La Fleur Du Mal CH 8 WHERE WOLVES

[The Urbane Spaceman]

“Why are you tying my hands behind my back?!”

“Shhh. This won’t take us long.”




“You said you won’t hurt me!”


“We won’t, if you tell me where all of our stuff is. Give me an address. Give me the real address. We will go straight there to check it out. If it is good, then we will leave you all alone. All three of you.”



“How can I trust you?”

“Trust? You speak of trust! There is no trust anymore. You lost that when you stole our shit. It’s an offer. It’s the only thing you have left.”



“Fuck.”

“Yes. Kinda fucked up your own path there, huh. World of shit about to come down on you. Do you know how to swim with a bag over your head, and your hands tied behind your back? You could drown in the desert.”




The other two released their own urine. Then they agreed, like proper gentlemen should do in a time such as this. They agreed to our terms, in loud voices.







La Fleur Du Mal CH 8 WHERE WOLVES



Jerry said, “I’ll paint them up. But you guys need to put something down in the back of my ride. I don’t want their shit all over everything back there.”



I looked at Joey. He said, “Hey, don’t look at me Urb. You fuckers already stole my pillow cases.”

I said, “Joseph. I don’t own linens. I’m not fancy like you. Fuck using my mattress. How about your bed sheets?”


Joey made a growling sound.

Then his eyes went big. He said, “Hold on a minute.” He ran back into his lair, and came back out with a large black plastic bag and a pair of scissors. Never run with scissors.



I said, “Is that the bag form your fancy suits?”

He nodded. He said, “I’ll open it up. We can put them on this.”


The giant punk rocker nodded. He said, “That’ll work. I’ll paint them. It would be my honor.”



Huh. How about that. The honor of painting swastikas with human feces. Whatever. He seemed to enjoy it.


Of course, we would have to throw out the shirt he used. That was Joey’s shirt. He stole it form Joey when he wasn’t looking. Joey was chugging hobo wine by the fridge and smoking furiously, as if cigarettes were suddenly illegal. Hey, don’t raise your eyebrows. That will happen someday. Weed will become legal at that time. Then no one will remember cigs. Damn the laws against the freedom of combustion.



*ahem*



Joey snipped the huge, heavy mil bag and spread it inside the rear of the smashed up hearse. It fit quite well.


Jerry waited for the feces to dry on the chests and backs of our dinner party guests. He carried each on out like they were a baby, and placed them gently in to the rear of the vehicle.



He said to each one: “No one will help you if you yell. The police will not come here. This shit happens here all the time. You picked the wrong home to pilfer. Now be cool. You will be left alone, and that is true. It could have, it should have ended badly for you assholes right now.”



Of course, they grasped on their last straws. You see, we had given them Hope. That is the most evil thing to do. You offer hope as a tool in order to do something even worse to them. However, maybe you should not steal in the first place? That’s always a good thing to practice. Never enter another person’s shitty abode and take what little they have.


Especially when they have nothing left to lose.



We loaded up with our weapons and our booze. We were going to visit their own shitty abode. This would be interesting.






Where are we going? Where are we headed? What is this? What will happen? Where are we going? Where are we headed? What is this? What will happen? Where are we going? Where are we headed? What is this? What will happen? Where are we going? Where are we headed? What is this? What will happen?



The address was correct. The giant punk rocker (with the dusty, dirty purple Mohawk that clung to his sweaty neck like a fancy fur rabbit) turned off his headlamps as we neared this place. It was another shit hole, but a different kind. It was a warehouse.


I said this to everyone. “Shhhhh.”


I chugged form my bottle of black rum and set it back down. I said to Jerry, “Leave the motor running. I’ll go scope it out.”



Fortified by Drunkard Courage, I staggered quietly over to the large place. Jerry left his big engine purring like a kitty cat. I did not know what I was doing, but I knew what I was doing.


All of the windows had no light. Some were busted, so I put my hand in to feel the air. I touched heavy black plastic, the same thing as them boys were lying on top, in the back of the hearse.


