How I Saved the World (Or So They Told Me)

[6] Seriously, I'd Wipe My Butt With That Thing

.| CHAPTER SIX |.
Seriously, I'd Wipe My Butt With That Thing

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Prophecy [prof-uh-see]: a prediction of what is to come, usually from a credible source, usually on some kind of ancient scroll, usually in some kind of ancient language. Emphasis on usually.

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“You make some pretty good garlic bread,” I said stiffly.

“Thank you.” The sketch artist nodded.

I turned to look at Gray. “Now, would you mind explaining why you’re chummy-chummy with these people? You have a non-literal amount of ten seconds. Tick, tick.”

Gray blinked. “Well, Owen is my uncle.”

The sketchy sketch artist raised his hand at this. “That’ll be me, Owen, maker of good garlic bread, uncle of Gray.”

“And Xavier is my cousin. Owen’s his uncle, too,” Gray continued.

Owen nodded. “Uncle all-around, all-around uncle.”

“Who’s Xavier?” I asked.

Gray pointed at Pseudo-Six-Pack who, today, was wearing a plain blue t-shirt. A bit of a disappointment but it hadn’t made it any harder to recognise him. It’s hard to forget the face that creepily watches you drive away after locking your car for no reason. “Um, him. The person you keep calling Peudo-Six-Pack?”

“Right. And Owen, your uncle, works as a sketch artist at my uncle’s police station.”

“Yes. Why does this feel like an interrogation?”

“No reason. You’re imagining it. Let’s continue. Owen, I’m going to assume you never drew Xavier as I described him?”

“Obviously not. My nephew did nothing wrong! Also, his ears don’t look like shrimps!”

“What?” Xavier demanded. He was precariously balancing ice packs all over his body from when I had beaten him to the ground earlier. His body was probably bluer than his shirt, at this point.

“You say he did nothing wrong when, in fact, he did plenty wrong. He entered my car—breaking and entering—, he stalked me when he creepily watched me from afar, and he had suspicious motives for talking to me in the first place.” I shifted my position on the couch, staring Xavier right in the eye.

“Uh, I locked your car for you and shut your door, which you left open, so actually, you’re welcome. And I was watching your car to make sure you got back to it okay. Women these days. I blame feminists.”

“Got back to it okay? Got back to it okay?” I almost threw myself off the couch and at Xavier to add a few more bruises to the road map that was becoming his body, but then remembered myself at the last second. I didn’t want to accidentally make a move that would turn off the recording device I had turned on in my man-satchel, which I had fetched when the four of us had congregated to the living room.

With enough evidence, I could hand this to my uncle and get Owen kicked off the force and Xavier put behind bars. Suckers. 

And Gray. . . I still had no idea what he was doing in all this. He just kind of tripped on chair legs and threw a mean dodgeball. So whatever.

I calmed myself down. “I can get to cars just fine, thank you. That doesn’t explain why you came to talk to me in the first place though. You interrupted a very important Solitaire match to ask me what time it was, and I would like to know why.”