Date: Sat, 30 Jul 2005 14:32:20 -0700
From: RC in Sacramento <sacwriter@hotmail.com>
Subject: Munchkin Chapter 22

This is a work of fiction. It depicts the often sexual relationship between
two young girls. If this offends you or if you're not old enough to be
reading this stuff, then get out NOW. If, however, you're where you want to
be, then enjoy.

			 MUNCHKIN
			 Chapter 22
			by Sacwriter

	Gary Harper stood outside of his fifth period Chem class, waiting for Matt
and Ronnie to show up. He frowned, shifting impatiently. Breaks between
periods were only ten minutes long, and he had been standing here almost
half that time already. He was tempted to go looking for his vassals, or to
at least meet them halfway, but he knew that was impossible. You never went
to the little people, they always had to come to you. It was one of the
rules, the ones that kept the little people in their places, and reminded
them who was the big dog in this school. It may have been inconvenient at
times, but he always made them do it that way.
	Once again Harper checked his watch, fast becoming irritated. There had
been some sort of commotion from the second floor earlier today, although
nobody he talked to seemed to know what it was. Matt and Ron were supposed
to check out the little queer's locker and see if their `surprise' had
caused it, and then report back to him. The smart part of him knew that he
should just act cool and wait until the end of the day to find out. He
should keep his distance, let his two drones earn their pay and, if
necessary, let them take the fall. But he was way too impatient to wait that
long, and although he would never admit it, he was beginning to have doubts
about the wisdom of his own about his plan.
	Just before his impatience could overrule his common sense, he spotted Matt
and Ron hurrying towards him. His first reaction was a sense of relief,
followed by a quick flash of anger. But before he could put voice to it he
saw the anxious look on Ronnie's face.
	"Oh, shit, Gar, there was cops there! They called the cops! They weren't
supposed to call  the pigs on something like this. Jesus, Gar, what're we
gonna do?!"
	Harper's eyes widened, and then he saw that several students were looking
their way curiously. Quickly he grabbed Ron Hooker by the shirt and dragged
him away, snarling under his breath at the other boy to keep his mouth shut.
Matt Ingles anxiously trotted along behind, just like the obedient dog that
Harper always thought he was.
	As soon as they had rounded the corner into a less crowded side hall,
Harper pushed Ron against the wall hard enough to hurt. "Now tell me what
happened, but keep your voice down, you stupid fuck. You said there were
cops there? At the Munchkin's locker?"
	"Two of `em, Gar. The little freak's locker was wide open, and covered with
that yellow tape you see in the movies. And these two cops were standing
there, and they weren't letting anybody get near, not even the kids who had
lockers next to the Munchkins. Gar, you think... you don't think we killed the
little freak, do you?" The anxiety on Ron's face was contagious, and caused
the first touch of sweat to break out on the back of Harper's neck. But cold
logic made itself heard, and he shook his head.
	"No, no way. Shit, if someone had died, they'd have closed the whole school
down. We'd either be on our way home, or still stuck in a classroom or
something. And if the little queer was really hurt bad, they'd have sent an
ambulance, right? You see an ambulance? No, nobody's dead, and even if the
cops are involved it doesn't change a thing. They still can't touch us
without proof, remember?"
	Harper was nodding as he talked, as if he were trying to convince himself
as well as his two henchmen. From the relieved looks the others were giving
him, it was working. Matt Ingles was even grinning.
	"Yeah, dude, you're right. Gotta be right. And hey, you know somethin'? It
wasn't even that little loser that got blown up."
	The other two boys were looking at him, puzzled. "What the hell are you
talking about?" Ron asked, irritated. "How do you know it wasn't him?"
	"'Cause when we stopped to look at the cops I heard two guys talking about
it, and they said it was some bitch that got tagged, not the faggot."
	Harper frowned. A girl? "Are you sure about that?"
	Ingles shrugged. "That's what I heard. They weren't actually saying it was
a girl that got flashed, but they were saying she and her a lot. So yeah,
I'm pretty sure they weren't talking about the Munchkin."
	Harper and Ron looked at each other, sharing the same thought. In this
whole school, what girl would have any business getting into the Munchkin's
locker? There were only two possibilities, and either one of them was bad.
Even over the noise of the hallway, Harper could plainly hear the sound of
Ron swallowing.
	They had just fucked up one of the Cameron sisters.
	"Shit," Harper muttered, as he turned away from the other two and rubbed a
hand across his face. He let Ron explain just why they were in so much
trouble to the moron, and began to pace the short length of the hall. This
was bad, this changed everything. No one would have cared if a nobody like
Joe Munson got a few flash burns and wet his pants, but the lezbo Cameron
sisters were two of the most popular girls in school. That was probably the
reason they called the cops on this in the first place.
	Still, if they kept their mouths shut they should be okay, right? After
all, the Munchkin had a lot of people who didn't like him. Anybody could
have put that banger in his locker, so if they just kept cool and said they
didn't know anything, what could they do? Yeah, everything was going to be
fine. Everything was still under control.
	And if he just kept telling himself that, maybe he would actually begin to
believe it.
	For a second Harper thought about the wild stories he had heard about the
Cameron girls and their family, but he dismissed them as just that, stories.
Whoever heard of a family of spic karate experts? Jeez, some people would
believe anything. No, the only thing they had to worry about was Garrett and
the cops, and he had that covered.
	His pacing had brought him back to the other two boys, who began to shift
nervously as he glared at them. The only weak spot in his plan were these
two idiots. All they had to do was deny any involvement in planting that
bomb, and nobody could touch them. But sure as hell they would be
questioned, and if one of these two broke, it was all over him. Now was the
time to make sure that didn't happen.
	With a fierce scowl on his face Harper took a step towards the other two
boys, and was gratified to see them hastily back away. He stepped forward
again, until he had Ron and Matt backed up to the wall, unable to retreat
any further. He glared at them for awhile, watching them sweat in
uncertainty, before addressing them in his most threatening voice.
	"Now you two listen to me. They're gonna be asking us questions about that
bomb in the fags locker. Well, we already knew that before we put it there,
didn't we? The only difference now is that it's gonna be cops asking the
questions, and not Garrett. Well, so fucking what?"
	Ron Hookers' eyes were bugging out of his head. "Gar, look—"
	"Shut up! Nothing has changed. It doesn't matter who's asking the
questions, or what they know about it. What they know isn't worth shit if
they can't prove it. So when they pull us in, we just—"
	"Gary, dammit, look!"
	The urgency in Hookers' voice finally got through to him, and Harper
realized that the other boy was staring fixedly at something over his
shoulder. Harper spun around, startled, and was shocked into immobility when
he saw who was standing less than ten feet behind him.
	Joe Munson, the little fag he and his boys had been pounding on for three
years, and now the focus of so much of Harpers' troubles. Only this time
there was no sign of the impotent anger he usually saw on the smaller boys'
face, no trace of the fear that Gary Harper had always fed on. Now there was
something so powerful that it made him take an involuntary step back. It was
rage, and it was hate, and it was something that sent an icy shiver through
his bowels.
	The bizarre tableau held for a brief eternity, broken only when the boy
they used to call the Munchkin turned around. Without a word and without
hurrying, he strode into the main hallway and quickly merged with the
already thinning crowd.
	"Oh, shit! Shit, Gar, if he heard us...! Gary, do you think he heard us?"
	Harper winced at Matt Ingles whine, but at least it seemed to break the
spell that had been holding them all. He licked lips that had gone dry, said
"Shut up, just shut up! C'mon, we gotta catch that little fuck."
	With that he took off, hurrying down the hallway, anxiously scanning the
crowd. Matt and Ron quickly followed, obviously happy to have him once more
doing they're thinking for them, not even suspecting the state his mind was
really in.

