Paint It Black

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

(The title has nothing to do with the story. It is just that, I noticed, a favorite author of mine, Bebop3, has named a few of his stories after Beatles songs, such as 'Pleasant Valley Sunday et al. So I thought I'd name one of my stories after my favorite Beatles song.)

*.*

Prior to I-70 being constructed, Garland County, Utah was little more than some dirt roads and a few Native Americans living in dilapidated trailers. The area did not have running water, or a source of electricity. Cooking and heating was done with propane; each trailer had a large tank attached.

After the Interstate highway passed through the small patch of dirt, a gas station was built. A small grocery store followed. The employees of the gas station, the grocery store, and the newly constructed US Post Office needed a place to live and cheaply constructed apartment buildings sprung up.

John W. Dawson High School and Grover Cleveland Elementary school were next to be constructed.

Then the construction craze died down and the town limped along. Few people moved out of Garland County, Utah and fewer people moved into Garland County, Utah.

In the 'Seventies, a young man, his young, beautiful wife and the young man's sister bought five thousand acres to the south of I-70 and constructed Falgout Films Studio. There was much speculation, but very few people actually knew what genre of movies the studio produced. The few people that worked there simply said that they produced 'Art Films,' but few knew what that meant.

Despite their anonymity, FFS, Inc. did bring in revenue. The film studio injected quite a bit of tax revenue into the small community, and suddenly, Garland County, Utah needed a county government.

Burchfield James, the first county commissioner was entrusted to name the townships enclosed within Garland County. Being a huge fan of The Beatles, ever since hearing their hit songs 'Mony Mony' and 'Solitary Man' among others, Burchfield named the first township Dolenz, after Mickey Dolenz, the drummer of The Beatles. The next township was named Manzurak, after Ray Manzurak, the bass player of The Beatles.

Burchfield had toyed with the idea of naming the third township Woodstock, for the birthplace of The Beatles, but thought that this was a bit too much Beatle-pandemonium. The third township, where the movie studio was located, Burchfield would name that township Polanski, after Roman Polanski, the famous football player.

Other than hiring the six police officers and four firemen, maintaining Garland County Cemetery, and keeping the roads cleared of snow, there was very little for Burchfield to do. He drew a salary of eight thousand a year to sit in his trailer/office and play on his Atari console.

--.--.—

The three boys giggled as they removed Julia Browner's clothes. The freckle faced red head was unconscious; her cousin Delbert Browner had slipped her some concoction he'd bought from his older brother.

The five foot one inch girl's bra was a 34B but none of the three boys read the tag as they grabbed and squeezed her breasts. Frankie even bent and suckled on one of her large nipples.

Her snug jeans did present a bit of a problem, until Davis Brookes thought to simply roll them down over her ample hips and full buttocks.

When they had the girl positioned on her knees, juicy buttocks in the air, Delbert grabbed a handful of Julia's hair and pulled her head up. Her mouth hung open and Delbert stuffed his cock into her mouth. A geyser of vomit rushed up and spewed from her mouth and nose.

It was fortunate for Delbert that his enthusiasm had caused Julia to vomit. Since his father was the Sheriff of Garland County, drugging and raping the chubby little red head could be swept under the rug. Involuntary manslaughter would be substantially more difficult to make disappear. Delbert had given the one hundred and thirty seven pound eighteen year old girl four times the amount of the chemical than her body could have handled.

"Aw, Jesus fucking Christ!" Delbert screamed, disgusted as his cute cousin liberally doused his jeans and suede boots with vomit.

"Aw man! She pissed herself!" Frankie complained, slender cock wilting at the stench of her urine assailed his nostrils.

"Fucking bitch," David slapped Delbert, hard. "Huh? Gave you fifty bucks for this shit? Where the fuck's Megan, huh? Or Shelley?"

"Delbert, shit, huh?" Terrence Browner, Julia's nineteen year old brother, and Delbert's cousin screamed, stepping into the trailer.

"Aw, hey, look, Browner," Frankie started to stammer.

Two hard punches and Frankie sprawled on the floor, unconscious. Had David not been trying to wiggle his fat ass into his jeans, he would have laughed; Frankie's head lay in the puddle of Julia's urine.

A kick from Terrence broke David's glasses. Two punches and David curled on the filthy floor, passing in and out of consciousness.

"Dude. Julia?" Terrence snarled at Delbert. "Your own cousin? You'd do that shit? To your own cousin?"

