The Return of The
By Michael D. Davis
“I will kill you slowly so
I can watch your eyes go dull with death. I will drain your blood into pots,
pans, cups, bowls … and other items of the like. I will strip the skin off your
body like I’m plucking the feathers off a chicken. I will make your meat into
savory jerky then go on a hike, I will walk into the woods up a hill over
another hill towards a mountain sustaining myself on the jerky I made from your
remains and the juice I mixed from your blood. There I will start fresh, form a
colony of people in which I will be elected ruler, your skull will be my
Count Whorton turned over
on the floor of the Quartertown jail cell. His head ringing with a hangover. He
looked at the old man talking who had Rip Van Winkle hair and wore a shabby
soiled suit. Count said, “Darwin, you’re my lawyer do you have to keep
threatening me with death?”
“Yes,” was the raggedy
Count sighed and peeled
himself from the floor. He stretched slightly, which helped slightly, however,
the crick in his neck was a lost cause. Leaving his left ear to lay on his
shoulder, Count sat down and asked Darwin for the time.
“For you it’s limited,”
said Darwin with his eyes gleaming with sinister intent and his cracked lips
parting to show his expensive dentures in a smile of dark delight. “For soon I
will begin the journey that will lead to your death.”
“Yeah, yeah, so what’s it
“The time at the tone will
“Oh, fuck that was like a
bullet goin’ through my brain. What are you tryin’ to do kill me?”
“Wait, its noon already? Where
the fuck’s Irma?”
Count wandered over to the
bars and motioned to an officer a ways away. The officer didn’t get up but
instead let out a groaned, “what?”
“Can you get me Miss Pinky
from the front desk?”
“I’m not here to get you
“Then can I make a phone
Count was walked over to a
phone on a wall with the officer hovering over him like an angered parent.
“This’ll just be a minute,” said Count dialing the phone. It was picked up
immediately. “Hello, Miss Pinky,” said Count talking into the receiver, “no,
I’m fine and you? Oh, that’s good. Hey, I got a favor to ask, I’m down here in
a cell…yup right in the building.” Count changed his voice some while saying, “the
call is coming from inside the house, yeah, yeah, anyways could you call Irma
for me I don’t know where she could be. I know usually she already knows I’m
here, but if you could call her I don’t remember numbers too good. What? Oh,
well its on fucking posters all around me. Okay, thanks see ya.”
Count hung up and turned
around to see the officer scowling at him. “What?” Count said.
“Very funny calling the
station from the station,” said the officer in a voice deeper than the
“Thank you, Lurch, and I
hope late tonight when you’re sitting alone in the dark getting ready for that
one laugh and smile you allow yourself each and every day you’re thinking of
what happened here.”
The officer grunted and led
Count back to his cell.
It wasn’t long after that
Count was sprung. He left Darwin spouting another death threat behind bars to
find Miss Pinky at the front desk talking to Kenny.
“What are you doing here?” was
Count’s greeting to the kid giant.
“I’m bailin’ you out, what
the fucks wrong with your neck?”
“Slept on it wrong, where’s
Kenny shrugged his
“I called,” said Miss
Pinky, “she didn’t answer. Maybe she’s off doin’ wedding preparations? Only two
days till the day.”
“Irma?” Said Count leaning
on the desk, “I don’t know? Technically you only need six things to get
hitched. First, you need a couple, two cake and booze, three, good flowers and
good music, four fancy-ass clothes, five family, and six church. And speaking
technical, all of those are optional except the cake and booze. All right, let’s
get out of here, Kenny and I’ll pay you back the bail.”
“Why? It’s your money.”
Kenny took an envelope out
of his pocket saying, “Irma gave me this envelope labeled Count’s bail money.
Told me to keep it and wait for the call.”
“Yeah,” said Miss Pinky, “I
got one too, I just figured you’d need a ride and I’m workin’ so I called
“I’ll be damned, well
Count squeezed in next to
Kenny in the big man’s little car and they started towards the apartment. It
was February 12th, two days before Valentine’s Day and two days
before the wedding. The roads were clear, but Quartertown was blanketed with
dirty snow filled with thirty-degree temperatures. Count flipped on the radio
where Six-fingered Sally was playing “Tainted Love” by Softcell.
“Fuck,” said Count after
they parked, “what the hell did you have the heat set at in that toy car of
“Well, shit its colder than
an Eskimo’s asshole out here.” As Kenny spoke the door of the bar that Count
lived above opened as people entered letting out an animal. The black-furred
thing sauntered along the sidewalk up to Count and Kenny. Upon noticing the beast’s
presence Kenny jumped back with a slight yelp. Count turned around just as
Kenny said, “What the hell is that thing?”
