officers standing out front. Both detonated almost the instant they hit the ground, sending lethal fragments of metal spraying through the pigs. Angela smiled as she stepped out of the bushes, raising the big shotgun. "Death to white scum!" She screamed.
The shotgun roared as she raced forward and into the building. The surviving pigs there, looked up in awe as the immense woman bounded through the door. Her catsuit was unzippered almost to her crotch; her gigantic tits were practically bursting out of the leather confinement. A huge cigar was clutched between her teeth, and an immense rubber phallus stood proud and threatening from her groin. They'd never seen anything like it, and knew instantly that this had to be the woman who had murdered their comrades, come to make good on her promise. Only seconds earlier the pigs had been confident of their revenge; now, in the face of the attack by this Amazon warrior, their bravado was shown for the hollow thing that it was. Pigs cried out in terror or fled, hoping only to survive. Angela gunned them down without mercy, laughing as she did.
In back, China smiled as the shots rang through the building, alerting every cop in the place. She came to a door and took a quick glance inside; a locker room, a dozen pigs in there suiting up. Excellent. She darted around the corner, raising the Uzi. "Hello, boys!" She cried merrily as they turned, caught entirely by surprise. The Uzi chattered, spitting metal death at ten rounds a second. The pigs didn't stand a chance; China emptied the entire 40 round magazine into them, taking every one down. She reloaded in a second, her movements smooth and practiced. One of the cops moaned, struggling to raise his head. China put a short burst through his face and moved on.
Meanwhile Angela turned a corner to find half a dozen cops bearing down on her. The Ithaca roared several times before coming up empty. Angela dropped the weapon; even before it hit the floor she had her Automag out. Half a dozen rounds roared out in less than two seconds; huge clouds of blood burst from the pigs as the bullets tore their soft pink bodies open. Angela laughed maniacally as she pumped more rounds into the bodies, mutilating them with hot lead.
She re-holstered the Automag and grabbed the shotgun back up, taking a minute to reload it from her belt. Footsteps approached; Angela dived around the corner, the shotgun roaring again as the rounds slammed into legs of the four pigs coming down the corridor. They collapsed to the floor screaming as the powerful shotgun rounds punched into lower legs and knees. When the shotgun ran empty Angela pulled the Automag and finished them off with head shots.
China worked her way through several rooms, the Uzi spitting lead until the gun was almost unbearably hot in her hands. She slung it over her shoulder as she moved into the next room, pulling her kukri knife. The first two pigs in the room died before they even knew she was there; her arm flicked out with blinding speed as she burst through the door, the kukri slicing through their necks with a soft thud. Their heads bounced away as China dashed past, throwing the kukri with perfect accuracy; it buried itself in the forehead of another pig, slicing into his brain.
The other pigs finally began to react, several of them drawing their pistols. But their movements were uncoordinated and slow, so slow compared to the man-hating assassin they were facing. China's hands were a blur as she started flicking throwing knives out with blinding speed. Two buried themselves in the soft fleshy necks of a pair of pigs; another slammed into a pig's chest, passing between a pair of ribs and slicing straight into his pig heart. Three more slammed into the wrists of cops who were raising their pistols, slicing open vital arteries. The pigs screamed as they clutched at their wrists, blood spraying all over them.
China laughed with sadistic glee as she sent out blade after blade, relishing the screams of agony. Knife after knife slammed into white bodies and faces, and it was joyous.
One big cop came up behind China and threw himself at her. She spun with the impact, sending him flashing past her to crash into a desk. He grunted in pain but bounced up, determined to vent his fury on this woman.
China was waiting. She lunged forward with dizzying speed, one slim but powerful arm flashing out. The heel of her hand slammed into the pig's nose, smashing it flat and sending a spray of blood venting over his shirt. His head jerked back, and China launched a karate chop slamming into his throat. As the big man began to crumple to his knees, she finished with a tremendous snap-kick directly into his balls. He gave a gurgling scream as both of his testicles practically exploded, sending a sickly wave of nausea through his stomach.
China laughed as she drew a large Bowie knife. The pig looked up, his eyes widening as he realised that he was about to die, murdered by this superior black woman, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he could do about it.
