Kane goes to Hollywood



Here he was.

Los Angeles.


To make a movie? Hell no.

It was time for him to do what he did best.

He rented a car and drove to the Hollywood Hills, to the world famous sign.

In the trunk were nine containers of gasoline.

One for each letter.

He smiled as he poured, inhaling the fumes, enjoying the brutal scent.

The lighter was in his pocket, warm metal against his hand, the lid flipping open easily at his fingertips.

The smile turned into a humorless grin.

He moved his thumb against the wheel, watching the spark catch the wick, watching the small flame lick up into the night.

He tossed the lighter at the letter H.

The H caught the O, the O the L, and so on, down the line, the flames finding the gasoline and liking it. Sparks shot up into the sky as HOLLYWOOD burned. Burned to the ground.

Still grinning, Kane brushed his hands off on the legs of his pants. He got back into his car and drove away, humming under his breath, watching in his rearview mirror as the flames shot skyward in the darkness of the night.