Count grinned crooked teeth
saying, “Don’t be a pussy, Kenny it’s just a dog. This little guy is King
Charlie Archibald. Found him awhile back in the alley. Took him to the vet, now
he’s usually either in the bar or upstairs with us.”
Kenny, staying back as
Count ushered the animal up the stairs to the apartment said, “Are you sure
that’s a dog?”
“Of course, although the vet
said he’d seen nothing like him before.”
As Count opened the inner
door to the apartment The King shot right inside. He ran across the apartment
through the open pocket doors into the office right up to Doctor Box who lay
unconscious on the floor.
“Fuck,” was all Count could
find to say as he looked about the wreckage of his home and office. Furniture
was overturned and broken as well as just thrown about. Quickly joining The
King at Doctor Box’s side, Count and Kenny looked over the little man who
didn’t seem to be bleeding. With a little shake and The King’s sloppy tongue on
his face, Doctor Box was soon aroused.
Kenny flipped the couch
back right side up and laid Doctor Box down.
“Are you alright? What
happened?” Were the questions slipping off Kenny and Count’s tongues.
“My head hurts excruciatingly
and I’m not sure. I came in, saw the place was a wreck and Irma…”
“What about Irma?” Count
“She was tied up, then
everything went black.”
Count moved away from the
couch, his hands were on the side of his face and he repeated, “no,” over and
over again. Kenny put his hand on counts shoulder saying, “It’ll be alright,
she’ll be alright.”
Shrugging off Kenny’s hand
Count said, “Take care of him, I’ll be back in a minute.” Then he went out the
door and down the steps, The King on his heels.
The bar below Count’s
apartment had changed names and owners multiple times over the years. It was
currently called The Toe Tap Bar and Grill, and it had a good-sized crowd when
Count stepped in.
When the bartender saw him,
he automatically put a full glass on the table. Count emptied it in one
swallow, then turned to face the room and said at the top of his lungs, “I’m
gonna need every dumb ugly son of a bitch’s attention in this place.”
There were grumbles and
swears as a sea of eyes turned reluctantly towards him.
“Good,” Count said, “I need
to know has anyone seen Irma today?”
“Who’s that? Your mother?”
Came a voice towards the back.
“Listen up, you alcoholic
pea-brain fuckers, some of you may not know who I’m talkin’ about, but I know a
lot of you do. I need to know about Irma. Have you seen her today? Talked to
her? Was she here? Upstairs? Outside? I mean did you glance out the window and
see her walk by? Or were you all too busy watchin’ your fuckin’ ice cubes
“Yeah, I seen her,” said a blurry-eyed
man at the end of the bar. Count knew him to be a regular, but couldn’t
remember his name. The man looked like he’d played in the mud as a boy and
hadn’t taken a bath since. Count went up to his stool.
“Where’d you see her?”
“What’s in it for me?”
asked the man slurping his drink.
“I’ll tell ya if ya give me
a little inspiration if ya know what I mean.”
Count Whorton was never a
man of violence, but he was even less a man of money. With his last nerve
losing the battle to hold on Count grabbed the man by the throat and shoulder
pushing him backwards. With a high-pitched yelp, the drunk was thrown off his
barstool landing hard on the floor. Count stood over him as The King growled.
“Tell me where you saw
her,” Count said.
“Outside… she got into
Rick’s car. She’s a pay-for whore ain’t she?”
Count kicked him hard in
the crotch then turned around to the bartender saying, “Who the fuck's Rick?”
He’d been gone more than
just a minute, but when he came back through the apartment door, he had a few
“What the fuck’s goin’ on?” Kenny said.
“Irma’s in trouble, we need
to go now, we’ll drop off Doc Box at the hospital on the way.”
“Not necessary,” said
Doctor Box getting up from the couch, “I’m fine, it’s just a knock on the
Count wasn’t going to stop
and argue with him so he just said, “Fine, let’s go.”
They were rolling away from
the curb as the man from the bar came out the door screaming obscenities with
one hand on his crotch and the other making rude gestures. Before the door to
the bar could close The King slipped out running away from where Count had left
him and going right up to the drunk growling and barking.
Kenny’s car stopped half in
and out of its parking space, the passenger’s side door opened and Count
yelled, “King.” The ghoulish looking dog stopped growling, ran over to the car
and jumped up onto Count’s lap.
