Finn’s breath whistled out in a fair impression of a teapot brought to boil as the blade of the razor kissed the soft, pampered skin of his neck. It felt like the gentle tickle of his grandmother’s feather duster, as she had teasingly shooshed him along when he got underfoot as she cleaned the house long ago in his youth, but the warm, wet feeling that dripped under his collar and down his chest, combined with the equally warm wet feeling that saturated his pant’s leg sent alarm bells ringing in his beer be-fuddled brain. Much of his former bravado and suburban swagger left him as easily and quickly as his bladder had loosened at the touch of the surgically sharp blade melting into his delicate flesh and the cool night Baltimore air further ridiculed him by pressing his damp trousers close to his goose-pimpled legs. Barlow and Daryll stood frozen in a parody of a department store window display, wishing the spell would be broken, that their bodies would be restored to flesh and muscle, and that they could turn and run for their worthless lives, all the while praying that they would henceforth devote themselves to good works and helping old ladies cross the street. “ Maaaa…” whimpered Finn. “ Please, Maaaa…”
“You have exactly thirty seconds to explain just what chicaneries you are about this evening”, whispered Mendocino Jones, his breath hot and smelling like strong Ethiopian coffee close to Alton Findley’s cheek, “ before I relieve you, and your toxiphorous friends of your testicles and your wasted existences on this planet. A hothouse sybarite like myself can not tolerate intrusions by senseless vagabonds such as yourselves. Speak quickly. My patience is limited!”
“Maaa…. Men…. Mendocino! Mendocino!”, coughed out Finn, tears coursing down his cheeks, spittle spraying from his puffy lips. “Mendocino! Please man, you know me! Alton Findley! My mom! Remember?!? You knew my mom!”
“ Aaaaaaaaaaah”, cooed the towering black giant. “ Your mother, yes, aaahhh, a graceful gazelle, an alabaster goddess, a courtesan of unequaled talent, why, if memory serves, she could suck the chrome off a……….., but I digress into the realm of vulgarity, and in the presence of her, ah, offspring. How she could spawn an exiguous salamander as yourself…… “ the thought trailed off into the void. Jones shoved Findley to the sidewalk as one might brush aside a worrisome gnat, and brushed an invisible speck of lint from the lapel of his smoking jacket. The straight razors had vanished somewhere into the folds of the harem pants.
“ I ain’t your daddy, dung beetle, so tell me- What exactly brings you to my humble abode?”