Now, he had seen the ads for Fucky Chucky’s on the
television while he was all locked up in prison for having been found guilty of
“Depraved Vandalism” upon a poor Messican family’s Once Lovingly Adorned Home.
He served his time, and he was clean. He was squeaky clean. He was so clean that his butt cheeks squeaked
with each step he took towards the bus stop to head north to the best burger
joint evah.
He was still a virgin back there, in his butt cheeks. He had spent his time building up muscle
mass, because that is what prison time is for, isn’t it? He had fought off possible butt-violators and
put them in the prison infirmary.
He had joined no gangs inside, but instead of going it
alone, he had made friends. That is
another chapter, a side sort of thing that I will tell you someday, because he
had a hell of a tale to tell. He had
become a bit of a guide to others. That
bit matters in this arming of the sides for the start of the Fuckno War we are
nearing.
SIDE NOTE
There is something else you should know, my friend. I cannot tell you the Pt. 11 of these Walkin
Killings series until after I tell you the part where I learned about the Death
of Katheena in the Hostibal.
The Pt. 11 is about Joey driving north to Tellesco’s
burned-out ranch, when he began to absorb the fact that his best friend, a
chick called “Katheena” had died. He was
blamed for it. It’s pretty rough.
You see, I was about to find out from him about it, and it
would not be fair to subject you to this thing twice, from his shit and then my
own. So there is only one, but it
matters in this series, as character motivation for what occurs next, and the
evil path we would choose.
+ + +
+ + +
So here we go, to see Bryan
enjoy some solid sustenance; his first bite of freedom. He deserved it, right? The only thing that Fuckno ever had to offer
was its sunshine. And even that was
something to which it had no contribution.
It is actually one of the dirtiest, smoggiest places to live in sunny
Califucknia.
What Makes A Good Man, by The Heavy
The city bus pulled up to the curb in front of a burger
restaurant in the offskirts of
Fuckno. The place was called
Fucky Chucky’s. It had the best burgers you could buy, back in
the eighties. There was a salad bar
meant for toppings. There was a cauldron
of hot cheese sauce. You get the idea.
Big Bryan
stepped down and out into the sunshine.
He smiled. The cool air from the
nearby town of Clovis smelled like
fresh-cut grass. He breathed in deep
down to the bottom of his lungs. Now he
truly felt free. He vowed that he would
someday leave Fuckno, once and for good.
Cash money in his pocket, a bag of his worldly possessions
on his back, and the whole deep, wide future in front of him.
He didn’t care that no one had come to meet him upon his
release. He was a bigger man than
that. He knew that something had
happened. He had seen it on the news,
and he had a clue.
Before he would dive into the mess, he would take care of
himself. Always fill up on a good meal
before you have to do some heavy lifting.
That is what a good man does.
He gets ready to help you out.
A good man will not let you down.
THE LION MAN
TALKS
Joey shined his flashlight light into our faces and said,
“What the hell you been doing, Weeee-ill?”
I said, “Joseph!
How’s Katheena? Boy do have we a
tale to tell you! But how’s she doing?”
Tellesco brought out an oil lamp from the pantry, and he set it on
the counter. He lit it. The remnant of the sun cast its red ember
light across the face of black eternity overhead. Out here, in the north-west off-skirts of
Fuckno, there was little light pollution.
Soon, the stars and galaxies would be displaying their slow waltz across
the face of the desert night sky.
Joey nodded at Tellesco.
“Why you wearing that poncho, dude?”
Tellesco frowned and opened it up. “I ain’t got no clothes.”
Joey put his hands up and said, “Whoa dude! Don’t be showing me your junk! What the fuck?”
I said, “You must be hungry.
Do you want something to eat? We
got cans of beans.”
Joey said, “Weeee-ill.
You making a crack at a poor Messican?
You calling me a beaner!” He chuckled at his own joke. Then he said, “Hold on. I stopped at a little place and got some
stock for myself. Be right back.”
Tellesco said, “I’m sorry about that Mr. Will. I didn’t mean to show off my junk.”
