Free BULLETS by Elijah Drive Page A

that way. He wasn’t gay and would beat the high holy fuck out of anyone who’d dare suggest that he might be, but he knew prison was different, even though he’d never done hard time himself.
    He’d been in county lockup for drunk driving and fighting, of course, but Orville knew that wasn’t real prison and didn’t count. Orville knew real prison, or he thought he did. He loved watching OZ, he owned the whole series on DVD, it was his all-time favorite fucking show and he’d been devastated when it finally ended.
    He always fantasized about it, doing hard time, what he’d do and who he’d turn out. Beat the shit out of fuckers, put them on their knees and tell ’em to make him happy or die. Orville liked that, and it wasn’t gay, either. It was fucking prison; it’s what you had to do to survive. You had to turn punks out and make ’em your bitches to earn respect. Nothing gay about it.
    He amused himself with those thoughts as Slick and Thumper went into Radioshack and bought some stuff, he couldn’t see what, exactly, but it didn’t matter. You could buy guns in most stores in Arizona, but Radioshack wasn’t one of them.
    They came out and walked to their rental car, stopped and talked for a while. Shook hands, came in for a man-hug, a tight one, too. Shit, Orville thought, they might even kiss right there on the street, fuck. He was gonna like busting this nigger up.
    After serious man-love hugs, the little guy got into the car and drove off. Orville picked up his cell, called in.
    “Yo Jay.”
    “What’s up?”
    “They’re separating, the short bitch is getting into the car and driving off without his husband. Just went down Beltran Avenue.”
    “What about the jig?”
    “He’s on foot, pimp-strutting down the street like he fucking owns it.”
    “I’m on the little bitch. Same car, right? The sedan?”
    “Yeah. The way they hugged seemed like the bitch was leaving town.”
    “Faggots. I’m on him, no worries.”
    Slick kept walking down the street, bags in hand, and went into a car rental office, Hertz, the O.J. Simpson rental place. That figures, just fucking figures, Orville thought. Orville would like to put some hurts on that black fucker’s ass, and soon.
    When Slick pulled out of Hertz in a convertible, top down for all the world to see, Orville put his truck into gear and followed him. He drove all around town, taking in the sights, for at least two fucking hours, if not longer. Orville was getting hungry, and the hungrier he got, the more pissed he got at having to follow this asshole.
    Slick found the mall, parked the convertible in the lot and went inside. After thinking about it, Orville also parked and went inside. He wandered around until he spotted Slick shopping at a bookstore. Bookstore! Probably checking out the latest issue of Cosmopolitan , shit like that. Orville picked up a paper from the newsstand and pretended to read it. Slick left the bookstore without buying anything, going right past the food court without stopping to eat there—it fucking tortured Orville, it really did. Would it kill the black bastard to stop for a burger and fries or something? Then Orville could eat, too. He could smell the beef tacos and his stomach growled.
    Then Slick went into a café and ordered tea, for crissakes, tea! Orville could tell it was tea because he dipped the tea bag into the cup just like a proper lady would. Orville shook his head and waited. And waited. He hated waiting, he really did. Especially while hungry. The fucking coon just sat there and sipped his tea. Christ Almighty. Orville’s cell rang. He saw it was Jay and answered.
    “What up?”
    “The little dude left, he’s gone, man. I followed him all the way to Carver City, he’s in the airport now. Just turned his rental car in, too. He’s flying out, looks like.”
    “Fuck, I wanted a piece of that little bitch, damn,” Orville said.
    “What do you want me to do? I can’t get into the airport, not without