I thought of escape. Of course I thought, I'm not an asshole. The last thing I wanted was to finish making my bones Hill Prison after having come so far, after successfully avoiding all McKenzie, Selznick and Jenkins that had been crossing my path. Now beginning to be a good person, a fucking nice guy, now he was trying to atone for my sins with a prostitute unconscious by head trauma, could not catch me those bastards.
My father was an expert in flight. He used to run all over every time things get twisted. He fled when I was born, went to Denver to sell used cars and returned after a year, drunk and penniless. He did it again two months later, when my mother became pregnant a second time and only returned when she lost the baby. He fled when they killed a su hermano pequeño, Wayne, en la guerra de Corea. Huyó cuando quebró Cosméticos Aihara. Fue la última vez. Nos dejó solos a mi madre y a mí. Se murió, como un cobarde. Supongo que de él lo heredé.
Sondeé brevemente mis posibilidades, tan reducidas, de salir de allí sin ser visto. El coche estaba aparcado en el frente de la casa. Si quería irme, tendría que llevarme a Vanish conmigo, volver a escapar hacia quién sabe qué jodida parte del país, abandonar el hogar una vez más, pero esta vez con dos órdenes de búsqueda y captura, una por cada estado. Y luego estaba el puto viejo Seymour, desde luego. Si había hablado una vez, volvería to do so. It was very clear. For the cookies bastards like him love to sing, but do not know shit about anything. It's the fucking effort to prominence of the old prostate idle.
timidly I went to the window of the room. Everything was silent. No sign of Frank and the police. The siren strobes still spinning car, dumb and frantic in the garden of blue Holcomb flooding the entire estate. The latter fell slow, heavy mud like elephants on the back. I turned to ask Steve:
- Do you think I say something?
- Frankly, Bob? "He began rubbing his hands respond doll" I think so. If you know a little, going to sing like a linnet.
Stevie I said it, the guy who had just pee in my bed. The bastard. I knelt on the carpet of burgundy, lifted the quilt and quilt and stuck my head in that hole. Still there, lurking, as I fear that the police from entering our room at any time, angry as murderers, brandishing their guns against us, attentive to shoot down any moving target, no matter what was its size. That could be a slaughter worse than that of Manson. And Steve knew it as well as myself. Nevertheless, I grew up. Peppered me with false hope to say
"Get down there, go. Sure my mother kept my clothes as a child.
Steve agreed with reasonable dignity. I reached out both arms and pulled them as one who takes a cat. I dragged him to bring it up to me, but then something happened that would change the lives of us all. He let out a bloody shoe. Yes, that happened. She left behind and had to return for him. I pushed his arm under the bed again and felt his hand, trying to avoid the wet zone. I could not find, but the dressing of my wound was hooked on a plank sticking out considerably.
"Do me a favor, Stevie. Back to put you under the bed.
- Are you kidding? The dwarf did not understand anything.
"Get under the bed, dammit. I found something.
did what I ordered. He went back like a diver. His legs looked like frog legs.
- Can you see where my band? I asked.
"Yes, fuck. Of course I see it. Do me back here for your band?
"Do not shout, shit. Lift the board. S strength. I have a fucking hunch.
Steve did force a lot of strength. So it looked like he was shitting. It took a few minutes until, finally, there was exactly what I expected: outbreak of wood, swearing and laughing.
- The host bitch! Cried the dwarf-The host bitch! We are rich, dammit!
And although his way of using the royal we inevitably scared me, I realized that once again he was right. Luck is a fickle bitch and guys like me smiles showing his teeth with gold.
"Take it all and salt to the surface, Julio Verne.
returned with an old box of trading cards full of notes. There could be more than $ 30,000. My mother had hidden under the bed, $ 30,000. Damn crazy. With that would have to pay me a few bonds, I thought. Ecstatic
, turned to glue the nose on the glass. The police were already on the porch. One of them was saying goodbye to Frank, the other never took his eye of Seymour sneak home. They got into the car, turned off the siren lights and pulled slowly, trying not to screw over the garden gnomes.