Kenny started driving again
saying, “Who the fuck was that guy?”
“Beats the hell outta me,”
said Count, “now head to Dotty’s.”
“Fine, but can you fill us
in on what the hell is going on?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m gettin’ to
it, keep your flip flops wet. A customer back there at the bar kindly offered
up some information sayin’ he’d seen Irma get in a car, black Chevy, with a man
named Rick. Bartender said this Rick has been hangin’ around a lot the last
couple weeks. Said he was a nice guy, a real ladykiller. He thought good’ol’Rick
asked about the people upstairs, but he wasn’t sure. I asked just what Rick
looked like and I got a pretty good description which made a few wires connect.
Bartender said he was dark-skinned, tall, good shape, looked damn near like a
movie star. That’s when it hit me… Rick is Brick.”
“What the fuck does that
mean?” said Kenny taking his eyes off the road.
“Who’s Brick?” asked Doc
Box from the back seat.
“Brick, is Brick Side,
“What?” Kenny swerved in
“I didn’t know Irma’s been
married,” said Doc Box, “and the man must be a complete idiot using Rick as an
alias for the name Brick.”
“No, he’s no idiot. The
bastard has used dozens of different names, fuck he goes into the shitter as
Jeff and comes out as George. He used Rick on purpose, he wanted Irma or me to
know he was there.”
“You sure it’s him, Count
and not a coincidence?”
Count reached into his coat
pocket and took out an old wallet that held three wrinkled one-dollar bills.
Beside the money was a folded yellowed newspaper article. He took it out then
handed it back to Doc Box. The headline read, “Man Suspected of Local Area
Murder”. There was a picture between the text of a dark-skinned handsome man.
“That picture’s a few years
old, but when I showed it to the bartender, he recognized him right off. I know
what I’m talkin’ about. She was born Irma Elsa Lanchester, she had a rough
childhood then, she met him when she was in her twenties, and she thought she
was in love. Or at least she did before he started beating her senseless, but
by then she was trapped. Married and living with him. They stayed like that for
years—he bruised her, scarred her, broke her, nearly killed her a few times.”
Kenny parked out front of
Dynamite Dotty’s and said, “I can’t believe Irma went through that or didn’t
stop it, she’s so strong.”
“Every superhero has their
weakness,” said Count, “she wasn’t able to stop it. Finally, she got out with
not much more than the clothes on her back. Irma bounced around, hiding,
getting a divorce without ever seeing him. Then she found herself in
Quartertown going through some bad times, she became a prostitute. That’s when
she moved in across the alley.”
As the three of them walked
into Dynamite Dotty’s, Count addressed the bartender saying, “Could you get me
somethin’ to soothe my streptococcus de fungily throat, Rita Haywart?”
A chunky man with a long
beard and exquisite eye makeup turned around saying, “It’s WARP. My name’s
Rita Haywarp, legally and all, you hunchbacked asshole.”
Count had his drink down
practically before Rita was done pouring it, then asked, “Dotty in back?”
“She ain’t out front, is she?
So, she must be.”
“Yeah, yeah, Haywart,”
Count started to walk away then turned back. “There been a man named Rick
“I don’t know.”
“Here,” said Doc Box
handing Count the newspaper article. Rita glanced at the picture and scratched
at her beard. Then said, “Oh, I do happen to recognize that beauty.”
“Beauty? Ya didn’t read the
headline did ya, Rita?” Count said.
“I did, but often the more
rotten the core the sweeter the surface. Never see a picture of Ted Bundy? Talk
“Alright, where you see
“Here, of course, he’s
maybe come in once or twice in the last few weeks. A smooth talker, again
“He took Irma,” said Count
before walking away. Kenny followed him to Dotty’s back office as Doc Box
stayed upfront asking Rita for some pain meds.
Dotty sat behind her desk
and when she saw Count said, “Aw fuck. If this is another thing about your damn
Valentine’s Day wedding here you can go to hell. Valentine’s is a big fucking
day for this place and like a big fucking idiot, I’m shuttin’ it down all day
for you two’s. So, be happy with what you fuckin’ get and why the hell ain’t
Irma with ya? I texted her just a minute ago and got nothin’ back.”
Count stood in front of
Dotty’s desk listening quietly, then said, “Can I speak now? Brick Side took
Dotty stood up. “What?
Where’d he take her?”