I said, “Don’t worry about that. I just wonder where the hell he spent last
night and today. I wonder how he knew to find us here?”
Tellesco shrugged.
We watched Joey’s flashlight bob along the backyard, past
the swimming pool, and then further off, past Tellesco’s destroyed ranch. That thing had once been almost half a city
block long, and skinny. To air out a
ranch in the desert, it is necessary to build a ranch in such a manner. It affords the air to blow across, and
through the open windows on each side.
There had once been a wine cellar dug out of the desert hand
pan, and that was now filled with the fallen down debris of the burnt
timbers. It had also held the bones of a
young fellow named Tommy Hewitt. God rest his soul.
He would be back.
Shake A Bone, by Son Of Dave
Joey returned with two bags.
One had food, and the other held bottles of wine. The Little Lion Man loved wine.
We arranged the food on the counter. Joey opened a bottle with a cheap cork screw with the price sticker still on the handle. He had bought only reds, and these are best
tasted when not refrigerated, which worked out well in this pool house/guest
cottage.
He had bought hard salami, which needs no refrigeration, and
also bags of chips and almonds and cans of potted meat and such.
We took swigs from the wine bottle each in turn, and we ate
well. We ate like desert kings, from
the perspective of prairie travelers on the Conestoga trails of
a century ago.
The food tasted pretty fucking good, after canned beans.
Joey guzzled the end of the first bottle and got another one
going. While he did, he said, “I spent
the last twenty four hours hiding. But I
got all this shit from a place that don’t have some poor bastard watching the
television all the time.”
I said, “Why you been hiding? What did you do?”
Joey set the opened bottle of Trebbiano on the counter his
shoulders slumped. He was silent for a
few minutes. What the hell?
The arm of his
leather jacket went up to his face with his back to me, and he coughed. He set the cork in his other hand down on the counter and he
breathed in deep.
Then he turned around.
He whispered, “Weeee-ill. You better sit down.” He motioned to the counter on the other side
of the sink. “I’ll catch you if you
fall.”
What the hell did he mean by that? I shrugged.
“Joseph, why you all pale now?
You look like you just seen a ghost!”
Tellesco backed away from us and turned and went into the
bedroom. He was giving us some private
time. Hell, did he know something as
well? How would he know anything? Who would have told him?
Joey shrugged. He
said, “She didn’t make it.”
I said, “Joseph, I told you to take her directly there. What you talking about? Did you leave her at a bus stop?”
His eyes clamped shut.
His arm went back up to his eyes.
He said, “I brought her to the medical center as fast as I could
drive. They took her in. They took her right away. Then I passed out.”
I smiled. “Good. Whew!
Thank you for getting her there. I was all worried about her lungs full
of mud from her car crash in the rain. Thank Gawd she coughed it out on my back
when I carried her out of there---
Joseph, why you crying?”
He couldn’t say anything at all. His shoulders began to heave, and then he
began to make some strange whimpering noises, and then he was fucking crying
like a fucking baby.
I felt shivers in my chest.
What the fuck was going on? Why
was he bawling like a brat?
I felt my legs get weak in the knees. Why was Joey crying?
“JOSEPH! WHAT THE
FUCK HAPPENED TO KATHEENA?”
He could not say a thing. He bit his lip and came
forth and grabbed me by my arms and he looked up into my face and he shook his
head back and forth while he looked right straight up into my eyes.
He shook his head over and over again, tears streaming down
his fucking cheeks.
My knees began to crumple, but I stood back up. I shrugged his hands off me and stepped
back. I said, “You better tell me that
Katheena is OK. You better fucking tell
me here and now that she is going to make it.
Don’t fuck around, Joseph. Don’t
fuck with me. I will fucking break your
spine over my knee for fucking with me like this you little bastard!”
The Little Lion Man coughed and wiped his eyes off with the
arm of his leather jacket.
He said, “Weeeee-ill.”
He just stood there.
“She didn’t make it.”
He shook his head again, looking into my eyes.
“Katheena is dead. She didn't make it.”
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
.
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