Publisher Mo Peanuts
Suki thought she knew what she'd signed up for when her pal, Rishi, invited her to a corporate party at one of the new alien fetish clubs. The new "must have" experience for the uber-rich and uber-bored supposedly involved sex-starved aliens who could give orgasms just by looking at a person. But when Suki arrives, she soon finds out that the clubs are really about something else entirely.
“Bishop smacked Jim around a month ago pretty badly.”
Kring agreed, “That’s an understatement.”
“Those scars are still fresh in Jim’s mind. He was embarrassed by Bishop and then in return, Sean bitch-slapped Bishop on his own front lawn. Hell, the only reason Jim agreed to run the recon missions into The Woods was to determine where the new base was, and if it was vulnerable to an attack. Jim hates Bishop and Bishop isn’t too fond of Jim.”
Shaking his head in astonishment, “I know Sean gave it to Bishop just as hard as Bishop gave it to Jim.”
I stopped and pivoted, “Harder. It looked like a hooker and her pimp.”
And just like a hooker knows she’s going to get bitch-slapped by her pimp for not bringing back the night’s minimum, Bishop knew once he beat up Jim, that Jim’s older brother, Sean, who was also the starting nose-tackle for the Huntington Blue Devil’s Varsity football team, was going to exact revenge. For he knew the Kreagans as the classic Irish-Italian family that they were. Meaning, though they’d had more than their fair share of family brawls, they also had the propensity to punish outsiders for past aggressions. And just like any public punishment from yester yore, this one had the entire neighborhood in attendance on a large centrally located village green—i.e., the Culver’s front lawn. Perfectly situated on the border of Upper and Lower La Rue, the Culver’s front yard soon became a social scene for the entire neighborhood as they congregated to witness Bishop’s come-up-ins. To Bishop’s credit, he saw the far larger Sean and the hungry crowd gathered on his front yard, and made the long walk to his executioner with as much dignity as his wobbly knees could afford him.
Furthermore, being a bully himself, Bishop knew Sean would not only announce his crimes and subsequent punishment to the public, but would deliver the justice with a ferocious flair intended to instill fear in those unlucky enough to witness the sentencing. Kring being nine and me being ten, made the first-time viewing of someone being beaten until their eyes closed, as their body went limp, far more horrific than the Kung Fu movies we’d watched to prep us for such an event, had led us to believe it to be.
Kring sprang to his feet once more, standing less than a foot from me, “So what are we waiting for? Jim and Bishop won’t team up until the wounds of war heal, and in this case, it could take years!”
I retreated to the corner, where my trusty barstool awaited, “We need to make sure those guys from the other side are not bad.”
Kring looked out the lone window, “Drugs and stuff?”
“Exactly. You never know. Jim said they’re pot heads and the guy I saw on the minibike was donning a heavy metal T-shirt and a mustache.”
“A mustache? You think it could be the same kids that killed that kid in Smithtown back in the spring?” Kring questioned quaveringly.
On April 21st, 1979, John Pius Jr., a thirteen-year-old boy, was found dead in woods similar to Wilder’s Woods, no more than fifteen miles away, in Smithtown, NY. The newspapers had a field day, panning the public with horrific satanic sensationalism, since they’d found the boy near a school, buried under a pile of logs and leaves, with dirt, debris and six rocks lodged in his throat. And though the police had not formally accused anyone as of yet, rumor had it that it was in fact a couple of local boys of similar age who’d killed him, and not some random psychopath passing through town. The heightened parental guidance was bordering on a police state, though daily excursions into The Woods were still permitted, as long as one had verifiable buddy-backup.
Embarking on his pacing of the room, Kring asked, “How do we approach this?”
“We perform a recon mission deep into The Woods, but the mission parameters change. Instead of looking for the base and a way to destroy it, we find out who and what comprises this so-called Black Dragon. Once we determine that, we work Roy over the course of a week or so and bleed the pig.”
Abruptly stopping in his tracks, Kring pivoted to me, “Think we got a week? Things could change quickly, as you well know, especially in Wilder’s. We could be on the outside looking in.”
“True,” I acknowledged.
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Trel W. Sidoruk is a bi-pedal omnivore with an opposable thumb and massive frontal lobes, which power an advanced cerebral cortex.