“The zoo, they’re pettin’
“I don’t know where they
are, but I’m gonna find out and I’m gonna need a gun.”
“Because when I find him
I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna put that ladykiller right in the ground.”
“Fuck, very 80’s straight
to VHS action hero, Count,” said Dotty looking into Count’s dark-ringed bleary
eyes, “but bullshit. I give you a gun and you’ll blow your foot off like a
drunken version of Don Knotts in ‘The Shakiest Gun in The West’. I’ll hold the
fuckin’ pea shooter, and I’ll fuckin’ drive. You drain the booze out of your
brain and figure out where that fucker took her.”
“Fine, we need to attack this
at all angles. We need to call Miss Pinky, even that ass Klunkel to get the
blue boys on it. APB and whatever. I got a tech wizard I know that can try to
track Irmie’s phone. Kenny, I want you to take Doc over to the paper, go
through the files, see if they have anything on Brick Side, everything is
useful. Dotty, I want you to talk to all of your regulars, your employees,
everyone. The son of a bitch has been following us at a distance, Rita out
there said he’d been here. So, see if he slipped up, said the smallest thing
that could lead to the location. Brick’s a smart asshole so, he’s had this
planned. He knew where he was gonna take her.”
Count paused, he had to
catch his breath after having such a lucid moment. The silence was soon broken
by the song “Beth” by Kiss coming out of Dotty’s cell phone on her desk. She
picked it up, looked at it, then turned back to Count saying, “It’s a text from
Irma’s cell. Just says ‘Hotel Hinchley’.”
“Okay,” Count said nodding,
“fuck everything I just said, let’s go get Irma.”
“Wait,” said Kenny still
standing in the doorway, “it could be a trap or somethin’.”
“Doubtful, Brick already
has what he wants, Irma. There’s nothin’ I could give him. Plus, if it is a trap,
I’ll have you guys to help me get outta the snare.”
Dotty grabbed her revolver
and the pump shotgun that stayed behind the bar. Kenny got his bat from the
trunk of his car
and they all met at the garage beside the club. Dotty hit the button that
rolled up the door revealing her fire red 60’s Oldsmobile nighty-eight four-door.
They quickly got in the big boat of a car including The King who sat in the
back seat between Kenny and Doc. Dotty hadn’t noticed the creature until it was
scrambling up onto the bench seat. Count’s only explanation was, “Don’t worry—he’s
When Dotty turned the key,
the radio came on rivaling the roar of the engine and Six-fingered Sally
introduced the next song. “This is an old one,” she said, “The Shangri-Las with
‘Leader of the Pack’, enjoy this classic, wherever you are, wherever you’re
going.” As the music started, they were already out on the road and soon out of
destination was in the next county. Just twenty miles southeast out of Quartertown
and you hit Hinchley Haddon. Officially two
towns, one of them the county seat, but they sat so close together most referred
to them as one. Dotty sped down the highway towards the two towns. The
Oldsmobile flew over the Iowa river and zoomed past the Meskwaki Settlement
right into the town limits.
Only Count had been to the
Hotel Hinchley before so he gave directions to the old building uptown. It was
still called hotel, but years before had been converted to apartments, it had
obviously seen better days.
“Black Chevy out front,”
said Count as they parked, “they’re here.”
“What’s the plan?” Dotty said.
“I’ll go in the front with
Kenny following behind. You make a loop of the building see if you see
anything. Doc will stay in the car, he’s not in the best shape anyway. If
things go bad he can either get help or keep the car running.”
“Seems like the best plan
to get us killed, let’s go,” said Dotty getting out of the car.
As Count and Kenny went up
the stairs into the old hotel, Dotty slipped around the side. Stepping in the
empty lobby Count realized The King was right on his heels, coming with him.
“What now?” said Kenny
ready with his bat.
“I guess we start knockin’
The first apartment they
came to was dark and empty, so was the second. The third door was opened by a
man with thick glasses wearing not much more than boxers.
“Have you seen a good
lookin’ man holdin’ a woman against her will?” asked Count.
“Huh?” Was the man’s reply.
Count dug out the old news
article again and showed the man the picture.
“Yeah, I think I know him.
Why you askin’?”
“What apartment’s he in?”
“You a cop or somethin’?”
Kenny stepped from around
the corner and said to the man in the boxer shorts, “Or somethin’.”
“Fine, put Baby Huey away,
second floor on your left.”
“Thanks,” said Count
starting to walk away.
“Hey, hunchback, you can’t
have dogs in here.”
“He’s a service animal.”
