The Imperfections of a Golden God

Chapter 2

3:20 pm

On a Monday

Philadelphia, PA

"Guys, we have a problem."

Mac came into the pub, a bit exasperated. Dee and Dennis were sitting on the bar stools, arguing about how Dee could never make it as a model, due to her bird face. Frank said that Bruce Mathis was probably the one to blame for Dee's avian looking features. Charlie laughed, he was sweeping the floor when everybody stopped to look at their nervous friend. Dennis paid attention to what Mac had to say, wondering if Monday would be a special day.

"What is it?" Said Frank.

"You remember that man, Richards? Devon Richards?"

"The guy who got food poisoning from our peanuts?" Charlie said.

"Yeah. That guy." Mac sighed. "Remember he came back?"

"Yeah, and I told him to fuck off." Dennis shrugged. "No one has ever been sick here. He's probably lying."

"Well there was that time someone nearly overdosed here, but we kicked them out." Frank shrugged. "We can't have anyone dying here."

"Or that time that crackhead tried to give birth in the restroom and she bled all over the place." Dee pointed out.

"Yeah, and that old guy who died on that one booth..." Charlie pointed at the booth.

"Okay, okay." Mac interrupted. "That's not the point. The point is that he wants to close this place down."

"But why?" Charlie said. "We didn't do anything to him!"

"We did give him food poisoning." Dee raised her eyebrows.

"Shut up, Dee!" Said Mac and Dennis in unison. She rolled her eyes.

"Did you bump into him?" Dennis asked Mac. "What did he say?"

"Yes, I did." Mac's eyes widened. "He said he'll be sending a health inspector here in the next few days."

"Oh man, we're fucked." Said Charlie. "This is really the end. We have rats in the basement and shit."

"Don't be so pessimistic." Frank sighed. "You can take care of it."

"Take care of what?" Charlie's eyes widened in anger. "Do I have to take care of it alone?"

"Yeah, man." Dennis approached and touched Charlie's shoulder. "It's Charlie Work."

"Oh, so you're all gonna bail on me?"

"Yeah." Dee frowned. "I don't want to be here cleaning this shithole with you."

"Good sweeping, buddy." Frank followed Dee as both went out.

"Well." Said Dennis, shrugging. "I have a date with that crazy chick from Serbia. I would love to stay, but you know. Bye."

Dennis left the pub. Of course he wouldn't sit around or help Charlie to clean the pub at all. Besides it being Charlie Work, the gang didn't have to worry about the health inspector. Dennis would find Devon Richards first. That balding, fat, disgusting man. He had visited the pub some weeks prior, and got embarrassingly drunk. They let him stay, because they could make money off him. After eating some of the free peanuts the pub offered, the man felt sick and vomited all over the the restroom, which upset Charlie, because he knew he'd be the one to clean it. Devon was really angry and after no one helping him, he said he would come back. No one believed him, and that was that. But he came in a day later, claiming that those peanuts almost killed him and that he would contact the authorities. Dennis asked him to kindly fuck off and the man got angrier, saying that they didn't know who they were facing. He was laughed at, and left. It would have been better that way, if he just gave up. But he had to threaten Mac, and threaten the pub. Dennis didn't like that. That was a mentally ill alcoholic, trying to blame someone for his actions.

Dennis went back to his apartment and Mac wasn't home, fortunately. He needed to do a bit of research. Devon Jonathan Richards. Fifty-seven years old. Married, two kids. Worked at the post office.A shame, really. But not as shameful as trying to close a pub out of spite. He had some trouble with the law too. The killer was thankful he didn't have to off that fat fuck in the apartment he shared with a friend. His old house served that purpose and he was glad his biological father Bruce had donated it back to him... after a bit of "persuasion". It was very easy, though. And Bruce definitely deserved it. Dennis took off on his car, and his tools were ready waiting for him. He just had to drive past the post office for a visit. Richards already knew what he looked like, so he decided just to wait for the man to leave work and follow him. He would be out at around 4 pm, so Dennis went out and bought a cheeseburger and fries. Hunt day was always cheating on the diet day. He couldn't wait for the man with an empty stomach.

That was the boring part of all. Cleaning up the mess was uncomfortable, but the wait was almost unbearable. His urge was like a presence. He didn't hear a voice in his head telling it what to do, but it was mostly like he was a puppet and his urge was a puppeteer. He could easily get out of the car, drag a random person into his trunk and drive off. But Dennis wasn't an idiot, and he knew that killing random people would be traced back to him in a second. If they were drunk idiots or criminals, no one would care. The United States prison system was already filled with scum like that. And that's why he never acted on these impulses in particular. But it was hard. The cheeseburger and fries were just a distraction, like giving a ball to a hyperactive kitty. But the kitty would perhaps claw some furniture and destroy some vases here and there, not full on murder people. Devon Richards had been fired countless times for excessive drinking and sexual misconduct. It's not like he would be missed. His wife would soon find someone else who wasn't a failure in every single level. Dennis started tapping the driving wheel, as he noticed how long the man was taking to leave work. It was dark already. At almost seven-thirty, he appeared. He came from other place, which meant he had left work before Dennis arrived. Or perhaps, by how drunk he seemed to be, he didn't even go in. The bastard was wearing the USPS uniform. At least they would get mail in time if he was gone.

Dennis offered Devon a ride home. The man was so drunk he accepted it, not questioning one bit. It was just that easy.