Seven Demons by Aidan Truhen (best motivational books for students TXT) 📕

O and she shakes in place like if I’d wired her up to the alternating current.

I don’t know where she is right now but I’m definitely having a harpoon issue.

Doc looks back over her shoulder what’s the delay Jack let’s go there is kidnapping to do here—

And she—

Sees—

Everything—

Everything at all.

Her eyes are terrible dark and deep and I have promises to keep and deaths to die before I sleep.

Doc smiles so wide I think she will swallow the world and she looks at Agent Hannah and I see murder happening right there in a thousand different ways inside her head and Agent Hannah sees it too and then Doc swirls away out of the door leaving me handcuffed and holding the arresting officer by the soft parts of her highly trained federal investigating cligeva and Agent Hannah does not remotely try to change that as she leans in against me and says right into my ear so that I can feel the traces of her teeth on my skin:

“Do you know what you got wrong, Jack Price?”

I do know and she isn’t really asking. She says it differently this time because pronouns:

“You forgot to kill the taxi driver. But Jack? He didn’t forget you.”

Oh fuck it I completely—fuck. She’s good. She’s really really good.

Serious harpoon issue.

Agent Hannah steps back and my fingers are removed from their little Aryan dolphin Valhalla and they are behind my back so thank God I cannot put them in my mouth that would be totally inappropriate.

I tell myself Agent Hannah is having some similar dialogue with herself vis-à-vis her own thighs and now that is in my head and—but she is all business now she slips into a pair of gray sweatpants and a blue cop jacket as we get in the car and I am hooked to the chassis in the back. Half-inch steel hoop like for military-grade croquet.

I am so totally going to Swiss jail.

I actually to be honest I do not think that will be all bad.

I mean it is Swiss jail I am sure there is great dental and all kinds of due process and Doc will get me out in two shakes of seal’s—

We do not talk about that now.

Swiss jail will almost certainly feature minimalist neutral design palettes and basic comforts and hygiene I figure also acceptably nutritious food and punctilious attention to prisoner well-being and reform. Because this is not fucking Louisiana this is the canton of Bern.

I’m guessing maybe a selection of educational and morally improving TV channels like maybe I can find out that whole deal with the ducal hat.

And you got to remember I am Banjo Telemark quite demonstrably and Jack Price is dead and the money dear LORD the money and the lawyers which will fall in a great appalling crash upon this situation…I got maybe three or four hours of this shit to deal with.

So I stare out of the window at the river and the mountains and I close my eyes and think about swimming in the cloudy blue-green water in the moonlight and how cold and sharp that would be and saunas with burning yellow lights and cutting a hole in the snow and Doc rising up naked out of the river as Agent Hannah passes by on her way in—wait not passes by, passes through as if they are both made of molasses—they ripple through one another and stop and then—

Then I open my eyes and see the truck.

—

I said that Eiger would phone a friend and he has. Of course he has. And who has he called? He has called François Leclerc of course that was always the plan. He has said—brash and loud to the bad people we do not like and in their language because he needs them to believe he is their man here their guy on the ground their absolute solid rock in the Canton of Bern—he has said: I have a hippie infestation boys there is a long-hair jerking my chain will you come deal with it for me?

And they will that is totally their jam. If there is a hippie problem they are just all over that. They love a hippie problem. Beating up on hippies is like a fucking traditional activity although in certain parts of the world you have to be real fucking careful about it because there are hippies and hippies and some hippies turn out to be log-cabin motherfuckers after all and—but an art hippie is just a hippie and they love that sweet bloodhoney.

So they are here to help man just to help out a buddy. You can tell it is them because they are so very fucking precisely ethnic. If any one of them had so much as a midbrown hair he has dyed it that straw-piss color you see in colorized photos from the ’30s. These guys are nostalgia walking and they are here to do me wrong.

Well okay not walking per se that is not what they are doing. I sort of reckoned they would come in their black suits with their perky flower badges or in that paramilitary crap they wear to make themselves feel like real soldiers and not basically drug remoras. I figured they would in the first instance try to scare the shit out of Banjo Telemark or at least send the screwheads in first with bats to beat him down because as we have mentioned Hans Eiger does not want to accidentally-on-purpose murder an artist howevermuch of a dick that artist might be. Because advertising. But of course that constraint now that I think about it does not entirely apply to his deniable friends here and these guys are not walking and they do not have bats that I can see.

They are riding.

In a big fucking terrifying truck of death.

Which I admit I did not absolutely plan for.

—

This is not Humvee country they do not have those here. Humvees are all about an American kind of war porn