What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [62]
“Just relax, Festus.” Liam waved him back over to the table. “Sit down.”
Festus took a tentative step back toward the table. The bird took another step too, and then, after giving Festus a couple more of those scary, one-eyed looks that only creepy black birds can give, took one more step and closed his beak over the straw in Festus’ beverage.
Festus declined to take any further steps toward the table, opting instead to stay right the hell where he was.
Liam, having apparently accepted the bird situation and moved on with his life, picked at a scrap of leftover taco filling and plucked it into his mouth. “Tell me more about what the guy told you in jail. Did he give you any kind of details about what the attack would be?”
“No. Just that it’s supposed to be some kind of poison gas or something. I dunno.”
“Not real helpful,” said Liam.
“He kept saying stuff about the Army of God. And talking about how everything’s supposed to be all crazy. And I’m starting to think he was r—”
“Okay, you’ve had your fill,” said Liam, waving a hand at the bird. The animal turned to Liam, gave what for all intents and purposes appeared to be a nod, and flew away.
“You know,” said Festus, “you always seem to be the epicenter of all the weird shit that happens around here. Weird shit really only happens when I’m around you. I think we may need to stop hanging out.”
“You called me to get you out of jail, boner.”
“Yes, well… still.” Festus shuddered. “Weird shit.”
Liam looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go.”
“Where?” Festus apparently could not fathom either the fact that Liam actually had somewhere to be, or the possibility that Liam had found Festus’ conversation to be anything less than absolutely riveting.
“Lola is stopping by the shop.”
“The girl from your date? All right!”
“No, it’s not like that. We didn’t hit it off at all. She’s—she’s with the FBI.” He stood, surveying the taco-paper devastation they’d wrought. “I’m going to help out on something...”
“What? Tell me you’re not getting involved with all of that again.”
“I ... think I just told you that I was—am.” He scooped up the greasy wrappers and stepped to the garbage can. “Anyway, it’s just a little thing.”
“What the hell? I thought you didn’t like shooting bad guys.”
Liam turned. “What? No. I love shooting bad guys.”
Festus was generally the shocker, not the shockee. He didn’t know what to do, so he just stared at Liam.
“Shooting bad guys is fun. It’s not like you see on the movies…’” Liam made his voice high-pitched and feigned consternation. “‘Oh no! I shot him! He’s dead. And now he’ll never go to the can again! I feel so sad. Boo hoo.’” This was a side of Liam that Festus had never seen. “No, it’s more like, ‘Yeah! I just shot that fucker. Now he won’t go around blowing shit up in the name of God or Jesus or Allah or whatever unicorn-tree-god he believes in.” Liam punctuated this statement with a subtle fist pump.
“Well, there are a lot of unicorn-tree-god jihadists,” said Festus. “I’ll grant you that.”
Liam swatted at a fly as he tried to shove their breakfast garbage into the can without actually touching it. “Besides, I’m not going to shoot any bad—”
“You come back here!” The taco stand man-lady had appeared again, having wedged her ample self halfway out the window this time. She caught Liam’s eye. “He’s stealing the tacos!” She pointed and Liam followed the line of her finger. A man with no shirt weaved his way past the tables, planted a hand on the low brick wall, and threw his legs over. Or at least, that’s what he attempted to do. He caught his foot on the edge of the bricks and ended up rolling sideways over the top of the wall and onto the ground. But