‘Hold it right there,’ I said calmly, which was so typical for me in tough situations. The more severe and dangerous it gets, the calmer I become. Some call it courage.
‘We need this scumbag alive.’
The blood-stained tortoise laughed. ‘For a moment I thought you said «We need this scumbag alive». Please accept my apologies for this mistake.’
‘Apologies accepted,’ I replied with dignity. Noblesse oblige.
‘But you’re probably right,’ it went on, ‘we should eat this scumbag alive!’
With these words my little hero poked the fairy-rapist with its forefinger, and it’s not a slip of the tongue. It didn’t punch the immoral thug, but poked him: first in his brow, then in his ears, twice in both sides of his chest, ending with a gentle poke in the belly. It looked as silly as it was impressive, like some kind of a Sacred Shaolin Buddhist Martial Art Shit.
‘Why are you poking the bastard?’
‘What an excellent question!’ replied the tortoise, ‘that was the Sacred Shaolin Buddhist Martial Art Move, called A Touch of Seven Words.’
’Swords?’
‘Words.’
‘No shit,’ I answered. ‘You really mean it.’
‘You see, my friend, it’s the deadliest Sacred Shaolin Buddhist Martial Art Move in the entire world’, said the reptile. ‘I learned it from the White-Lotus-Of-Black-Death Master U himself. No one in the world has mastered this ancient technique.’
White-Lotus-Of-Black-Death Master U
Needless to say, I was intrigued.
‘What now?’ I asked, burning with curiosity.
‘Let me tell you what now,’ answered the reptile. ‘Ask something of this sucker here.’
And it pointed towards the bashed up mother-stuffer.
‘Why?’
‘Because after the first seven words he hears, he will die the most horrible, excruciating and uncomfortable, as well as humiliating death on Earth.’
‘Nice surprise,’ I retorted, ‘how the hell am I supposed to question the bastard now?’
‘Make every word count,’ said the beast screwing up its eyes, and the answer sounded equally cool and stupid. It didn’t look like I had a choice.
‘Listen here, you immoral, petty, defective mother…’
I had barely finished the last word when my interlocutor collapsed in the dirt of Joshua Tree, and died the most horrible, excruciating and uncomfortable, as well as humiliating death on Earth. There went my hope of finding out where my kidnapped love was being held, to subsequently beat miscreant to death with my bare hands. Although, on second thought, my hope partially did come true: the immoral monster was dead.
‘What have you done?’ I roared at the stupid Shaolin shitty reptile. ‘How am I supposed to find out where they are keeping her?’
It scratched its stupid head.
Poker of Death
‘Let’s sleep on it,’ the tortoise said. ‘Together we’ll find the solution, I’m sure. But first let me tell you the secret story of my life, lost and sad.’
I was more than happy to accept its proposal. Never before I had been privy to the life story of a desert tortoise, all the more intriguing because of the ‘secret, lost and sad’, which promised a gripping narration.
‘With pleasure,’ I said to the blood-stained reptile, ‘with pleasure.’
TO BE CONTINUED
