Last God Standing by Michael Boatman

his watch were waiting for me in Motor Oils. He’d spent the last three days scouting potential new locations in Milwaukee only to learn that I’d been AWOL. Flaunt capered at Herb’s side like the Wicked Witch of the West’s favorite flying monkey.
    “Well, the Mad Zulu returns. I thought you were getting a haircut for your big date with Salome tonight.”
    “Something suddenly came up.”
    “What? Dammit, man, don’t you have any self-respect? You look like a retarded voodoo doll.”
    “Have you seen my Advil? I’m getting a sick headache.”
    “I mean I’m as liberal as the next guy when it comes to personal freedoms for my employees. Didn’t I let you grow those gridlocks…?”
    “Dredlocks.”
    “Your mother wanted me to drop a tranquilizer in your Sunny D, sneak into your room and shave your head. I said ‘Barbara, this is America: let the boy look like a damn bushman if he wants to’.”
    “Wrong. You didn’t shave my head because you broke your clippers shaving your name into that alpaca during the Herb vs the Dollar Lama spot.”
    “Did I hassle you when you pierced your eyebrows?” Herb droned on. “Did I say a single, solitary word when you grew a Mohawk and dyed it lime green?”
    “You said, ‘No son of mine is gonna prance around lookin’ like Chief Sittin’ Pretty and call himself Herb Cooper’s offspring. Not while Herb Cooper’s pullin’ the chuckwagon.’”
    “Damn right.”
    “Pop…”
    But Herb was rolling, and nothing short of a nuclear accident would shut him up.
    “Do you know how hard I’ve slaved to create this empire? How much valium I power-slammed just to keep from stabbing your mother long enough to keep this family together?”
    “Pop…”
    “But what does Dad get in return? Renfield in San Francisco working in a damn headshop…”
    “He’s a biochemist. He specializes in alternative therapies and eastern medicine.”
    “Western medicine was good enough before I spent two hundred thousand dollars to put him through a Western medical school. Atticus can’t even be bothered to visit on a regular basis…”
    “He lives next door.”
    “And that other one… my firstborn son. The heir to the Cooper Empire… ashamed of his own name.”
    “You named him after a wizard!”
    “Gandalf is a seminal character from a beloved piece of Western fiction, smartass. I don’t see people in China naming their kids after Charlie Chan.”
    “Or that Cirque du Soleil crap,” Flaunt muttered. He had ditched the Elviswig in favor of his own implausible toupee. “Too much of this globalization goin’ on, Herbie. New World Order time. They want us all speakin’ Spanish, Chinese... Whatever happened to American literary type names like… like…”
    While Flaunt struggled to remember the last book he’d burned I staggered behind the customer service counter. Underneath it I’d stored a bottle of Eco Water and the little metal tin in which I kept my stash. I opened the tin, palmed four Advil and downed them dry.
    “What’s wrong with you?” Herb said. “You look like crap.”
    “He’s probably crankin’ the crystal meth,” Flaunt crowed. “All these idiots are doin’ it.”
    “Will… you… shut up ?”
    My voice echoed a little too loudly. Somewhere out over Lake Michigan, the echo stroked thunder from the skies. Flaunt flinched, his gaze flicking across the ceiling. He waved a hand in my direction. “See what I mean?”
    Then he stomped off to berate a customer.
    “Why do you have to antagonize him?” Herb hissed. “You know he gets flashbacks.”
    “I’m out.”
    “What? It’s only 12.15!”
    “I gotta go. My head’s killin’ me.”
    I grabbed my satchell and headed toward the door.
    “I’ll be taking that loan out of your check!”
    I went to see Surabhi.
     

CHAPTER VIII
SURABHI
    My headache abated a little on the train ride up to Rogers Park. By the time I rang Surabhi’s doorbell I was feeling more like myself, anticipating the look