A Sudden Emotional Chaos

Kyle Pearse kept his head down in the driver seat behind the dilapidated warehouse next to a dank lake with a broken fountain in the middle as bullets flew all around the stationary getaway car.

Then, he raised his head for a peek, and a bullet zinged him above the right eye. Kyle ducked down, nursing the bloody wound, lamenting his life regrets before he died.

Two hours later, he awoke in the dark to a sullen streetlight-lit dump. “I’m alive, he said,” as he slowly exited the car and found three dead bodies. He paused for seconds, weighing his options.

He finds rusted drums with lids, pokes holes in them, and stuffs the bodies in, wiping off sweat as the vision in his right eye blurs in and out. He pushes the drums into the sordid lake and watches them submerge, hissing.

He opens the car trunk and loads the guns next to two bags loaded with dollar bills from a bank robbery. He gunned the engine, shaking his head in self-pity, “Brass Nacchio is gonna kill me…” the right eye, focusing and unfocusing as he merged onto a Texas highway.

Brass Nacchio is the kingpin for the Georgia wing of the Tijuana, Mexican, Fentanyl Cartel.