“Oh, yeah, what service?”
Count turned back to the
man and said through clenched crooked yellow teeth, “Military, the pooch served
Boxer’s swore and slammed
Standing at the top of the
second floor Count loomed in front of the door that he hoped Irma was behind.
Kenny stood quietly a few feet away, out of sight; his grip tight on the bat.
Count knocked and waited, there wasn’t any movement inside, no one came to the
door. He knocked, again and again, there was no response.
He tried the knob; the door
was unlocked. Count walked in the apartment and was shot.
pause here. I know what you’re thinking, “This bastard just shot the main
character. How could he? I love the odd, strange looking, always drinking,
Count Whorton, and now this son of a bitch killed him off! What the fuck?” Well,
untwist your knickers because I’m not done with this story you dumb pot-lickers.
Now, we need to rewind a little, to no more than twenty minutes earlier in the
Hotel Hinchley. As Count was talking to Rita Haywarp at Dynamite Dotty’s,
twenty miles away in the second-floor apartment Irma was sitting on a ratty old
couch, her hands zip-tied, her mouth gagged, and a gun in her face.
On a folding chair a few
feet in front of her Brick said to Irma, “Now, I am going to be taking the gag
out. I hope you will have learned by now that screaming will only bring you
pain. I do not want that at all, I love you my darling, always have, always
He reached forward, leaving
the gun on his thigh, carefully untying her gag. When it was off Irma moved her
jaw slightly trying to ease the pain. Two large bruises were already forming on
“Now,” Brick said leaning
back in his chair, “may we speak civilly?”
“Why don’t you go fuck
yourself to death.”
Brick clenched his teeth
then took out a pocket knife. Leaning forward he lifted Irma’s shirt and sliced
“Let’s try again, start fresh
if we can. It seems like your days on the streets have certainly soiled you.”
“Yeah, it did. I’m not the
same fucking Irma I was when I was bein’ beatin’ by you. You don’t want this
dirty, old nasty woman so just get the fuck outta here.”
“Oh, now don’t say that. I
am sure my Irma is still in there, deep down. I will just have to carve away
the disgusting parts like a sculptor.”
Irma smiled slightly
saying, “You’d be carvin’ away an awful lot.”
“You’re worth it.”
“You know Brick, I’m
gettin’ married again. To a man I love, a man that doesn’t need to carve me
“That ugly thing to which
you refer could use some carving of his own… a lot of carving.”
“So, what are you gonna
carve away, Brick? My job and the horrible things you think I’ve done?”
“Are you speaking of being a whore?”
“I say prostitute or hooker
and I wouldn’t trade a day of it. I met Count through it and I learned a lot
from it. Like one of my first regular clients, said he was an ex-navy seal, not
that I believe him. Into bondage, that man was, tied me up every way he could
think of, and each time he taught me how to get out of it.”
Irma lifted her tied hands
behind her then brought them down hard on her lower back breaking the plastic
binds. Before Brick could move Irma was off the couch. She punched him in the
face once and then again causing him to fall off his folding chair. She picked
the pocket knife off the floor and stabbed Brick in the leg repeatedly until he
hit her hard in the head causing her to fall backwards.
Getting up from the floor,
his leg bleeding profusely, the little knife still stuck in his thigh, Brick
went for the gun. Irma saw him and kicked it away, causing it to slide across
the floor into the open door of the bathroom. He again lurched for it, Irma put
her shoulder into him from behind throwing him to the ground. Then quickly she
got around him and to the gun. As she turned back to the room, gun ready, Brick
was out the door. He slammed it behind him, then said from the other side, “Old
building this is. The door here is your only exit and I’ll be here waiting.
I’ve got the pocket knife here and I’ve done worse with smaller items.”
Irma went around the room,
finally finding her cell phone in one of his bags. The battery symbol was
flashing red. She quickly sent a text before it died. Accidentally, a response
to her last text received. She looked for another phone, but there was only the
landline and he’d cut the wire. So, she sat the folding chair in the corner,
held the gun ready, and watched the door. Someone had to show up eventually,
anyone, and if it was him coming through the door, she’d shoot him dead.
Irma sat quietly, waiting,
as he constantly spoke through the door. He wouldn’t shut up, wouldn’t stop
saying such vile things. Then he was suddenly silent. There were footsteps
outside and then a knock. She knew it was Brick, it had to be. He was playing
her, a sick game. There was another knock, Irma started to breathe heavily. The
knob started to turn and she tensed. When the door opened Irma saw a man step
in so she shot him.
