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Ongoing story

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After checking with a cab driver, because they always know where the illegal action's at, Coolbreeze and Ed head for the local graveyard.

They locate a large vault, with the words "ND Hoops" engraved above the door. They knock on the door as instructed by the cabbie.

An old man with gray hair opens the door and says "What can I do for you guys?"

"Nice place you've got here, 'Digger," said Ed. What have you got in the way of semi-automatics with hollow point or armor piercing ammo?"
 
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Digger:"I'm going out of this business, you give me $25,000 and you can have all the guns and the hideout"


Cool:"You just made a deal, we'll take it, heres your money"

Cool hands Digger the $25,000.

Digger:"Oh btw, there is a two car garage in the back, you guys seem to be on the run, you can hide your car there"

Ed:"Great Coolbreeze, we have a hideout for now and a place to hide the 'vette."
 
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"Sure," responds Cool, "or we could do this."

Cool then reaches inside the door and pulls something out that Ed can't see, because Cool's back is turned.

"I fuckin' hate corvettes!" screams Cool, as he unleashes the full fury of the flamethrower all over the ugly, stupid, piece of shit vehicle.

"I can't take it anymore!" screams the old man, pulling a knife with his right hand. "I'm going to kill myself!"

"Relax, old-timer" puts in Ed. "You'll be....oh"

Cool turns at the sound of the shot, just in time to see the puzzled look on Ed's face, the smoking gun - still shaking slightly in the old man's grip - and the bleeding hole where Ed's chest used to be.

"I'm left-handed" advised the old-timer.
 
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"What did you do that for?" Cool asked defiantly.

Digger looked up slowly. "The guy had a tattoo of a dick on his head. It's a long story, but suffice to say, I owed him that. Although, I remember him being taller."

Cool sort of shrugged his shoulders. He'd been a loner for a long time now. While he did enjoy the company of Ed he could move on without him. "I assume the deal still stands?"

"Oh yeah, I have no problem with you." Digger said as he kicked lazily at Ed's carcass.

"Good then."

Cool sat down for a moment surveying the room. "Any idea where a man can get some nookie in this town?"

"Nookie? Are you kidding? Unless you mean choir boys you're in the wrong town, my man."

"That's what I thought. Nope, despite my apperance, I'm in to chicks."

"Well, I wish I could help you out, but this is South Bend." Digger gave a nervous wink. "Now, I don't suppose you'll be needing me anymore?"

"No. In fact, it's better if you get the hell out." A siren was heard off in the distance. "From the sounds of it, we'd both better get the hell out."
 
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Cool turns around realizing that if he carries on again he'll have twice paid for weapons that he doesn't possess.

Cool checks the two car garage. As it turns out, a 77 Olds sits lifeless. After only minimal effort on the steering column, Cool gets the engine to hum to life.

Cool stacks the cab with as many guns and ammo as he can. Paying close attention to traffic laws he drives off to the west. "No need to do anything crazy. At least not til I get that trunk open to hide this shit." He cautions himself.
 
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After only a few miles of travelling west, Cool heard a thump coming from the trunk. When the thumping noise became too much for Cool to bear, he found secluded place to pull over, which isn't that difficult to do in Indiana, and got out of the car to check things out.

"LET ME OUT!" Came Digger's voice from inside the trunk.

"What are you doing in there?" Responded Cool.

"One of those street gangs kidnapped me and locked me in the trunk of my car. Luckily the dumbasses locked my keys in here too, and had to go inside to get the spare set, just before you grabbed the car. The good news is, there's a hole in the bottom of the trunk, so I can drop the keys through, and you can let me out", explained Digger.
 
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"Sure, I'll get right on that" retorts Cool, as he walks to the rear door of the Olds. Cool then pulls out a garden hose and cuts it into a three foot length.

"The lock is jammed" he yells at the geezer. "I'm going to put a hose through that hole for you to breathe with until I can get it open."

"Hey, I really appreciate that," replies Digger.

Cool then sticks one end of the hose into the exhaust pipe, and feeds the other end through to Digger.

"Make sure to only breathe the air through the hose," advises Cool, "that way you won't get carbon monoxide poisoning."

"Thanks again!" yells Digger.

"No problemo," chuckles Cool, as he gets back into the Olds and pulls back onto the road.
 
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Cool stops off at a hole in the wall bar to get a beer. He parks the car and listens for a moment, Digger has stopped making any noise.

Cool steps in the bar and is met with the odor of human stink. He gives the sparse crowd the once over. Sitting on a stool with a ripped cover, Cool grabs the bartender's attention.

She's a homily woman with few teeth and hair that, but for the oil, would make straw feel good. "Whatcha got on tap?"

"Old Mill, Old Mill lite."

"Fuck, you call that beer? Screw that, give me a Rolling Rock."

"We aint got that European shit in here. If it aint 'merican, we aint sellin it."

"Rolling rock is from Latrobe ..." Toothless interrups.

"I said we aint got none of that French shit."

"OK.. Give me a Budweiser."

"Awww. You're a man after my heart." The barmaid flatters herself.

"Sure, hon." Cool imagined vomitting in her toothless face and slugged back half the bottle.
 
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The cold beer went down easy- too easy. Seven or eight bottles later, Cool was feeling good. His mind drifted from the dead body and weaponry in the car to the fact that he hadn't gotten laid in about a week or so. And that was about a week too damn long, he thought.

"Say sweetheart", Cool said to the bartender, "where would a fun-lovin' guy like me go to find a few ladies in this town?"

"Well", replied the bartender, "aside from here, the only place I know is this little strip joint down the road called CCI's Romper Room. My daughter dances there."
 
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Cool thought for a moment. He was drunk, but not that drunk, this woman could not have produced a "dancing" worthy daughter. But, having taken a long look at the people hangin in this bar, he decided he'd take his chances.

It didn't take him long to get to CCI's. After showing the doorman some ID that didn't even come close to resembling his, he entered and sat down. Soon, the stage lights came to life. And there, standing in the curtin opening was the best damn woman he'd ever seen. It was an odd coincidence that AC/DC was the band she was dancing to.

Whether this was the fuglies daughter didn't mean much now, he was in the right spot, rolled the dice and won.

She came his way, and he did what you do in these kinds of places, got out some money to put in her panties. He had only $100.00 bills. "Yep," he thought, "this oughta do it." He put nearly 500 dollars out. She winked at him and mouthed, "I'll see you after the show."
 
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