Freakshow- Chapter 6

"Tell the goon to step away from the door and to get close to the bar. Tell him: You wouldn’t want me doing nothing too crazy now, wouldn’t you?"

Bronka y Rebelión by Kaos Urbano plays in the jukebox next to the head.

Thoughts, images, anything of everything touched: always accessible.

Floating in the mind’s eye.

Pick what you need (want). Cross what you don’t.

$20k blank check and a note in the envelope                      Cigar case  shit, there's a door in the back
              You're mine this time               House keys                 .50 cal Desert Eagle
                                                               wonder if it's a dead-end 
Caught you                                
                                                         military grade cellphone

matchsticks
                                 .44 Magnum                                            butane lighter                                Let's see what you can do                                                                                            Pier 39

Tell the goon to step away from the door and to get close to the bar.

Tell him: You wouldn’t want me doing nothing too crazy now, wouldn’t you?

I’m not leaving here without you, said the goon. It doesn’t matter where I stand. only where we’re going. And that’s the—

Interrupt him.

Pier. Yeah, you’re kinda slow aren’t you?

Notice the Fin Du Monde bottle on top of the table. In front of Phil.

Think:

Five feet—Phil.

Times six: Mr. Oink

Orange-green smudged hues wink on peripheral.

Hone in.

Walk to the table, and tell Phil you didn’t know he needed the cash like so. Look at the goon.

See his hand (fidgeting) opened; don’t ignore that noise—face Phil, grab Fin Du Monde, smash it on Phil’s head.

Dive the broken bottle neck and jam it in his neck extending your right arm driving it up to the cervical—that resistance is normal, tendons tend to tense against force. Sever them.

Feel how he slips away from his 6’2 frame, and with him—all his thoughts clear.

Say: Eat your cheap cake.

Grab his .44—tell the bartender he’s okay, you won’t hurt him.

Bob your head—one bullet (whizzed) from the .50 cal graces your face and hits the back wall.

Inadaptados by Kaos Urbano & 13 BATS starts to play.

Three-hundred bottles.

I just need one.

Bullets fly around you. Missing by fractions of a graphene.

Forget it. I’ll do something else.

Mom’s quips vibrate in your veins, growing louder and sour.

You hate the sound of it.

With your bloodied hand draw a circle and in the middle of it a sigil and southeast of it (on the table) draw a triangle and summon Byleth.

shit, I have two bulle—
     don't hurt her                                        I need her alive

Why do you have to complicate things? he asks.

Tell him: Lucky you I already had planned on staying alive. You on the other hand—stop talking—let those words work in his head.

Watch the cat manifest itself on top of the table: a blob forms—nerves and veins sprout and splatter crimson—a carnous bubbling brims life spitting in all directions and bouncing back into the formless blob that snaps and opens itself outward revealing the insides of a cat with no bones or organs—observe how calcification forms bone and on bone muscle wraps and the cat closes its seam and seals shut.

Looks like a cat.

You’re either crazy or desperate—says the goon.

Tell him maybe. Maybe you’re crazy. Never desperate.

Get in his head.

Ask: Why are you so obsessed with me?

Smile.

Byleth walks on air, down to the floor.

His coat is a million swirling blood worms.

Why are you so Obsessed with Me by Mariah Carey plays for the patrons.

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Next chapter by Jon T