Part 24
Two Nights Previous.
We’re barely in the door at Meaty Boyz when I hear behind us, “Hey! Dr. Filth! Nepotism Baldwin! What a coinkidink!” It’s the same chortlehead in a suit and tie that almost got me gutted at the party. I still don’t remember his name, and I’m in no mood to deal with him again.
"Bureaucraticus? Were you at the party too?” he asks, fighting through a crowd of sausage-hungry-hotties willing to trade bush for meat, or money, or even a place to stay if they can’t find their way home.If he knows Nepotism it won’t be long before all three of us are headed back to Nep’s for that blunt I’d like to smoke. I would not like to spend the rest of the night listening to this moron blather while I’m high.
“I’m not legally allowed to use that name any longer,” Nep says.
Douchebag pays no attention. “I didn’t even see you, dude.” He reaches us and shakes our hands in turn.
"We didn’t hang long,” Nepotism says, throwing me a sideways glance. “We got in some trouble. I didn’t get to finish my beer.”
“Fight?” he asks, still shaking my hand.
I wouldn’t mind. “Trouble,” I repeat.
“Doc, do you know Mephis Tyr?” Nepotism asks. Tyr is still shaking my hand. Will I have to do this again the next time we meet? “He found that girl that got murdered. The singer?”
"Becki Murphy," he says. The name is familiar, but I'm mostly drawing blank. I thought she died in a plane crash. He doesn't pause for discussion. “I’ve watched every episode of ‘The Unnatural,’” he says proudly. “I’ve been a fan since you were a superhero.” Still shaking.
“It’s never been confirmed...”
“Right, right, right,” said Mephis. “Your comics changed my life!”
“They weren’t very good” I say, extricating myself at last. “I didn’t see any until they were released. If you don’t mind, I came here for sausages.”
Mephis grabs my arm and draws me back. “Is all that shit true, dude? My favorite episode was the Last of the Dein. I even loved the one about the giant snails you said were eating geese in Metro City Park.”
I gently remove his hand and ask, “I don’t suppose you’ve bought a T-shirt? It’s really the only way I make money.”
Tyr throws his head back and laughs, clapping me on the back. “Oh, dude, that’s good. Great show though. What’s up with the Scrubbers?”
“Scrubbers,” I say, looking with longing at the short, fat man in red hat and apron behind the counter, sporting a fat, Super Mario moustache removing grey-brown sausages from a steaming vat and slapping them between the hotdog buns held out by a green-hatted Luigi, who passes them to waiting coeds in pink, beer-soaked shirts and middle-age secretaries with dyed hair and tube tops desperate to go down on a Polish sausage. The steam pans get scrubbed at the start of each month, need it or not. If Meaty Boyz doesn’t make you puke, you will certainly shit water in the morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment