Goodfellas by Andrew Wayne Adams

Taxidriver ran the stoplight. He almost got t-boned by an Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. Almost. Seconds later a police cruiser squawked its siren and swung into pursuit. Seeing the cop in his rearview mirror, Taxidriver laughed. His teeth were filthy.

In the backseat, Ragingbull was gluing sandpaper to his boxing gloves. When he heard the siren, he said, “Shit,” and he threw more money at Taxidriver and told him to go faster.

Taxidriver was mentally ill. He went faster.

They outran the cop and arrived at their destination. Ragingbull jumped out of the car. He rushed into the building and busted through a door on the third floor.

Angelheart shrieked. She pushed Deerhunter off of her and scrambled beneath the bed sheets. Deerhunter roared like a primitive beast. He had been just about to climax, almost there. Almost.

“I knew it!” Ragingbull screamed. He stalked toward them, raising his boxing gloves.

Outside, Taxidriver kept the meter rolling. Twenty minutes passed and Ragingbull came stumbling out of the building. He was covered in blood and celluloid.

“Where to now?” Taxidriver asked.

“New York, New York. Cape Fear. Brazil.”

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