Heaven, INC: Chapter 25: OUT AND ABOUT WITH BIG ED WALKER

NORCESTOR & IMPERIAL,
MARKET PARK
10:54 AM PDT

BIG ED WALKER’S FAIR SKIN had always been a problem, ever since he was a kid. It wasn’t easy being a red-head— strawberry blonde, his mother’d called it— not growing up and certainly not in the joint, since niggers absolutely love red-heads. But now, on a hot July day in the barrio, it was a real problem; not because of the beaners, he could take care of them, but because of the sun, a bright bastard that seemed to have it out for Ed personally.

Fucking sun.

After watching Blondie go tearing off, Big Ed cruised around checking out the scene. He eyed a few of the chiquitas, even rubbed the ass on one of them, a big-titted thing with a C-section scar showing below her tube-top— scars were something always made Ed horny, even one from having a baby wet-back cut out of a woman’s belly. Unfortunately, following his rubbing on C-Section’s booty, Ed was forced to high-tail it out of there when C-Section screamed and took a swipe at him; only Big Ed’s cat-like reflexes and expert cutting-and-weaving through the crowd saved the woman and her spic-o boyfriend from a Big Ed Walker ass-kicking, which honor would’ve required had the bitch made contact. That, of course, and the fact Big Ed had bigger Feds to fry.

Thing was, the Harrison Ford fuck hadn’t returned, though there were plenty of Feds on the scene, like a big ol fucking Fed fish fry, with the arrogant fucks going in and out of their fancy FBI motor-home like they owned the goddamn place. Plus the cops, working their own deal, investigating that homeless fuck Ed saw get shot by the guys in the Hummer. An interesting thing Ed noted was, the cops and feds didn’t seem to talk to each other a lot. Almost like they were in different worlds, hell, it seemed like they weren’t getting along, some kinda pussy law enforcement cat-fight or something, and frankly, Ed was torn himself, unable to decide who he hated more: cops? Or the goddamned government men? Talk about a fucking dilemma. Of course, that wasn’t gonna get that Harrison Ford fuck off the hook.

Fuck you, you arrogant, know it all, stick up your ass piece of shit . . . I am gonna kill you dead.

Of course, Ed could’ve hung around La Loco Beaner Ville some more, but to tell you the truth, all that cooter-watching got a little old— and a bit dangerous, too, what with all the frigging beaners looking for a sun-burned, red-head— so Big Ed decided, hey, screw it, he was a busy man, he had better things to do.

❖

BEFORE RETURNING TO THE VAN, Big Ed stopped into a little market off University, where he bought three 40-ounce bottles of malt liquor and a half-dozen of those little pop-up, gardenia-scented air-fresheners. Climbing back into the van, Ed realized what an absolutely primo idea the air-fresheners were because the fuckers in back were really beginning to turn.

So, after deploying the air-fresheners—Ed tossing half in the back, half up front— Ed wiped off the condensation forming on the windows, hell, it was like a goddamn rain-forest in the van from all the humidity his ‘passengers’ were putting out, and he had ; Ed paid particular attention to the dash, making sure the vinyl was absolutely dry of all dead-body moisture on account it was a proven fact that crystal methamphetamine and water go together like pharmaceutical fire and ice.


BY THE TIME ED got business taken care of— the stink, the moisture and the big fat ragged line of tweak snorted right off the dash— by that time, it occurred to him that he may have caught himself quite a sun-burn out there. Ed’s skin, mottled and red, was beginning to itch something fierce and when he scratched at it— perhaps somewhat insistently, on account of the speed— big pieces of it came off under his nails. In fact, he’d started noticing dry skin shortly after beating that Mexican yapper up in the Greyhound bathroom, dryness due, no doubt, to the change in climate. Now, the sun was exacerbating things and Ed needed lotion— not because he was queer and gave a shit about how soft and supple his skin was, you understand, but because Big Ed had to stop the damn itching.

Maybe pull into one a them Walgreens or something, get some of that aloe-fucking-vera shit and some smokes . . . And more goddamn air-fresheners . . . Maybe the apple spice . . .