cigars? check
Flask crankin' out 13 oz. of 101 proof? right pocket
wrist band admitting one to an open bar and an arcade of free video games? left hand, beeyatch
sub-zero's fatalities memorized (MK 3)? bl, bl, run, bl, run; b,b,d,f, run
free ride on the bus because portland rocks? i'm in the back with my peeps, talkin' about the time i saw this guy grope this chick's boob on this very bus
meanwhile, somewhere downtown...
tear gas? hell yeah
see-through shield? don't leave home without it
riot shotgun? cocked, locked, & loaded
ATV? why the eff not
now we are all downtown with a healthy buzz going, thanks to a six packs worth of irish car bombs chased with irish coffees
i start lighting up the competition one ice projectile at a time when i realized i had overlooked something on the list...
girlfriend?
uh...
er...
...shit
turns out portland's finest beat me to the punch and were not too happy with her because of some pork-product line she dropped without making sure the oinkers were out of earshot. i approached as they grabbed her purse and the bottle of K clinked and tinked out of her purse onto the ground.
i spent the next second assessing the situation
i had the element of surprise
they had me on numbers (3 to 1, plus the radio)
they had me utterly out gunned (3 9mms, two shotguns, 3 cartridges of tear gas, 3 tasers, 3 billy clubs; all i have is my lucky shuriken)
lucky for me i'm good with a shuriken...
to make a long story short, i was able to hit victim one with enough finesse to angle the blood splatter right into victim number 2's cornea, buying elizabeth enough time to bite a hole in the porkchop's windpipe.
i was still half a second out from number 3 and he already had his pistol holster unclipped. if he's a rookie it'll take him another 1.5 to draw and anywhere between 1 and 4 seconds to take off the safety. if he's a veteran...well, let's just hope he's a rookie.
he wasn't but it didn't matter.
alison
2nd and alder
with the lead pipe
i do a 360 and realize we can probably still make this a case for the detectives.
we each take a body and eliabeth and i hide them in a dumpster while alison watches for more baconmakers.
i pull my shuriken out of number 1's eye socket.
i don't think alison really even knew it was me and elizabeth who were in trouble. she's jewish and just hates curly tailed slop suckers on principle.
"eye for an eye, ain't that the saying, al?"
she replies something in Yiddish that we don't understand. i kick myself for that comment. they hadn't waged a war in thousands of years, and goyem like me can only remember one sentence, and even then, only to make bad jokes. i'm such as ass.
elizabeth is on the phone and i'm relieved because i don't know wolf's phone number and i really don't feel like calling around for it. everyone knew why you wanted to talk to wolf, but they usually insisted on asking anyway. if that doesn't say something about the human condition, nothing does.
she slaps the phone closed and says we have to get them to the back of the Space Room. and it'll cost us double.
"fuck him, he still owes me 17.65" alison mumbles while taking a swig of the 101.
half an hour and a 100 bill to the bouncer and we are just getting started with the hacksaw and the chemicals when wolf shows up with a damned tootsie pop in his mouth.
and he's in a goddamn monkey suit, bow-tie and all.
"less fuckin' turp! you tryin' to make us disappear too? or jes' them? fuckers!" wolfie finally says,
crackin' straight to the center.
"you never were much of a licker, were you wolfie?" alison says, throwin' down the hacksaw.
the wolf and al have a little history. this is the first time they've seen each other since this one time they were doing some kink and wolfie was tryin' his damnedest to call out the safeword, but al was too high or too somethin' to hear it, as she was alternately waterboarding him and pissing down his throat. rumor has it, she had him cuffed to the toilet, face right up to the commode while she sat on it. rumor also had it that he wasn't much for lickin' and she was getting sick of it.
he never pressed any kind of charges, he even paid for his own hospital bills. her cat turned up gutted in her back yard a week later, but no one could prove anything.
i guess i can't make this long story a short one, but i i'll spare you some of the body grinding.
we were flushing the last bits when sam came storming into the room, chest heaving, face sweating.
she was tryin' to spit somethin' out, but couldn't catch her breath.
