8.

"What the… the holy hellfire IS this, man?" Guadalupe barked impotently, frightened and beside himself. His own erection dissipated into a flaccid bundle of wrinkliness, softly settling down into his mesh of ivory-white pubic hair. He had also wet himself, itchy and warm in the crotch with a fresh, relieving sensation of trickling urine flowing and dripping down his groin and thighs. The poor bastard.
"This, my kinky young sperm-gargling amigo, is a goddam stickup. Now kindly shut the fuck up for a minute while I gather my thoughts because, quite frankly, your little surprise act of fellatio sorta done went n' broke my concentration." Maxwell replied, taking aim directly between Lupe's rather attractive green-tinted goat-boy eyes. Max could smell a faint hint of vinegar, but he knew this kind of vinegar couldn't be used for cooking or salad dressing. In fact, this particular liquid substance only had very few uses to anyone.
"Why you… maldito hijo de puta!" Lupe murmured in furious confusion and stoic anger. This kid should have known that when he played with fire, he was liable to get burnt. Evidently, it was far too late for him to turn back now though. Quite the shame!
"Yes, yes… I know this is a real dick-headed thing to do, but to be perfectly honest I'm quite fed up with you as well, my man." Max said, barely audible over the low humming drone of the hyper-thumping disco-bass. His expression was one of deep disappointment and resentment over the hairy situation he now found himself stuck waist-deep in, head still woozy from the oral ejaculating he'd delivered down Lupe's throat, cum-drunkened.
"What the fuck do you mean?" Lupe questioned with impending haste, trembling like mad with bare decrepit fright. Max inhaled through his nose and whiffed in another potent hint of fresh urine, stifling back a sneeze.
"You were supposed to show up at ten-thirty on the dot." Max said, tapping his wrist, miming a watch. "Ten-thirty, they told me. Goddam it all, you were over two whole fucking hours late, now how do you think that will make me look to my own higher-ups? In fact, how the hell do you think that will make YOU look in the eyes of your own superiors, man?"
Max waved the gun around threateningly toward Lupe, maintaining a subtle frown with a hint of empathy beneath.
"I'm… not too sure…" Lupe replied, voice shaky and timid.
"WRONG! Try again, amigo!" Max hollered, cocking the hammer back again, taking aim at Lupe's trembling lips, practically feeding the goat-boy the muzzle-end of his pistol.
"I-Incompetent?" Lupe replied loosely, eyes welling up slowly with frightened tears.
"Exactly." Max responded freely and without disdain. He scratched at his shep-coon temple with the tip of his gun, taking cautious liberties to engage the safety switch first. "Absolutely positively right on the dot, my friend. In-com-pe-tent. You should've known better, kid. My apologies to you…" Max dragged the tip of the barrel against the kid's scruffy wiry-fur-covered cheek. "This is officially your loss and my gain. Now tell me where you stashed the money, Guadalupe. I haven't got all night and neither do your bosses."
Max pressed the weapon against Lupe's temple forcefully, threateningly.
"Look ese, just let me go for Chrissakes and I'll never tell anyone! You can have the dope! I'd rather not keep it around any longer than I have to anyways! Please, you must seek forgiveness for my being so late! Don't kill me, please amigo! PLEASE!! You don't understand, amigo! Hear me out, won't you please?" Lupe pleaded. He began to whimper aloud, weak and childish. His eyelids were glinting with globs of tears and his hoofen hand-paws were held up to the sides of his goat-boy head. Max saw that he was rubbing at two tiny knubs of future horns; a nervous tic. Lupe's lower lip quivered sporadically, flaky with dried traces of Max's semen. Here was a kid who really did NOT wish to die anytime soon.
Max immediately felt a subtle hint of empathy for the young goat-boy. Sure, he may have made a shitty prick of a dope pusher, didn't even lavish in giving good quality head (unlike tonight), but nevertheless he was still a scared, innocent, young teenager; a green punk with little to no skills or experience with this sort of volatile madness. His indecision and residual fright stirred a memory in Max as a kid running dope for his own father, his old man, then for the other. The alternate. The man who Max mistook as a father figure before he got half his face blown to raw pulpy hamburger. Looking back upon those days always brought down a swift outpouring of abundant shame and imperative denial upon Max. He didn't wish for such things to happen to this fellow either. History didn't deserve to repeat itself. He never wished for what he went through to be reiterated by anyone, especially somebody so obviously young and so glaringly inexperienced. Lupe would've easily shattered under such pressures.
