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Legend has it that the party can't get started until Steve finds a toad in the grass out by the pond. So, accordingly, Stev-o found his toad. Then after he sacrificed it, without hurting it, the party began. Mac was smack-dab in the middle of a hum-drum life. "That's it," he thought, "it's time to switch professions." Not that he really had one. For the past five years (the first five of his fourth decade) he had been selling Lucky Heather out of the back of his rust/white pickup on the outskirts of one of the largest metropolitan areas in the country. He decided he was going into the bat guano business. He sold his every worldly possession. He even sold his antique stamp collection, which, by the way, was probably the only thing he had ever owned worth enough money to buy a nice lobster dinner (including drinks) at the Holiday Inn French Quarter. The girl smiled softly, then took another sip of the drink sitting on the table in front of her. She had allowed another cigarette to burn down to nearly the butt. She was distracted... & worse - she knew it. The fidgeting had stopped, but along with that came a small escape to the back brain. Her eyes darted from one end of the bar to the other periodically, just to make sure. Of what? Even she wasn't sure anymore. Larry was a used-car salesman from a town called Pencil Creek, WY. He was unassuming, unambitious & generally lazy. He didn't take many chances in his life, & thusly, received few rewards. He married his high school sweetheart, who, at the age of 17, was Miss Teen Idaho. She quickly popped out four kids & they moved to the suburbs. Things were pretty much set. Larry (or "Big Lare" as he was known down at the bowling alley) needed little & got less, except for every second or third full moon, when "Big Lare" would have six or 18 beers with a little Mezcal on the side, then jump, buck-naked, into the neighbors back yard & take a huge shit in their pool. He was finally caught in the middle of this barbarous action & hauled downtown. All he could tell the cops was that he was looking for answers. Brett used to brag that he once played a chess match that lasted for three days. Thing was, he didn't even really like playing chess. He just liked telling people that he played. Butch Trucks, coincidentally, was a truck driver. He was born in Wheeling, WV, four years after the end of the second World War, but had lived in 13 different states & four times as many towns since. He was the quintessential big-rigger. Big, burly, hairy. A slow southern drawl & the IQ to match. His half-brother Virgil, on the other hand, could not have been more different. Mohammed was a towering figure - six foot seven, 300 plus pounds. His slow gait made him that much more menacing. His use of a cane only served to make the middle-aged man appear more wise. His thick accent & dark skin intimidated. His smile, however, allowed you to relax - for just a second. As quickly as he would flash it, the smile would disappear into the ether & be replaced by an affrontive smirk. The smirk would leave you uneasy until the smile returned... & it is at that moment you realized that Mohammed had control of the entire situation. Eileen Exley was an impossibly gorgeous young woman from Spokane, WA. She had a beautiful face, beautiful eyes, beautiful brown curly hair, a beautiful smile... she was, quite frankly, beautiful. She had a slim, athletic build and an unbelievably attractive body all around, in fact. On top of all that she had an easy manner that made it almost hard to be intimidated by her. She was also one of the smokin'est & drinkin'est women you'll ever meet. |