Gangsta Bitch

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D-Murder thought about it, but seeing the half dozen or so guns pointed at him he knew he’d never win. As carefully as he could he laid his pistol on the floor and got on his knees. Before he could even raise his hands the officers’ dog piled on him, and they began punching him in various spots, trying to bend his arms at impossible angles.

Lying on his stomach, D-Murder looked around the room and wondered how the hell he had gotten caught in such a fucked up predicament. There was blood splattered on the overturned furniture and walls of the bedroom. A man he had never seen before lying on the bed with a quarter-sized hole above his right eye. On the floor beside the man was another body. This one was faced down with several holes in his back. Blood was still flowing from the body, turning the coke that had come from the busted packages into a pinkish goop. Though he had never once fired his gun, D knew he was fucked with a capital F.

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