							* * *
	Joe Munson made his way through the quickly emptying hallways of Roosevelt
High, knowing without having to look back that he was still being followed.
He moved easily, confidently, playing the same game he had been forced to
play since he had first come here. Once again he was the hunted, but this
time it was different. This time he wasn't running. This time he was
leading.
	It was a bizarre twist of reality for Joe. Always before he had ducked and
dodged and eeled his way past all the Gary Harpers of this damned place,
disappearing into the crowds, or if worse came to worse hiding until the
halls emptied and the bell rang. Deliberately choosing a late slip from a
teacher over being beaten by his fellow students. But now everything was
turned around, like some sort of twisted version of Alice in Wonderland.
Several times he had to slow down and deliberately show himself, to keep
from losing his pursuers. And this time, too, he waited for the bell to
ring, but not to get away. This time it was to make sure that there were no
witnesses.
	Just before the bell rang, the chase and Joe's plan were almost undone. As
the last stragglers made it just in time to their classrooms, his heart
skipped a beat when he saw Gia Cameron at the far end of the hall. Joe knew
without a doubt why she was there, and he also knew that he didn't dare let
her stop what he was trying to do. It had to end, here, today. One way or
another, he swore it was going to end.
	Joe ducked down a small side hallway, avoiding Gia but also letting the
hounds on his trail get closer. Joe heard them behind him and sprinted,
getting to the top of a small and little used stairway at the end of the
hall, and quickly taking it down to the second floor. The halls here were
empty, and with another burst of speed he raced to his destination and
plunged through the swinging door. It hadn't been his first choice of
battlegrounds, the near run in with Gia had forced him to change his plans,
but it did seem appropriate in a twisted and ironical way.
	It looked like he was going to face Harper in the same bathroom where they
had once almost raped him.

