Methed out skinheads from Missouri

blood brothers

The thin man drove across the low water creek. Each time the truck hit a rock he felt the pain in his side from the stab wound. He looked down at his right hand, the one holding a towel against the wound. It was the only towel or rag he'd seen in gay Billy's trailer. It was purple and green and had the Joker face sewn on the front. He pulled the towel away for a moment to look at the wound. The jokers face was soaked in blood. So we're the seats in the truck, and his clothes, and the side of his face from where gay Billy had nicked him with a .22 round. He stopped his truck in front of the cabin and stepped out. He felt light headed and nearly fainted when he stood up. He wasn't as concerned about the wounds as somebody else might have been since his half Indian half brother knew all about medicinal shit he'd picked up living on the reservation as a kid before his mom died of cirrhosis of the liver in her twenties.

The thin man closed his eyes and took a slow deep breath. When he opened them, the Mohawk man was standing to his front.

You look like shiiiyt ona stiyck. The Mohawk man said.

God gon have me soon. the thin man said.

Brother. The Mohawk man said smiling with his blackened teeth. God ain never gon have you.

The thin man walked to the back of his truck. He reached a hand into the truck bed and pulled out a bloody burlap sack.

You got another snake fer me? the Mohawk man asked.

Somethin better. The thin man said before tossing the bag at the other mans feet. The bag opened just a little when it hit the ground, and some bleached blonde hairs stuck out through the opening. The Mohawk man looked at it then leaned back and let out a whooping cry. It echoed through the hollow. You done good brother. He said to the thin man. You done real good. The Mohawk man knelt down, grabbed the blonde hairs. Then he stood and lifted up the head. Holding it in one hand.

The Mohawk man rotated the head around so his face was lookin into its face. The thin man looked away. He had come down from his last bump and his conscience had come back. Like it always did in between bumps.

You yuse to look so pretty, the Mohawk man said, before busting out into laughter. He bent over and put the head back in the sack. Then he walked over and put his arm around the thin man's shoulders, who was still looking down at the ground. You done good, brother. The Mohawk man said. Let's get you fixed inside.

but the thin man didn't move.

dooone be like this. the Mohawk man said. Listen. You done gods werk. All uhhve it. Everything you been doin these last few days. Thies whooole time. Gods werk.

That head right there, the Mohawk man said, gesturing at the sack with that bitches head. Gods werk.

The thin man nodded. He heard the generator runnin. Things were cookin. He'd have another bump soon. His brother made the best in the county.

Good. The Mohawk man said. I'll gitcha fixed up real good then ima go take this head up to that cave fore the sun comes up.

You goin that soon? The thin man asked.

Aw yeah. The man with the Mohawk said. There's been way too much blood fer one day. All that mess gone wake him up.

The thin man understood.

Got to give that monster somethin to eat for he eats us all.