"you didn't even lock the fuckin' door for christsakes?!" wolfie screams.
i didn't want any girl wearin' her pearls to see a place this way, but it was too late. i'm such an ass.
all she got out was "bacon" and we were to our feet.
wolfie was already halfway out the tiny-ass window above the flusher when he was yanked outside and all we could see were batons being lifted up and falling down faster and harder than we wanted, even for a man like wolfie.
elizabeth wasn't armed, alison hated guns.
"sam, what are you packin'?"
"jus'...
[huff] mi...[puff] uzi"
"just" an uzi? what the fuck, girl?!" elizabeth exclaimed with a kind of excitement that can only be described as semi-erotic.
sam had her pearls and her uzi. i reckon she planned on gettin' some tonight.
the cops already knew where we were, so i hit the fire alarm just for the dog and pony show.
that and i know that the hebrew hammer that sam was wielding is an open bolt design and she's modified it to work in less than israeli climates.
we make it to the middle of the dancfloor when we see the lights. red, blue, and a fat-ass spotlight that may or may not be attached to a copter.
i realize that bottleneckin' 'em in the back alley is our only hope when i heard alison screaming that she's got the last bit down but that the toilet is clogging and about to overflow.
ffuck.
i'm running back to alison and sam is shouting something through all the water and i tell her to give elizabeth the gun.
sam is good, but elizabeth is damn good. i've been dumb and drunk enough to see her take a cigarette out of some asshole's mouth with a bloody .38 at 40 feet. my cigarette. yes, yes, i'm an ass.
i slide into the room, and al has both hands down the crapper and she's covered in all that's left of the evidence. that is, until the shitter lets loose a 5 dollar blow job moan and spagetti Os start going straight for the ceiling.
that's alright, we can handle this.
then more glass or my ear drum shatters, i'm not sure which, and a tear grenade is spinning on the floor.
by some power that only lifelong LSD users can explain, alison calmly kicks it, bounces it right off the wall and out into the alley again.
curses i hadn't heard since my sixth grade child molesting gym coach spew from the alley and i piece together they hadn't put on their masks yet. that means we move now.
"alison, listen closely. i'm going to get sam and elizabeth. this should take no longer than 6 seconds. during those 6 seconds, i need you to do three things. one, get 8 rags. soak 4 in bleach and leave the other 4 alone. two, get out all the acid you were going to sell alice, three, get this room as flammable as you possibly can." with the third point, i kicked over a gasoline can, just to start my timer.
1
2
3
4
5
6
i've got the girls and lucky for them they didn't have to shoot off any rounds. from a CSI standpoint, this is about the only clever thing we've done. from reality standpoint, this is actually stellar because firearm ballistics are about the only forensics real cops can afford to do.
the room smells throughly flammable and i just assume alison's done the other two.
"alright ladies, this year's goin' out with a bang." i declare with a mouthful of the ass of the cigar i just bit off.
"i'm only gonna go through this once. there's tear gas out there and we are about to jump into the middle of it. take the dry towel and put it on your face. cover it with the one soaked in bleach. this'll slow down the gas. next, take a sheet of acid and spray some water on it. if a cop grabs you, shove it on his neck or face. this'll make damned sure that he won't ever be a reliable witness. third, and most importantly, rendezvous in fifteen minutes at the mortal kombat 3 machine at Ground Control for the new years champagne toast."
i light the bad boy up and hope to god they got it when one by one we fly out the window.
a quarter of a second before i landed in some stray baton hits, i finish my first and only puff and flick what is about to become a stick of Venezuelan dynamite into the room to eliminate the last of our remaining evidence. the pig shit-eaters get a few licks, but they are still reeling from the tear gas themselves. this should be cake, and it is.
ka-bam, ka-blooey, and i still have alison's acid.
I finish the sucker next to me with a pit fatality when the countdown starts and elizabeth's arm goes around my neck.
10...
9...
"the rage drives you, doesn't it" i say without turning around.
8...
"pretty hard" she whispers into my ear.
7...
"did sam and alison escape?" i ask
6...
she grabs the top of my ear with her teeth and pulls my head back.
5...
sam and alison are upstairs on the balcony and you don't have to be a genius to know i'm
4...
about to get
3...
champagne
2...
in my
1...