							* * *
	Joe took the time to scan the empty room, knowing that he had a few minutes
of grace. In the three and a half years that Harper had been harassing him,
Joe had learned a lot about the drug dealing bully. He knew that Harper was
not only sadistically vicious, but also dangerously smart. Harper never got
caught because he always planned ahead, always tried to think things through
before he acted. But Joe knew that the other boy also had a weakness, and
that was his inability to think under pressure. Throw him a few curves, push
his buttons by presenting him with the unexpected, and Gary Harper reverted
to type. He didn't think, he just reacted, and that made him as predictable
as his two personal apes. Which was what Joe was counting on now.
	There was nothing that he could do to harm Harper, and the other boy should
have known it. Everybody would know that they had planted that bomb in Joe's
locker, but there was no way that it could be proved. Even though he had
just heard Harper admit to it, it was still his word against the three of
theirs. All they had to do was plead ignorance of the whole mess, and they
would get away with everything. But Joe had waved himself like a red flag at
the other boy, and Harper had reverted to what he always was, a common
street thug with the instincts of a wild animal.
	Being back for the first time in the place where he had almost been
destroyed did have an affect on Joe, although not near as much of one as he
would have feared. A tiny part of him sat gibbering and screaming in a
corner of his mind, desperately urging him to run from there and never come
back. But the larger part of him, the one that had been born at the sight of
Becka's bloody face, ruthlessly killed that voice and carved it out of his
soul forever. And then that part filled the hole that was left with a
blood-red haze and the roar of a fiercely beating heart.
	The restroom was laid out the exact same way as all the other boys' rooms
at Roosevelt High. On Joe's left were the four stalls, their doors unlocked
and ajar, testifying to their emptiness. Beyond them was a large and empty
space, with four urinals against the wall on the left, and an equal number
of sinks on the right. Joe made his way into the last stall, where he turned
and locked the door behind him. Then he dropped to his stomach on the cold
tile floor, sliding back out from under the raised sidewall. Quickly he rose
to his feet and climbed up onto the nearest urinal, wedging himself into the
corner of the wall between it and the stall he had just left.
	After making sure that he was in tight and wouldn't fall down, Joe slid the
object he had taken from Becka's purse out from his left sleeve. He held it
in his right hand and pressed the button on the side, and with a metallic
snikt that echoed from the cold tile walls the retractable nightstick slid
out to its full twenty inch length.
	Joe gripped the baton as hard as he could, and waited.

							* * *
	Gia made her way through the now empty halls, a sense of urgency making her
hurry. The bell for the next period had already sounded, and the hallways
were now completely empty. She knew that Joe was most likely in his next
class, or that maybe he had even decided to ditch school for the rest of the
day. He could already be halfway back to the Cameron home, or even back to
his house. Or maybe he was at the nearest 7-11, having a Slurpee and just
goofing off. But Becka didn't think so. Her sister thought that Joe was in
trouble, or at least heading for it, and Gia trusted the other girls'
instincts.
	Still, there didn't seem to be much more she could do. If she didn't find
their friend soon, she would have no choice but to go back to the office and
talk to Principal Garrett, and maybe to the police, too. Maybe they could
find him, or maybe they could compromise and find Harper and his crew, and
keep them under wraps until Joe turned up.
	Gia sighed, and turned her footsteps towards the far end of the hallway,
and the stairs that led to the third floor. She would do one more sweep of
the building, and then back to the office and Becka.