China screamed "die, pig!" as she slashed the knife across his throat, almost decapitating him. Blood gushed from his neck as he slowly collapsed backwards.
China looked around the room, which she had transformed into a scene of carnage in just seconds. She smiled, elated at the pain and death she was inflicting. Under her leather outfit her panties were drenched, her pussy practically throbbing. "Ten grand a head, white boys!" She yelled in orgasmic joy. "I'd have done this for free! Every fucking white piece of shit must die! Black power!"
She spent a few seconds retrieving her knives from the various corpses. The kukri was so deeply embedded that she had to smash the pig's skulls to get them out. China lovingly licked the pig blood from the blades before returning them to their sheaths. Then she reloaded the Uzi and went in search of fresh prey.
Angela moved from room to room, the Automag roaring thunder as she slaughtered pig after pig. She'd killed over twenty-five of them already. She was out of shotgun rounds now and had slung the big weapon on her back and switched to her pistol. As she cleared the room of pigs she lifted the black bullwhip from her belt. As if on cue another pig ran into the room, raising his pathetic little pistol. Angela's whip lashed out, the tip making the familiar crack as it broke the speed of sound. The slim leather slashed across the pig's hand, knocking the gun out of it. Angela laughed as she pulled the whip back and lashed out again, slashing it across the pig's chest. He screamed as the black leather cut deep, slicing through clothing and skin. "Take it, pig!" Angela screamed, slashing the whip again and again. The pig cowered back in terror, screaming as Angela whipped him. She laughed maniacally as the whip slashed his ugly pink skin to ribbons. When she'd had enough of his screams, she flicked the whip so that the end wrapped around his neck. Then she tossed her end over a high beam. The thick handle dangled in the air; Angela leapt up six feet into the air, a hand gripping the whip end firmly at the apex of the jump. She came down again, her considerable weight yanking the pig up off the ground in an impromptu hanging. He gurgled, his eyes bulging as Angela yanked him right off his feet. She laughed, raising the Automag as he choked on the end of the whip. The gun roared once more, and his cock and balls simply disintegrated as the incredibly powerful .44 round smashed through them. Angela laughed as a gush of blood poured from the gaping wound, enjoying the sight of the dying pig. "Oh yeah, baby," she yelled, caressing the massive black rubber cock that stuck out from her hips sensually. "Die for me! You die hard now, y'hear?"
In the station commander's office, three cops huddled under the big conference table. Captain Lavelle had called Officers Verne Hayes and Roscoe Lee into his office as soon as the message the radio dispatch girl had given to him had been confirmed. They'd arrived shortly before 2am, having dragged their carcasses from their beds. "Look boys, do you remember that little negro kid you killed?" Lavelle asked.
The officers looked at one another and shrugged. "You'll have to be a bit more specific, sir," Roscoe said. "We've killed quite a few negro kids this year."
"You boys have killed more blacks than any officer in this station," Lavelle said, "and don't think I'm not rightly proud of you for that, both as your commanding officer and as the Grand Dragon of your Klan. This particular waste of skin is the last one, that teenager you pulled over a few weeks back."
"Oh, yeah, that mouthy little brat. What about him, Captain?"
"Well it seems like we have some trouble about that," Lavelle said gravely. "Billy Joe Williams and Cletus Johnson are both dead. So's Jim Kandy and Mark Becker."
"Jesus!" Verne said, shocked. "How?"
"Well that's the thing, boys," Lavelle sighed. "We got a radio message from the killer, sent over the radio in their cruiser if you can believe that. Some woman, saying she killed them for revenge over that kid. Not only that, she says she's coming into town and plans to murder every one of us!"
The officers stared in shock. "Blacks killing whites!" Rosco murmured finally. "Women killing men! Has the world gone mad? Is this the apocalypse?"
"It sure does seem that way, boys," Lavelle said, shaking his head sadly. "If you ask me, it's communist infiltration that's to blame."
At that moment, two deep thuds rang out as the first grenades exploded. The three officers stared at the door, startled as the deep booms of the shotgun follower, then the chatter of the Uzi. "What in the hell is that?" Lavelle asked, incredulous. "Is the damn National Guard attacking the station?"
