Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Hey! What are you doing with my sister?”
Roach scowled. “Kicking her underage ass the fuck out.”
The younger girl pulled away from Roach and gasped for air, spinning to face the other woman. “I wanna go home.” Her voice broke on the last word.
The stupidity of this situation was giving Roach a headache. The older sister was likely legal, but not that much older than her sibling. Nineteen perhaps? She took a deep breath, and the smoky makeup on her eyelids looked like an extension of her anger. “You were the one who wanted to come here in the first place! We just got—”
“I don’t care. She can’t stay here, so take her home,” Roach growled, trying to ignore the stares the other two hangarounds were giving him. Was that… appreciation? The last thing he wanted was women thinking he was boyfriend material.
One of them chuckled and nodded at something behind Roach’s back. “Maybe Mad Madge could give her a lift?”
Roach turned around. The presence of the local nut case was the icing on tonight’s shitcake.
She smiled, proudly pushing a shopping cart filled with boxes toward the clubhouse. The hell was this about? In the dimmed light coming from the bar, Madge’s lavender hair, stacked high on her head, courtesy of several scarves she’d somehow weaved into the do, made her look like an alien. The star-shaped glasses and bright pink blots of rouge dabbed all over her sagging cheeks only made the state of her mind more obvious.
He exhaled in defeat and shot the two sisters a final glance. “Take her home. She’s not welcome. Yet,” he added when the young girl bit her lip as if he were suggesting she wasn’t pretty enough or… something.
With that, he walked down the few steps to the hardened dirt that made up most of the impromptu parking lot for guests and headed straight for Mad Madge, who smiled at him, showing off the few teeth she had left. “Beautiful night, my sweet boy!”
“Ugh. Yeah, aren’t you freezing your ass off?” he asked, eying her pink… kimono? Or rather a stylized nightgown she wore in lieu of a trench coat. It wouldn’t save her if it started raining.
Madge’s face was like the leather of old worn shoes, wrinkly, cracked, but also soft and familiar. “Ah, that’s so kind of you, dear, but no. I’m never cold. Been like this since infancy. My momma used to say I’ve been made in the snow, and maybe that’s why.”
“What do you need? What is this?” Roach pointed to the boxes, pulling out a cigarette. He didn’t want to get drawn into one of her batshit origin stories, because if any of them were true, then that woman should have superhuman abilities. Or so the comic books Roach used to read as a kid suggested.
She shushed him and glanced over her shoulder as if she were spying for the government. “This is illegal,” she whispered far too loudly.
“Err… Okay.”
“No, no, you don’t understand. We will make a lot of money.”
“Madge, seriously, tell me what this is, or get lost,” Roach mumbled in helpless anger. It wasn’t really her he was mad at, and she didn’t deserve to bear with his bullshit because of someone else’s actions.
Madge cast a suspicious glance toward the clubhouse, but the noise thudding under their feet must have reassured her, because she leaned over the cart and beckoned Roach close as she uncovered one of the many cardboard boxes stacked inside. It was full of mismatched bottles. As Roach leaned in to see what this was about, the thick scent of almond Madge exuded made him choke. It was as if she’d bathed in an entire bottle of cake flavoring—not an unpleasant odor, just… too strong.
“It’s booze, and a lot of it! I give it to you for cheap, and you could sell it for normal prices. Profit for both you and me. What do you say, darling boy?” she croaked, clutching the edge of the cart with her thin fingers.
Roach shook his head, taken aback. “No way in hell! The stuff we have in there is bad enough. Did you make this yourself?”
“Yes, yes, it’s organic.”
Roach stared at the grimy-looking bottles in disbelief. The only way this shit was organic was if it had been distilled from rotting corpses showered in potato spirit. “No, thank you,” he said through gritted teeth.
“But your father said—”
Roach couldn’t believe this shit. “I don’t care what Hulk said! We’re not selling this! We’d poison the whole town!”
A sharp bark made him take a step back from Marge as her pet dog, eerily reminiscent of a dingo, sat at his mistress’ feet and glared in warning. Sure, why not, Roach might as well add a bite to the collection of indignities suffered tonight.
He took a deep breath and met Madge’s gaze again. “It’s a mix-up. We have enough liquor for now. I’m sorry Hulk wasted your time.”