A crescent kick to Delbert's head broke Delbert's left jaw. A reverse crescent kick broke Delbert's right jaw. A side kick sent Delbert crashing into the table, where four glasses of Jack and Coke sat and Delbert lay, unmoving.

Terrence tried to help Julia dress herself; she was slowly beginning to rouse. She'd not fully begun to digest, absorb the drugs in her system and was beginning to revive somewhat, thanks to vomiting most of the drugs.

"Well, I know how to take these off," Terrence joked, trying to help the wiggling girl into her bra.

"Hmm?" Julia asked. "Got headache."

"I bet you do," Terrence said softly.

Finally, she was dressed and Terrence carried-walked her outside, into the night air. He hurried to his car. Where he put her into the passenger seat and buckled her in. He left the window down, in case she got sick, then went to Frankie's truck and slashed three of the four tires.

"Julia, what? What on God's earth were you doing there?" Terrence asked, exasperated as they pulled away from the trailer, leaving a spray of gravel.

"Shelley and Megan was s'posed be there," Julia mumbled. "God, don' feel so good."

Terrence kept the car just above the speed limit as he drove to their parents' trailer. Pulling up, he saw that their parents had company; a bright yellow Dodge Charger sat out front.

Bruce Browner did not like to be interrupted when they had company, when he was conducting business. This, however, was an emergency.

Terrence left Julia in the car, kept the air conditioning blowing high on her sweating face. He raced up to the front door and gave the one, two, one knock pattern. After a split second, he used his keys to unlock the door of the single wide trailer.

"Dad, listen, I'm in deep shit," Terrence announced.

Bruce pushed away from the kitchen table and nodded with his head toward the living room of the trailer. Terrence nodded to the two guests, a young man and woman and marched into the living room.

In hushed tones, he told the older man what had happened. Megan, his girlfriend had called him, telling him of Delbert, Frankie, and David inviting her, Shelley, and Julia to a party at David's trailer.

"Went there, have a little talk with them, I mean, shit, Megan's mine, you know?" Terrence hissed. "Get there, they got Julia drunk, she's naked and they're about to..."

"They, they was fixing to..." Bruce hissed, outraged.

"Anyway, laid them out, pretty sure I broke Delbert's jaw," Terrence whispered.

Bruce paled at that announcement. He glanced toward the kitchen, toward their guests.

"Shit. And you know your uncle Jimmy just will not like that. Nobody hurts neither one his precious little boys," Bruce spat. "Shit. Just shit."

Bruce walked around in a circle, muttering to himself. He turned and looked toward the bedroom, where Heidi, his wife was nursing a horrible cold.

"God, boy, just... Okay, guess this was the solution Samuel and Althea were looking for. Come on," Bruce decided.

"Mr. Browner?" the young man asked, nervously looking toward the window of the trailer.

"All right, here's what we're going do," Bruce said. "Samuel, Althea, you're now brother and sister; you're Terrence and Julia. Boy, give Samuel your wallet."

"Yes sir," Terrence said, digging his faux alligator skin wallet out of his back pocket.

"Samuel, give him yours," Bruce ordered. "And boy, give him keys for your car."

Terrence hesitated. He'd saved nearly every penny he'd earned for five years, but had finally managed to buy the Camaro. But he knew this was a desperate time and desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Samuel, your keys," Bruce said.

Samuel showed the same brief hesitation. Then he dug the keys out.

"Wait, wait just a minute," Samuel said. "Althea, go get that briefcase off the back seat, huh?"

"And you, go get your sister's purse for Althea here," Bruce said.

Both Terrence and Althea left the trailer, walking quickly. Julia was half in, half out of the Camaro, hunched over.

"Julia, give me your purse. Your wallet in it?" Terrence asked.

"Uh huh," Julia mumbled.

Althea grabbed the briefcase from the back seat. She and Terrence performed the purse swap.

"All right, you. You're Terrence Paxton Browner, got it?" Bruce coached Samuel. "And you're Julia Ruth Browner, eighteen year old sister to this handsome young man."

"Oh boy! Incest. The game the whole family can play!" Althea quipped. "But, really? I got to be eighteen?"

Bruce told Samuel that the car would most likely be stopped by the police, the Sheriff of Garland County. But once the Sheriff saw that Samuel was not Terrence, he'd let them go. Then they could high-tail it north to Canada with their new identifications.

"Thank you, Mr. Browner," Samuel smiled, looking relieved for the first time.

Bruce nodded somberly. He did not tell Samuel that Jimmy might not be so quick to let them go. It just depended on Jimmy's mood.