It was blacked out. The whole building.


I understood. This was a depot. This was a big place for stolen things. There would be people inside. If I knocked on the front door and shouted, “Hello?” then it would end very badly.


Bastards had used their last straw of Hope as their rescue ticket. Very smart. It pissed me off. It made me very angry. But I held it in. I growled and slunk back to the hearse and climbed in.


Jerry said, “No?”

I said, “Yes, but not now. Drive.”


Jerry nodded, and he eased away form the curbside and we rumbled away into the night at a slow speed.


Once we were away from there, I turned back to them assholes in the rear of the death mobile. I said, “So. You bought us to where our stolen things are. You were honest. This is true. However, you showed us danger. This is a dangerous place. If we went inside, who would we meet?”



From the rear, the most important bag head said, “We had a deal! You wanted an address for your things. We gave it to you! Don’t hurt us!”


Joey roared like a little lion. He said, “Did you think you could do this to us?!”



From the rear, there came some whimpering. Another one of those bag heads said, “Please mister, I have small children!”

Joey laughed. He said, “Is that what you call your tiny balls?”



I took another pull form my black rum and sparked up a cig. I blew the smoke back there.
I said, “Well, no one will die tonight, by our hands. This is true. We will leave you all alone. SO, where is your own place?”



The last bag head told us, and that was our next destination. We drove and smoked and shmoked and drank, and we finally arrived.


It was getting pretty late, but also, pretty early. The stars began to fade a bit in the east, beyond the mountain range of the huge desert river valley, the ancient Sans Joking River. Everything was based upon dry mud and hard pan sediment of lost souls.



This place of theirs, their true home, was as shitty as our own, me and Joey.

Except that they had more stuff than we did anymore.

Jerry nodded. This meant that we would come back.



That was when we drove down to the asshole of Fuckno, and we dropped them off at the crossroads.



Mission chapel on one corner, and whorehouses all about.


The big fat punk rocker placed them on the pavement in the middle of the crossroads. He did not want to ruin his artwork. He did not want to smudge the swastikas on they chest and backs. Their own shit was drying out.


The first bag said, “Where are we? You said you wouldn’t hurt us! Where are we?”


Joey reached down and made certain that the pillows were still tied tight around the back of their necks. He said, “We will not hurt you. You are free. One of you will have your hands cut free.” He pulled out the scissors.


He said, “Which one?”

All three bag heads shouted, “Me! Me! Me!?”



Joey chuckled and took a long guzzle form his bottle of cheap wine. He smashed it into the street like a thirsty drunk dude. That was proper. With all of the shouting and broken glass, lights came on. Probably pimps and madams awakening to protect their investments. That is how you do it, in any business, any trade.



Joey said, “Give me your names.”

*names have been changed to protect the innocent. These are made up names*


“I’m known as the Oett!”

“I am an oldsmartskunk!”

“I am willies!”



Joey said, “Let’s go reverse alphabetic. willies, you will be free first. You can untie the others.”





Joey snipped the bonds free, and willies ran away.


Joey said, “Well, how about that? That guy just bailed on you. Huh. How about that?”


That was when Jerry, the fat punk rocker, he honked his horn. I climbed back in the death mobile and he squealed his heavy, thick tires. He tried to spin donuts in the street, but it was so heavy it would not do that. Kind of embarrassing. So, he took one their pistols and fired it into the air. He emptied the shitty Saturday Night Special. Yeah, that woke fuckers up in the whole area.



We settled in for the ride back to the home of those interesting bastards who had made the evening a lovely time.


Tomorrow was now happening, as the sky became bruised; smudging from black into deep violet. It was another day in the life of Fuckno.





---Urb out.




.

[oettinger]

You offer hope as a tool in order to do something even worse to them.

Say Urb are you somehow a politician?

Also do cigs expire? If I was rich I would stock up on them. They also get more n more expensive. Same goes for fuel, just bury a tanker trailer in your backyard.

[mistah willies]

Wait, did he just call me a coward? Bastard. I'm sensitive about that