							* * *
	Gary led the way into the deserted bathroom, venting some of his anger by
slamming the door open as hard as he could. It was a foolish act and he knew
it, bringing with it the possibility that the loud crash could be heard in
one of the classrooms. The last thing he needed right then was to have some
teacher investigate the noise and catch them doing their business with that
fucking little fag.
	Gary was vaguely aware that he had actually stopped thinking things through
some time ago, but he no longer cared, either. By now he was acting only on
the urges of instinct and fear. His ego had been hurt, his view of his own
invulnerability was damaged, and the one responsible for it all was cowering
from him in this fucking toilet! The junior drug dealer could no longer say
just what he intended to do to Joe Munson, he hadn't thought it through, but
he knew that it would have to be the worse thing he had ever done to anybody
in his life.
	Gary looked around, and actually grinned when he saw the one stall with the
closed door. He squatted down to look underneath the door, and felt a giggle
of amusement form at the back of his throat. Oh, this was rich! The Munchkin
locks the door, and thinks he can hide by standing on top of the toilet.
Like an ostrich sticking its head in the freaking sand. Well, someone was
sure going to be surprised.
	Gary stepped in front of the closed stall, followed closely by Matt and
Ron. He snarled as he lifted his foot and crashed it against the door,
breaking the lock and flinging the portal open. He rushed inside the stall,
prepared to grapple with his prey, but could only gape stupidly when he saw
that the small cubicle was empty. He had just enough time to register that
fact, when the whole world seemed to explode in on him.
	A sudden brain piercing, bone shaking wail filled the bathroom, magnified
and bounced back tenfold as it echoed off the walls. Gary jumped and
stumbled backwards, slapping his hands over his ears, crashing into the
other two boys who were busy doing the same. Something skittered across the
hard tile floor, a yellow plastic box about the size of a pack of
cigarettes, and the screaming got louder as the object bounced underneath
their feet. The three boys hastened to get away from this totally unexpected
assault, panicked and disorganized, when a shadow seemed to move at the
corner of Gary's eye. Before he could respond or even think, something hard
smashed down against the back of his right thigh, causing his leg to buckle
and a scream to erupt from his throat. He collapsed to the floor, his
eyesight going faint from the overwhelming pain.

