this? Some sort of shakedown or something? Some kind of fucking threat?” The man still has hold of his collar and yells at him so closely that if one of the boils on his face were to pop, Reynold would catch most of the buckshot.
Reynold tries several times to open his eye, but fear won’t allow him to look the man in the face. “I have no facking idea what you’re talking about! We just need some firepower, that’s all. We came here to ask for your help.”
The man loosens his grasp on his collar. “You say that’s Fat Pete in your bag there, eh?” Reynold nods his head. “How the fuck did he end up like that?”
Reynold furrows his brow and chews on his bottom lip, struggling to come up with an answer that doesn’t make him seem completely psychotic. “Um . . . shit happens?” he says, as if it were a question rather than an answer.
The man bursts into laughter. “Shit happens, eh?! Okay, okay . . .” Reynold laughs along, nervously. The man wipes a tear from his eye, spins, and quickly delivers a roundhouse kick to Reynold’s face. Reynold loses his balance and topples backwards into a recliner, which then flips over onto the floor.
“ What the hell, man!” Reynold yells. “What the fack are you doing?”
“ I’ll tell you what I’m doing . . .” the man says, popping the top off an orange plastic medicine container. “I’m just getting started. That’s what I’m doing.” He puts the bottle up to his lips and throws his head back. He chews a mouthful of tiny pink pills and tosses the container aside. The powder turns to paste in his mouth, sticking to the enamel of his teeth, before he finally swallows it down. Reynold scrambles to his feet, but is soon pinned against the floor by the boil-faced man.
The man fastens Reynold to the recliner with a roll of duct tape, stands, and then begins to stagger around. The meds are rapidly taking hold.
“ Y-you f-fucking . . . j-just w-wait h-here,” the man barely manages to say before leaving the room in a drunken stupor.
“ Pete! Hey, Pete—what the fack is going on, man?” Reynold yells. “I thought this bloke was a friend of yours?”
“ Friend? Now what ever gave you that impression?” Pete says from across the room. “Brenner? Naw, man—he’s definitely no friend. I said I used to make deliveries for him. Which I did—well, once, anyway. The bastich nearly stabbed out my eye with a goddamn ink pen!”
Reynold’s eye opens as wide as a ping pong ball. “Then why the fack did we even come here in the first place?! Are you insane?!”
Pete sighs. “Fuck man, are you really that daft? I fucking set you up! I mean, think about it. Why in the hell would I help you find your fucking brother?! The two of you murdered and hacked up my ass just to keep your shitty business going! I wish I was able to have had this done sooner, but do you know how hard it is for someone in my condition to set someone up? REALLY FUCKING HARD!” Pete laughs. “Shits like you and Divey always get what’s coming to you. It’s just the way of the world.”
Reynold tries his best to position his head in a way where he can see Pete. “This ain’t the end, Pete!” he yells. “Whenever I get out of ’ere, and I will get out of ’ere, I’m going to facking slow roast your ass out under the hot desert sun! Fack brackfas burritos! Divey and I will be selling facking brackfas jerky!”
“ Breakfast jerky? There is no such thing as breakfast jerky!”
“ And that’s precisely why it’s such a brilliant facking idea! We’ll make millions of yen . . . a day!”
“ You’ll make nothing.”
“ Millions.”
“ No, you’ll make nothing, Rey, and I’ll tell you why—any goddamn minute now Brenner is gonna come in through that doorway and cut so many assholes in you that you’re not gonna know which way to sit!”
“ Shit, Pete, the guy barely made it out of the room. I don’t see him coming back any time soon. As soon as I
Reynold tries several times to open his eye, but fear won’t allow him to look the man in the face. “I have no facking idea what you’re talking about! We just need some firepower, that’s all. We came here to ask for your help.”
The man loosens his grasp on his collar. “You say that’s Fat Pete in your bag there, eh?” Reynold nods his head. “How the fuck did he end up like that?”
Reynold furrows his brow and chews on his bottom lip, struggling to come up with an answer that doesn’t make him seem completely psychotic. “Um . . . shit happens?” he says, as if it were a question rather than an answer.
The man bursts into laughter. “Shit happens, eh?! Okay, okay . . .” Reynold laughs along, nervously. The man wipes a tear from his eye, spins, and quickly delivers a roundhouse kick to Reynold’s face. Reynold loses his balance and topples backwards into a recliner, which then flips over onto the floor.
“ What the hell, man!” Reynold yells. “What the fack are you doing?”
“ I’ll tell you what I’m doing . . .” the man says, popping the top off an orange plastic medicine container. “I’m just getting started. That’s what I’m doing.” He puts the bottle up to his lips and throws his head back. He chews a mouthful of tiny pink pills and tosses the container aside. The powder turns to paste in his mouth, sticking to the enamel of his teeth, before he finally swallows it down. Reynold scrambles to his feet, but is soon pinned against the floor by the boil-faced man.
The man fastens Reynold to the recliner with a roll of duct tape, stands, and then begins to stagger around. The meds are rapidly taking hold.
“ Y-you f-fucking . . . j-just w-wait h-here,” the man barely manages to say before leaving the room in a drunken stupor.
“ Pete! Hey, Pete—what the fack is going on, man?” Reynold yells. “I thought this bloke was a friend of yours?”
“ Friend? Now what ever gave you that impression?” Pete says from across the room. “Brenner? Naw, man—he’s definitely no friend. I said I used to make deliveries for him. Which I did—well, once, anyway. The bastich nearly stabbed out my eye with a goddamn ink pen!”
Reynold’s eye opens as wide as a ping pong ball. “Then why the fack did we even come here in the first place?! Are you insane?!”
Pete sighs. “Fuck man, are you really that daft? I fucking set you up! I mean, think about it. Why in the hell would I help you find your fucking brother?! The two of you murdered and hacked up my ass just to keep your shitty business going! I wish I was able to have had this done sooner, but do you know how hard it is for someone in my condition to set someone up? REALLY FUCKING HARD!” Pete laughs. “Shits like you and Divey always get what’s coming to you. It’s just the way of the world.”
Reynold tries his best to position his head in a way where he can see Pete. “This ain’t the end, Pete!” he yells. “Whenever I get out of ’ere, and I will get out of ’ere, I’m going to facking slow roast your ass out under the hot desert sun! Fack brackfas burritos! Divey and I will be selling facking brackfas jerky!”
“ Breakfast jerky? There is no such thing as breakfast jerky!”
“ And that’s precisely why it’s such a brilliant facking idea! We’ll make millions of yen . . . a day!”
“ You’ll make nothing.”
“ Millions.”
“ No, you’ll make nothing, Rey, and I’ll tell you why—any goddamn minute now Brenner is gonna come in through that doorway and cut so many assholes in you that you’re not gonna know which way to sit!”
“ Shit, Pete, the guy barely made it out of the room. I don’t see him coming back any time soon. As soon as I
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