“He’th coming for you now.” Glinty shook his head. “We ain’t got much time, you whipperthnapper. Thet your rear end down in that chair.”
30 Seconds To Mars. Kings And Queens.
Tellesco wiped his eyes and sat back down in the watery seat of his mighty Jeep. He looked over again at the empty seat beside him.
She was gone.
Why had she left him?
What the hell was he gonna do?
Who was going to tell him what to do next?
Sean would tell him what to do next. He should go see Sean.
He put his bitch into gear.
Tellesco found his mettle.
About damn time, bastard.
+ + + + + +
Fat Jerry arrived at the first crash scene. It was my body inside of the '57 that he was after.
You see, he had debts to settle.
This will be explored.
Fat Jerry had driven off earlier, away from me, to check on the other lump, and that lump was in bad shape. It was a good call that Fat Jerry made. Once he had that other lump strapped down in the rear of his hearse, he was all set to come collect my body.
Sean had a crack in his skull, and his brain was swelling. Such a thing as brain injury can change things. You can be changed. You can be altered.
Fat Jerry’s hearse was a lump collector, a body collector, a bone collector.
He was coming for me, chust like Glinty said.
The punk with the high mohawk spikes ignored the lights in his rearview mirror. Purple Robes wanted to play with him. He wanted to engage with them as well.
Yet, he resisted the hunger in his belly. He resisted the urge below.
He ignored his erection. How fucked up to become physically aroused by mayhem and bone snapping. That was one sick bastard.
+ + + + + +
Glinty tied the cloth around Sean’s melon, to hold the dressing in place. From his medicine cabinet, he’s made a nice poultice out of herbs he’d become acquainted with during his time in the Wild West.
He was a savior of various ilk.
“Now lithten to me you young man. Thith poor fellow hath been injured pretty big. He been changed. He won’t come back the thame.”
I gulped and looked up from Sean at the old cowboy ghost in front of me.
This was all chust a dream, of course it was.
“You gonna need thome reckoning, you two, if he maketh it. He gonna need thome direction from you. You gonna need to be the leader here on in. He will not be a good leader. Can you do it?”
I had no fucking clue. Dumb ass. I couldn’t even remember to do my own laundry.
Sometimes, I even forgot to wash my back in the shower, and got the teenage scourge of “backne.” That is another word for Back Acne, in case you have forgotten how is was to be a teenager.
I nodded at him.
He was talking about Sean.
I guess I needed to step up and have Sean’s back as well.
Sometimes, you need to step up to the plate and give that ball the best swing you can muster. It starts from the heel, and it goes through your whole body, like a TKO punch does.
It begins with the heel, and it ends with Mayhem and destruction.
Glinty nodded. “Now I got thomething to tell you here. I done brought you two here for one reathon, and one reathon only. You are a red man, I can thee that in you. But thith ain’t all Cowboyth and Indianth. Thith is beyond that. Thith ith about them folkth in them purple robeth. Thith ith the real shit.”
I chust shrugged my shoulders.
Glinty smiled his toothless smile, and he took off his broken glasses. One of his eyes was gone, and there was only a black hole.
“You are in for a world of pain.
God Help You.
God Help Uth All.”
Lazy. It’s Over.
Busta and Mariah. I Know What You Want.