It's been nearly a week since I hired Decker Hollis and suffice to say, I don't have any complaints. Don't get me wrong. Dude is a total goofball. An odd duck, marchin' to the distinct sound of his very own, modified, Casio keyboard's drum mix, for sure. Just a straight up lumbering, goon. Sometimes, I'm fairly certain, if he were a house, he'd be the one with pre-set timers for the lights. Cause it definitely seems like there are moments when the lights are on but there ain't nobody home. At the same time, he does have mechanical and engineering skills, he knows what he's doing, hasn't fucked anything up or failed to finish a project, his work isn't shoddy or sloppy and overall, he's an asset to have around. Bizarre as it may be, he's extremely handy and probably one of the best guys that I've worked with in a minute.


Plus there's no drama or weirdness attached to the guy. Not from what I've observed but then again, he doesn't really divulge a whole lotta information. Which is fine by me, there ain't anything wrong with that, I'm kinda like that myself, when it comes to personal information. Folks are entitled to their privacy, after all. I mean, we work together in an auto shop, it's not like I'm fixin' to take dude to prom. We shoot the shit from time to time but primarily, the day is devoted to working. As it should be cause my shop gets pretty damn hectic and busy, on a regular basis.


And today fell right in tune with that.


I had several repairs lined up, some were more severe than others, while there were also those cases when a legit, dumbfuck with no business owning a car, let alone have the right to be operating one, came along.


The... I just thought the "check engine" light would go away, you mean I have to change my transmission fluid, what's engine coolant... can I use water instead, how can a battery die from the headlights and radio being on all night... assholes.


Surprisingly. Those are actually the best and brightest of the stupid. If you can believe it?


I have heard and seen far worse.


Individuals trying to repair major issues with twine, rubber bands, glue and tape, like this was "arts and crafts day" at the out-patient, learning development for the mentally impaired clinic. They might as well have added some pipe cleaners, googly eyes and glitter, while they were at it. Sheesh. People breaking car windows, only to discover that all their doors weren't actually locked, but they panicked because they left the keys in the ignition and they didn't want their car to get stolen. So they smashed the window to get inside. Got told that one a few times. Always with a straight face too. One guy thought bullet holes would make his car more aerodynamic. A woman figured her car was mad at her, that's why it kept stalling. Said she'd sing to it all the time, then that strategy stopped working. She didn't know what she was doing wrong. Oh and someone once tried making a grilled cheese sandwich on their engine... and forgot about it. That was fun. I honestly don't know how he got his car to my shop.


I love my job but holy shit... some days it really killed your hope for humanity. When you truly got a glimpse at the frightening reality of what exists out there. Which forced ya to strongly consider the possibility of common sense bein' a super power. Certainly, it must be, in order for these "special" members of society to exist. These are the moments, when all you can do is sigh and shake your head. Cause there isn't anything more that you can do.


Today: my day, was speckled with a kaleidoscope variety of patrons, from every spectrum on the chart. A virtual assortment of customers, from all walks of life. Ranging between competent and coherent to people that would make Peter Gilmour appear as though he were a world class scholar, highly advanced in the gift of public speaking and the fine art of inter-personal communication. The very same man that I witnessed licking a 9-volt battery, giggling and repeating the process cause he liked the feel of the small electric shock. Till he got the bright idea to shove it down his shorts, then he got very upset, threw the battery at the wall and screamed "Suck my dick!" directly at it. Gilmour vs the battery everyone. He sure told it.


Anyways, the day was going by fairly smoothly, in spite of the occasional idiot. Decker had his tasks and I had mine. Somewhere during this time, I noticed the door to the storage area was slightly ajar. Now there were two ways to gain access to that spot. Walk straight through the shop; past Decker and myself, and open the door. Or there was also a secondary, loading entrance that let out to the alley, where parts and deliveries were brought inside. The storage area was dark, the only light seeped into there via the shop. Still, seeing the door open, gave me a cause for a momentary pause as I tried to recall, the last time I went back there.


Livin' the life I have lived thus far, walking down the roads that few have traveled, has forever changed my way of thinking. A normal, regular Joe, would assume that he forgot to close the door. It merely slipped his mind, he went on to other activities and that must be why the memory of closing the door, doesn't exist. A common mistake and nothing more. From my perspective, the workings that go into the mind of a living weapon, I am instantly suspicious. Sounds paranoid but you can't operate as a trained assassin, hired gun and mercenary and walk away, without your thoughts gettin' altered. Especially not after going through reprogramming, body reconfiguration and total genetic and mind transformation.


So... I make my way to the storage area and push open the door. Flip on the lights and look around. Hmmm? No one in sight. From what I can tell there doesn't seem to be anyone hiding either. Interesting. Maybe I am losing my shit and being irrationally apprehensive? This could be what happens when a weapon quits the life and tries to be normal? Why the only option is death after you outlive your usefulness? Cause there isn't a way back to being normal. You're permanently fucked in the head and destined to go mad as you sink further and further, into paranoid delusion. Such a nice, pleasant thought.


I turn to exit and that's when I hear someone drop from the ceiling. Seriously? What the fuck? Am I being infiltrated by ninjas? Spinning around to face my unknown assailant, I retrieve the Colt 45 from my back waistband and while I do this, I am also aware that they pull a piece as well. The sound is undeniable; however, the sight of my attacker is highly unexpected.




"Reese?"


Did not see this coming.


"Hello, little brother. Long time no see."




"Damn Big D... seems like you gotta find yourself a new strand of reefer. You're all edgy and jumpy. Having nightmares and shit. The way you described me... I seemed like the Freddy Krueger of mechanics. Which is weird to say the least. While Double G was coming at you, like he was a boss from God of War. Christ on a cracker, Kratos. Calm the fuck down. You're safe. For now anyway. Still you don't have to be sweatin' shit like you're about to lose your life. You're only in store for another beat down. Some hospital stay, accompanied with corrective surgery, physical therapy and recovery time but then you should be right as Rain (see what I did there) and ready to pick up a whole slew of losses."


"On some real talk. You have got to switch to another type of weed though. I've cleared four foot bongs, in one hit and never psyched myself out for a fight like that. You lost your shit from a joint, fool. A tiny, weak ass, thin, nothing of a joint. More paper than product. That isn't good, man. That is the behavior of a guy that's worried. Undeniably scared. Not a champion or a man set to make a name for himself. Somebody that's visibly shaken, frontin' on easy street. You can't even make yourself believe that you're anything more. No matter how hard you try."


"The proof is there and you know it. You see it. Look at your history. There's nothing impressive about it. On top of that, your choices are the decisions of a deluded, mental patient. There's no rhyme or reason backing them. No basis derived from actual logic and common sense. You might as well walk out and give a twenty minute speech on fireflies and the fierce methodology behind winning a game of Candy Land. Those words would hold the same meaning as all the rest of the nonsense that you unfortunately shared."


"Unlike you, I have actually held titles. More than once. I have a history bathed in brutality and bloodshed. Folks hear my name and they know the battle will be epic. This fact brings zero questions in regard to the outcome. My name is synonymous with destruction. Cause throwin' boot parties and stomping skulls, is what I live for in this business. What I thrive and exist in this company to solely do. You ain't on my level, man. Nah. No fucking ways."


"Come this Warfare, you will learn that lesson. Pain educates others and you're about to suffer a world of hurt. Class is in session and even an imbecile like you, won't be able to fail to pay attention."