The Desert Tower. It rose somewhere on the outskirts of Jacumba Springs, off U.S. 50. The ground there was sacred, holding some sort of energy spiral of old beneath the sands. But, it wasn't sacred enough for Gutter not to step there.
He pulled into town, alongside a Pueblo hotel. The palm trees whipped around, thrashing as he jumped out. The concrete felt good underneath his boots. He unlatched the trunk of his teal 1972 Mustang, and hooted. An M249 SAW machine gun stared back.
"That's one of the nicest guns I've seen in a long time." Gutter racked the ammunition belt, and punched in a few rounds. "Ka-ching!" he hollered. Laura grinned.
Gutter and Laura started their trek up Thunder Mountain, where the rapids did flow, quietly. An owl hooted in the distance, perched on a rough black pine tree. The Mount Rushmore replica, a bit more sunken into the sands, laid ahead. Above sat Liam Neeson's mansion, a palatial zone where the constructs of time met with space and clashed with the unsubtlety of humanity.
It was a giant, golden geodesic dome, rising and falling creased on the mountaintop. A lone waiter, clothed plainly in a white blazer, sighted the untimely visitors toting firearms. The waiter brandished a short, robust silver cutlass, and pointed it out like a spear. He ran upon seeing Gutter, into the wilds.
"Quit runnin', dammit," Gutter yelled, chasing after the fool. The gunslinger landed on the waiter's back, a gun to the man's head. "Are you dumb?" A splattering of blood slapped Gutter's face with a single shot, and he returned to Laura, at the grand entrance.
"You can have the best sword, but you'll still lose to an old man with a pistol," he muttered.
"Well," Laura replied, "You gotta kill a few pups to save the litter."
Gutter yelled out, "Samuel Vimes, City Watch, open up!" and rattled the front door. "Time for an impromptu visitation..."
He popped off the safeties and stepped back. With the pull of a trigger, a river of bullets splintered the center of the door, turning it into mere toothpicks, and they both walked inside with ease. They stood under the shadows of the mansion's cantilevered indoor balcony, and waited. Neeson sat below on a mid-century couch, beside a frightened, tied-up Ron.
"I'm a good person," Neeson said. "Just I happen to be a rough one, too." He said it all in a gruff accent, which scared Ron even more.
"Have you seen Cocaine Bear, yet?" Ron asked.
"Yes," he said, standing up. "And, right now, there's two people in this house who were uninvited." He paced around the living room, sharpening a small knife in his hands. "Don't debate me. I have a particular set of skills, which I'm not afraid to use."
"And, Ronnie Boy," Neeson got in his face. "Remember, there's always a bigger bear. One who's more coked up, more giddy, and infinitely more skillful. Keep that in mind, friend."
"It's the subtlety of inhumanity."
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Written by Jerry Zervas on 6/5/26.
DO NOT USE UNLESS GIVEN PERMISSION BY ME (i.e. email
me)
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