Pulp Fiction Trunk Shot Novels & Stories

It then cut to footage from the docks' security cameras, painstakingly restored at great expense. Timestamp: Five years ago, Blackwood Pier, 3:17 AM. The scene was an abandoned seafood warehouse. The sea breeze carried the stench of salt and low tide. Shipping containers were stacked like a maze. In the deepest part of the warehouse, a young man in a bespoke suit leaned against a bullet-riddled steel column. Blood gushed from his left calf, staining his suit pants a deep brown. His slide was jammed, his magazine empty. He was surrounded by the bodies of his own men as dozens of enemy gunmen closed in. Bullets sparked against the walls around him.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re on my time.” The door suddenly slammed open, Locke and T-Rex having kicked it open. Their guns were drawn and pointed at the thug’s chest. The thug immediately hopped off the prostitute, and went for his gun on the nightstand. But Locke’s aim was true, and blew the guy’s hand off in a flash. The thug screamed bloody murder as he gripped the stump that used to be his hand. T-Rex looked at the prostitute and ordered her to get out, which she did without a shred of hesitation or modesty.

Without understanding, I raised my revolver and pulled the trigger, blasting and ripping a portion of its face off. Coagulated blood spattered the timber of a neighboring tree, and the rotten whirled away and collapsed to the pavement, motionless and still. Disgusting! When I heard Justine vault over the corpse, he came up alongside me. "Excellent shot. Are you ready to do it eighteen more times?" he inquired.

One hand on his shoulder, blood pouring through his fingers. Bright red. No, this can't be happening. He didn't get shot, right? God, please—this isn’t real. Hot tears stream down my face before I realize it. He sways slightly as he tries to get up with his gun. His eyes are deadly and aimed at the attacker. Before the man can fire again, Tristan pulls the trigger—countless times, I lose track—and the man drops dead. So many sounds fill my ears, but I'm too far gone. The only thing I see is blood. So much blood.

I don’t look back. At ten, I stop. “Drive’s in my pocket. Trade for the girl you think you’re here for.” The case man laughs. “No trade. You come. Or we take it forcefully.” I smile under the mask. “Try.” Ethan’s voice cuts through the wind. “Now.” The shot is deafening. A third man, who was previously hidden, drops with a hole in his forehead. Blood flows on the sand. The rifleman spins, searching for who aimed. Another shot and his knee explodes. He screams and collapses.

It’d be a win-win because at least something good would come out of this afternoon. But Zio Marco is faster. His gun barks twice, and crimson blooms on the man’s neck. Then I sigh and shoot the other nephew’s hand, the one that had already gone for his gun. One bullet to Vito’s head, another to the nephew’s heart. And the afternoon is over. Cleaning up dead bodies isn’t my job, so I walk out of there. I’m pissed, that much is obvious to me, but the reason behind it doesn’t come as easy.

He's just a shape at the far end of the lot. My uncle's grinning expression morphs into one of terror. Fernando pulls the trigger and for the third time in almost as many days, blood splatters across my face and into my mouth. My uncle's body falls sideways to the ground. Dead. Just like that. Dead, while the woman who was shot moments ago still moans in agony as her life slowly bleeds out of her. Dead. Final. The end. I look at Fernando, his eyes on my chest travel lower as he tucks the gun into the back of his khakis. An erection presses against the front of his pants. He's aroused. It's not from looking at me. It's from the kill.

The drug dealer and his men were sentenced to death for their crimes, while Madison received a life sentence for hiring a hitman. Officer Wright filled Zack in on everything, and passed him the tapes they found at the drug den. They contained footage of the drug dealers torturing and humiliating me. I stayed by Zack's side as he watched every single tape. By the end, he had completely lost it. He was no longer the heroic forensic pathologist everyone admired. Instead, he turned into a disheveled maniac, wandering around asking everyone if they'd seen his younger sister. I stayed by Zack's side, until he was hit by a speeding car and died.

Peter gets out of the car with an excuse "Doctor, please stay in the car." He alerts her. "Sure." Peter shuts down the door and turns back while taking the gun from his pocket. He approaches the backside of the car trunk and he suddenly opens the trunk full of his strength with one hand and takes the gun from his pocket with another hand. There is a girl inside. When Peter points the gun at her forehead, she cries out a mixture of pain and shock "Ahh." She closes her eyes and becomes unconscious.

"Who are you working for?" None of them were willing to talk. They passed glances at each other and stayed mute. Raphael hummed and stood up with a guffaw. He took his gun from his back pocket and immedately pulled the trigger on Alfonso, shooting him right in the eye. His eyeball mutilates in an instant, his blood splattering everywhere. The sight is gory and disturbing. The two men felt a vomit haul up to their throat. The remaining two had their tremor rising, their heart beat erratic and their mouths quivering.