When they left, Frank looked out the window where we were and we winked.
My father was an expert in flight. He used to run all over every time things get twisted. He fled when I was born, went to Denver to sell used cars and returned after a year, drunk and penniless. He did it again two months later, when my mother became pregnant a second time and only returned when she lost the baby. He fled when they killed a su hermano pequeño, Wayne, en la guerra de Corea. Huyó cuando quebró Cosméticos Aihara. Fue la última vez. Nos dejó solos a mi madre y a mí. Se murió, como un cobarde. Supongo que de él lo heredé.
Sondeé brevemente mis posibilidades, tan reducidas, de salir de allí sin ser visto. El coche estaba aparcado en el frente de la casa. Si quería irme, tendría que llevarme a Vanish conmigo, volver a escapar hacia quién sabe qué jodida parte del país, abandonar el hogar una vez más, pero esta vez con dos órdenes de búsqueda y captura, una por cada estado. Y luego estaba el puto viejo Seymour, desde luego. Si había hablado una vez, volvería to do so. It was very clear. For the cookies bastards like him love to sing, but do not know shit about anything. It's the fucking effort to prominence of the old prostate idle.
timidly I went to the window of the room. Everything was silent. No sign of Frank and the police. The siren strobes still spinning car, dumb and frantic in the garden of blue Holcomb flooding the entire estate. The latter fell slow, heavy mud like elephants on the back. I turned to ask Steve:
- Do you think I say something?
- Frankly, Bob? "He began rubbing his hands respond doll" I think so. If you know a little, going to sing like a linnet.
Stevie I said it, the guy who had just pee in my bed. The bastard. I knelt on the carpet of burgundy, lifted the quilt and quilt and stuck my head in that hole. Still there, lurking, as I fear that the police from entering our room at any time, angry as murderers, brandishing their guns against us, attentive to shoot down any moving target, no matter what was its size. That could be a slaughter worse than that of Manson. And Steve knew it as well as myself. Nevertheless, I grew up. Peppered me with false hope to say
"Get down there, go. Sure my mother kept my clothes as a child.
Steve agreed with reasonable dignity. I reached out both arms and pulled them as one who takes a cat. I dragged him to bring it up to me, but then something happened that would change the lives of us all. He let out a bloody shoe. Yes, that happened. She left behind and had to return for him. I pushed his arm under the bed again and felt his hand, trying to avoid the wet zone. I could not find, but the dressing of my wound was hooked on a plank sticking out considerably.
"Do me a favor, Stevie. Back to put you under the bed.
- Are you kidding? The dwarf did not understand anything.
"Get under the bed, dammit. I found something.
did what I ordered. He went back like a diver. His legs looked like frog legs.
- Can you see where my band? I asked.
"Yes, fuck. Of course I see it. Do me back here for your band?
"Do not shout, shit. Lift the board. S strength. I have a fucking hunch.
Steve did force a lot of strength. So it looked like he was shitting. It took a few minutes until, finally, there was exactly what I expected: outbreak of wood, swearing and laughing.
- The host bitch! Cried the dwarf-The host bitch! We are rich, dammit!
And although his way of using the royal we inevitably scared me, I realized that once again he was right. Luck is a fickle bitch and guys like me smiles showing his teeth with gold.
"Take it all and salt to the surface, Julio Verne.
returned with an old box of trading cards full of notes. There could be more than $ 30,000. My mother had hidden under the bed, $ 30,000. Damn crazy. With that would have to pay me a few bonds, I thought. Ecstatic
, turned to glue the nose on the glass. The police were already on the porch. One of them was saying goodbye to Frank, the other never took his eye of Seymour sneak home. They got into the car, turned off the siren lights and pulled slowly, trying not to screw over the garden gnomes.
When they left, Frank looked out the window where we were and we winked.
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