Come to find out that Mystery’s real name was Mr. Ree.
That was convenient.
We watched Maxwell for several days, plotting our trap. Unfortunately he strangled several more prostitutes under that watch. We did nothing about it. But we pushed forward with our plan.
One night, while Maxwell was cruising down Sunset, he fell into our trap.
“Hey sweetie,” Maxwell said while picking up a prostitute. “Wanna make some cash?”
She giggled and got in.
They drove up to the hills while I tailed them. They stopped in Griffith Park then Maxwell and his friend climbed into the backseat.
Maxwell started kissing his way up her legs before removing her panties. As he put his head between her legs, instead of a vagina he put into his mouth, it was a cock…Mr. Ree’s fully erect cock.
“Surprise surprise,” Mr. Rees said.
Maxwell attempted to stab Mr. Ree. The two wrestled in the backseat before I opened the door and ordered Maxwell out with my 357. Mr. Ree got out in full drag, cock still hard. Maxwell had his pants around his ankles.
“Alright, you caught me,” Maxwell said. “So what? They’re not going to throw me in jail.”
“Don’t be so sure of yourself,” I replied. “Hands in the air.”
Maxwell lifted up his arms. Under his sleeve was a detonator. His car exploded, sending the three of us flying through the air. Maxwell got up and escaped by stealing my Pontiac Aztec.
I laid in the street for awhile in a daze. I got up and saw Mr. Ree mortally wounded. He was laying in a pool of his own blood. I held him in my arms and attempted to stop the bleeding.
“I’m sorry Mr. Ree,” I said. “I want to thank you for your help.”
“It was….fun,” he replied. “It doesn’t look like I’ll be a registered sex offender after all.”
With those words, he died in my arms.
I hot wired a Kia Soul and went after Maxwell. I cut him off at the intersection of Franklin and Los Feliz. I rammed my piece of shit into his piece of shit. The shattered glass littered the road.
I climbed out of the wreckage. Maxwell was still in the Pontiac. He was unconscious. I walked up to the destroyed vehicle, 357 on ready. I checked to see if he was dead. At that moment, Maxwell fired his 9mm.
The bullet grazed my left kidney. Maxwell climbed out of the car and ran off. As I was on the ground, I fired off a couple of shots, missing him entirely.
I pursued him on foot.
He ran into a bean factory. As beans were falling off an assembly line into a hopper, Maxwell fired a few rounds into the cogs. The line went haywire and beans went everywhere, obstructing my path. I once again fired shots indiscriminately down the line, jeopardizing the lives of countless workers.
Maxwell exited the factory and ran onto the football field of North Hollywood High. A game was being played. I couldn’t get a clear shot. So I tackled the quarterback, grabbed the football and aired it out in an attempt to hit Maxwell. Unfortunately a DB intercepted it and I had to evade tacklers to get off the field.
Maxwell continued to shoot his 9mm. But he was out of bullets.
He chose Chuck E Cheese as his last stand.
Maxwell went in through the kitchen. He threw pots, pans, and pizzas as I chased him. Unfortunately I wasted several bullets shooting down the pizzas.
As he ran into the main dining area, I shouted “stop that man!”
Chuck E Cheese himself went in for the tackle. Maxwell fought him off, but he was cornered.
The jig was up and Maxwell raised his hands. I lifted up the 357.
“For LP,” he asked.
“No Maxwell,” I said. “For me.”
I shot him in cold blood and his body flew into the ball pit. As the screams of children echoed through the restaurant, I walked outside.
I could hear the sounds of police sirens in the distance. I walked down to the beach holding the 357. As I stared out across the water, I took one last look at the 357 and tossed it into the ocean.