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Friday, July 13, 2012

Weekend At Willies Walkin Killings Pt. 13 Requiem For A Friend


Bryan wanted his first taste of freedom outside of his tomb to be the best ever.  He would have it.  Gawdamn it he would.


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.



Amen/tahoo.   Food.


He'd also bought some ointment and Band Aids for his cuts.  These he gave to Tellesco for his foot.


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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