Rob Thurman’s Blog Timeshare: Cheap & Filthy [Part 4]11 Aug 2011, Posted by Appearances, Blog, Extras, Fun, News, Rob Thurman's Twitter, The Cal Leandros Novels, The Chimera Novels in
Cal: He’d given me a bigger bratwurst, he wasn’t afraid of me, he actually was excited I was a monster. I’d almost grown not to loathe him…which for me is willing to die for someone. Now I changed my mind.
“A waitress?” Misha repeated, looking at his bag full of C4 and my autograph as if suddenly the last one wasn’t as valuable as he thought.
“Hold on there, sugar. I have proof. Miss Terrwyn always backs up her word.” She gave him a bit of a smile. I had a feeling it was something most ladies did—part of the genetic experimentation. You just wanted to like the kid. Even if he didn’t deserve it.
Waitress. Like that had been my fault.
Miss Terrwyn held up a framed picture of me getting my ass pinched by a ninety year old lady while I carryied two whole pies, one in each hand. I was scowling and wearing a red and white gingham apron. Labeled at the bottom of the picture was WORST EMPLOYEE OF THE DECADE.
“Decade?” I immediately protested. “I was only there for like four days.”
“And based on those four days I know what I know,” she shook her finger at me, “and the good Lord will back me up on that. Mmm Hmmm.”
“That picture is more frightening than any movie creature I’d ever seen. A waitress in an apron with ruffles?” Misha scooted his chair further away when we both sat back down. “You are the most horrifying monster around. What repels you? Crossed butter knives? A buckshot of Sweet-n-Low? A napkin folded like a swan? Apple pie without the ala mode?
“Okay, I get the annoying part,” I snarled at him while speaking politely to Miss Terrwyn. Anyone would be an idiot not to speak politely to Miss Terrwyn. “But why are we here? We don’t need to learn to cut back on annoying each other. We didn’t know each other until we were brought together.” I then hissed low beyond Miss Terrwyn’s hearing. “I could kill you in a second.”
“Masses and masses of issues,” he yawned, hiding the words from Miss Terrwyn behind my hand. “I can kill you in less than a second, but I won’t. I don’t like to kill…but I could make your newly enhanced penis…I mean, dick fall off. Completely. Then melt. No sewing it back on.”
I straightened in my chair, cupping myself protectively. “So…um…yeah, Miss Terrwyn. I mean, yes, ma’am, Miss Terrwyn. Like I was saying, could you tell us why we’re here? Who are we annoying?
She rolled your eyes. “Saddest two idiots I ever come across. Who brung your useless selves here? Your brothers. Neither one can get mental health insurance, so they called me in. Because, boys, there ain’t no one, including Freud himself, going to straighten you out like I will.”
“We…well, I don’t annoy my brother,” Misha said promptly. “He rescued me ten years after I was kidnapped. He never gave up. He throws himself in front of me to take a bullet at least once a week. To save my life, he’s killed at least….” He started counting on his fingers, pulled a calculator from his pocket, and then sighed. “Limited microchip. He’s very protective. We are family. All we have. Of course I don’t annoy him.”
Miss Terrwyn put on a pair of reading glasses and thumped down a book as big as the NYC phone book. Opening it, she ran a finger along a page and asked with a flinty glare over the rims of the glasses, “Did your pet ferret bite him over fifty times while you did not correct its behavior? Did you cause a tourist slash assassin to vomit all over the street, alerting him to who and what you are? Did this cause you and your brother to flee town, while burning down the only home you’d ever known to cover up evidence of your DNA? Did you build pipe bombs in your garage and blow it up, Lord, Lord, Lord? Did you start a mari-ju-ana ring just to have an excuse to buy a plane from very bad people by posing as a drug dealer? Did you learn to fly the plane by watching videos on the internet and then crash that plane almost cracking your brother’s skull? And did all that happen in less than one day?”
Misha whipped out a Bberry and looked up something with lightning fast finger-strokes. “Ah. Convenient.” He put it away. “I invoke the Fifth Amendment which states that I cannot be forced to incriminate myself. And it was forty-eight times, not fifty. My brother was in the Russian Mob, you know. They lie quite often.”
“And you did not carry on a relationship with a genetically mutated sociopathic assassin chicky-chicky named Ariel, although you knew she was a genetically mutated sociopathic assassin chicky-chicky?”
He leaned in my direction. “She was hot. Really hot. With pink hair and a mermaid tattoo.”
Before I could say I had no room to talk, Miss Terrwyn dangled that red and white checked apron from one hand and said, “Tell the truth, boy, or I’ll put this on you and you won’t like it.”
I swallowed hard. Once Miss Terrwyn threatened to cut off my dick if she thought I was full of lust and wickedness. I scraped through on the lust. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you manage to get yourself possessed and try to kill your brother, Niko? Do you never do your laundry? Do you regularly kill the patrons of the bar where you work? Sometimes accidentally as you’re dumb as box of hair? Did you threaten to cut the nose off a gypsy? Did you try to cut the nose off a gypsy? Did you turn loose several undead mummified cats loose in your friend’s condo? Did you make your own brother stab you to save the world? Did you get a bite taken out of you by a supernatural cannibal causing your brother anguish? Did you set off a nuclear bomb in an alternate dimension causing OSHA anguish? Did you get amnesia causing your brother anguish? Did you date a psychopathic white werewolf named Delilah and cover your black clothes with white fur causing your brother massive amounts of money for crates of de-linters? And, child, that would cause anyone anguish. Did you attempt to take a fork and stab….”
“Enough,” I slid down in the chair. “Yeah, yeah. I did all those things and more. I’m annoying. I get it. Nik has every right to send me here.” I was miserable and guilty and I deserved worse than this.
Until Misha leaned over again and patted me on the shoulder. “I gave thirteen or so kids younger than me lobotomies, killed a federal agent, and made my brother’s best friend impotent for a week.” He grinned, cheerful and happy. “And I’m just getting started.”
Huh. Maybe I wasn’t so bad after all.