Read Online Witch Lights by Michael M. Hughes - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael M. Hughes
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and her son.”
“Ah, Ellen. Not just any mother and son. Clearly, the two of you are much more than that.” He moved his face closer. “And from what I can gather, as much as she wants you and your boyfriend,” he lowered his voice, “she wants him.” He nodded to the pool.
Ellen suddenly felt like she was encased in ice. William spun in circles, his tiny body like a toy on the oversized plastic raft, his arms and legs like sticks.
She shuddered. “Why does she want him?”
El Varón shook his head. “Only she knows.”
—
Ramón drove the VW van while Ray and Mantu sat in the back. Neither was in much of a mood to talk, thanks to their brain-splitting hangovers, and the fleshy appliances glued to Ray’s face weren’t helping him feel any better. The makeup was damn good and surprisingly effective at changing his appearance, but he hated wearing it—it was hot and itchy and made it hard for him to speak properly. And with a hangover, it felt like all of his self-loathing had been pasted on his face.
They were driving to a small airport in the coastal Honduran city of Tela, where a Brotherhood plane would be waiting. Mantu was still mum about the exact location of Eleusis, explaining that it was for Ray’s safety that he was keeping it secret. He kept asking Mantu to call in and see if Ellen and William had been located, but Mantu refused. “No radio. Not even satellite. After we get in the air I can check in with Jeremy. So just sleep off that mezcal. I know you have your makeup on but you still look awful.”
Ray laughed and winced at the pain in his head. “Mantu, just for once, I’d like to hear you say I looked nice.”
“Well, then, you should start trying to look nice. Right now you look like the beat-up Jesus in that Mel Gibson movie.”
“My mother said if you don’t have something nice to say—”
“Your momma had a lot of nice things to say about me. She wrote them all on a truck stop bathroom wall.”
The van hit a bump and Ray’s head clunked against the side of the vehicle. “Ouch.”
“You don’t want to get me started on the ‘your momma’ game, Ray. I was a big, mean-looking black boy running around the streets of South Philly drinking forties and stealing
Hustler
s from the corner store and throwing down ‘yo mommas’ like a champ when you were sitting in your candy-ass suburban living room drinking glasses of milk and watching
Leave It to Beaver
reruns.”
Ray laughed again. “You’re an asshole. A funny asshole, but still an asshole.”
Mantu harrumphed. “I was a stand-up comedian. For real. Back before all this shit.”
“No way.”
“I swear on your momma’s dildo collection,” he said. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Then tell me. Go on. Spill it.”
Mantu shook his head. “Not now. It’s a long story. But we’ll have plenty of time soon. Right now I’m gonna drive for a while.” He yelled to Ramón to pull over. When the driver turned off the engine Mantu opened a cooler. He handed Ray a bottle of mineral water. “Stay hydrated. It’ll help that puffiness in your eyes. Probably not those black bags, though.”
“Thanks, doc.” Ray opened the bottle and took a deep drink.
“And we ain’t got no more
agua,
Ramón.
Quieres jugo de naranja?
”
Ramón nodded. Mantu handed him a plastic container of orange juice. “You can finish that off,
amigo
. Hop in back and talk to pretty boy Ray for a while.”
“My pleasure,” Ramón said. “He looks like my ex-wife.”
“Will you two shut up?” Ray said, but then he started laughing. “You’re making my head hurt.”
—
Ramón was not looking well.
They’d been driving for almost an hour, and now they were in the middle of what seemed like endless jungle on either side of the rutted, muddy road. Mantu had slowed down considerably, the van coming almost to a complete stop several times to avoid gaping holes and axel-snapping ruts in the dirt road. Ray had been half-listening
“Ah, Ellen. Not just any mother and son. Clearly, the two of you are much more than that.” He moved his face closer. “And from what I can gather, as much as she wants you and your boyfriend,” he lowered his voice, “she wants him.” He nodded to the pool.
Ellen suddenly felt like she was encased in ice. William spun in circles, his tiny body like a toy on the oversized plastic raft, his arms and legs like sticks.
She shuddered. “Why does she want him?”
El Varón shook his head. “Only she knows.”
—
Ramón drove the VW van while Ray and Mantu sat in the back. Neither was in much of a mood to talk, thanks to their brain-splitting hangovers, and the fleshy appliances glued to Ray’s face weren’t helping him feel any better. The makeup was damn good and surprisingly effective at changing his appearance, but he hated wearing it—it was hot and itchy and made it hard for him to speak properly. And with a hangover, it felt like all of his self-loathing had been pasted on his face.
They were driving to a small airport in the coastal Honduran city of Tela, where a Brotherhood plane would be waiting. Mantu was still mum about the exact location of Eleusis, explaining that it was for Ray’s safety that he was keeping it secret. He kept asking Mantu to call in and see if Ellen and William had been located, but Mantu refused. “No radio. Not even satellite. After we get in the air I can check in with Jeremy. So just sleep off that mezcal. I know you have your makeup on but you still look awful.”
Ray laughed and winced at the pain in his head. “Mantu, just for once, I’d like to hear you say I looked nice.”
“Well, then, you should start trying to look nice. Right now you look like the beat-up Jesus in that Mel Gibson movie.”
“My mother said if you don’t have something nice to say—”
“Your momma had a lot of nice things to say about me. She wrote them all on a truck stop bathroom wall.”
The van hit a bump and Ray’s head clunked against the side of the vehicle. “Ouch.”
“You don’t want to get me started on the ‘your momma’ game, Ray. I was a big, mean-looking black boy running around the streets of South Philly drinking forties and stealing
Hustler
s from the corner store and throwing down ‘yo mommas’ like a champ when you were sitting in your candy-ass suburban living room drinking glasses of milk and watching
Leave It to Beaver
reruns.”
Ray laughed again. “You’re an asshole. A funny asshole, but still an asshole.”
Mantu harrumphed. “I was a stand-up comedian. For real. Back before all this shit.”
“No way.”
“I swear on your momma’s dildo collection,” he said. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Then tell me. Go on. Spill it.”
Mantu shook his head. “Not now. It’s a long story. But we’ll have plenty of time soon. Right now I’m gonna drive for a while.” He yelled to Ramón to pull over. When the driver turned off the engine Mantu opened a cooler. He handed Ray a bottle of mineral water. “Stay hydrated. It’ll help that puffiness in your eyes. Probably not those black bags, though.”
“Thanks, doc.” Ray opened the bottle and took a deep drink.
“And we ain’t got no more
agua,
Ramón.
Quieres jugo de naranja?
”
Ramón nodded. Mantu handed him a plastic container of orange juice. “You can finish that off,
amigo
. Hop in back and talk to pretty boy Ray for a while.”
“My pleasure,” Ramón said. “He looks like my ex-wife.”
“Will you two shut up?” Ray said, but then he started laughing. “You’re making my head hurt.”
—
Ramón was not looking well.
They’d been driving for almost an hour, and now they were in the middle of what seemed like endless jungle on either side of the rutted, muddy road. Mantu had slowed down considerably, the van coming almost to a complete stop several times to avoid gaping holes and axel-snapping ruts in the dirt road. Ray had been half-listening
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