Wright sat outside the motel watching ang waiting. Soon it would be dark and he'd pay a visit to Egg and "Skeeter". He turned the hunting knife over and over in his hands, the cold steel exciting his senses. He had been following the pair all day since exiting the plane. His disguise lay next to him on the seat. He wanted that little queer to know who it was that was stabbing the life out of him. What Wright didn't know was that he was being watched as well.

   Robert John Holloway Sr., father of Bobby the rapist, sat three cars behind Wright. A Colt .45 that he had picked up from a street thug for four hundred bucks held tightly in his hands. Holloway knew that Wright had contacted his son and now his Bobby was gone. Somebody had to pay. Holloway wasn't exactly sure, but he thought that Wright must have figured out that Egg and Frau had been working for him ever since Egg ditched with Wright's cash. It didn't matter now. The game had spun out of control. Holloway just hoped that Wright hadn't figured out that he was Shirley's mystery lover. That could cause serious problems later on when it came time for Shirley's demise.

    Holloway was certain that Wright never figured out that it was he that had been blackmailing him all this time. Holloway sat back and smiled, giving himself a huge pat on the back at having come up with the whole plan. The folders, the photos, the news clippings, all leading to... Missouri instead of Mexico. Oh well, he thought, so much for killing all these **** on foriegn soil. If everything had gone smoothly, they would all be in Tijuana right now. Wright and his lying whore daughter would be dead, as would Egg and his little "girlfriend". Holloway suspected that the new guy, Toby was his name, had a lot to do with why the whole thing went awry.

   Holloway watched as a stocky, young , black man exited Egg's motel room. The sun was just starting to disappear beneath the horizon. He knew that Wright would be making a move soon.  

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   Egg replaced the phone in the cradle. Robert still wasn't answering. Egg wondered if he knew that Detoit had gone sour and Frau was dead. It didn't matter. Once Egg had claimed the prize he was seeking, he'd off Holloway and keep it for himself. Hell, he deserved it right? He looked over at Skeeter, fast asleep on the bed. Poor bastard had been through a lot, but unfortunately for him, Egg knew that he had been in the Broderick to double-cross him. Killing this con was going to be fun. Maybe he'd **** him before he slit his throat. Perhaps even after.

    The song on the radio screamed out the words "Let's start a riot, a riot, let's start a riot!" Egg loved that song and it fit this situation so well. A riot, not like those L.A. pussies over the Roney King ****, but a riot that would level a whole city to ash was just what the doctor ordered. The thought excited Egg. He found himself suddenly very horny and wishing Frau were with him.

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   Wright slipped into the motel office as quietly as he could. He crept behind the desk and peeked around the ratty curtain that seperated it the front from a small lounging area. A middle-aged, balding man sat watching Sanford and Son in a stained white wife beater and jeans. The clerk was polishing off a 40 ounce bottle of Laser, a cheap malt liquor. Wright crept up behind the man without a sound and jammed the knife into his scruffy throat, severing the carotid immediately. He grabbed the man's keyring and slipped out as silently as he had entered.

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   Egg waited by the phone. The Cuban guy told him that he would recieve a call from that whore, Shirley, to tell him where to be and when. If she thought she was getting a slice of the pie, she was also sadly mistaken. The Cuban, he called himself Che, might be a bit of a problem to eliminate, but he was sure he could keep Shirley from suspecting his intentions.

    The loud blare of the ringing phone brought him back to reality. He quickly grabbed it.

   "Hello?"

   "This is Shirley. There is a cab waiting for you down the block. Get into it. The driver will take you to a club where you will meet up with Che. Do everything he tells you to do, without question. Trust me, all our lives depend on you not **** this up. Did you get a gun yet?'

    "Yes," he replied dryly, looking down at the .38 snubnose, "I got what I need."

   "Good, get moving."

    The click of the line left him standing there getting angrier. How dare that bitch!! Egg sat down in the recliner and pulled a joint out of his breast pocket. He would go to the cab once he was feeling good.

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   Wright flipped through the keys rapidly, looking for the master. He stood just outside Egg's door. In moments he would be slicing the little bastard's throat and reclaim whatever was left of his stolen money. Then he would deal with Shirley. She  deserved a long, painful, torturous death. Maybe an acid bath or a suit made of razor blades would be in order. The key slid into the lock smoothly and Wright was just inching the door open when he heard the click of a hammer dropping back directly behind him.

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     Egg opened the door when he was sure that the noise he had heard was actually tapping. The buzz was just starting to kick in real nice, but he was still cautious. The .38 swung up into Wright's face as the door settled against the wall. Robert was standing behind Wright with a silenced Colt to the back of his head. 

   "Get in there," Robert commanded Wright as he shoved him  roughly toward the door. He looked and Egg and motioned for him to move out of the way. Egg stepped aside and let them enter and as soon as Robert closed the door, the butt of the .38 connected with the bridge of Wright's nose. Blood splattered out of the gash that ripped open there. Egg knocked Wright to the floor and began kicking him repeatedly in the ribs.

    Robert grabbed Egg's arm to calm him and handed him Wright's knife. A sinister smile curled Egg's mouth.

   "He's going to tell us everything," Robert snarled in Egg's direction, his gaze still locked on Wright. "By the time we're finished, we'll even know where Hoffa is, I can guarantee you that."

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   The door to room 135 was slightly ajar as the chambermaid approached. She was a short Middle Eastern lady in her mid-forties and realy disliked the early shift. The lines carved into her face told the story of the difficult life she'd thusfar endured. She slowly eased the door open.

    "Allo? Ousekeeping," she called out. She slipped into the room when there was no reply. Her right foot slid in something on the floor just inside the room and almost caused her to fall flat on her face. She took a long, hard look at the dark substance on the floor and her eyes tracked it across the carpet to the side of the bed. Her knees went weak and she let loose a blood-curdling scream. There, beside the bed, was the headless corpse of a man.