Wacktards of the Apocalypse by Timothy W. Long; Jonathan Moon

Author:Timothy W. Long; Jonathan Moon
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 1463597444
Publisher: Twisted Library Press
Published: 2011-07-18T07:00:00+00:00

“What?” Charlie says.

“He ain’t moved in three days.”

“That a record or something?”

“Pretty close. That meth head made it for four, but he went out in an ambulance. This guy doesn’t look tired. He seems … I don’t know, elated. Go talk to him. See what he is all about. Offer the guy a nice room or something. The way he is spending money, we need to keep him happy.”

“Sure, boss, no problem.” Charlie steps away and is almost plowed down by an electric wheelchair driven by a demonic-looking woman with black cat’s eye glasses and a disheveled bun of blue that trails behind her. “I fucking won ten grand. TEN GRAND!” she yells as she almost runs him over.

He takes the long walk along losers’ row. How many times has he taken the steps and tried to reconcile what he does? How much money he helps bring in, how many dreams he has seen crushed. How many times has he stared into the eyes of someone who just lost a child’s college tuition? Offered comforting words, offered the devastated parent a free upgrade to a suite and a fresh line of credit?

It pays to look like a nice guy. At work at least. He tried to be a nice guy at home, but that didn’t work out so well with his lovely bride Edwina. Bitch kicked him in the fucking balls and drove over his legs. They found the car a few days later but no sign of her. He wanted to press charges, but he was too damn embarrassed that she’d beaten the hell out of him and stolen his car.

Stupid cunt. He gave her everything, and as payback he gets to walk with a limp everywhere he goes. Some days he wakes up and can’t feel his fucking legs. If he ever catches up with her, she isn’t going to feel her legs for a long time.

He strolls past a pair of patrons. A short man with bright red hair and a stunning woman dressed in something that resembles clothing. She has gigantic fake boobs that are barely contained behind her string top. They are kissing while she takes his dice and tosses them across the table. He grabs a handful of her ass and peeks as the dice come to a stop. Then he jumps up and down as they win a cool five grand. Charlie can tell the winnings from a mile away. His eyes lock on the color of the chips, and he feels like the money is being taken out of his own account.

They will probably lose it back to the house in a few minutes. Nothing else to see here; move along, folks.

He makes it to the craps table and gets an up-close look at the man who is perched over the back of it. One foot cocked up on the support of the leg rest. His other hand crooked, elbow on the table, hand cupping chin with fingers tapping pearly white teeth. He has a full beard, which reminds him of one of those Al-Qaeda mother fuckers on TV.

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