AREA 47

SECTION 89:

COURTNEY, Chapter 66

Byron Terminator Reed walked.  Take three powders and call me in the Goodbye!

Lauren and Peach shared a look of wonder: he just hangs up and leaves?  And the way he hangs up: like a Hellfighter pushing down the dynamite plunger.

“Where are you going?” Lauren called after him.

Reed turned his head just enough——did not slow: “To Courty.”

As Reed walked out Lauren’s front door and bulldozed down the hallway, a lithe female sprang up off the Chairman Mao couch and walked precisely right along beside him, matching his Boston Marathon walk-pace.

“I’m going with!” Liz shouted.

Reed continued to walk, swiveling his head just enough to corner her with the corner of his eye.  “Frig off, Lesbian.”

Liz fell into step with him, and happily shouted: “Burp your worm, maggot, I’m goin’ with you!”

Her comeback bought half a smile to his face.  The half of the face away from her.  “Go beat your beaver, bitch, you ain’t going nowhere.”

“Wanna bet, fuck-fist?”

“Two bucks, fuck-finger.  Two bucks.  Get lost!”

Liz and Reed fast-walked down the hallway, double-time & in-step as they insulted each other neck & neck.

Liz had been listening to the whole disappearing Courty scenario with her around-the-corner ears, and her Courty-heartbreak heart.  BJ was a new meal-ticket with her name on it, a stash with flash.  But Courty was the lump in her throat.  Courty was sweetest meat.  With her heart heaving, Liz was reminded full-force of Courty, and the desire stabbed into her.  If Courty was in danger, Liz Was Going, SHE WAS ALREADY THERE!

Liz shouted: “Quit tryin’ to do it yourself, you whanker.  I can help.”

For the first time, Reed actually looked at her as he walked.  The lesbo had tubes.  Of course, she was about as useful as Helen Keller masturbating.  (With one hand, since she needs the other to moan.)  “Jump a stump,” he snarled, whamming his fist onto the down button, and dead-ending his body.  “Lady-lover.”  Reed looked down at Liz: a sneer.

Liz looked up, a snide sniffle.  “I’m goin’ with you, you fart-poopin’ bastard!”  The elevator door opened for them.  Liz started to walk into the empty elevator with Reed; he grabbed her by her arm and shoved her out.  “Transvestite CHRIST!” Liz snarled at him.  “Let go o’ me!”  She headed into the elevator again; Reed shoved her out again.  “Go yank your doodle, and call it dandy, you mother-buggering piece of Shitville shit!  I hope you suffer from Whanker’s Doom, you scurve.  Damn it, I’m coming with!”  She charged at him; he shoved her back out.  “Quit stroking your salami, donkey-fuck, an’ let me come along!”

Minor scuffle, over elevator rights: her hand knocking at the door whenever it threatened to close, his angry fist about to bash her in the face.  He lowered his fist, silently.  Reed stared at the girl, from inside the elevator.  Liz stared at the guy, from outside the elevator, her hand on the door to keep it from closing.

He needed a neolojizm.  The girl certainly was a sharp, wicked little deviate.  It was irrelevant, but his male ego demanded that he match her cum-shot for cum-shot.  “Why don’t you go perform an indecent act with a doorknob?”  He motioned with his thumb for her to hitchhike to hell.

“Go fuck a sheep!  And lemme come along an’ watch!”  She tried to come in the elevator.

He shoved her back.  “Go stick your finger in the dyke.  Dyke.”

It came to push-and-shove one more time.

“Great Drowning CHRIST, will you Stop Pushin’ Me!  I’m Goin’ With!”

Tiredly, Reed looked at her.  What the hell did Courty see in this blasphemous little twit?  “Go cliturbate.”  He pried her hand off the elevator door.

Well, Liz could damn well make with the tired looks too.  She could also make with the lies.  “Eric Des Barres is one o’ my tricks, Reed.  You gotta plan, man?  I know all about him.  If he’s got Courty with him, you won’t get anywhere near him.  Fact, Jack.  He’s one o’ my tricks, man.”

The door started to close.

This time Reed’s hand stopped the door from closing.  “Prove it.”

“What am I supposed to do!” she yelled at him with vicious disgust.  “Describe his dick?”  She tossed her head back, confidently.  “You wait right there.  I gotta go get somethin’.  You wait right there!”  She smiled.  “You and me, are goin’ to rescue Courty!”  Like a spring, she snapped around and ran flying back to her apartment.

When Liz returned two minutes later, she carried a duffel bag.

Reed continued to stare at her.  The door closed.  The elevator did not move.  Reed considered.  The girl’s mood had drastically changed for the better, and her eyes were shiny and twinkling.

Reed decided.  Reed reached to push the parking level.

Liz quickly blocked him.  She held out her hand, palm up, rubbing the fingers together, and then laying the palm out for the cash.  “Two bucks,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Tubes.  Solid gold Fallopian tubes.

Slowly, very slowly, Reed smiled.  A little.

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Reed wanted to drive.  His driver was out of a job, demoted to pedestrian.  Liz was Wow, and Oooh, and Ahhh, in the front seat of the biggest BMW sedan.  Two bucks richer, and riding in the front seat of life!

Reed’s mood was wind-chill-factor.  When Liz looked over at him, she went: Brrr!

Reed did not drive fast; seemed sluggish at first.  But he didn’t stop for things.  Red lights?  Peds?  Get out of the way, this man’s coming through.

“I have to pick up some people,” Reed said.  “What’s the best way to Bayonne Park?”

“How the fuck should I know?”  Pause, sideways glance, narrowed eyes.  “Spermhead.”

Without taking his eyes off the ramp that he was driving up, Reed snagged a fist-full of Liz-hair and yanked her head over against the steering wheel.  Liz screamed with pain.  “I’ve never hit a woman before!  I could start any time!”  He shoved her hair and head away from him.  Liz squealed again.  “Talk to me about Eric.”

COURTNEY, Chapter 67
 

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