"Maybe we should go help out," Verne said hesitantly. The three exchanged glances.
"Well," Lavelle said, "we might just wind up getting in everyone's way. I think we'd best stay here."
They agreed this was a good idea.
"It'll all be over in a few minutes, anyway," Lavelle said. Another burst of automatic gunfire echoed through the building as China Black's Uzi sent some pigs to meet Satan. His eyes widened. "Yeah, definitely staying here," he said.
For fifteen minutes the building was filled with the sound of shots, interspersed with screams of agony and terror. The shooting seemed to be getting louder and louder. Then suddenly there was a series of deep loud whumps that literally shook the building. "More grenades!" Roscoe said, alarmed. "Sir, can we barricade this door?"
They shoved the Captain's desk over in front of the door, then added the big sofa from the opposite wall. The explosions and gunfire continued to get louder, terrifying the three men. By the time the sounds reached their floor, all three were hiding under the table.
Angela and China converged on the Captain's office. Both were caked in blood, having killed dozens of pigs each. They both had huge satisfied smiles on their faces, and took a moment to engage in a long deep kiss, sharing the orgasmic bliss of having dealt out so much suffering to the worthless racist scum of Cottonville PD.
Breaking the kiss, Angela looked at the door to the Captain's office. It would be barricaded, she knew, but that was no problem. Angela took a few steps down the corridor and then punched the wall.
The blow would have killed a man stone dead. Her fist went through the layers of drywall like a battering ram, smashing a hole straight through into the Captain's office. Barely hesitating, she ripped her fist out of the hole and then punched through again in a spot a foot to the left. Again and again she smashed her fist through the wall, shattering it like it was paper under the relentless power of her enormous muscles. Finally, she stepped back and slammed a booted foot into the centre of the ring of holes. A huge section of wall tore free and smashed inwards, leaving a hole over six feet tall and four across.
Angela ducked through, China following behind her.
"Little pigs..." Angela crooned. "Little pigs... come out to playyyy!"
She stepped over to the table, bending as one big hand gripped the edge. Angela tensed, then her body practically exploded with power. Her thighs and back muscles swelled as she straightened. Her arm flexed and the big conference table flew across the room, spinning as it embedded itself into the far wall.
The three cowardly pigs were revealed, huddled on the floor. Angela laughed at the sight of them. "Well piggies, there you are!" She said. "I'm Angela Davis, and this here is China Black. The Queen would like the pleasure of your company, boys." She glanced at Captain Lavelle. "Not you," she said. "You can just die for us."
The three pigs stared up at her in awe. They had thought the station was under attack by an army, because surely no mere woman could have taken on a hundred cops and lived. But now, seeing this vision of sex and power before them, it made sense. They could imagine their comrades falling beneath the killing fists and weapons of this incredible woman. She seemed like something superhuman, an unstoppable black angel of death. No man who got in her way could possibly hope to live. In that moment, all three men knew they were dead.
The drive to survive is a strong one, however, and the three immediately did what any strong macho racist asshole male would do; they began begging for their miserable worthless white lives.
"Please don't kill me, ma'am," Lavelle pleaded, weeping frightened cowardly tears. "I didn't do anything! They're the ones who killed that boy, not me! Kill them!"
Angela looked at him with utter contempt. "You want me to spare you, white boy?" She demanded.
"Please, yes, I'll do anything you ask, anything at all!"
Angela nodded. "Then I'll spare your life, on one condition," she said. "Your white pig subordinates are all dead. You make your way through this building and you collect the badges from every single one of them, and you bag them up and bring them to me. If you do that, I'll let you live." Angela obviously had absolutely no intention of letting this pathetic worm live, but he was too stupid to even see through that transparent lie.
"Oh yes ma'am, I'll do that right away!" Lavelle felt like laughing with glee at the prospect of being allowed to live.
"And pig... if you run, I will track you down. I swear to whatever pig god you worship, I will find you and take you. And you will spend the next month dying, inch by inch. Get the badges and get your flabby white ass back here, y'hear?"
