by Sirloin Furr
Center city of Awful, Ohio anchored a majority of Awful’s corporate production. There were hospitals, law firms, and financial brokers, employing a portion of the Awful, Ohio population. They were all dressed in suites, propping white collars and ties, holding cups of coffee, while keeping a close eye on the Awful, Ohio Stock Exchange. Traffic was always thunderous, with cars packing together through the streets, and working people packing onto the sidewalks. Center city of Awful, Ohio was also the location of the local newspaper, the Awful Gazette, which employed Wilsie McHickoryboob.
Wilsie McHickoryboob briskly walked through the center city streets of Awful, Ohio. It was a chaotic mess with foot traffic littering the sidewalks, bouncing from building to building, avoiding the persuasive trashcan owners trying to sell their merchandise, and the soaring vehicles clogging the roads. But Wilsie transposed through the chaos, ignoring her surroundings, and persevering past the trashcan owners. She was desperately attempting to stir up her thoughts, trying to figure out the changes that Mad Ted was going to induce onto Awful, Ohio.
The meeting in the hot sauce warehouse that she had managed to overhear the other morning was the first time she had heard Mad Ted speak in correlation to his empire. It was an awakening moment for Wilsie, as she earned actual facts from Mad Ted. It was great for her credibility as an investigative journalist, but it positioned her in unfamiliar territory, as she wasn’t sure how to deduce conclusions from facts. The boundless conclusions that she had deduced in her previous publications were all built off of assumptions. This worked out well for her career and popularity, but it indirectly handicapped her journalism skills. Wilsie wanted these newly discovered facts to lead to accurate conclusions. She wanted to forecast the changes that Mad Ted intended on forecasting onto Awful, Ohio through his hot sauce empire.
Wilsie wanted to be the first to inform the public, and she wanted to be the one that received the accolades for the information. Her feet pounded the pavement of the sidewalk as she walked, hoping to intimidate her brain into giving her what she wanted. But it wasn’t working. Wilsie was growing agitated. She was unable to conclude a rational story from the facts that she had gathered, as her journalistic instincts had removed all intentions of delivering facts to Awful, Ohio.
Her hair remained parted in the center of her head, where the strands were tightly tucked behind her mackerel ears, enclosed into a smooth pony tail, stubbornly refusing to sway with the motion of her movements. It was determined to give nothing until a story had been breached. Her head slumped forward, parallel with the concrete sidewalk, staring at the ground to avoid the visual distractions of center city of Awful, Ohio from impeding her thoughts. Wilsie’s eyes skipped over the vast visuals of footwear that protected the feet of the fast-paced pedestrians that were weaving around her. Wilsie remained focused on her facts from Mad Ted, not catching a hold of any specific shoe, as she was intent on finding out what Mad Ted was going to do.
The day was warm, heating up the concrete surroundings like an oven, warming her meat, enriching her hair and skin. The warmth was soothing and seductive, imposing unlikely solutions into her mind, causing fictional conclusions of Mad Ted’s intentions. She had believed that Mad Ted was from a distant land, studying under the guidance of foreign disciples, teaching unorthodox business ethics from endowed knowledge that allowed him to acquire the success and authority that he had acquired. She brewed up another hypothesis, suggesting that he had traveled through the jungles of Guatemala, discovering a fountain of youth, which he had bathed in, allowing him to live longer, to absorb more information because of the excessive amount of time he was endowed with to study and practice business. Or, she imagined, him traveling on camel-back, through India and Asia, summiting the Himalayan Mountains, reaching the zenith, where he was confronted by Belgian monks, revealing meditative practices that would yield eternal bliss.
But these were only theories. Wilsie knew that these theories, of Mad Ted being a foreigner with greater knowledge, had no logical ties with anything that she had witnessed in the warehouse, and worst, she knew that these theories would not allow her to deduce the changes that Mad Ted was going to impose onto Awful, Ohio. Mad Ted was too cryptic with his thoughts and intentions, making it impossible to study the progress of his hot sauce dynasty. The only time his ideas were revealed was through the production of success, rather than the production of words, which is what Wilsie needed to write about. Mad Ted would never hold press conferences, nor stage interviews with the media. The only information that Wilsie was able to get a hold of was either from the members working inside of the hot sauce warehouse, or from the times that she was able to sneak into the hot sauce warehouse.
