Guitar strings twanging, many voices attempting to sing a gorgeous 80’s melody horrifically, and one of the siblings of the Walker family is cutting something up and wrapping it meticulously. The guitarist, Mark, begins to play another song entitled Hotel California. I slowly sway to the enchanting melodies. The mood in the back of the van is entirely melancholy. Jeb and his balding haircut continue driving the van on our way to Los Angeles for my encounter with Loverboy Vinnie Lane, Gator, and Luca Arzegotti. Oh wait… I’m not supposed to think about my opponents. That actually indicates I’m being relevant to the match. Luca would never mention his opponents in his adventures. Ahem. The van bounces down the interstate and the crew is still singing, painfully, the lyrics to Hotel California. Eventually, the brother in the corner, Benny is his name, brings out the masterpiece that he has been working on. He lifts the small roll into the air and his siblings drool over it as if they were starving for whatever is in the wrap. I adjust my suit and untighten my tie just a little. The black suit stands out against the dirty t-shirts and jean shorts of the Southern Arkansas good ol’ boys in the vehicle. The brother with the wrap suddenly pulls out a lighter from his pocket and flicks the switch. The flame erupts from the end of the lighter. Benny sets one edge of the wrap between his lips and brings the flame to the other edge. He inhales and brings the lighter back down with the flame now disappeared. He sets it back inside his jean pocket. He takes a breath and breathes out smoke. The familiar smell of skunk-like qualities fills my nostrils. It’s almost unbearable, but inviting at the same time. The next few guys do similar taking two breaths before passing it on. It finally gets back to me, and I pass it on. The guys groan at the refusal and encourage me to take in the edge of the ‘blunt,’ as they referred it, into my mouth. I look at it and refuse once again. They call me ‘pussy’ and ‘chicken shit,’ but I forgive them. They don’t know who they are talking to. I look down at the lanyard I had kept from my work and read the name in which they aren’t paying attention to.


LH Hazarus.


The puffing and passing, as they called it, continued until the blunt had disappeared completely. They lay back and begin to talk of things as random as what God looks like, what they would do if aliens came down to Earth, and how many zombies they would kill if the world ended in a zombie-driven after earth. We pull over to a fast food restaurant labeled Burger King. We all go inside to order food at the late hour. I inspect my watch to see it read 12:22 on Thursday night/Friday morning. We enter through the door and look around the establishment. It’s completely empty with the exception of the staff behind the counter. I walk up to the counter and peruse the menu. It consists of burgers, chicken sandwiches, and various other fried foods. I scratch my chin as I consider the options.






I finally order the #8 without mayonnaise. The boys behind me slowly order their food as I go over to fill my medium drink with ice and water. I turn around and see one of the twins go into the bathroom. I drink from my drink and watch Mike hold up three fingers to indicate the #3 choice. Jerry comes back and he is sweating profusely as looks white as a ghost. He searches the room and finds my gaze.

“LH! There’s a dead guy! He’s bleedin in da pot!” I stare at him quizzically trying to decipher what he means. He obviously senses my confusion as he restates, “He’s bleedin on da toilet!” I set my drink down and walk quickly towards him and the bathroom. The other brothers all try to cram into the restroom, but I push them out until I can examine the situation thoroughly myself.

Blood is everywhere as I enter the bathroom. I pull open the stall door and examine the dead corpse. It’s a man approximately the age of 40. He is bleeding from both wrists and has written something on the wall in his own blood.


“Welcome LH, you imposter. You’re late.”


I begin sweating a little. Did Jerry see the message? Is that why he came directly for me? Or is it because I’m a private detective. It could easily be either option. I grab a piece of toilet paper and smudge the words away. The man has a knife in one hand, and it ‘appears’ that the man has killed himself. However, I know better. How would the man have known I would be here, and how would he be able anticipate when I would arrive? No, this was the work of someone else. Someone more… sinister. I exit the stall, and Jerry is standing there looking inquiringly at me. I meet his gaze and stares back unwavering.

“Yes, Jerry?” I ask him in order to figure out just what he’s seen. “What happened?” he asks with a bit of fear in his voice. I sigh. He didn’t see it. He doesn’t know. That’s a relief. I look at him and tell him the ‘truth.’ “The man obviously took his own life as he had a knife in his right hand. My guess, looking at the way in which he handled himself, is that he was severely depressed and took this avenue to end it.”

I pat Jerry on the shoulder and leave out of the bathroom. By this time, the manager on duty rushes into the bathroom, and I walk directly past him. I walk up to the counter and pick up my tray of food. I go and find an available seat in the restaurant. I pick up the sandwich and take a bite. The boys come over and sit around me with their food. They begin eating but looking up at me with hesitant glances. I finish the sandwich but pass the fries to Jeb. I get up and walk outside.

They don’t understand. I don’t expect them to. This is the story of a man deranged.