"Absolutely, ma'am, I'll do exactly as you say," Lavelle promised. Unlike Angela, he was being completely honest. The thought of crossing this terrifying woman, of disobeying her, didn't even enter his tiny racist mind. He hurried out, determined to collect every last badge in the station.
Angela smiled as she turned to the two cowering pigs. "Now your turn," she said. Her whip lashed out, wrapping itself around Roscoe's neck. She yanked him to his feet with one powerful jerk of her arm. A fist drove into his soft gut; Angela used a tenth of her strength, just enough to drive the air out of Roscoe and send incredible pain radiating through his abdomen. He slumped, and if not for the whip around his neck would have collapsed completely.
Beside her, China bent and took a handful of Verne's hair. The diminutive yet powerful Black-Vietnamese beauty yanked him to his feet and sent him reeling across the room where he crashed into the big sofa, collapsing over the back. Angela threw Roscoe down next to him a moment later. Both women stepped over and casually ripped the men's trousers off them with one jerk of their powerful hands.
Angela placed the head of her fourteen-inch strap-on against her victim's asshole. Roscoe began sobbing with terror, begging her to spare him, or at least to kill him quickly - anything, anything at all to avoid this ultimate degradation. Angela laughed and plunged her phallus deep into his bowels. Beside her, China was enthusiastically raping Verne with her own giant dick. Both men howled in utter humiliation; not only were they being raped, by black women of all things, but their rapists sodomised them with a power and skill that the men themselves knew they could never have matched. Every thrust sent the huge phalluses balls deep, the women's pelvises slamming into their buttocks with bruising force; then the ladies would pull back until the stupendous cocks were almost all the way out, the big bulbous heads stretching the men's sphincters. They would hold there, for one long moment, and then slam back in with another formidable thrust.
As they gave the two pigs the fucking of their lives, Angela and China leaned in and kissed deeply, their tongues caressing one another.
They fucked the two men relentlessly, until some twenty minutes later Captain Lavelle hurried in clutching a large bag than made metallic jingling noises as he moved. Angela pulled out and gave him an encouraging smile as she took the bag. "This is every last badge here?" She asked.
"Absolutely, ma'am. Every single cop here is dead, except for these two," he gestured towards his last two officers. Lavelle had been stunned by the scene of carnage in the police station, but none of it really mattered to him. The only important thing was getting away, saving his own skin. Like every member of the KKK, Lavelle was a snivelling coward at heart. It is not out of bravery that the scumbags of the KKK hide their faces behind hoods, after all!
"That's good," Angela smiled as she examined the mass of gold badges in her bag. Behind her, China casually lifted a large fire axe from a holder on the wall.
"Does that mean you'll let me live, ma'am?" Lavelle asked.
"Sure, pig," Angela said. "I'll absolutely let you live. I said so, didn't I?"
"Oh, thank you, ma'am, thank you SO much!" Lavelle said blissfully.
"Not me, though," China added as she launched the fire axe into a brutally powerful swing. Lavelle had a fraction of a second, just long enough to realise what was happening, and then the blade of the big axe cleaved his head in two, right down the middle, before embedding itself deep into his upper chest. The body collapsed to the floor in a heap.
Angela laughed gleefully. "Fuck, girl, you're such a badass!" She laughed.
"All white trash must die," China said with a vicious snarl.
"Let's make like a tree and get the fuck out of dodge," Angela said. "Probably have the damn National Guard show up before long!"
"Bring the bastards on!" China yelled. "I want more death! I never get tired of killing white scum!"
Angela laughed. My God, but she loved this girl. "Nice thought, but we've got places to go," she said. She took a handful of Roscoe's hair and stalked out of the room, dragging him behind her.
China laughed and grabbed Vern. "I'm not dragging you, scumbag," she said casually. "You'll walk on your own pig trotters."
With that, she followed Angela as they left the Cottonville police department behind them, a shattered shell of a building.
Angela and China walked into Queen's mansion. Angela carried Verne and Roscoe, a big hand wrapped around each man's neck, holding them up at shoulder height so that their feet dangled six inches off the ground. Each of them was stark naked. Beside her, China black dragged an equally naked Cottonville pastor along the ground at the end of a steel chain leash attached to a thick leather collar around his neck.
