Page 441 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Mr. Hill, I really must insist…” Mr. Bird squawked, motioning to his casket on wheels.
“And I must insist that you and my father go fuck yourselves, or each other while I go retrieve my bike from of the police impound yard.”
“I like this kid,” I overheard Zaius say to Cutter.
“Say, man. Since we’re all headed the same direction, you may as well stick with us. Who knows what these shit kickers get up to at night around here?” Cutter said.
“I am one of those shit kickers,” I replied with a smile.
“Well, then you’d know,” Cutter said, before adding, “I don’t see a club patch on your kutte. Surprised a guy like you would be a lone wolf.”
“I prefer to keep to myself when I can. Besides, I haven’t been back home long enough to put down any roots. I got out of the army a little over nine months ago, and I’ve been on the road since.”
“You in Nam?” Zaius asked.
“Yes, sir. Twenty Fifth Infantry Division. Second Battalion.”
Zaius let out a low whistle. “Twenty Fifth? You boys saw your fair share of shit.”
“You serve?” I asked.
“My older brother was a Marine. Killed in the Battle of Hue. February of ’68.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Appreciate it,” Zaius said with a nod.
“You fellas from Oregon, huh?” I asked, motioning to Cutter’s patch.
Cutter let out a good-natured laugh. “Shit, man. I dig the way you say OR-uh-GONE.”
I smiled. “Kind of a long way from home ain’t ya?”
“We’ve been on a bit of a road trip ourselves, following the Pink Floyd tour since Maddison.”
“Big music fans?” I asked, a bit taken aback by Cutter’s answer.
He laughed. “Sure, but not that psychedelic shit.”
“Shit. Cutter still listens to Johnny Cash,” Red Dog said.
“Don’t you say a word about Johnny Cash,” Cutter snapped back.
“We’re out here on business,” Zaius said.
Cutter elaborated, “We’ve been working the parking lots, selling acid to hippie kids going to the Dark Side of the Moon show. Atlanta P.D. busted us at the Memorial Coliseum tonight before the show.”
“We’re raising money to open a second chapter on the East Coast and were thinking Atlanta might be the place,” Zaius said.
“But after tonight’s heat, we’re rethinking that plan,” Cutter said.
“Tell you what. If y’all are looking to open shop in Georgia, Savannah is where you want to be.”
“No shit?”
“We’ve got the shipping ports, plenty of gambling action. Police that are friendly to those who are willing to share the love. It’s wide open out there. I’m telling you,” I replied.
“How do you know so much about Savannah?”
