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PILATE saves the Christ from getting Herself beaten and raped... 8/16/2008 12:50:46 PM
Pilate knew who the young lady was. She was Immanuel the little preacher girl and she was about two seconds away from being gang raped.
Pilate appeared at her side and had taloned fingers on the cop’s hair, wrapped in a death grip. He pulled down hard and brought the would-be rapist bitch to the asphalt eye-blink fast.
The cop landed on the blacktop hard. Pilate then turned to the man who pressed her face into the cold metal trunk of the undercover car. The cop, shocked, said nothing.
“Let go of her,” Pilate ordered, but he knew what they would do. The police always followed the playbook, so Pilate knew some asshole response was coming. So, before: ‘get on the ground!’ at full volume left his mouth, Pilate slammed a fist into the cop’s face, breaking everything.
Pilate tugged free his hot, wet fist from the cavern of the cop’s face. He calmly wiped the bloody mess from his fist with the cop’s polo shirt. Pilate held the man up until it was clean. Then Pilate let him drop dead to the ground.
The stopping of the rape and Pilate’s exchange happened so quickly no one had time to respond. He turned to the rest of the police when one did.
Pilate heard the unmistakable sound of gunmetal scraping against leather. He saw the rapist/cop on the ground pull the service weapon from his shoulder holster, drew a bead on Pilate.
Using vampire speed, Pilate dropped to one knee and grabbed hold the shooter’s wrist. He jerked the arm toward him and twisted it until the pointy bone of the elbow faced up. Pilate then placed his hand on the skyward elbow bone and applied vicious downward pressure.
The cop’s arm broke. It cracked like a hard nutshell and Pilate pushed down on the elbow and up on the wrist until the arm folded back on itself, the gun pointing at its owner. The gun fired. One of the hollow points drove a wedge so deep in the cop’s brain you could see his filthy thoughts.
Pilate snatched the gun as he fell dead to the ground. Pilate grabbed and held another one with the smoking gun to his temple, Pilate safely hidden behind the man’s bulk. Pilate found his own gun, under shirtfront, and aimed it over the shoulder of his cop/hostage.
The hostage’s penis was still out. He’d been prepping himself, zipper undone. Pilate glanced down at it. It was flaccid, trying to turtle its way back inside.
Pilate tugged the cop back so that his car was behind them. The others tried to outflank and encircle him.
“Stop!” he shouted, “We have a truce. I’m under the protection of the Pharisees,” he said, “You can’t touch me and I won’t let you touch her.”
“Fuck you, faggot!” one of the circlers replied, stepping up to Pilate.
“You’re first,” Pilate said, stopping the rushing cop by sticking the 9mm in his face. “You wanna think about this,” Pilate told the fuming and defenseless rusher. His eyes crossed from staring at the gun. It was so close it almost kissed him. “Think about what you’re gonna lose if you make me open up your head like your buddy on the ground here,” Pilate advised, “No more wads of cash from taxing runners, no more free scotch from the liquor stores and no more blowjobs at gunpoint from high school girls.”
The police all stopped where they were, contemplating and weighing options.
“C’mon, be smart,” said Pilate before they had a chance to change their minds, “Give Matthias a call,” he told them, “While you’re still only down two.”
