Suckers - Jack Kilborn [67]
“That’s right, screw Fatal Autonomy,” Tanya said.
“Screw Fatal Autonomy to hell and back!” I said.
“Screw Fatal Autonomy,” said a bunch of voices that I hadn’t even realized were within earshot.
Harry pulled his hand out of his mouth and made some smacking sounds.
“I can taste my own tongue,” he said.
“I’m just going to put him out of his misery,” said Vlad, pressing the shotgun against Harry’s forehead.
“No, no! Don’t make him a martyr!” I said. “Just leave him there to wallow in his lameness. Me too. Don’t make me a martyr, either.”
“You’re right.” He popped out his fangs and tossed them onto the floor. “Harry McGlade is not worthy to battle the Pires. Come, flock! We must depart before the real police arrive. There will be no sacrifice this day. We will seek…Daniel Baldwin! Away with us!”
Vlad and the Pires filed out of the house, got into a minivan, and drove away.
“Well,” I said.
Harry smiled. “Woooooooooooooo.”
So, the house did not burn down. There was no explosion. The Pires did not all perish, though a few days later the Beverly Hills police force caught most of them. Harry did not magically pull out a jar of spaghetti sauce. My version of the events is not as dramatic, I’ll admit, but that’s the way it happened.
Harry McGlade’s stupidity saved his life.
And mine.
For that, I will be forever in his debt.
I spent the rest of the evening being questioned by the police. And so ended my adventure.
– The End –
* * *
Andrew,
Just finished reading the manuscript. Did I really say all that shit? Wow. That was some good morphine. I’ll have to get the recipe.
I know that Chad said to let you finish it up and not make any suggestions, but c’mon, what fun is it to end the story with you being questioned by the police? Look, we faced death together, and all I’m asking is that you forget about logic for a few paragraphs and give this thing a snappy ending. Maybe some Nazi’s bust in, and we kick their asses, and then get drunk. Make them girl Nazis, with big cans. Or we could just go with what I originally wrote. Uwe Boll said it was brilliant.
At the very least, let’s exchange some sort of macho camaraderie Lethal Weapon banter. Maybe you’re so grateful I saved your life that you hug me.
It might also be funny if your fly was open, and you zipped up real fast and got your nuts caught in your zipper. I know that didn’t happen, but man, that would be sweet!
Think it over.
Your pal,
Harry
* * *
Harry and I walked away from the burning house, our faces lit by the eerie glow.
“You’re a good man, Mayhem,” he said.
“You’re a…” I winced as the word tried desperately to avoid coming out of my mouth, “…good man, too, McGlade.”
“Best of luck in the future.”
“You too.”
We shook hands. We did not hug.
I returned home. Weary, yes. In pain, definitely. But I knew that somehow, in some demented, messed-up way, my encounter with Harry McGlade had made me a better person, and I would never forget the time we’d spent together. All things considered, it was a pretty good evening.
Except that I forgot about the fucking spaghetti sauce.
Strand says: Calling Jack Kilborn an exciting new voice in horror is sort of a cheat, since it’s the pen name for J.A. Konrath, which is the “I could totally be a chick if you want to buy a book by a chick” pen name for Joe Konrath. But Jack Kilborn is the dark, dark, dark side of Joe Konrath, and his first novel Afraid is one of the most relentless horror novels in…well, maybe ever. If you’re a fan of authors like Richard Laymon, then Afraid will have you wetting yourself and the people around you with glee. He’s usually known for incorporating lots of humor into his books, but Afraid plays it straight.
Therefore, I conducted a serious interview with him. Then Joe suddenly was all like “D’oh! We should’ve done a funny interview!” and I was all like “I did it this way on purpose to better match the tone of Jack Kilborn” and he was all like “No! No! No! This is wrong! Can we do another interview?” and I was all like “Do you think I have nothing better to do than keep interviewing