Dead Nolte Read Online Free PDF Page A

further. “Fuck your rules!” He screamed at God. Now, what the
fuck was going to happen to him? Was he stuck here for eternity? Where are his
helpers? The shadow is going to find him; of that he was certain. Nolte felt a
tug.
    He popped free of the void, and again, Nolte found himself
staring down at his bubble-blowing, blue corpse. “Oh thank God. Thank you,
thank you, thank you,” he muttered, on the verge of what most would recognize
as blithering idiocy, giving thanks to the same deity he had just told to fuck
off.
    Nolte did a quick pat down, taking inventory of limbs. “I’m
done fucking around.” He decided from then on, he would follow the witch’s
instructions to the letter. Attention to detail was the order of the day. The
bitch had told him, his body had to be in the ground before he could finish her
spell. He had invested too much time and effort into this plan, he wasn’t going
to fuck this up; in three days he would literally have all the time in the
world. He could wait.
    Martha was no longer in the room. “Shit!” Nolte ran back
upstairs, in order to thwart the dishonest bitch from further thievery.
    The frog lay on the floor at the base of the gun cabinet.
Martha was absent; Nolte assumed she was in some other part of the house
looking for things, with which to fill her pockets. He approached the racist,
amphibian with caution. Instead of picking it up, he knelt beside it, and with
the careful hands of a brain surgeon, making sure he didn’t touch the coin
itself, pushed the duct tape neatly back into place. Glancing over his shoulder
to ensure Martha wasn’t staking out another robbery, he climbed back up the
chair and put the frog back in its place. He patted the grinning ceramic on the
head, “I’ll be back my precious.”

2
    E ven though he had almost screwed the
pooch, Nolte marveled at himself and his most ingenious plan. How God decided
who goes up and who goes down, was beyond Nolte, he had assumed it was merit
based, and up until a few hours ago, he had always held out a little hope, that
God liked him, but that did not seem to be the case.
    Televangelists, the hickerbilly sisters, even road signs,
all proclaimed the availability of forgiveness and mercy, and to Nolte all that
shit seemed fine and dandy, but with all things considered, his history, even
in the most favorable lighting, didn’t have much of a shine to it. Though he
tried not to dwell on the thought too much, it had always been in the back of
his mind that the fires of hell were in his future.
    It wasn’t the brightest of futures, but what was a man to
do? Fall to his knees and swear fealty to some cloud king, a dude that probably
had never tasted pussy? Then what? Walk around the rest of his life, grinning
like an idiot, vomiting ‘Praise be’ and ‘Bless you’? Not him, he had some
fucking pride, thank you very much. So what to do? What do stubborn fools,
facing an eternity adrift on the lake of fire, do? They get fire insurance.
    When the hooker in the French Quarter told him of a witch
who could turn men into women, old men into little boys and raise the dead, a
brilliant idea had formed in his head. When shitheads die they go to hell, the
key word being, die, so to remedy that bullshit, Nolte decided he would live
forever. If the hooker’s witch could raise the dead, surely, it was feasible
she could fiddle with the infinite, perhaps, tweak his time a tad.
    Nolte was always coming up with brilliant ideas and dazzling
plans that boggled his mind and this one was brilliant with a capital B. It was
right up there on par with sliced bread and the self-flushing toilet. Even
though none of his brilliant ideas and dazzling plans had ever reached
fruition, or even the drawing board, to be honest, he had high hopes for this
one. However, there was one catch, though the hooker had nice tits, she was
nuttier than squirrel shit.
    Her story had sounded convincing enough, she had even
produced a pickle jar with a dick in