	After Joe had thrown the personal alarm at the feet of his attackers, he
had come at them from the side, just as Bobby Cameron had taught him to. He
had backhanded the baton against the meaty part at the back of Harpers'
thigh, trying to bruise the bone with the round metal ball at the end of the
nightstick, but adrenaline and inexperience had made him miss. Instead he
hit with the shaft of the baton, painful but not paralyzing, and he knew
that Harper wouldn't be down for long. He had planned on immediately
attacking the other two boys, but Harper had fallen sprawled across the
floor, and there was no way to get around him. Surprise was now lost, so
instead he backed up into the open area behind him, his weapon held ready,
waiting for them to come.
	More by accident than intent, one of his three attackers had stepped on the
personal alarm and silenced it, another one of his advantages lost. Now the
largest of the three, Ingles, had clamored over Harper's prone body and was
charging at him, his arms outstretched to grapple. Joe ducked underneath and
lunged, jabbing the baton like a stabbing sword against the other boys'
body. But once again inexperience undid him, as the knobbed end skated
alongside his opponents ribs. With a snarl Ingles responded with a stunning
backhand, that struck Joe in the side of the head and sent him reeling.
Ingles hit him again, and then once more before he could turn away.
	The blows had made hard, meaty sounds as they had landed, but Joe shrugged
them off like rain. He had reached the point where pain and injury no longer
mattered. His back was now to the larger boy, until he spun around in a
complete circle, swinging the baton in a sideways arc until it slid under
Ingles' arm and crashed against the bigger boys ribcage. Ingles staggered,
but gamely managed to punch Joe once more in the face, this time bringing a
flood of red from his nose. Joe responded by ducking low and cracking the
baton against Matt's ankles, and then rising to bring his own foot up
between his enemies' legs. Matt stood there bent over, clutching himself,
and making little high pitched sounds of pain.
	Joe snarled like an animal and raised the baton to finish his injured
opponent off, when Ron Hooker charged him, grabbing at the baton and almost
bowling him over. They struggled for possession of the metal nightstick,
Hooker trying to use his greater size and strength, but Joe held on
tenaciously. At one point Hooker actually lifted him off his feet and swung
him around like a bag of trash, but Joe took advantage of the position to
flail and kick at the other boys' stomach. Finally he managed to twist the
baton out of Hookers' hands and take two steps backwards, and when Hooker
tried to close the gap Joe gripped the baton with one hand at each end and
brought it straight up as hard as he could, into the other boys' unprotected
face.
	Ron Hooker stumbled away and clutched at his face, his jaw broken, blood
leaking from between his fingers along with bits and pieces of three teeth.
Joe staggered away, wobbling, but before he could regain his balance two
hands reached up and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him to the floor,
knocking the baton from his grip to rattle on the tiles underneath the sink.
He found himself lying on his side with a furious Matt Ingles grabbing him
by the throat with one hand while he swung punch after punch with the other.
	Ingles' blows were wild and uncoordinated, and Joe managed to block most of
them with his arm. Frantically he grabbed at the madman sitting on top of
him, and in an instant they were both grappling and rolling around on the
floor. It ended when Joe managed to jab a thumb into Matt's eye, and then
scramble to his feet. When Matt tried to follow, Joe snatched up the
triangular lid to a trash can that had been overturned in the fight, and
swung it down as hard as he could against Ingles' back, just below his neck.
He had to use the heavy metal lid twice more before the hulking teenager
finally quit trying to rise and lay still on the floor.
	Joe stood in the middle of the room, swaying drunkenly, his breath coming
in labored heaves. He blinked through eyes that ran with sweat and were
already beginning to swell, looking at the two boys at his feet, trying to
comprehend what had just happened. He shook his head to clear it. Was that
it? Was it—
	From the corner of his eye he saw the rushing body coming towards him and
tried to turn, but he was too slow, way too slow. He gasped when the heavy
fist struck him in the kidney, choked on the white hot agony as he tripped
and stumbled to one knee. Gary Harper stood over him, favoring one leg, a
look of madness in his eyes. Joe was half paralyzed from the pain, and
couldn't resist when Harper wrapped an arm around his neck  and began
choking him.
	Harper pulled him to his feet, then took two steps forward and rammed Joe's
face against one of the white porcelain sinks. Joe felt it when his nose
broke, the sudden flash of pain actually clearing his mind and making him
forget the agony in his kidney. When Harper tried to ram him into the sink
again he resisted, planting his feet and trying to twist away. Harper fought
back, trying to punch Joe in the head with his free hand, but lacking the
leverage for any true power.
	Remembering the lessons he had learned that week he lunged to the side,
making Harper put all of his weight on his right leg. When he felt his
captor was as extended as he could be, he jammed his fist hard up into the
other boys' thigh, right were he estimated he had struck him with the baton.
Harper cried out and his grip loosened, but instead of pulling away Joe bent
down and grabbed Harper's foot with both of his hands and then stood up.
	Their roles were suddenly reversed, with the bigger fighter now trapped by
the smaller. Harper cursed and flailed his arms, but Joe's hold on him was
firm, and when he raised the trapped foot higher and pushed, it was Gary's
turn to fall forward into the hard porcelain fixture.
	Harper's face bounced off the sink, but his body continued falling, leaving
the junior drug dealer sprawled on the floor, bloody and dazed. But the
sight of his enemy at his feet was enough to push Joe past all previous
boundaries, and a rage-like madness seemed to overtake him. With a scream
that wasn't entirely human, the one-time victim threw himself on top of the
other boy, venting his hate and pain and shame with his fists.
	Over and over Joe pounded at the body beneath him, not caring where he hit
or how effective his blows were, or even how badly damaged his own hands
were getting. He kept up the pummeling, howling wordlessly, until like a
wave his exhaustion suddenly overtook him. He collapsed, panting, barely
able to drag himself to his feet. He stood there swaying, his lungs heaving
like an old fashioned steam engine, his eyes trying to make sense of what he
was seeing.
	Over? Was it over?
	Gary Harper lay at his feet, his once handsome, pretty boy features now a
broken and bloody mess. Across the floor in one corner Matt Ingles also lay,
making feeble moves to sit up. And in the corner next to the urinals Ron
Hooker sat, clutching the bloody ruin of his mouth, and eying Joe with eyes
bright with fear.
	Joe felt his stomach begin to churn, and with a lurch he turned and
stumbled to the sinks behind him. At the last second he managed to avoid the
one with his and Harper's blood on it, barely making it to another before
his battered body heaved his last meal.
	And then it was over.


(continued)