STATE OF DRUGS AND TRUST
All
characters and events depicted herein are obviously fictitious. Any
resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
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| Skinny and the demon on his shoulder |
The facts?
The bald Half-Cursed she-Devil was
in deep. The Creature used her to suck government contracts. Real money. House
in fucking Texas. Everything in her son’s name – and the little wastrel never
did a day of fucking work in his whole worthless life.
The demon on Skinny’s shoulder
whispered: “You see how it’s done. All these years, you coulda been part of the
game. All these years you’re starving. Couyon.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” Skinny replied.
“At least I sleep at night.” But that wasn’t true. Skinny had been insomniac
for years. Couldn’t sleep til sunrise.
The Half-Cursed she-Devil who did so
much of The Creature’s dirty work had lost her visa too. Just like Creature and
Number One Wolf. How did that not come out last year when The Creature and his
Number One Wolf lost theirs?
Ah right, that happened later. A Christmas
gift from State. A clear message from Uncle Sam’s sister, Hilly McClean: Merry Christmas,
you bald bitch, hope you enjoy the holidays. Feel fully blessed. And fuck you three
hundred and sixty-five different ways. Your friend, Hilly McClean, next
president of the United States of Your Motherfucking Demise.
P.S. You sure is ugly. How did
anybody fuck you long enough to make you pregnant?
With the bald devil incarcerated in
her own island, Creature turned to the Slave who ran the corner shop downstairs
the lair, next to Cybercell. Somebody had to collect and drop off, right? Goods,
currency, whatever. The Slave was the new mule and messenger. Just earlier
today she screamed at Skinny:
“You a focking crackhead! Look at
you, you focking skeleton! I know don’t why these people troubling Creature.
What de man do you?” Skinny did not waste his words on her. He had really lost
a lot of weight. He really did look like a fucking zombie. Whole year, no job,
no money. Wife had to go back to her mother’s so the kids could eat. He was so
hungry, it hurt. He could hear the hiss of his stomach bleeding into his
intestines, eating itself to stay alive.
The Slave continued her rant. Skinny
felt bad for her. It was not her fault she was pathetic. She was born that way
and all her breeding only reinforced all the worst things about her. Skinny was
always at a loss to see the best in people like that, though. It was a weakness
that he was aware of. Some people just can’t be helped. They have to be left to
God. Or international law enforcement. Whichever came first.
“Wonder if they’re watching her
already,” he thought. “Probably not. She’s just a little balawoo. Small fish. Creature
himself will probably eat her alive before they get to her. With her big mouth,
she’d probably rat him out in a minute and a half.”
Tedz was the last point in the
triangle. Fucking Tedz. Shit. That guy had been so cool with Skinny over the
years. Passing him all kind of information that should never be spoken of.
Probably as insurance. Skinny wondered if he could negotiate for Tedz later.
Probably not. Tedz was in deep. He
took the money. He drank the blood. The chorus of a favorite song came to mind:
“You do it to yourself, you do. That’s what really hurts.” Radiohead was still
the best band in the world. If only the fucking Pixies and Bad Brains had just
stuck together. Yeah. If only Hendrix and Marley didn’t die. Sigh.
NEXT: Haiti - The New Frontier. And Who Is The Real Most Dangerous Man in The Caribbean
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| Legba Laughed |
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