The Demon in the Doll

Chapter 18

I put the samurai sword into the trunk along with the plastic bags. Then I sped away in Kevin. I hit 120 mph tooling down the highway. The car handled it no problem. There was no shaking in the interior. There were no strange noises coming from the engine. The windows never rattled. It truly was an engineering masterpiece.

I pulled over two exits later and stopped at a gas station. I didn't actually need any fuel. Instead, I browsed in the convenience store. I bought a huge bag of Funyuns and three bottles of 5-dollar champagne.

The clerk looked at me and smiled. "Big night, huh?"

I pointed out the window. "See that vehicle?"

He gulped nervously. "Yes."

"That's what I drive, and it costs more than your skanky mother. How old are you, anyway?"

"Forty-seven."

"Fucking loser."

He became defiant. "So what? You make more money than me. But there's no reason to be a dick about it. Besides, you can't take that Mercedes with you when you die. I happen to be saved by Jesus Christ which is probably more than you can say."

I gazed deeply into his soul. I actually have that power. And do you motherfuckers want to know something? He actually was saved. He was one of Jesus's sheep, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Once God saves you, you belong to him. Dickheads like me can still fuck with you from time to time. However, we are powerless to drag you to hell. There's no losing your salvation. It's a gift from the Lord.

I shot him a toothy grin. "You might be one of the luckiest sons of bitches in the world."

"Sarcasm?"

"No, I ain't kidding. Enjoy your night."

I grabbed my stuff and left the store.

My next stop was Lucky Larry's. It was a titty bar which played a lot of heavy metal music. I've always been more of a disco boy, but my tastes are eclectic. I enjoy headbanging from time to time.

It was a little past eleven p.m. on a Thursday evening. The place wasn't exactly packed, but there were quite a few people present, nonetheless. I took a seat at a table about fifteen feet from the stage. A porky redhead with saggy boobs was shaking it to a song by a band named Poison. Talk Dirty to Me. That was the name of the tune.

Three bikers were sitting parallel to me in a booth. It was Ned and Lonnie Chaisson along with their goon, Monster. I knew them well, but they didn't know me. However, it was our destiny to become acquainted very soon.

A waitress approached me. She had spiky black hair, lots of tattoos, and cherry-red lips. "Hi, my name is Cassandra, and I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink, hon?"

"What would you suggest? I want something that will knock me on my ass."

Monster glanced at me. "You don't need to pay money for that kind of service. I'll knock you on your ass free of charge, you fucking fag."

Ned and Lonnie laughed and laughed.

Ned said, "Get a look at those fucking clothes. Talk about a fancy pants."

Lonnie said, "You're not from around here, are you, Mr. Fancy Pants?"

I smiled. "I don't want any trouble, boys."