Sat down beside one another face-to-face in a bathroom stall smothered with sloppy aged faded graffiti of weenies and boobies and insults and sex favors, Max blinked as his frown burrowed deeper, causing his eye patch to bend upward in its socket. His hand-paw began to quiver, shaking the gun loosely in place. His tail wagged and scurried around in the neighboring stall aimlessly.
Lupe stared with glassy-eyed fright at Max, then at the gun, then back at Max's face and the gun again, frozen and incapable of any other physical movement. Max found this morbidly amusing. Lupe appeared to be watching an invisible heated ping-pong competition winding down to the last few game-changing seconds. As for Maxwell, he became a stone statue staring into a widespread void of deep impending thoughts. His greed and enviousness had been blown so far out of proportion that he couldn't handle facing his actions directly at face-value. Lupe stared back with wild-eyed bewilderment. The goat-boy wondered what was ticking upstairs in Maxwell's mental attic. Was he going to get shot and killed? Wounded, maybe? Crimony, I hope not, Lupe thought.
"Show me where you stashed your cut directly and maybe neither one of us has to die today." Max finally said. 
Lupe was reassured at once. He was grateful for something to be croaked out of Max's shriveled canine-black lips, trailing off into mumbling just a bit in the end. "My cut? You mean the drugs? But I thought you–" Lupe asked cautiously with lame wit, wondering if he hadn't missed an important point in the suggestion.
"No! Not the drugs you fucking genius, the money! Where oh where did you stash the goddam money?! I have the drugs, okay?!" Max yelled. He was swinging back into the land of lacking patience again.
"Oh, my cut… now I get it. Sorry, amigo. Forgive me? I've got bad English. Actually that's in my car outside. Ninety-eight silver Buick. Uh, wheel wells, chrome trim on the body. She probably the only baby out there that got Colorado plates so you can't miss it, amigo." Lupe said. He pouched his lower lip and nodded agreeably, conveying a false confidence.
"No worries there, since I don't intend to miss this vehicle of yours at all… you're coming with me outside to retrieve it. Sound good? Perfect. Let's go! No dawdling!" Max said. He felt like a crank addict on uppers but his panic had substantial pulling power.
"Oh no! No, I can't do that! You can't make me leave this place! Not yet, man!" Lupe squirmed uneasily under Max's grip, tussling around like a flailing mad ragdoll with a broken on/off switch. Max inhaled and let loose with an ill-tempered, impatient sigh from his nostrils, cocking his head at an angle, glaring furiously at Lupe.
"What the hell are you saying? We need to get the fuck out of here, you understand?"
"NO! I said it, I mean it, and you can't change my mind on this one, amigo. I'm sorry but I told you which car it was as well as its details… now please just run out, take the money and leave me be! It's just not safe at all for you to be in here any longer! You can make it on your own though, I think." Lupe said. He couldn't quite focus on Max's paralyzing stare, so he tried to focus on everything else in the stall entirely all at once.
"Sorry Lupe, but it ain't that easily done. What you don't understand is that-"
"No way, José! What YOU don't understand is that my informants, my head honchos in this deal? The ones who sent me to collect for them through this miserable exchange? The ones who will most likely kill me and probably you as well, God willing?"
"Yeeees?" Max said with a resounding impatience thick in his tone, snarl set in his lips.
"Well…they're here tonight, man." Lupe said. He glanced upward and to his right.
"What're you saying, you fucking pri–"
"Right now – sitting upstairs in the foreman's quarters, his office. Right above the crowd in that fucking rave! They all showed up! They're watching to see that everything goes swimmingly without many fuck-ups. See for yourself once we go back out! I promise you."
"Get. Out." Max said. His hollowed eye socket felt itchy, burning with a dull throbbing pain, a rotting tooth embedded within tender, sensitive gums. He felt a lead gallstone drop freely downward from his throat and crash violently into his stomach, yet his head still felt woozy with sexual satisfaction and the butterflies in his stomach fluttered like epileptic fairies at a techno rave, with all due respects given to the innocent drug and sex-fueled civilians involved right outside the swinging bathroom doors.
"They are all outside right now, watching the floor, probably making sure we get the goods sold throughout. To the highest bidder, that's what they told me. ‘You'll sell us primo with class, young boy.' That's what they told me, amigo. Swear on my mother's grave, man. I swear." Lupe whispered. He trembled with exhausted fright.
"I believe you, kiddo." Max proclaimed. Lupe's eyes lit up reassuringly.
Meanwhile, Maxwell desperately fought back the urge to rip Guadalupe's goddam fucking head clean off from his beautiful little prick-ass goat-boy body.

To be continued…