Skipper was inhaling some baby blue cotton candy at the carnival, and suddenly–
“Oh my God! Where the Hell have you disappeared to, Billy?”
Billy Luck was ambling up Seventh, when a thrown Bowie knife warned him Ferret was near.
It THWACKED!! into the rotting doorframe of the massive abandoned Furniture Dome at Seventh and Eye. He stared at the vibrating blade, then lunged at its thrower, hurling him to the pitted granite kerb.
A few minutes hence, Billy stood before his beloved Reverend at the Mission of Last Resort.
“Rev,” he gulped, “You are in a passel of danger. I b’lieve I know who’s behind it.”
Rand chugged brown ‘smoke’ from his bag, then exhaled. “Ahh, my boy, the Lord’s wisdom no doubt..It’s the little ‘Weasel,’ am I right?”–
“Ferret is who you want to say, sir,” retorted Billy in soft compassionate tones.
At that moment Billy practically ‘sighted’ Skipper’s anxious and lovely face, scanning the broken Seventh Street skyline for his missing self. “L-look, I’m so dang confused.. It is the husband of the woman I’ve met, oh Jeez–“
“–Jesus understands I am sure, Billy…”
“Well, he–he is way high up in this town, I mean political c’nnections, and I’m on the hook with his WIFE!!—“
Rand passed him the whiskey pint with empathy. “Here, have some, you’ll feel less overwrought..”
Billy took a huge pull, then staggered, then flew out the side door of the tiny rectory.
Out on New York Avenue, he stumbled among the mendicants, and warbled with brio,
“Oh what a beau-yoo-ti-full Mornin, Oh What a Bea-Yoo-ti-full day, I Got a Be-Yoo-Tiful Feeling, EVERYTHING’S GOIN’ MY–WAYY!!!”
To be continued. . .
