Episode 1 – Blinkless Bullets, Laughless Lips

Dry Eye in Seattle

Episode One

Blinkless Bullets, Laughless Lips

 

His hand splayed out behind him desperately, searching for something–anything hard. Real hard. He found it. L.W. was not a man prone to panic, but he knew this wasn’t a game, this wasn’t marbles, this wasn’t baseball. This was war. This was war like he’d known several times before already. He knew there wasn’t any pulled punches on the front. And he was on a new front now. Literally.

Cautiously and firmly grabbing ahold of what he now could tell was a heafty piece of construction wood, L.W. carefully raised it. Had he just been thinking about baseball? He took a measured swing. His hands were bitten by the wood, slivers bonding with his palms.

He heard The Lout enter the backdoor of the warehouse. A rat announced The Lout’s presence to the other rats and L.W. heard the man curse and kick at them.

The Lout was distracted.

With a smoothness which could still surprise him, L.W. held his back straight next to the lines of cartons and boxes and shipping crates, creeping towardsThe Lout. He made no sound.

Nor did his shadow.

Slowly, patiently, L.W. made his way. Loudly and impatiently, The Lout came bellowing and stomping further and further into the warehouse. L.W. wasn’t surprised by this–he would have probably been more surprised if the idiot had been careful in the least, if he’d shown any caution–a modicum of judiciousness.

But like most hired guns, he was more of an ape really, more muscle than anything else. He was almost berserking, having become so riled by L.W.’s interference, he’d lost control and was looking for fist-to-cuffs and blades. He would end this “war” before it finished beginning.

But that was not what L.W. was looking for–at least not tonight. Accordingly, as The Lout extended his arms up, crying out, “Come out and face me like a man you yellow bellied coward!” L.W. made his move.

As The Lout’s voice echoed off walls and shipments and rats, as he stood there, all two hundered and fify pounds of him enraged and focused on a full frontal attack on his would be nemisis, L.W. slunk up, construction wood in hand…

And cracked The Wood…over The Lout’s…head.

…

L.W. woke up, his head reeling. He noticed two, rather large pieces of wood lying on the floor next to him.

When would he learn?
The Lout was standing over him, bellowing further and flexing his muscles as blood poured out of the back of his head. L.W. had hit the monster with everything he’d had, and he had taken a good swatch of The Lout’s scalp off the back of his head, leaving a path of blood rivering out, off his neck, down his coat, over his shoes, and meandering its way towards L.W.

“Never thought you to be one for sharing body fluids with The Lout,” came a voice from the shadows.

As The Lout turned to locate the voice, L.W. cried out, “Very funny!” quickly followed by “Don’t do it!” But he was too late and he knew it. That damned Harrelson was going to ruin everything.

A shot was fired. The shot L.W. had known was coming.

The Lout fell to the floor, collapsed to the floor, new blood cushioning his impact. Blood flashed out from what was left of The Lout’s left knee, some of it hitting L.W. in the jaw. “Damn it Harrelson,” L.W. grumbled, as he passed out again. “You didn’t have to do tha…”

The Lout, now reduced essentially to one leg, crawled on the warehouse floor, shock causing him to be certain he was back on the battlefront. Harrelson watched the giant man as he rotated himself on the floor, The Lout’s left knee a memory that pieces of his lower leg were using to stay connected to the upper. With only one good leg to move himself with, The Lout rotated, a huge, bloodied clock, going round and round. Putting his head back, Harrelson let out a laugh to scare the dead. A deliberate man, much like L.W., Harrelson had laughless lips, so when he let out his guffaw, it had a disturbing effect. Even the rats hid.

“You better get outta here L.W.,” said Harrelson. “Coppers are coming. I know that you know that you don’t need this headache.”

“Okay, okay, I’m clearing out Harry, but…” L.W. swooned. The Lout must have really clobbered him. “How is it that you never have to leave when I do Harry? You’re the bastard who keeps shooting everyone in the knee.”

“Money, influence, and importance my friend,” said Harrelson. “And since you have none of any of the three, scram.” He picked L.W, up by the front of his coat and rested him against a stack of cartons ten feet high. “Look, I’m not entirely sure why you’re here, but I’m pretty sure and I know you don’t want no cops shadowing you around right about now. Am I right?” Harrelson could be persuasive.

L.W. nodded. Harry was going to win this one too. L.W. glanced towards the alley exits, less likely the cops had that area covered. Harry nodded to him as they shuffled towards it, L.W. leaning greatly on Harrelson.

With what was almost a push through the door, L.W. was exposed to the early morning light as it joined the thudding of his face to torture him. Why had he decided to become a private detective? Why had he decided to move back to Seattle? As sirens were now shouting through the corridors of the latest warehouse district next to the latest waterfront, L.W. asked himself one more question:

Why was he always losing his bounties to Harrelson?

 

NEXT WEEK: SHE WALKED INTO THE ROOM…HE STAYED, I RAN