When the bullet hit Count,
he fell to the floor having said the strange spur of the moment obscenity of, “Fuck
Upon hearing the odd shout,
Irma knew instantly what she’d done and ran to the bleeding Count, The King
already by his side.
“Oh, God Countie, are you
alright? Are you okay I’m so sorry?”
“I think you just got me in
the arm, I’ll be alright. How are you? I’ve been worried sick.”
Before she could answer
there came a noise from the far end of the hall. Kenny who had been standing in
the door looking at the bleeding Count turned to see Brick Side. He was
watching everything from behind an open door.
Kenny started down the hall
and Brick limped out from behind the door. The little knife in his hand. “Let
me warn you, big boy,” he said looking up at Kenny, “I’ve hurt a lot bigger
“Just shut up,” said Kenny
as he swung his bat. Brick ducked the swing and the bat made a dent in the
wall. Stepping forward Brick slashed at Kenny’s arm and hand making him drop
his bat and pissing him off. Kenny pounced forward onto Brick. The two men
stumbled and crashed through the second-floor window. They fell onto the tin
roof of the shed beneath, then onto the ground.
Dotty came rushing around
the building just as Kenny was getting up.
“What the fuck,” she said,
He cracked his neck and
said, “Yeah, just a few scratches.”
“Not just scratches,” Dotty
pointed at the pocket knife now sticking out of his shoulder. “You want me to
pull that out for ya big guy?”
“Naw, that will just make
it bleed more, leave it in.”
Brick started to stand up
until Dotty pointed the shotgun at him and told him to remain seated. Sirens
were whistling in the distance.
Two days later in front of
a sizable group of unconventional people in Dynamite Dotty’s club Count and
Irma were married. Count with his right arm in a sling said, “Irma, when I
first saw ya cupid shot me with his arrow, which didn’t hurt as bad as when you
shot me the other day. Everyone here, or in the state, can agree I’m a better
drinker than detective which isn’t sayin’ much. But with you as my partner, I
get better every day. And I know you’ve been to hell and back a time or two,
I’ve been to hell and back a time or two, but now with you by my side, I’ll be
happy to go to hell because with you there, it will be heaven. I love you so
much Irmie; down to the bloody
They exchanged question
mark rings, made supposedly of gold as they’d been acquired in an unusual
fashion. Mother Whorton sat in the first row, her eyes tearing up during the
ceremony. Afterward, she congratulated Irma and hugged her before saying, “I
hope you know what you got yourself into, my boys a moron.”
As the evening wore on the
music kept things going. A few different acts from the club played, a woman
dressed as Elvis Presley did “Can’t Help Falling in Love”. While later on a
golden-voiced drag queen sang The Searchers song “Love Potion No. Nine”.
A while later Irma found
Count in the alley out back smoking a bent cigarette. “Everythin’ okay,” she
said taking his cigarette.
“For me, it couldn’t be
better. I was just thinkin’ we just got hitched on the cheap, with these
probably stolen question mark rings, and there isn’t any way we can go on any
honeymoon. Unless you want to spend a few hours in a yellow mattress motel
across town because I think I might be able to swing that.”
“Countie,” Irma said, “shut
the fuck up. I love our rings, I loved our wedding, and I love you. Honeymoons
are for assholes. What I want is to just sit at home with you or even better
have someone come in the office tomorrow with a suspiciously dead grandma.
That’s what I want.”
“Yeah, now let’s get back
inside, it’s colder than a witches titty out here.”
“You’d know,” said Count
making Irma laugh in that screechy fashion of hers, “did you see Klunkel
dancing with that drag queen? I can’t believe he crashed our wedding.”
“I invited him,” said Irma
going in the back door.
Count Whorton following his
bride said, “Why the hell you do that? He’s an ass and a bad dancer. He kept
stepping on the drag queen’s toes.”
Darwin stood in front of
the judge in a clean suit with dirty wild hair and said, “This is obviously a
cut and dry case of temporary insanity. He had just learned his fiancée had
been abducted, he was out of control with emotion, obviously not responsible
for the so-called victim losing a testicle.”
As the prosecutor spoke
Darwin leaned over to Count and whispered, “One of these days I’ll cut your
throat and use the skin of your ass to make little flags that I’ll stick in my
“Yeah, whatever,” said
Count dismissing him, “you’re doin’ a hell of a job today. Keep it up.” Count
gave a smile, Darwin smiled back then returned to paying attention in court.