The reunion part eight


Meanwhile, Grease was crawling through the basement of the restaurant, pulling spiderwebs out of his hair and repeatedly smacking his head on the low ceiling.. "Dammit, I need a cigarette," he said, reaching toward the vest pocket of his dirty motorcycle jacket. Then he stopped and made a fist. Damnit. He had to change clothes before he could smoke. Some stupid fat bitch had managed to get gasoline on him earlier that day. He shook his head. How did that happen? Hell, she wasn't even the one pumping gas. He knew he had a job to do this night and he was going to let it go, but when her jive talking companion jumped in and said "sorry, my bad" he pulled out his 9 inch hunting knife with the intention of teaching them a lesson. To his chagrin, the woman had whipped out a handgun and taught him a lesson about politely accepting apologies. And bladder control.

Now he reeked of a not entirely unfamiliar combination of gasoline, sweat, leather and, well, urine. He stunk. He needed a smoke. And he was squeezed into the uncomfortable crawlspace of a fancy dancy restaurant trying to drill a hole into their lower dining room.  

"Can this day get any worse?" he snarled.


Twitch examined the marijuana cigarette, sniffing it carefully, briefly tasting it, and jerking his hand back when he touched the lit end. "This is some weird smelling catnip," he said, trying to hand it back to CC. "Plus, I think it's on fire."

CC leaned back grinning and Skulkin giggled like an annoying middle schooler. "You put one end in your mouth and suck it," CC finally explained.

Twitch's prednisone kicked in again. "You suck it!" He tossed the joint on the floor and stalked out of the room, making sure to shoulder Skulkin on the way out.

* * *

Underneath the dining room, Grease was blinking fiberglass insulation out of his eyes and trying to ignore the pain of his cramped muscles. He finished sawing a circle in the floor, and held the cutout of wood up with one hand while putting the jig saw down with the other, thereby simultaneously giving himself a long jagged cut on one hand while driving a thick splinter deep into the other. Through a haze of pain he could make out voices in the room above him. Conversation, then laughter, then an angry outburst. He gritted his teeth and pulled the circle of flooring free just as a marijuana cigarette came through the hole and set him on fire.

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