Richard C. Russell

Just Joe Richard C. Russell

Wendy Williams struggled against him frenetically! He had grabbed her from behind and dragged her into the dark recess in the wall of the parking garage. His breath smelled foul with whiskey. Her new silk blouse ripped! Her large bare breasts swayed as she struggled against him. She broke off both high-heels trying to stay upright. Her attacker tried to throw her to the dirty concrete floor. She bit his hand!

"You'll pay for that bitch!" he growled. His big hand muffled her loud scream. She couldn't breathe! She was getting weaker. He tried to throw her to the floor again. He's going to rape me! she told herself, hoping that would be the worst of it. Then she saw the older man. But he's so little, she thought. What can he do?

With a muted crunching sound, the vertebra finally snapped and ruptured the spinal cord. Hell, I use to do this all the damn time! Joe thought, and dragged the body to the top of the stairs. His former employers at the super-secret agency wanted him dead. Dead men couldn't talk to congressional sub-committees. Bodies piled up as Joe worked his way back to D. C. for a talk with the men running his old agency.