Evil Wayne: Serials
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| The Secret Society of Sorority Satanists Evil Wayne: Serials |
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#41The train came and we boarded. We sat in our private compartment I was dazed trying to comprehend the magnitude of what she had told me."If it's any consolation," she said resting her hand on my shoulder. "I'll take you, if we succeed." "Thanks, and if I succeed, I'll leave you out of this." Her face became... pleasant...? She smiled. My natural charm obviously cutting through her man-hate. She started to lean towards me. "Well... that's... awful... nice." I locked onto those sensuous lips. 
The conductor was calling the Orlando stop. I put my clothes back on as Becky climbed down from the make-shift parallel bars we had constructed. We grabbed our knapsacks and got off the train. Becky gave me a big hug and let out a deep sigh. "Still thinking of killing me?" She laughed then gave me a kiss. She was on my side now. I just hoped I didn't blow it. I still had to use her credit cards. #42And we walked into the train terminal.I gave Becky a rough plan and got her to withdraw seven-hundred dollars from a bank machine. We stepped outside and hailed a cab. "Take us to the nearest sea-plane charter company please," I said climbing in next to Becky. The driver thought for a moment, then started off. He said nothing for the forty minute trip and kept a lewd stare in the mirror at Becky. That was probably because of her attire. It did resemble a few Kleenex with some string. But she didn't notice, probably because she was asleep. Funny, with all that drug-induced sleep I would have thought she'd be awake until next year. I woke her gently when we stopped. The fair ws $43.93. I have him a fifty and away he buzzed. I turned and looked at where we were. It looked more like a junkyard by the sea. I read the sign: CAPTAIN BOB'S SEAPLANES. Then, out of a rinkydink shack, stumbled this old man with a sailor's hat. I could smell the alcohol from here. "Howdy," he slurred. "I'm Captum Bob." But that's just the kind of character you'd expect near the end of this story, isn't it?22 #43I looked at Becky, who was looking at me. I shrugged."We'd like to rent a seaplane," I said loud and clear. He nodded and started back into the shed. "Well, come on," he said noticing we had yet to move. Becky walked in first. The smell, no the reak, of whiskey almost made me gag. The shed was smaller inside. It was cluttered with a few chairs, a desk, some papers and a very extensive collection of Jack Daniels' bottles. All empty. "Now, where you and your hubby wanna go? Just the basic tour or a charter?" He said charter more like charger. I looked at Becky, who then gave good ol' Captain Bob the exact location. He thought about this. Now, I thought, as soon as it sinks through the liquor he'll kick us out. "Okay," he said, rather simply. "We'll need extra fuel. I think Sitting Duck's got it. Let's go!" #44"Now?" Becky said, but he was already up and out the door.We followed as he started down the walk-ramp that let to the seaplane. It was bright yellow. "Excuse me, Mister Bob," I said standing at the top of the walk-ramp. "But don't you want to take our credit cards or something?" I felt Becky jab me in the ribs. "Naw, Naw..." He opened the door and was throwing trash out. I noticed a majority of whiskey bottles. "Cause," he continued. "If we don't come back, hate to see your credit rating whipped -HIC - whipped out" I was going to point out that if we didn't come back what difference would it make? But I felt Becky's stare and thought better of it. I walked to the plan and climbed in after Captain Bob. Becky climbed in back as Captain Bob started the engines. "Okay," he said. "Time for a pilot's prayer." I expected a sincere prayer about protection. We were silent, and then Bob spoke. "God?" Sincerity. "I hope there's a bottle in the glove." He reached over and pulled one out and took a swing. #45Captain Bob pumped the engines and they coughed to life."Okay," he said, looking at Becky. "Buckle-up -HIC- Here we go!" He threw the throttle and the plane lurched forward. We were moving smoothly then the plane stopped. "Damn plane," Bob grunted, pushing the throttle up more. I glanced out the window and noticed we were still tied to the dock. I was about to tell Bob this when he threw the throttle all the way forward and I watched the metal post bend and rip off the gangway. Now the plane, free from restrictions, lurched forward and raced away. In seconds I felt it lift out of the water. I'm sure we were going much too fast. The plane tilted to the left and Bob seemed to panic, but only for a fleeting second. He reacted and the plane tilted to the right. "Whoa," Bob said and the plane began to spin wing over wing. Then he leveled it out and flew straight. I looked back at Becky. She was on the floor, her eyes as big as dinner plates. "I hate flying," she said flatly. Her particular shade of green definitely clashed with her tannish Kleenex. 22. I still didn't know there would be 100 episodes when I got this far. Soon after this (which is probably a couple of months, but, frankly I'm too lazy to look it up) I realized I could stretch the story to 100 postcards and started padding it out (you'll see). But at this point, I thought it might be coming to a close around #50, hence the remark. |
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