Pilate's 7
Page 6
You sure don't medicate over that bitch Samantha. Man, you excused her from class with style, my man, With style. That is one ex-wife that is out of your life.
John, you need to lose ten pounds.
Man, you went through that martini pretty quickly. You're really, really mixing another?
Shit, you cut your finger slicing the lemon. Hurts so good though, that lemon juice in the wound. Don't use Kate's nice tea towel--well, okay, go ahead, then. Fuck it, so now it has a blood stain. You leave blood stains all over the place.
Like the massive stain left by those thugs you and your Hole in the Wall gang blew away outside the jail. The ones even Kate got a shot or two into? So good of Detective Petersen and Commissioner Ryder to sweep all that under the rug.
Just leaves Hilmer Thurman to deal with, huh?
That drink tastes good. The lemon and the Lillet really make that vodka pop.
You gonna kill me now, Snake?
Thurman isn't going to let you get away with it, you know? He will keep on and on. Just like Jack Lindstrom. What a damn psychopath that guy was. Can you believe he chartered a damn plane to come kill you? Guy pulls off the perfect crime--fakes his own death--yet he can't stop picking at that John Pilate scab.
What a dumbass.
Are you really going back outside to that ridiculous door bar of yours? Who makes an old front door into a back yard bar?
Oh yeah. John Pilate.
Clouds are pretty dark. Could be showers.
So where were we? Oh yes, Kate took the kids to see Grif at the assisted living center. You're batchin' for a few hours, and decide to make a shaker or two of martinis. My lord, man, you've been out here five minutes and another one is already down your gullet.
Lighten up, Francis.
What is that? Sprinkles? Rain? Better go inside. Look at the thunderheads. Good, let's go inside. Wait, what are you doing with your keys to that Dodge Ram Commissioner Ryder loaned you? Playing constable again?
That was thunder, John. And you have no business driving after downing two very large martinis, even in this one-horse town.
I'm afraid, Dave.
Well, alrighty then. I'm apparently along for the ride. Can you see me in the rearview mirror? No? Just your buckshot-scarred face. You used to be able to see me in the mirror. Right behind you.
Welcome to the Cross Township Casual Horrors Ride. Please, only three people per Doom Buggy, thank you. No flash photography if you know what's good for you.
On your right you will see the homes of some of Cross Township's leading citizens, including Mrs. Drum, whose lawn apparently attracts people with the urge to defecate.
Speaking of defecation, the clinically insane failure of a human being that is Harley Cordwainer, aka King Shit, is on his front porch right now, clad only in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. He's apparently cursing the thunderheads. Well, we're in for a treat, folks, as he just flipped us the bird. Cordwainer's bird! Wave back, everyone!
On your left you will see the gothic silhouette of Cross College, complete with library clock and bell tower, admin building, gym, cafeteria, classrooms and other places where middling academic careers go to die.
Just right of that is the president's residence, still reeking of the stink of murder and criminality that was Jack Lindstrom. There's faculty housing right over there, where our own John Pilate shagged Kate Nathaniel into submission, then served her a grilled cheese with Miracle Whip. Classy.
Heavens, is that a beer can convention? No, folks, we are at the corner of Live Oak and 10th, once home of school shooter Gary Rich--that's Neighborhood Watch Captain Gary Rich to you. Frequent guests of the Cross Township Casual Horror Ride will remember that John Pilate dispatched that weirdo without actually killing him. Pretty cool, huh?
No, John. You shut up.
You don't have to do this.
That's what they all say.
And here we are in downtown Cross Township. There's the VFW, the tavern where Craig Olafson--may he rot in hell--knocked our hero out cold, the café, Cusack's Cross and Cork B&B, and the town constable's office, with more holes in it than a fifty ton block of Swiss cheese. You don't see that just anywhere, folks! Don't forget, John Pilate was even the town constable there. Technically he still is.
The rain is coming, John. Go home.
Alright, fine. Keep driving. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the actual road where a henchman of Ollie Olafson--yes, that Ollie Olafson--drove John Pilate off the road, nearly killing him. But our John bounced back and Ollie, Craig and the rest of his crew are now asleep in the cold embrace of…
John, why are you going to Monticello Cemetery? It's going to rain cats and dogs and all that place does is depress you.
Monticello Cemetery, where the aforementioned Jack Lindstrom met his death--indirectly at the hands of John Pilate. It's also where John and former Sheriff Sad Sack Scovill investigated a desecrated crypt, which held the remains of the parents of the man who is now his father-in-law. Need a program, folks? Can’t tell the players without a program.
That was another thunderclap, John--about two seconds after the lightning flash. It's getting close. Let's go home.
Fine. And finally, ladies and gentlemen, if you will direct your attention to the hills below, you will see the entire rotten, stinking, fucked-up pile of shit that is Cross Township, Cross College and the last place on earth John Pilate wants to be.
The people and their problems look smaller from up here, almost manageable.
But they're not.
Thanks for joining us. Exit through the gift shop.
What's the most you ever lost on a coin toss?
At least stay in the truck, John. Out of the rain.
John? John, can you hear me?
Let me out.
The End.
John Pilate will return in
Pilate's Rose
Readers wait, don't go yet!
Your reviews posted wherever you bought this book are crucial. Please take a moment to post a candid review. It helps keep the roads of Cross Township cleared of snow. Thank you.