Royal Street Suzanne Johnson
What should a wizard pack when fleeing a hurricane? It sounded like the opening line of a bad joke.
The sentinel in Las Cruces, New Mexico, was a self-absorbed, Elder-wannabe asshat monkey. I’d walk to my grandmother’s before I’d voluntarily spend time with him.
If normal hurricane frenzy ranked five on a scale of one to ten, Katrina hysteria had ratcheted up to fifty in the past twenty-four hours. ….. .Without a miracle, the City That Care Forgot (or, as we liked to call it, the City That Forgot to Care) would be in trouble.
We had an unwritten belief system: God watches out for fools and New Orleanians.
If Gerry had tried that stunt, we wouldn’t have to worry about a hurricane. We’d be so deep-fried you could roll us in powdered sugar and sell us as beignets.
I finally broke down and visited my father – Gran had told me it was his off-day. I didn’t feel too badly about waiting so long. The roads worked in both directions, and he hadn’t come to see me either.
I’m an empathy, not a psychic or telepath. I can tell what an arrogant letch you are but I can’t read your flipping mind.
‘The fight wasn’t over,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘I’d have wont.’ Probably.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘And something just flew past your window. It was oinking.’
‘Do you think you brought enough firepower?’ Talk about overkill. He could take down a small third-world country.
‘Kindergarten is over, DJ. As we say in Mississippi, if you want to play with the big dogs, you have to get off the porch.’
Tonight, as long as he left me alone, Mr. Fixit could do whatever charges his chain saw.
‘So why aren’t you driving some big studly truck with Playboy Bunny mud flaps?’
‘Why aren’t you riding a broom?’ he muttered to himself….
First, I got rid of Alex, telling him I had cramps and wanted to rest. Mention cramps and guys get a panicked, deer-in-headlights look and develop a sudden urge to go hunting or drink beer. Like hormones might be contagious. Too bad they’re not. The world would be a more equitable place. Or more violent. It could go either way.
Great. That would help find Gerry. To stay busy till the magical desk jockeys got their horses lined up….
Anything magic couldn’t fix, duct tape and WD-40 could.
An iron? Was he kidding? God made knits so people didn’t have to iron.
Jake, who knew only that I had some nebulous relationship with his cousin and was missing an uncle, apparently didn’t find the subject of my needing a gun the least suspicious. Gotta love the South.
Sorry, Jake, but the world isn’t exactly what you thought it was.
‘Quit trying to be so tough, DJ. I’m here. I’m not leaving.’
Given enough time, people say, everything heals.