Queen smiled as they entered, her eyes going to the two cops Angela carried. She tossed them contemptuously onto the floor at her feet. "These are them?" she asked.
Angela nodded. "These are the pigs that shot your boy," she replied. "Delivered as requested."
"And him?" Queen nodded to China's prize.
"A gift for your bodyguard," China said, gesturing to the towering leather-clad Muslim in the corner. "Crawl to her! Give her your chain!" She snapped at the man, releasing the chain. He whimpered in fear and crawled to the hulking form on the bodyguard, prostrating himself before her. China had beaten some obedience into him as the pair made their way back over the last couple of days. The pastor picked up the chain and offered it to the bodyguard, who looked at China and Angela questioningly.
"This is Pastor Earl Morgan. He's the pastor of the local church in Cottonville, Alabama. I thought you might like to make his acquaintance."
Ms Muhammed looked down at the pastor cringing at her feet, then over to Queen. Her employer smiled her approval. "He's yours to do as you please with," she said.
"Thank you, ma'am," Ms Muhammed said. She looked down at the pastor. "You are a good Christian man?" She asked.
"I worship the Lord Jesus," he whimpered.
She nodded. "I will take that from you," she said softly. "Before I am done you will deny him... and curse his name."
The man gasped. "No," he whimpered, horrified at the prospect. "I can never do that. Not ever!"
"We shall see," Ms Muhammed said softly, caressing his face. "I think you may be a little more pliable once I have cut off your privates with a pair of rusty garden shears."
The pastor sobbed in fear, speechless at the prospect of losing his manhood.
"As for these two," Queen said, looking down at the white filth at her feet. "They're going to spend the rest of their lives screaming. You hear me, white boys? You're gonna curse your mommas for giving birth to you by the time I'm done with you! Not that I'm going to dirty my beautiful black hands with you. No, I'm going to give that job to Ms Muhammed here. Tell them what's in store for them, honey."
Ms Muhammed walked over to the two men, squatting down beside them. One gloved hand caressed Roscoe's cheek. "Are you also a good Christian man?" She asked softly.
Roscoe looked at the terrified pastor and shook his head. "No ma'am, not a Christian here. Jesus? Who's that, never heard of him," he babbled, desperately trying to save his life regardless of the cost to his soul.
"Me neither ma'am," Verne said urgently. "I've never even heard of Christianity, honest I haven't. Pastor Morgan there can tell you that."
"Ah, see how easy it is to make the infidel recant?" Ms Mohammed said with obvious pleasure. "I will of course be removing your male parts anyway, just for the pleasure it gives me. Frankly, cutting off the cock and balls of white male infidel pigs gives me the most delicious orgasms. I look forward to it immensely.
Both men began to whimper, realising just how much trouble they were truly in. "And once she has them off," Queen added, "she's going to feed them to you boys! Do you like that, you lowlife scum?"
Understandably, they did not. Both men began sobbing in terror at the prospect of what lay in store for them. A puddle of urine appeared under Roscoe's prostrate body. Queen shuddered in pleasure at the sight, literally orgasming to see the white filth who had killed her boy so utterly terrified and humiliated.
China tossed a large bag onto the floor beside the two terrified cowards. It jingled as it hit the floor. "There's one hundred and six badges in there," she said.
Queen nodded, breathless as she came down from her orgasm. "Slave, get your white ass in here!" She yelled. A moment later her butler hurried into the room. If he found the sight of the three naked prisoners surprising, you'd never guess it from his expression. "Fetch one million and sixty thousand dollars and give it to these fine ladies," Queen ordered.
"Yes ma'am," he bowed as he backed out of the room.
"I must thank you for a job well done, ladies," Queen said to Angela and China. "You can be sure of some repeat business the next time I want some scum removed from this Earth. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some torture to get on with."
"My pleasure," Angela said. She and China went out into the hallway, where the butler waited clutching a large bag. Angela checked the contents; wad after wad of twenty-dollar bills. She smiled as she zippered it up. Behind her, she heard Queen as the doors closed.
"Ms Muhammed... fetch the shears. let us begin."
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