Front page of a new Brett with little Beanie babies with rifles, uzies, guns and the like.



A grand old clock forebodingly hearkens midnight in the darkened Hallmark store—almost summoning the ominous blackness that ensues. There is a tinkle of glass breaking followed by a deep, treacherous chuckle. Light footsteps hit the floor, running, to cause further mayhem. More glass breaks, more feet hit the floor. They have their freedom now.

All they need are weapons—AK-47s are there choice, but they will settle for Uzis and sub-machine guns as well. They have plans, and only firepower can help them accomplish those plans -- bring them to their glorious culmination. And if they reach their goals, the world will be held in the terroristic clutches of their soft, furry hands.

The chuckles gain momentum, growing to a swell of evil, maniacal laughter. Colorful shadows dart within the confines of the store while the register opens, giving up its store of money. The safe lock is carefully spun until it too releases its store of green bills. The front window of the store will be the next to go, but first the ranks of this terroristic group must swell as much as possible.

First this Hallmark store, then the terror will spread to the next and the next after that.

No one but the owner of those padded feet knows the terror that lurks deep within the hearts of Beanie Babies gone Bad.



Brett Higgins drove swiftly through the streets of Detroit, looking for the missing dancer she was sure had been abducted. Suddenly, her windshield was blown out by a blast from an AK-47

"What the fuck?" she screamed, diving down in her seat while slamming on the breaks. Another round of gunfire followed the first, and Brett eased over to the passenger's door, slowly opening it and looking out underneath it. Her gaze was met head-on by a pair of deep brown eyes surrounded by a sea of lightbrown velveteen. The eyes were just inches above a Magnum .357.

"Fuck! " she screamed, pulling back up into her black vehicle. A burst of fire ripped the door she had just been using for cover to shreds. She grabbed her own .357 out of its holster and jumped far out the driver's door, shooting while she flew through the air. She hit the ground and fired another slew of shots at her furry terrorists. They returned fire, but by now Brett had noticed that they had gotten a gasline on her car and the area was surrounded in the fuel.

"Bye-bye Beanies," she said, flicking her Zippo and tossing it into the pool of liquid a few feet from her.

A slow grin spread across her face when the fire consumed her tiny, cute, lethal enemies.


P.S. When Linda Hill saw this, she said something like, "Reese, you have way too much time on your hands."


Make sure to check out all of the real Brett Higgins Motor City Thrillers!
When the Dancing StopsWhen the Dead SpeakWhen Some Body DisappearsWhen Evil Changes Face
When Good Girls Go BadWhen the Corpse LiesWhen First We PracticeWhen It's All Relative
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