Sufficiently castrated, Cool folded his arms across his chest, leaned back in his seat and let loose a sigh, making it loud and drawn-out for effect. The waitress, Wilma as it turned out, turned away unconcerned, shooting one more glance at the painted member plastered on Ed's forehead. Noticing that she noticed, Cool once again broached the subject.
"You know, it's going to be difficult to lay low with a jimmy on your face. We should probably do something about that."
No shit, thought Ed. "You got any bright ideas?"
The big fat fuck working the griddle was laughing now, having finally seen Ed's face. We could kill them all. The whole diner. Three fucking people, who cares? Ed was running out of patience when, suddenly, he realized the man at the other end of the counter was now sitting next to him, facing the conspicuous pair and sporting a visage that could almost have conveyed genuine concern, if not for the slight quiver of a shiteating grin.
"You've got a little something..." said the stranger, wiggling a crooked finger up towards his own forehead, as if he was pointing out a fucking piece of spinach in another man's teeth. He was not what you'd call robust. It was difficult to tell with him sitting down, but he could not have been much more than five-and-a-half feet tall. He had oil slick hair, and a pretty rough pallor, but looked to be no older than thirty, maybe thirty-five. He'd clearly been around, this guy. Ed was not amused.
"Look, Tiny Tim, I get it. Ha, fucking ha. Now piss off before I whip out the real one and slap you around with it."
Any hint of a smile left the man's face. "Alright, tough guy. Fair enough. So you're looking for some steel, are you?"
Cool involved himself. "What's it to you, greaseball?"
"What do you need, range, firepower, concealability, what?"
"Who the fuck are you?" hissed Cool.
"I the fuck am Guido, fancy boy. You want your specials, you follow me," said Guido, who looked back to Ed, "and bring Mr. Wiggles with you - see if we can't do something about that, uh...skin condition."
Guido got up and walked to the end of the counter towards a door that, presumably, led to some sort of back room. He was even shorter standing up, somehow. He signaled to Wilma whose hand disappeared below the cash register, making something somewhere buzz and go 'click'. Cool and Ed exchanged stares. Cool motioned with his head to get up and go, so Ed got up and did. The cook was still seized with laughter, his mass jiggling with every short, quick breath. You'll get yours, chunk style, thought Ed.
The back room turned out to be a narrow hall that snaked around to the back of the building and dead-ended into a staircase - Guido was already halfway down.
"Let me do the talking," whispered Cool. Ed growled, and started down the steps after him.
