I had to make a trip to the combat zone in Boston to run an errand for old Tres. It's not really a combat zone, but they call it that because a few of the lads are rough and it's where the ladies of the night like to flaunt their wares.
I did me business and cut through a few back alleys to get to the T and back out to me home when I chanced upon a carload of agitated monkey boys. They weren’t from around these parts. They was Arabs of some sort. I know because I speak the language… actually I speak every language.
So they was going on about killing this and killing that and blowing up this and blowing up that and I’m thinking, “Now these are my kinds of lad! A little mayhem in the old town tonight!”
So I saunters over to the lot and says in their own language all friendly like, “Hi Boys! Out for some fun tonight?”
What do I get for my agreeable nature? The closest lad screams, “Infidel Spy!”, pulls out a hand cannon and shoots me in the chest!
Shooting me in the chest makes me real angry. It’s right there at the top of the list with stabbing me in the stomach and throwing acid in me face.
What monkey boy didn’t realize was with what me being a demon of hell and all sticking bits of lead in my body would have no more effect than trying to suck spaghetti with a straw.
I guess I had a look of shock on my face because the shooter smiled all evil like. I guess he expected me to keel over dead. Imagine his surprise when I snatched away his gun and caved his skull in… and I do mean caved in his skull.
The other three monkey boys were a little slow and I was already on them with me beloved straight razor before they could scream. I went to go throw all the bits in the trunk, but it was full of some kind of clay hooked together by wires and batteries and flashing red bitty lights… very strange it was.
I ended up just throwing them all in the back seat. I drove out to the coast and used a wee bit of magic (not enough to show up on the Administration radar) to drive that car far out into the surf. Those monkey boys would never be seen again.
Like my old friend Mack the Hack used to say, “If you’re going to shoot me in the chest you better beeeeeeeeee somebody.”
- Aimless