Wilsie McHickoryboob did not have enough facts to produce the story that she wished to produce. Agitation festered inside of her core, reacting violently with her joints and limbs, causing them to extend and retract quickly like the first steps of freshly birthed moose. She walked faster, stronger, and more prominently, powering through the pedestrians littering the sidewalks, still facing the concrete sidewalk, denying a pendulant sway from her disciplined pony tail. She walked this way for blocks, becoming more frustrated with her situation, having spent years concluding Mad Ted’s history, sharing his story and knowledge with everyone else in Awful, Ohio, only to make no progress in exposing who Mad Ted was, and what his intentions were. Wilsie McHickoryboob was succumbing to abdication on the factual story of Mad Ted.
She continued her march, ready to give up on the story, surrendering her fruitless efforts. It had become time to discard the dream of Mad Ted, to forget about the facts that she acquired and pretended to know, and to discover a new journey that would excel her career. She released herself from the persecution of Mad Ted’s existence, drifting off into unknown directions, eager to discover whatever story would reveal itself. Wilsie, still facing the sidewalk, charged into a vacant stretch of concrete, leading away from the mass of pedestrians. She wanted her mind to free range through open territory, travel through untouched areas, so that she could discover something that had not been discovered before.
There were no more shoes for her eyes to skip over in the vacant stretch of concrete. It was secluded and open. A foudroyant moment attacked, as she suddenly heard distressed sounds from an isolated alleyway. It immediately earned Wilsie’s attention, as she was ready to dump Mad Ted and his resistant ways for anything, and pursue other options. She listened to the distressed sounds that were expressed in a yelping noise, ready to pursue and discover the story that wouldn’t withhold information, potentially bearing a dynamic story that would be endowed with the bravado to belong on the front page of the Awful Gazette.
“That sounds like my new lead!” Wilsie thought, excitedly, thinking that it was going to be everything that Mad Ted wasn’t. She directed herself towards the yelping noise, with high hopes of a political scandal, drug trafficking, or police corruption, replacing her failed ambitions of discovering and exposing the being that was Mad Ted.
Wilsie McHickoryboob crept closer to the yelp. She was deep in the alleyway with no witnesses in sight. Her nerves warned hysterically, telling her that the further she would go down the alleyway, the more likely it was that she would be seen from whomever was involved with the action. But it was too late. She had continued creeping until she saw someone that was either releasing or instigating the yelping. Her eyes attempted to focus on the yelper, but instead, a burlap bag was forced over her head, collecting her large, mackerel ears. Her pony tail wrestled back and forth, trying to remove the burlap bag, and her ears wiggled recklessly, trying to tear the coarse fabric. But the opening of the bag constricted around her neck, sealing her head inside. Strong limbs of another body restrained her flailing arms, as the power of a blockading hand strapped over her mouth, muffling her screams for assistance. She was lifted from the ground, and carried off to someplace that she wasn’t able to see, evading her sense of direction. She was sedated from panic, removed from consciousness, and buried into the granula
ted world of trickling darkness.
The attractive yelp was emitted from the lungs of Doink McTriggers. Sammy Ammo, Chuck Splatter, and Doink McTriggers had left the contemplation rink in Sammy Ammo’s shack, in search of Wilsie McHickoryboob. They devised a plan to restrain her, which they would then conduct an interrogation with hopes of extracting the information that they needed; the details of Mad Ted’s vicissitude. They had discovered her charging through center city of Awful, Ohio, without a twitch of movement from her pony tail, as she faced the concrete sidewalk, ignoring all of the activity that was going on around her. They deduced her destination, as they stowed away in the back of an alleyway that was secluded from other people. They had expected Wilsie to charge in the vicinity of the alleyway, and unbeknownst to Wilsie, Doink McTriggers was to simulate the yelp of an infant in distress, attracting the attention of Wilsie, who would be lured towards the noise. It was then their plan to subdue Wilsie, and then bring her through the doors of the abandoned building that was in the alleyway, where they were then going to conduct their interrogation.
