“Dammit, Shirley’s gonna kill me.” Nicky whined

“What?” Angelo asked.

Nicky pointed at his feet where the toe of his new black and white wingtip was stuck in the business end of a severed head.

“For Christ’s sakes, Nicky, get your fuckin toe outta his neck, already. What did you do? Trip on it?”

“Yeah. I think it’s stuck, bro.”

“Fuck, bro, just yank.”

“I don’t wanna rip my shoe. Shirley got me these. She’s gonna be pissed.”

“I don’t know why you wore them out to this job, bro, you’re a fuckin retard.” Angelo leaned down to look.  Hands in thick rubber gloves that reminded him of the ones his grandmother wore while washing lasagna pans, he slid his fingers into the stump. The smell of copper wrapped his nose and mouth as he unhooked a piece of sharp vertebrae from the shoe’s stitching.

“You’re good, bro.”

“Thanks, Angelo.”

Angelo grunted and looked around the garage, now a Jackson Pollack of red.

“Nicky, I love you and all. You’re my cousin. But you really fucked this job up.”

“The fuck, bro?”

“All we hadda do, was come out here, put two is this guy’s fuckin dome. Done and back to Queens.”

“We done that.”

“Nah, I wanted to shoot him. You hadda go all seven ninja.” Angelo pointed to a sword leaning in the corner.

Nicky spread his arms. “C’mon, bro. Minute I saw that sword on the wall, I knew. C’mon. Admit it. That shit was gangsta. Anyway, it’s Seven Samurai. Ninjas are different.”

“See what I mean, Nicky? Yer a fuckin’ retard.”

“Just sayin. Ninjas got masks and go in all stealthy, bro.”

“Well that definitely ain’t you, ya fuckin retard.”

“Yo, you gotta problem, bro? You wanna come at me?” Nicky spread his arms.

Angelo shook his head. “No, I wanna clean this shit up and get back to Queens. Lets find some Spic n’ Span or some shit.”

But they only found a plastic gallon jug of gasoline.

“Yo, you can totally clean with gas, bro. It’s like, a solvent. ” Nicky said.

“I don’t know, Nicky.”

“Totally, bro.”

Soon it was clear that they only getting high off the fumes and making puddles of pink gasoline.

“The fuck?” Angelo said, disgusted.

“Sorry, bro. I guess I was wrong.” Nicky said and lit a Newport.

“What the fuck are you doing, bro?” Angelo yelled.

“What?” Nicky muttered, the smoke pinched between his lips.

“Place is soaked in fucking gasoline.” Angelo shouted.

“Yo, bro. Don’t be such a pussy. That shit’s just in the movies. My Uncles work in a fuckin’ garage, bro. They smoke all the time.” Nicky said, inhaled deep and flicked the smoke. The cherry fell out, hit the floor and lit Nicky up like a roman candle.

Screaming, Nicky stumbled around the garage setting things on fire while Angelo dodged away.

“Bro, bro, I’m on fire, bro” Nicky screamed.

“Get the fuck away from me, asshole! ” Angelo leapt over a pile of boxes, tripped and hit the floor hard, his face splashing into a puddle of blood and gasoline. Retching, he got to his feet and snatched up the samurai sword. Nicky was still trying to find something to stop, drop and roll in that wasn’t covered in gas.

Nicky was past speech and kept walking forward, so Angelo closed his eyes and swung, the sword sinking into Nicky at an angle. Nicky’s burning arms grabbed Angelo and they fell as the garage turned into an inferno.

The Detective’s phone woke him up an hour before sunrise. Angry and uncoordinated, his smacked and chased his phone into a deep, dark corner before he managed to answer.

“What?”

“Sorry, Detective. We got a situation.” Outside, a rooster was crowing and the detective glared at it.

Watching the crime scene from where he’d parked, a mug of instant coffee in his fist, the Detective scowled at the smoking husk of the house. He didn’t notice the uniform approach him until he spoke.

“Satanic gay sex cults, sir.” If the uniform’s protruding Adam’s apple was an inch higher, it could have stood in for his missing chin.

“What?”

“Gay sex cults, sir. And Satan. I read about it on the internet. That’s gonna be the solution to this case, Detective. You mark my words.”

“Mark your what?”

A fat officer wheezed up to them and patted the uniform on the shoulder. “Ah, there you are, Marvin. Forensics needs your help.” Nodding, the weirdo with the theories walked off, his head held high.

“Who was that?” The Detective demanded.

“Mayor’s son, you know how it is.”

“Hmm.”

“You used to be a big time city detective, huh?” The officer asked.

“Yeah.” The Detective lit a cigarette.

“How’d you end up out here? Looking for a break from the big city?”

“Fucked the chief’s wife.”

The fat officer laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.

The Detective shook his head. “No. Really. Her name was Maria.”

The fat officer stared at him.

“So what happened?” The detective asked.

“Well, we got two whole dead bodies and another one in pieces.” The fat officer stuttered. “Guess you’re used to this sorta thing?”

The Detective saw local press talking to Mr. Gay Satan Sex Cult and pointed at him.

“Is that a good idea?” 

“Aw, shit. ” The fat cop hustled his bulk over to Marvin just as the first reporter started laughing.

The detective dumped his coffee. “Guess I’d better get over there.”

On the way he passed a paddock from which a few curious horses watched the commotion. He walked up to a dappled grey with a dark blaze on its forehead. It whickered and bumped his shoulder while he rubbed its velvety nose. He remembered the way Maria used to look at him when he was the first thing she saw in the morning.

“I’ll tell you what, pal” He whispered to the horse, “She was worth it.”