Super Born: Seduction of Being by kkornell Read Free Book Online Page A

load the rifle, trying to figure out which end of the
bullet went which way. A tall black RFD taunted him, fingers waving
in his ears, calling “Ken can’t load a rif…rife…gun!”
    “ Wow, it’s really cool to meet you,
a TV star and all,” I fluffed.
    Ed smiled but didn’t say a word. I guess an RFD
can get SSS with anyone.
    “ It would blow my mind if you could
sit down and tell me what you saw last night.” I pulled him away
and we both sat at the same table where Jones and I had been. “Hey,
can I buy ya a beer?” I said, handing him one.
    “ Thanks,” he said—still with the
slurred single syllables, but it was an intelligible
word.
    “ So, dude, what happened out
there?”
    It was slow and agonizing but,
eventually, Ed told me the story of how he’d left the bar and heard
the whistling sound like a plane flying overhead. Then he heard a
cell phone ring in the sky. That made him look up, and he saw this beer truck hanging above him—a
woman dressed in black was standing on top
of O’Malley’s, holding it up with two fingers. With her other hand
she answered a mobile phone, and he heard her say, “No, Mommy’s at
work.” That’s when the truck slipped out of her fingers and it fell
straight to the ground with a loud crash. The woman said, “Crap,”
and flew off.
    When I asked him for a description of the
woman, he said she was dressed all in black with a black cape and a
black mask over her eyes. When I confirmed his description, he
said, “Yep, a flying bitch in black.”
    By then, the other RFDs were getting anxious to
continue the Antler Game, and I had enough of the info I needed. So
I thanked Ed and told him to enjoy his beer, and he quickly resumed
his game.
    “ Bitch in
black… ” I thought to myself. How
dare that mofo call my girl a…you know. Then again, wasn’t it
better than Ms. Blue/Green Eyes or “the blond?” Maybe I could just
shorten it to the B.I.B. No one needed to know what it meant
anyway.
    I walked back into the front room to talk with
the barkeep. I had to wait while he helped up an antler-wearing RFD
who had somehow fallen while running along the edge of the
bar.
    “ What can I do for ya now?” he
asked, knowing I wasn’t there for more drinks.
    “ If you should see the blond that
was here the other night come in again, can you give me a call?” I
said, handing him a business card I’d printed on my
computer.
    He took it but didn’t even look at it. “What’s
in it for me?” he asked.
    I dug through my pockets again, but came up
dry. “A hundred bucks,” I said boldly.
    “ A hundred bucks?”
    “ Yeah, a hundred bucks….you take a
check?”
    Just then a shot rang out from the back room.
It was not the usual-sounding rifle, and it was not followed by
many other shots, as usual, nor the usual idiotic laughter.
Instead, we could hear the RFDs yelling at one another. The barkeep
knew there was something wrong as well, and we both moved quickly
to the back room.
    We found Ken and another RFD wrestling with the
rifle, and on the floor across the bar from them lay Ed, shot in
the head, antlers brokenl
    “ My god,” said the barkeep, “I never
dreamed one of ’em would actually hit somebody…Why did it have to
be you, Ed?” Tears began to flow and the barkeep shook with
emotion.
    I lay my arm over his shoulders. “Were you
close to Ed?” I said.
    “ Not hardly, Ed was a flamin’
moron,” the barkeep sniveled, “but he owed me two hundred dollars
for his bar tab!” Then he began sobbing again. I let my arm slide
off his shoulders.
    Ken’s rifle was open, which made me
doubt he had ever loaded it—I wasn’t so sure that Ken was the
shooter. Somebody’s killing
witnesses , I thought to myself.
Followed by, And maybe they’re killing
journalists who talk to witnesses! My
feet did their duty.
    The next morning the papers were
calling it a terrible barroom accident, and the mayor was calling
for the prohibition of the use of live ammo in the