Wilsie McHickoryboob was now fixated to a wooden chair that was resting inside of a dark chamber. The thick air stuck to the exposed skin of her arms. There was only one ceiling fixture, dripping with light, emitted from a bulb shaped like an egg. The ceiling fixture was handing light down to Wilsie McHickoryboob’s drowning body like a life-raft, which her conscience grabbed a hold of, opening her eyes. She looked around, only to see braided threads woven together to formulate the burlap bag still covering her head, still tied tightly around her throat, restraining any gasp for help. She tried raising one of her arms to remove the burlap, but only to find them tied to the armrests of the chair with nylon rope. She began chafing wildly, hoping to break free from the bondage, even at the cost of a few ounces of her own meat. But the nylon rope became stained in crimson red, cutting her flesh, as the bondage proved to be stronger than Wilsie.
The course fabric of the burlap abrasively rubbed against her face. It was irritating, chafing her cheeks and temple, collapsing all over her skin like a deflating parachute. Wilsie tried to breathe heavily, but every attempt to expand her windpipe was denied by the constriction. Her pony tail began to twitch back and forth like a rattlesnake, attempting to break free from the bounding burlap bag. But without the aid of her mobile limbs that were locked to the legs and armrests of the chair, her pony tail was unable to remove the burlap sack that concealed her vision. She was contained inside of the burlap bag, with all of her limbs immobilized.
Wilsie’s concerns for a hot lead on a fresh story quickly evicted from her body. The dreams of success from her next discovery of a great story as an investigative journalist were quickly replaced with concerns of her own safety. She had no idea where she was, no idea who had brought her there, and unaware of the intentions of the people who had restrained her. Wilsie began violently coughing, as her lungs attempted to break free from her chest in search for oxygen. She imagined the organs leaping from her mouth, splattering onto the hard wood floor, with the insides splashing a perfect outline, as they would struggle to crawl across the floor boards for their oxygen salvation. It was their escape plan to abandon ship, and Wilsie hoped they would get what they were searching for.
Wilsie was no longer concerned with her journalist career. Her mackerel sized ears flopped to the bottom of the bag that was tied around her head, and her pony tail released its tension, dangling evanescently, caressing her back to try and restore comfort. Wilsie McHickoryboob had relieved herself of her career anxieties, no longer concerned about getting the hot scoop on Mad Ted, or the next scoop of a different story. She sat in the disorientated, cold room, where the only thing that she could do was wait. Her wrist clicked back and forth like a clock, counting the seconds, rubbing her hand against the surface of the armrest. It was smooth like melting ice cream, dripping in supple affection that was beaten repeatedly with leather straps soaked in Vaseline, tenderizing its density. Wilsie kept rubbing the smooth surface, enticed and sedated, inebriated from the affection, as it withdrew her from time and her failed ambitions.
She was separated from her current disposition, injected into desperate moments of comfort with the sensation of the grinding burlap transposing into pleasure. “This is good, “ she stuttered to herself, rubbing her cheek against the fabric. She began to shake her head, rotating the mound methodically against the burlap fabric. Wilsie began to moan in pleasure, masochistically grinding her cheeks and chin until they blushed like a terra-cotta brick. “I was not meant to write stories for a newspaper,” she prophesized. “My purpose is to remain in this situation. This is my purpose, and this is what I live for.”
Wilsie McHickoryboob forced the diatribe from her mouth, attempting to convince herself of the idea that it was her destiny to become bounded inside of an abandoned warehouse, making it easier to accept the current disposition. This was her new home, and her newly discovered purpose in life, to eagerly accept the burlap nimbus swallowing her head that she was now a part of.