Althea and Samuel did not tell Terrence that Nathan Ohlmeyer was looking for them. They did not tell Bruce or Terrence that Nathan Ohlmeyer was looking for his eighty nine thousand dollars in the briefcase at Samuel's feet. The screaming yellow Charger would be pretty much like waving a red cape in front of a charging bull.

They did not tell Bruce and Terrence that Nathan would not believe Terrence or Julia when the brother and sister said they did not know anything about the eighty nine thousand dollars.

"You, go. Head due south, get you and your sister out of here; I'll let you know when you can come home," Bruce said, gave his son a quick hug and sent him out of the trailer.

Outside, Julia was now trying to stand. She used the car door to keep her balance. The light from the dome light in the car was the only illumination but even in that light, Terrence could see how sickly she looked.

"Come on, Julia," Terrence hissed and again carried-walked her to the Charger.

Julia wrinkled her face; her new purse was hideous. Her head hurt too much to think of having a new name.

"Wonder if she's got any Tylenol?" Julia said, unclasping the magnetic snap of the ugly purse.

"Huh?" she exclaimed, suddenly more awake.

"What?" Terrence asked, easing the car onto the highway.

"There's a gun in here!" Julia said.

"Well, don't touch it," Terrence ordered. "Look in the glove box; see if there's any aspirin in there."

"Shit! There's another gun in here!" Julia said. "Terrence! What have we got into?"

"Oh God; I bet Dad didn't know anything about this," Terrence said, now very afraid.

He pushed the car up to the posted speed limit, eyes scanning for any sign of Uncle Jimmy, any of the police cruisers. He also kept an eye out for any car that might be an unmarked cruiser.

James David Browner drove one unmarked car. Jack and Paul drove another. Jimmy's blood boiled; how dare that snot-nosed nephew of his hurt his boy. How dare that little bastard react so violently to what was just boys being boys, having them a little fun. And that Julia; girl wasn't nothing but a fat ass little slut.

Of course, all one had to do was look at who their parents were to understand. Bruce had always had everything handed to him. Including Heidi Shirley Paxton. Easily the prettiest girl at John W. Dawson High School, and she had rejected Jimmy in favor of Bruce.

Jimmy smiled as he saw his nephew's sporty Camaro in front of the fancy trailer his younger brother owned. The trailer was something to be proud of, with the wood grain vinyl siding and painted shutters and nice storm door. These Browners were spoiled; life was just too easy for them.

Jimmy killed his engine and coasted to a stop. Paul coasted right next to him. As quietly as possible, the three men got out of their vehicles.

Inside the trailer, Samuel was waiting impatiently for Althea to finish using the bathroom. Bruce smiled in understanding.

"Women. God gave them bladders can't hold more than a teaspoon, huh?" Bruce said. "Went through Wyoming one with Heidi?"

"About time, Julia," Samuel barked when Althea entered the kitchen, patting her hands on her snug jeans.

"Uh huh, Terrence," Althea smirked. "Whatever. Ready?"

"Ready? Mr. Browner, really appreciate..." Samuel said and grabbed his briefcase. "Oh, holy shit, holy shit, Althea, I told you, grab the briefcase on the back seat."

"I did. That was from the back seat, right behind my seat," Althea protested.

"No, no, on the..." Samuel said, holding up the briefcase.

The slugs from Jimmy's twelve gauge shotgun tore through the window of the kitchen, into the briefcase in Samuel's hand. The slugs passed through the vinyl case and slammed into Althea's belly.

Before Samuel had time to react, a nine millimeter wad cutter from Paul's handgun entered his skull. Bruce moved to dive to the floor just when another blast from Jimmy's shotgun banged through the wall and pounded into his chest. Jack's hollow point nine millimeter bullet caught Bruce in his left ear.

After twelve minutes, the trailer collapsed, imploding in on itself from the nearly one thousand bullets and slugs fired into the structure.

Jimmy went to his car, got out the three five gallon cans of gasoline and he and Paul and Jack doused the still settling, groaning trailer.

"Now, you boys get on back to the station, Jimmy ordered. "I'll wait here for the fire department."

He lighted a book of matches, tossed it, then dove to the ground. Paul and Jack marveled at the impressive fireball that was visible through the trees, then drove to the police station just north of I-70.

While the fire department was fighting to keep the blaze of their home from consuming the lush trees of their land, Terrence and Julia were wondering why a northbound Ford 250 pickup truck had swerved to cross two lanes to switch to southbound travel.

