I roll past Tom, and he’s sort of trotting his way through the winter along the highway like a hobo. I’m drawing the line on a side-car, but there’s always the bitch-seat, and I guess he’s getting used to it by now. Turns out he knows about a murder…somehow, I don’t really get how he knows this shit, but sure as the clap there it is. Blood spatter and a tooth and all CSI-like.
The Sheriff comes out, and fuck that guy. We know each other from way back, obviously, but fuck that guy. He’s saying that Tom somehow did the murder, then what, called him out there to arrest him? Bullshit. Obadiah “O” McGillicuddy. Shit, 8-Ball could run this town better than he can.
Hell, I guess we already kinda do.
Anyway, Tom declines my offer to pistol-whip the son-of-a-bitch and a lot of jabbering ensues. Tom and I head out for some food.
We decided to go check out the new diner in town, opened by a TV chef named Antoine Fish. Delicious food.
Tom’s cop-radar went off on a Latino dude working at the diner, and I think he stalked the guy or something. I headed off to Pawnee to…do some business. It was getting toward drinking-time when I heard someone shouting about immortality or some shit, and I figured – yeah, that’s my jam right there.
I roll up and there’s Tom wrestling the Latino dude who’s still jabbering about Jetsons something-or-other, until I choke him out.
In the back of the van is a bunch of shit that makes it pretty clear that this guy is some kind of cannibal. Now we know where the disappearances disappeared to. I think: if I wasn’t around, these people would have to tolerate a lot more jabbering. Few things say “Shut the fuck up” like the cold muzzle of a gun to the head.
We get back to the safe-house, and I’ve got a room set up for just this kind of situation – where you need to ask someone some hard questions, and make sure they answer. I’m getting ready, but Ellie Arnold McKay sits down and does her softy shrink thing and the guy spills. He’s – maybe he’s retarded or something? He thinks someone told him that if he eats people, and serves people to the diner customers, that he’ll never die.
It clicks in my head that I ate people earlier that day. So one thing I have to do is kill Chef Fish. But I’m getting ahead of myself – I didn’t even mention the Uzis yet.
So we set up a meet-and-greet with the chef with Sophie as bait. This is a few different kinds of wrong, but I don’t go into it. Meanwhile, a couple of guys creep up toward the house with Uzis, so Tom and I give ’em the trouble they came for. I axe one and he shotguns one, and the results the same – red mist and pieces.
Then there’s a hubbub upstairs, and we come in on some kind of demon-monster-thing. Someone hits it in the head with a golden crucifix, or something, and down he goes. And the it’s clean-up time. Ellie did the smart thing and called the gang to help out. We bug out.
So Tom ends up at the safe house, and we get to partying a little bit. Then around 2 we get a call from Ellie’s house – her husband is a monster now, or something. It isn’t clear, but we need to bring something from Sophie’s place to her house. Lucas St. Clair needs to drive and we take one of the shop trucks. I’ll just go ahead and say were were a couple different kinds of fucked up just then, and I’m not sure how this came off to anyone else.
Short version is, we bring the cross and Micah Arnold McKay is floating off his bed and seriously weird shit is happening. I call the Loyalists, and then end up sending a chopper. Or that’s what they told me after.
I thought Lucas was my dad, and then he was Darth Vader, and then he cut off my had, and I ran, and fuck me if I don’t end up soaked and in a ditch wrestling with him hours later. We drag our sorry asses back to Ellie’s place, and she has some new person telling her that her husband is in deep, grade-A Voodoo shit. Sophie does her scolding thing, and yeah, OK, maybe we pace the pharmaceuticals a little better. Calm down.
It’s about then I remember that the Mexican dude is still in our basement.