Sammy Ammo, Chuck Splatter, and Doink McTriggers all stared silently from the shadows of the room. The room was installed inside the boiler room of a building that was temporarily vacant. It was going to serve as an interrogation location for the three men, but they were unable to advance with the interrogation due to Wilsie’s diatribe. It was an odd sight, watching Wilsie’s rotating head, panting in ecstasy, mumbling requisites of sadistic acceptance. Sammy noticed the nylon ropes soaked in the blood from her torn flesh, and dictated Doink McTriggers to release the burlap, then return to the shadows.
Wilsie continued her diatribes, postulating the doctrines of her disposition. She was ready to submit herself, but before she could fully commit, the burlap bag was then removed from her head like a revelation. She quickly removed all doctrines that justified her situation from her memory, unaware that she was being watched. Wilsie’s ears perked up like submerged buoys, and her pony tail wagged feverishly. She attempted to observe her surroundings, but the light was thick and blinding, forcing Wilsie to squint. From her blurry vision, she could make out a figure walking away from her confined body, holding the burlap bag in its hand, disappearing into the darkness that was surrounding her. She winced at the light, rejoicing eternally for the freedom, staring at the visual of the figure that must have been an angel, freeing her from imprisonment.
Wilsie McHickoryboob remained in the center of the light that was being handed from the ceiling fixture dangling directly above her restrained body. Her vision was beginning to regain clarity, as she was able to coherently see the contours of the floor boards supporting the chair she was linked to. There was nothing left to see, as the light fixture above her head was only strong enough to reveal everything that was sitting directly beneath it, which was Wilsie in the chair on top of the floor boards. Wilsie was surrounded by what she believed to be a pool of black antimatter that was being fended off by the weak beams of light emitted from the egg-shaped light bulb hanging above her head.
She viewed her surroundings, attempting to create understanding, attempting to find her angel again. But instead, she found a faint image floating in the bleak ocean. She couldn’t make out its composition. It approached closer through the abyss, like the dorsal fin of a Great White shark, with the subtle calmness of a lurking predator, ready to strike wounded prey. Wilsie began to tense up, with her pony tail on high alert, prepared to deal with the individual accordingly, whether friend or foe. The figure approached through the thick waves of blackness. Wilsie’s hands gripped the ends of the soft armrests, imprinting molds of her fingernails into the soft wood. And parting through the sea before Wilsie’s eyes was the image of a pistol with a coagulated fin wrapping around the handle. The visual was perturbing, as Wilsie had wondered why an angel would carry a pistol. But as she questioned the moral integrity of what she thought was an angel, the figure holding the pistol with the coagulated fin emerged from the depths of the black ocean, and revealed himself before Wi
lsie as Sammy Ammo. Wilsie McHickoryboob ceased breathing. Her face turned pale, and her mackerel folded ears stiffened, ironing out every crease. Her fingernails broke off into the soft wood, as the angel she had been seeking had an alliance with a demon.
Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers emerged from behind Sammy Ammo from the pool of darkness. Chuck Splatter had his arms crossed firmly against his chest, while Doink McTriggers stood like an immovable wall, gripping the burlap bag that he had removed from Wilsie McHickoryboob’s head. Wilsie stared blankly at the images filling her perception. She had recognized them immediately, as they had been made familiar within Awful, Ohio through their actions towards store owners.
Each member stared down at Wilsie’s restrained, helpless body, sizing her up, deciding their methods for extracting the information that they sought. Their faces were soulless, frozen in an iron cast of lifeless flesh, ready to consume everything that was Wilsie McHickoryboob into their mechanical beings. She was waterlogged with fear, drowning in her emotions as she remained tied to the chair. She had known their reputation, but confused as to why they were subduing her, as she was not a store owner.
“Unless,” she thought, “they think that I am a store owner!” Wilsie then became even more fearful, thinking that she may have been wrongfully accused, and they were about to unleash their intent onto the wrong person. She was going to attempt to plead, beg and bargain for her freedom, thinking that there must be some form of misunderstanding, but before Wilsie was able to offer her voice of reason, Sammy Ammo summoned the following words from his thoughts:
“Are you Wilsie McHickoryboob?”