"They're speeding up," Julia said needlessly.

"Oh shit, oh holy shit," Terrence said, having a sinking feeling in his gut. "I bet that's why Samuel and Althea had them guns."

"Huh? What you mean?" Julia asked when the pickup truck swerved into the left lane in an attempt to gain on them.

"See? This is why I like my Camaro," Terrence said but jammed his foot on the Dodge's accelerator.

The screaming yellow Charger did leap forward and Terrence almost laughed in relief. But that relief was short lived. The Ford's powerful engine pushed the truck to right behind them.

"That gun in the glove box," Terrence ordered as the truck swerved into the right hand lane.

"Terrence, what..." Julia cried out.

"Now, Baby, please!" Terrence screamed, foot pressing on the accelerator as hard as he could.

Julia fumbled in the glove compartment, nearly dropping the quite heavy handgun. Terrence grabbed it and lowered the window of the automobile.

He saw the truck's passenger window begin to lower. He saw the muzzle of the twelve gauge shotgun.

Terrence jammed on the brakes and the truck hurtled forward just as the passenger squeezed the trigger of his shotgun. The buckshot blazed harmlessly into the night air.

"Oh my God! Terrence, you hadn't... We'd be dead!" Julia gasped, horrified.

"Uh huh," Terrence agreed and again jammed his foot on the accelerator.

He caught up to the truck. Now he could see the passenger trying to swivel around with the shotgun sticking out of the passenger window.

"Down, Baby, down," Terrence yelled over the wind noise.

He pointed his handgun toward the headrest of the driver and squeezed off two shots. The rear window of the truck shattered in a spider web, obscuring Terrence's view of the interior of the truck. He swiveled his hand, pointing to an approximation of where the passenger headrest would b and squeezed off two more shots.

In the truck, the driver, Paul 'Beaner' Campenelli lay forward, chest against the steering wheel. His brains liberally coated the windshield. Next to him, Nathan Ohlmeyer lay half in and half out of the truck. He had dropped the shotgun when the first bullet entered his right lung and exited out of his left shoulder. The second bullet had grazed the back of his skull, but had done no real damage.

"That little mother fucker!" Nathan coughed, blood spraying. "Believe he fucking shot me? Huh, Beaner? Fucking believe he fucking shot me?"

The highway curved to the right. The truck shot upward over the curve and continued travelling across the two lanes of northbound traffic. Thankfully, the highway was empty, no one saw the truck as it disappeared into the fringe of trees along the east side of the highway.

Terrence quickly brought the Charger back down to Seventy miles an hour, the posted speed limit on this stretch of highway. He continued to travel through the darkness, his headlights providing the only light

Finally, Julia asked, "It over?"

"Think so," Terrence said, raising the window.

"God, that was, what did they want?" Julia asked.

"I don't know. Think they wanted this car," Terrence surmised.

Julia's hand clutched onto Terrence's bicep. He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile and took his right hand off the wheel. He gripped her hand tightly.

In a small Colorado town, head aching, body stiff, Terrence pulled off of the highway and pulled into the parking lot of a Motel.

"Hmm?" Julia roused.

"Bed... Julia, I can't drive anymore," Terrence admitted.

Terrence checked the backseat of the car and found a cheap vinyl briefcase on the floorboard behind Julia's seat. In the trunk, he found three suitcases and grabbed those, letting Julia carry the briefcase.

"Howdy," a sleepy middle aged man smiled. "Help you?"

"A room with a bed, and a shower," Terrence said, pulling a fat wallet from his back pocket.

We got that," the man smiled. "Just need fill out some paperwork. "'Course, don't really know why I call it 'paperwork' we just do it all on this computer."

"Samuel Dee," Terrence read from Samuel's driver's license.

"D. What?" the man asked.

"Dee. D. E. E," Terrence smiled. "Get that all the time."

"Do, huh?" Julia giggled quietly.

Terrence had a good mind for math and gave his age as twenty three after reading Samuel's date of birth. He also read off the address listed, an apartment in Benhurst, Colorado.

"And that be cash or charge?" the man asked.

"Charge," Terrence said, pulling Samuel's Visa card out.

Using a cart, Terrence dropped the three suitcases and one briefcase onto the dolly and pushed them down the hall to room 115.

In the room, Terrence gratefully slipped his cowboy boots off of his aching feet. Then he shrugged out of jeans and shirt, lay on the queen sized bed and fell asleep.