their previously beautiful half-million dollar homes, vandalized. There were smashed windows, doors kicked in, profanities spray painted across cars, mailboxes kicked over. Gardens had been ripped up, flowers and shrubs tossed every which way. They passed a large burning oak, the fire just beginning to die down.
“Whatever it was, I think we missed it,” Tea said.
“Look!” Ed pointed to one house, a message five feet tall, sprayed across its front, windows and all. The message read: GIVE UP THE MOTHER PUNCHER!
“Oh, shit.” Tea breathed.
Ed was wondering what had happened to Drizzle. The kid hadn’t called him again to notify Ed of his arrival at Envision. Now, he was afraid he knew why.
“That’s the one,” he pointed again, this time to his house, which by all appearances, was dark. “The one with the Firebird in the driveway.”
Tea pulled up to the curb and parked, but kept the engine running. “Looks deserted.”
“Yeah. But I don’t think it is.”
He got out of the Volkswagen, pulling off the bandages that covered his skin. Then the dress he’d put on over his own clothes, the fat belly and rolled up pillows falling to the pavement silently. While he did this, he kept his eyes on his home, searching the windows for movement, for any sign of life at all.
There wasn’t any.
Ed walked around to the driver’s side and said, “You wait here.”
“I don’t think I want to,” Tea said. She sounded afraid.
“For once, don’t give me any crap. The second shit goes down, I want you to drive this piece of shit car of yours as fast as it will go and get the hell out of Dodge. Don’t even look back. Got that?”
Silence from inside the car.
He bent over, stuck his head in the window. “Thanks for all your help, Tea. You’ve been a blessing.”
Her eyes widened, mouth opening to say something that she didn’t quite have words for. It was then he noticed that she wasn’t even looking at him, but behind him.
Ed spun around in time to see the silent crowd rounding the back of his house, coming from both sides, not moving particularly fast, but not slow either.
Bowie was leading the crowd approaching from the west side, shoving Ash along, a knife to her throat.
Behind him, he heard Tea whisper, “Jesus.”
From the eastern side, another man Ed didn’t recognize pushed Drizzle ahead of him with the barrel of a shotgun.
Ed tried to count the number of people, found he couldn’t. There were just too many. Maybe six dozen, maybe more. And most of them seemed to be carrying weapons of some sort.
Trying not to sound panicked, he said, “Tea. Drive.”
But she didn’t. He didn’t know if she was frozen in fear or if she intended to do battle beside him. He hoped it was the former and that her fear would eventually break and she would go, before it was too late for her.
“Howdy, Champ!” Bowie called cheerfully. “Look who I got here. Why, it’s your purdy little wifey. Ain’t she a beauty? A little too skinny for my taste, but what the hell. She got a snatch, right?” His laughter boomed and echoed like the voice of God.
“Let her go, Bowie,” Ed said. “She didn’t do anything.”
Both crowds had become one on his lawn and stopped walking towards him. They simply stood and stared.
“You’re wrong about that, buddy,” Bowie said. “She did something alright. She loved and supported you ! She harbored a goddamn lowlife woman-beating MOTHER PUNCHER! She should die for her sins, same as you.”
“And this one too!” the man pointing the shotgun at Drizzle shouted.
Ed ignored the stranger, keeping his eyes on Bowie. “You fucking hypocrite.” He wished he could wrap his hands around the snake’s neck for just one minute. Just one. The he addressed the rest of the crowd.
“Whatever it was, I think we missed it,” Tea said.
“Look!” Ed pointed to one house, a message five feet tall, sprayed across its front, windows and all. The message read: GIVE UP THE MOTHER PUNCHER!
“Oh, shit.” Tea breathed.
Ed was wondering what had happened to Drizzle. The kid hadn’t called him again to notify Ed of his arrival at Envision. Now, he was afraid he knew why.
“That’s the one,” he pointed again, this time to his house, which by all appearances, was dark. “The one with the Firebird in the driveway.”
Tea pulled up to the curb and parked, but kept the engine running. “Looks deserted.”
“Yeah. But I don’t think it is.”
He got out of the Volkswagen, pulling off the bandages that covered his skin. Then the dress he’d put on over his own clothes, the fat belly and rolled up pillows falling to the pavement silently. While he did this, he kept his eyes on his home, searching the windows for movement, for any sign of life at all.
There wasn’t any.
Ed walked around to the driver’s side and said, “You wait here.”
“I don’t think I want to,” Tea said. She sounded afraid.
“For once, don’t give me any crap. The second shit goes down, I want you to drive this piece of shit car of yours as fast as it will go and get the hell out of Dodge. Don’t even look back. Got that?”
Silence from inside the car.
He bent over, stuck his head in the window. “Thanks for all your help, Tea. You’ve been a blessing.”
Her eyes widened, mouth opening to say something that she didn’t quite have words for. It was then he noticed that she wasn’t even looking at him, but behind him.
Ed spun around in time to see the silent crowd rounding the back of his house, coming from both sides, not moving particularly fast, but not slow either.
Bowie was leading the crowd approaching from the west side, shoving Ash along, a knife to her throat.
Behind him, he heard Tea whisper, “Jesus.”
From the eastern side, another man Ed didn’t recognize pushed Drizzle ahead of him with the barrel of a shotgun.
Ed tried to count the number of people, found he couldn’t. There were just too many. Maybe six dozen, maybe more. And most of them seemed to be carrying weapons of some sort.
Trying not to sound panicked, he said, “Tea. Drive.”
But she didn’t. He didn’t know if she was frozen in fear or if she intended to do battle beside him. He hoped it was the former and that her fear would eventually break and she would go, before it was too late for her.
“Howdy, Champ!” Bowie called cheerfully. “Look who I got here. Why, it’s your purdy little wifey. Ain’t she a beauty? A little too skinny for my taste, but what the hell. She got a snatch, right?” His laughter boomed and echoed like the voice of God.
“Let her go, Bowie,” Ed said. “She didn’t do anything.”
Both crowds had become one on his lawn and stopped walking towards him. They simply stood and stared.
“You’re wrong about that, buddy,” Bowie said. “She did something alright. She loved and supported you ! She harbored a goddamn lowlife woman-beating MOTHER PUNCHER! She should die for her sins, same as you.”
“And this one too!” the man pointing the shotgun at Drizzle shouted.
Ed ignored the stranger, keeping his eyes on Bowie. “You fucking hypocrite.” He wished he could wrap his hands around the snake’s neck for just one minute. Just one. The he addressed the rest of the crowd.
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