Wilsie’s fear expanded through the body she thought would soon be her corpse. It was clear to her that she was the person that they were looking for. She quickly analyzed her most recent history of events, attempting to conclude what it was that they would want from her. But she was unable to think of anything that she was willing to admit to. Defensively, Wilsie attempted to think of a quick lie, misleading them into thinking that she was someone else. But they had already known who she was, treating the question rhetorically, as Sammy Ammo continued:
“We read your article in the Awful Gazette, the one that describes Mad Ted’s vicissitude and his plans of inducing it onto Awful, Ohio. Tell me more of these details on the vicissitude.” Sammy Ammo grinned, staring at the pistol coagulated in his fin. He huffed hot breath onto the bluing steel, buffing it with his free palm, studying his appearance in the reflective metal. His free hand combed through his hair, making himself presentable.
Wilsie was concerned for her life, frantic and willing to comply however necessary, as she was no longer willing to accept the situation as her purpose, only hoping to escape from the situation unharmed.
“I don’t know anything!” she erupted, eager to let them know that she can’t help them. Her eyes popped from her skull like snow cones, with her mouth gaping, flooded with words, twisting her neck in the direction of each member to repeat her statement. “I have a heart!” she screamed, attempting to convince them that shooting her was unnecessary. The chair was banging violently on the floor, scuffing up the floor boards.
Sammy Ammo, Chuck Splatter, and Doink McTriggers looked at one another, confused by the composure being emitted from Wilsie McHickoryboob, as their solid faces drooped. They began to worry that their tactics to restrain her were too traumatizing, as they watched her shaking violently, causing damage to herself and the floor. They were sure that Wilsie knew something, and figured if they were to get to the information that they believed was contained within her mind, then they would have to find a way to calm her down from her hysteria.
“Wilsie,” Sammy said, using her first name, thinking that it may calm her down, “my name is Sammy Ammo. We have brought you here because we need to know everything that you know about Mad Ted. We apologize for seizing you and bounding you without your permission into this chair, but after reading your article in the Awful Gazette, Chuck, Doink, and myself were driven to find you.” Sammy Ammo curled his vulpine mouth, displaying a lustrous smile filled with pearls that replaced his old teeth, given to him by an obliged store owner.
Wilsie McHickoryboob hesitantly eased her hysteria. Flattery overpowered her fear, as she tried holding back a sincere smile for the compliment. It was very rewarding to hear appreciation for what she felt was hard, disciplined work. She eased off of the intimidation, and was now able to observe Sammy Ammo and his cohorts without the biased filters of fear. She took notice to the poor attire that Sammy Ammo was dressed in, as his clothes were still ragged and torn, with the pistol molded perfectly into his predisposed hand. He had filthy skin that burnished through the tears, speckled with shaded hues of green. She then looked over to Chuck Splatter, viewing his rotting face, with all of its attributes misaligned, like the results of drunkards piecing together a puzzle. Chuck Splatter was overwhelmed with charm, as it was uncommon for women to stare at him so long. He smiled back at Wilsie, flaunting his scattered teeth, which only frightened Wilsie, as the repulsive visual involuntarily turned her face away. She redirected her eyes on Doink McTriggers. Her eyes rolled down his thick arm, stopping at his hand that was clenching the burlap bag that had been used to conceal Wilsie from her surroundings and abductors. He was her angel.
“Well,” Wilsie attempted to respond, “I have been studying Mad Ted for a few years. But it’s hard to remember all of the pieces of his history in this position. I think I could think more clearly if I were released from these restraints.” Wilsie spoke hesitantly like a victim wishing for sympathy, looking down at her restrained arms, insinuating that they’d like to be free.
