The legal offices and services of Harry Rawson were retained by the Hillary Rodham Clinton for President Foundation one morning in February as the suitcase of blood dripping cash was delivered to Harry in person.

The legal offices and services of Harry Rawson were retained by the Hillary Rodham Clinton for President Foundation one morning in February as the suitcase of blood dripping cash was delivered to Harry in person.  Harry noticed that Hillary never got close to the suitcase and surely she had never touched it, she was always careful that way. 

The Clinton foundation was not reluctant to fight and pressed Harry into service the same day.  They wanted Donald Trump destroyed and they were in a hurry and the five hundred thousand dollars in cash was simply the small down payment required.  Even without a completed plan Harry insisted on a cash down payment and that Hillary deliver the money directly to his offices, he wanted to look her in the eyes. 

Cash needed no translator as one of Harry's men opened the suitcase so Harry himself could look at the one hundred dollar bills to his satisfaction, bundled neatly and secured with green paper bank banding straps.

Over the years Harry had been paid in Gold, Ivory and even valuable antiquities but Harry had insisted on hard cash from the Clinton foundation.  Harry was an expert in the punitive field of law and he could really punish people but Hillary wanted a lot more this time.  As the day light started to fade and the day turned to night Harry had enough knowledge of what Hillary wanted and a plan of attack was completed, even though not in any great detail.

The men that came with Hillary were standing outside smoking their cigarettes and playing with their guns and at times eating and drinking the food and drinks provided by Harry's men always by his side.  With all the men standing closely they looked like some field of diseased plants with hard boiled eggs for eyes, every one of them convicted criminals in business suits, some wearing pig-skin gloves using provocative language clinging to their toughness for the next guy.

Harry Rawson was hired by Hillary Clinton to assure the total destruction of Donald Trump and cash had been paid as the criminals feasted as the whispering lasted for hours and the men talked about copulating the younger Rawson house maid running back and forth serving drinks and wiggles.

The Clinton men were not cowardly or reluctant to fight but this was going to be jungle warfare inside America and Hillary had to have clean hands and could not be left vulnerable to the FBI or some idiot local cop getting lucky.

Harry assured Hillary that he would remove any suspicion of her participation and only unmarked paths would be used and she would never be vulnerable.

Like a handful of matches, ready to burn, the Harry men broke off from the Clinton men as they were all about exhausted from drinking Harry's expensive booze and flirting with the young house maid.  

But it was too late for the Clinton gang, Harry's men pulled their pistols and the empty cartridge cases starting hitting the ground and stone steps around them in the garden, tinkling to the ground, giant heaps of automatic spent casings were everywhere and the Clinton men were dead.  The bullets had sheared through their flesh, smashing and splintering bones as they hit the ground but the army of bullets kept coming and the five Clinton men never had a chance.

The young house maid walked up to each of the Clinton men now dead with a .22 caliber pistol in her hand and shot each of the five Clinton men in the head. 

The shooting, the atrocity didn't even cause Hillary to blink as she had been tainted by slaughter going back years from down south.  The Dixie chick had no inwardly marked soul or fevered dreams she was distinguished as a Clinton as Harry promoted a smile in her direction and with a final smile, shot her as she protested as Harry leaned down and kissed her goodbye.

She was merely groaning and Harry's orders had been to gut shoot her and let her bleed out groaning and quivering and gasping for air she was trying to talk.

"Who paid you Harry?"  nearly slayed she slumped down to the patio and held herself up with her right hand, blood dripping south onto the stone.

She was trembling but refused to die or ask for help and she mocked Harry as her bones were turning to mud and vomit dripping.

"Who paid you to torture me Harry?"  as the African brothers walked up to Harry's side without making a sound and dropped off two large suitcases.

The lady that spent her life intoxicating others with her words could barely speak even though her eye's looked like she wanted to shout.  Hillary never gave any justice, compassion or freedom to other people and wanted people around her to believe what she believed which was always a lie.  

Hillary was all about cash and profit, personal advantage and political power and no civilization was required only barbarism for absolute power.  She had always smiled at being called a socialist, which was a Barack Obama pussy her mind, she was a communist in the ranks of Stalin and intended to break the United States.

Slowly she smiled, transcribing some message to Harry without words, abandoning her life slowly she spit on his shoes as the fatigue of the gun shot was creating that emptiness before death.

There were no screams but her hysterical laughter was disturbing to Harry as the house maid walked up behind him with her .22 caliber cocked and ready.  She would fire one bullet into Harry's head as he evoked some ancient sound before he hit the ground dead.

Hillary looked up to the maid "Good girl Abedin."  "Good Girl."

It was now very late and Bill Clinton was tired and had too much to drink so he saved his fictional story on his computer and turned it off.

Quite different Bill thought to himself as the late night writing was the only way to fight back against his depression.  George Bush painted and Bill Clinton wrote stupid fictional stories in the middle of the night.

He always made the soiled wife, Hillary Clinton, the evil one for no particular purpose except his slow moving drunken brain was having fun, and after all having fun was the whole point of life.

His next story would again include Monica as he pressed his lips against his whiskey glass and took the last gulp.

Bill wondered what Hillary would be doing tomorrow?