Rob Thurman’s Blog Timeshare: Cheap & Filthy [Part 5]15 Aug 2011, Posted by Appearances, Blog, Extras, Fun, Rob Thurman's Twitter, The Cal Leandros Novels, The Chimera Novels in
Misha: Cal looked morose and guilt-stricken over causing his brother all that anguish. Fortunately, besides getting kidnapped at the age of seven…theoretically and it wouldn’t be my fault anyway no matter the theory or reality of it…I didn’t cause my brother any anguish.
I dug a fluffernut sandwich out of my bag, a little squashed from the C4, and opened the plastic. “He does need some work, Miss Terrwyn. Between all the maiming, moping, and pretending to be a monster…” I shook my head and took a bite of the sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “Ruffles. He wore ruffles. And he has a pair of leopard spotted furry handcuffs. He’ll lie and say they belong to someone else, but who can believe anything he’d say any more. It’s just like a little kid and Santa.” I felt a little mopey myself for a moment. I really had wanted to believe. “A monster in an apron and spotted handcuffs. I’ll never get over this. I believe in non-humans, but I don’t believe in monsters anymore. I’m so disappointed.” I sighed as Cal swung a fist at my head.
I ducked the blow, which was quicker than a human could throw, but once you’d worn ruffles, it was all over. I straightened and continued eating as he scrambled out of his chair to lunge for the one his jacket hung on. “But Miss Terrwyn,” I said between bites, “I haven’t caused Stefan worry anything close to your waitress has his brother. What I did was to save my brother. I was doing my best to be noble.” It was hard to look noble while eating a fluffernut sandwich but I managed. “I’m a little devious, but I was trained to be, a genetic genius of unparalleled proportions, a pathological liar but on the side of good, mildly sociopathic but the closest thing to a sociopathic pacifist as you can find, and very definitely noble when it comes to Stefan. I save my brother. I don’t annoy him.”
I could tell by the feel of the muzzle against the back of my head, Cal had chosen the Desert Eagle. “Who cares? You annoy the hell out of me,” came the snarl of his voice.
I finished my sandwich as I heard the trickle of fluid hit the floor. He must’ve been unconscious and handcuffed here a long time or the jeans would’ve soaked up most of the urine. “Don’t worry about the bright purple color,” I suggested. “That’s just for entertainment value. And your finger, hand, and arm aren’t permanently paralyzed. They’ll improve when you sit back down. Then Miss Terrwyn can admit me being here is a mistake and go to work on you.”
But it wasn’t Caliban that Miss Terrwyn went to work on. Her eyes were focused on me as if she was a four-hundred pound Rikki Tikki Tavi and I was an earthworm who had delusions of cobra-hood. “Were you shot in the chest and almost died while trying to save your brother? Were you run over by a semi-truck, and then have a building collapse on you tearing a hole in one of your lungs, breaking your ribs, and nearly killing you again because you thought you were good enough to take on twelve chimeras like yourself and one more that can kill just by looking at you with her freaky eyes?”
“There are thirteen more of you shitheads running around?” Cal put the gun down when I released control of his motor pathway and sat down heavily. “I don’t want to live.”
“Only two now and if you did run into them, you wouldn’t live,” I said mildly. “And there’s nothing theoretical about that.”
“Enough.” There was another pound of a fist on wood and I barely dodged the next donut, which hit Cal in the chest like a fastball and knocked him down again, scattering chairs. “Do you two know that your friend with the fluffy handcuffs, that perverted Mr. Goodfellow, is putting out a calendar to mark the sixth month mark for when each of you almost gets killed? So your brothers can relax the next six months before going through the blessed thing all over again?”
Her finger pointed at us both as Cal sat back up. He’d worked for her for four whole days? Maybe there was more monster in him than I thought. “You will stop getting maimed, mutilated, kidnapped, thrown off buildings, buried under buildings and give your family, the only family that would have either of your smart tongues, at least a year off. Because if you don’t…”
She leaned forward, this time with two aprons, one in each hand, “well, I know one thing, boys. I didn’t drive all those miles from South Carolina, crossing railroad tracks sitting on my hemorrhoid cushion, then fight my way through half of that porno district your mayor was supposed to clean up to show you lessons in humanity. Boys like you got no humanity. You’re the foot soldiers of mass mental damage to your brothers. And I have a warning for you would-be ‘we’ll be good, Miss Terrwyn,’ promising silly white boys. You make that promise and break it and that’s a debt you owe me. Personally.” She jerked a thumb at her large shelf of breasts. “One hundred days of waitressing. And I want my one hundred days. Taken out of the exhausted waitressing asses of you lazy city boys.
“So you better try not dying.”
She turned and was gone, the unseen door slamming again, but she left the aprons behind. “Did that speech sound familiar to you?” I asked curiously.
“I’m marinating in purple piss thanks to you,” he snapped. “You think I care if it sounded familiar? All I know is she’ll keep her word. I barely survived four days in her diner. A hundred? I’d hang myself with that apron first.”
I put down a hand to help pull him up and he ignored it. “Uh, right, next you’ll have me growing a tail. I don’t think so.”
“You were going to shoot me,” I pointed out reasonably.
“I was not. I was just going to put the fear of the NRA into you.”
I stared at him.
“Probably not,” he amended. “If my brother found out, he’d kick my ass.”
I didn’t blink.
“Okay, okay!” he glared through strands of black hair. “I was going to shoot you! But only in the ass and you deserved it, shithead. You know how hard it is to hold onto your monster cred even when you’re not soaked in purple piss? I have a psychotic ex-girlfriend out to kill me, a werewolf mafia out to do the same, and any creature who thinks his balls are bigger than mine is ready to take me on. It’s like being an Old West gunslinger. It gets boring after a while. Ever think I’d like to go to a Yankee’s game without having twenty flesh-eating revenants in team jackets try to eat me in the bathroom?” He stood and brushed off his jeans then looked at his purple stained hands with disgust. He used one of Miss Terrwyn’s aprons to wipe them off.
He might not be a monster, but he was one damn brave son of a bitch. Despite it all, finding out I did annoy my brother and now had caught angst from Caliban like the flu with moping as a respiratory infection on the side, I was pleased. I’d used son of a bitch correctly.
Good for me.