“Certainly,” responded Sammy Ammo effortlessly, smiling, staring heavily into Wilsie’s swollen eyes. He summoned Doink McTriggers with a subtle twitch of his left hand to release her. Doink made his way towards Wilsie McHickoryboob, bending down to her bounded legs, untying them one at a time. Doink then moved to the arms, but before he was able to release her arms, Wilsie’s pony tail lashed towards his vulnerable body, attempting to induce a life-threatening wound, almost severing his hand. Doink jumped back, yelling “you keep that thing away from me!”
Wilsie apologized, controlling her pony tail, as it eased down to her back, but still on high alert. Doink returned to his duty, untying the nylon rope from around her arms. Wilsie was now free from the chair, but she remained sitting, as the soft wood felt nice against her skin. She rubbed her wrists, pleased to receive what she had requested. Her left leg rose, and then crossed over on her right leg. Her body slightly slouched in a comfortable position.
Then Wilsie fulfilled her part of the bargain by staring back at Sammy Ammo, saying “there’s not a lot of information available about Mad Ted. He’s extremely successful. He’s so successful that Awful, Ohio would be a completely different city without his influence. It might not even be a city. His efficiency is unorthodox. No one is sure how he manages to organize everything so efficiently. His production level is off the charts. No one in recorded history, working in industry, has been able to produce as much as he has in the same amount of time. His changing chute is a mystical experience. All of his workers preach greatness about entering into one of those chutes, proclaiming that it has added years to their lives, resolving hemorrhoids, and even curing impotence. And people are even willing to work for less, just so that they can experience the changing chute. No one really knows how it works, but everyone knows what it does. And the construction is the miraculous part. I interviewed a few of the workers there, and none of them can recall seeing any construction or dust or debris. They all had gone home for the weekend, and when they returned to their next shift, they found their locker room lined with changing chutes. There really are too many questions that can only be answered by Mad Ted, but he’s never been interviewed, and he’s unwilling to be interviewed, or even witnessed. From what everyone can tell me, he sits inside of his office that hangs above the work floor.”
Wilsie uttered the
se words from her mouth with alternative motives. She was eased to believe that they were not there to harm her. But more importantly, she was pleased to resurrect her inner ambitions to expose Mad Ted for who he actually was. Knowing that her surrounding audience was direly needing to know more about Mad Ted was enlightening. Considering the history of Sammy Ammo, it was clear to Wilsie that Mad Ted was his next target. She believed that she may be able to extract some type of information from what it was that Sammy Ammo was going to find out, and use it for the story that she had dismissed from her life. Wilsie regained her career fever, eager to start the investigative journalism that she had always loved to do, determined to find out who Mad Ted was, and what it is that he does to obtain so much power over Awful, Ohio.
Sammy Ammo continued smiling after listening to Wilsie’s diatribe, and even released a little chuckle. “That little biography is fine and dandy, Wilsie,” responded Sammy Ammo, looking at his cohorts who shared a laugh, flailing his pistol about like a conductor’s baton orchestrating his response, “but we need to know what he plans on doing next. We need to know what it is that he is going to do that will affect Awful, Ohio so much that it is going to alter the entire city, and potentially even the world. Mad Ted has these powers. You already know this, my cohorts already know this, and I already know this.”
Sammy Ammo paused to add a dramatic touch to his discourse, as he continued, “all we want to know is what he is going to do. You claim in your article that he is going to do something stupendous to his hot sauce empire that he will impose onto Awful, Ohio. All we wish is to gain some of these powers as well.” The tone of Sammy Ammo grew louder, rattling through the abandoned warehouse like church bells. It was intimidating and demanding.
Wilsie wasn’t sure what to say. She had been following and studying Mad Ted for years, but was never able to know anything about his plans or intentions. Even when he was planning the changing chutes, nothing had ever been mentioned until they were up and running. It was a huge mystery with all of the workers, as there was no construction, no debris, or anything else that resembled a change in infrastructure, except for the actual changing chutes that appeared in the span of a day. And the only reason that she knew of the change that Mad Ted was planning on inducing onto the workforce was because of her coincidental appearance into the warehouse on the day that Mad Ted expressed his intentions to the work force. But fear forced her to respond.
