Read Online Caught Stealing (2004) by Charlie - Henry Thompson 0 Huston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charlie - Henry Thompson 0 Huston
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messed up and it hurts so bad that I can barely move it. Not that I'd know what to do with it if I could move it, but it's nice not to have someone pulling at it for the moment.
-Man, just. Gasp! Just leave the cat. Just leave it alone. Gasp! Don't hurt the fucking cat.
Aren't there rules about this kind of thing? I mean, there are rules, right? You can do whatever you want to people, but you don't hurt fucking animals.
As if on cue, the toilet flushes, the door to the bathroom opens and the Samoan returns. Enter the torturer of animals.
-Sorry, guys, I had ta drop a deuce. Hey, you got air freshener or what?
Sooner or later, even the most profound events of your life are reduced to concerns like this.
-Under the sink.
-I looked there.
-The kitchen. Not the bathroom sink, the kitchen sink.
-Fuck you, who keeps freshener under the kitchen sink?
-I do.
-What, your shit doesn't stink? You don't need no freshener in the bathroom?
Meanwhile, Blackie has got hold of Bud and is dragging him out of his hiding place, but the fur is flying. Bud comes into the light of day howling and clawing at Blackie's eyes. As the Russian stands upright, I get my first look at Bud. He's writhing this way and that, trying to get a piece of someone, but his left leg is twisted up real weird and he's not moving it at all.
-What the fuck? What, man, what did you do to the cat?
Suddenly the Samoan reaches over and grabs Bud. He wraps those huge hands around the struggling cat and locks him up. Bud's legs are all trapped, just his head sticks out of the Samoan's grasp. And then Blackie hits him, the fucker makes a little fist out of his little hand and hits Bud in the face.
-I kicked this shit cat, this fucking shit cat I fucking kicked. This fucking shit cat, I tried to pet and it fucking bit me and I fucking kicked the shit cat. So fuck you, Mr. Bartender, can't make a fucking cosmopolitan. Mr. Fucking Shitty Drink Maker with the Shitty Cat.
He punches Bud again. They get the sock back in my mouth before I can finish screaming at Blackie.
My head is clearing. The few minutes I had to breathe helped and the adrenaline has cut some of the haze and I'm starting to think a little more clearly. They want the key. I don't know where the key is. As soon as they feel sure I don't know where the key is, they will kill me. If I did know where the key was and I told them, they would get the key and then kill me. I have no idea what to do. Done battering the cat, Blackie gets a fresh grip on my left arm and stretches it back out.
Roman twists my head to the left so I can get a good look at the Samoan and whatever he's gonna do to Bud. Red is still on my legs and he resettles himself, getting comfortable for the next round. Roman is getting cute.
-If you were the key and you had mysteriously disappeared, where would you be?
The sock is still in my mouth, but I grunt so he knows I'm following him.
-Where would you hide if you were a key?
Breathing is starting to be a problem again.
-Would you hide in this apartment?
Bud now has a scrape on the side of his face where he was hit. I can't really tell if he's awake or not. The Samoan tucks the cat into his left armpit, keeping all his limbs pinned except for the broken left leg.
-Would you put yourself in an envelope and send yourself somewhere?
Very gently, the Samoan has taken hold of Bud's injured leg. He extends it until it's fairly straight. I can see the little bend where the bone is broken. I can hear Bud give a mew of protest, but he's clearly run out of fight.
-If you were a key that wanted to hide itself, would you give yourself to a friend for safekeeping?
The Samoan starts to twist Bud's broken leg. He twirls it around and I can see the loose skin bunch up on itself at the break. Bud comes back to life for a moment, yowling and trying to wrestle free, but the Samoan has him pinned tight. A thin stream of urine is leaking out from under the Samoan's arm, but he doesn't notice or
-Man, just. Gasp! Just leave the cat. Just leave it alone. Gasp! Don't hurt the fucking cat.
Aren't there rules about this kind of thing? I mean, there are rules, right? You can do whatever you want to people, but you don't hurt fucking animals.
As if on cue, the toilet flushes, the door to the bathroom opens and the Samoan returns. Enter the torturer of animals.
-Sorry, guys, I had ta drop a deuce. Hey, you got air freshener or what?
Sooner or later, even the most profound events of your life are reduced to concerns like this.
-Under the sink.
-I looked there.
-The kitchen. Not the bathroom sink, the kitchen sink.
-Fuck you, who keeps freshener under the kitchen sink?
-I do.
-What, your shit doesn't stink? You don't need no freshener in the bathroom?
Meanwhile, Blackie has got hold of Bud and is dragging him out of his hiding place, but the fur is flying. Bud comes into the light of day howling and clawing at Blackie's eyes. As the Russian stands upright, I get my first look at Bud. He's writhing this way and that, trying to get a piece of someone, but his left leg is twisted up real weird and he's not moving it at all.
-What the fuck? What, man, what did you do to the cat?
Suddenly the Samoan reaches over and grabs Bud. He wraps those huge hands around the struggling cat and locks him up. Bud's legs are all trapped, just his head sticks out of the Samoan's grasp. And then Blackie hits him, the fucker makes a little fist out of his little hand and hits Bud in the face.
-I kicked this shit cat, this fucking shit cat I fucking kicked. This fucking shit cat, I tried to pet and it fucking bit me and I fucking kicked the shit cat. So fuck you, Mr. Bartender, can't make a fucking cosmopolitan. Mr. Fucking Shitty Drink Maker with the Shitty Cat.
He punches Bud again. They get the sock back in my mouth before I can finish screaming at Blackie.
My head is clearing. The few minutes I had to breathe helped and the adrenaline has cut some of the haze and I'm starting to think a little more clearly. They want the key. I don't know where the key is. As soon as they feel sure I don't know where the key is, they will kill me. If I did know where the key was and I told them, they would get the key and then kill me. I have no idea what to do. Done battering the cat, Blackie gets a fresh grip on my left arm and stretches it back out.
Roman twists my head to the left so I can get a good look at the Samoan and whatever he's gonna do to Bud. Red is still on my legs and he resettles himself, getting comfortable for the next round. Roman is getting cute.
-If you were the key and you had mysteriously disappeared, where would you be?
The sock is still in my mouth, but I grunt so he knows I'm following him.
-Where would you hide if you were a key?
Breathing is starting to be a problem again.
-Would you hide in this apartment?
Bud now has a scrape on the side of his face where he was hit. I can't really tell if he's awake or not. The Samoan tucks the cat into his left armpit, keeping all his limbs pinned except for the broken left leg.
-Would you put yourself in an envelope and send yourself somewhere?
Very gently, the Samoan has taken hold of Bud's injured leg. He extends it until it's fairly straight. I can see the little bend where the bone is broken. I can hear Bud give a mew of protest, but he's clearly run out of fight.
-If you were a key that wanted to hide itself, would you give yourself to a friend for safekeeping?
The Samoan starts to twist Bud's broken leg. He twirls it around and I can see the loose skin bunch up on itself at the break. Bud comes back to life for a moment, yowling and trying to wrestle free, but the Samoan has him pinned tight. A thin stream of urine is leaking out from under the Samoan's arm, but he doesn't notice or
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