“Mad Ted is very insular. He’s very secretive. He doesn’t leak any information, and he doesn’t hold press conferences or anything else that would allow the public to know what he plans on doing. I don’t have any information on what he plans on doing next!” Wilsie spoke authoritatively, enforcing that she did not know what they were attempting to find out. Sammy Ammo’s face grimaced in discontent, hearing the opposite of what he was hoping to hear. Wilsie regretted her honesty. Sammy Ammo turned to Chuck Splatter, and whispered an order. Chuck Splatter walked over to Wilsie McHickoryboob. Wilsie panicked, “I have a heart! I have a heart!” She was worried that they were going to do to her what Sammy Ammo had done to the rest of the store owners that he had gifted with hearts. But as Chuck Splatter approached, he did not attempt to restrain Wilsie. Instead, he pulled the chair out from underneath her, where she fell to the hard wood floor.
“It seems that we both have a dilemma here, Wilsie,” responded Sammy Ammo, suave and collected, confident that he was going to get what he was after. “It seems that you, as an investigative journalist, covering the most influential citizen in all of Awful, Ohio, are lacking the information for the general public. You claimed that Mad Ted was going to induce changes, but you are now claiming to not know what these changes are. This may be true, but it is not helpful.”
Wilsie remained on the floor, staring at Sammy Ammo, listening to his honest words, reminding her of her failure, as they penetrated her body like cold icicles. Sammy continued, “and it seems that I, a person in need of this information, am having a hard time retrieving it. So here’s what I propose to you. I will keep searching for what it is that Mad Ted plans on doing, and you do the same. Except, we both search separately, in different parts of the city. This way we’ll both cover more ground, increasing our chances of discovery. The payoff for each of us is that if either of us comes across any clues or information regarding Mad Ted, then we will share that information with the other, since both of us can make good use out of that information. How does this sound, Wilsie? Do we have a deal?” Sammy Ammo walked towards Wilsie McHickoryboob. He unfolded his arm that relayed his open, pistol-less hand to her, waiting for a confirming handshake.
Wilsie McHickoryboob already knew that she was going to shake his hand, excited and eager to investigate for more information on Mad Ted, so that she can retain the front page of the Awful Gazette, capturing who Mad Ted was and what his plans are, exposing everything to Awful, Ohio. But she stared at his hand, so not to seem too eager with the deal. She realized that Sammy Ammo was a serious individual, and knew that a serious individual needs to get the impression that you are at least contemplating his offer. So Wilsie McHickoryboob remained laying on the floor, staring more at Sammy Ammo, until she raised her own arm, thrusting her hand into the palm of Sammy Ammo’s, clenching it like a grenade, and shaking it vehemently with half a smile. Her ears were wiggling joyously, as her pony tail was swinging in lassos behind her head. “You have a deal, Sammy,” responded Wilsie.
The four members all removed themselves from the abandoned building. They had decided which sections of the city they would consider looking for information, and where and what times they would return to the abandoned building to exchange any information that may have been collected.
“Remember, Wilsie,” replied Sammy Ammo, “we’re counting on you as much as you’re counting on us.” Sammy Ammo stared at Wilsie, stroking his pistol.
“I know Sammy. I’ve been trying to get a good story on Mad Ted since he started his hot sauce factory, but I haven’t had appropriate resources by my side to assist me,” responded Wilsie McHickoryboob, compatibly. “With you, Doink, and Chuck, we should be able to come up with the information that we are searching for.”
They had all left the building, with Wilsie ready to start her investigation. Sammy Ammo headed back to the contemplation rink to devise a plan where he and his cohorts would start their investigation, too. But Doink McTriggers and Chuck Splatter weren’t able to control their sensations. They disbanded from Sammy Ammo, and headed to Loogie’s Diner, the predominant diner in Awful, Ohio, where they were intent on satisfying their hunger before they satisfied either Sammy or Wilsie.
Chapter 11
Peace is Anti-Action Batter