Every Last Drop Read Online Free PDF Page A

back of the Museum.
Do-rag flicks ash from his Newport. —You gonna rock his jacket, or what? —Jacket got blood all over it now.
Gum Snapper climbs off her bike, tucks the massive piece back in her pants and comes over to me. I wave the switchblade at her and she kicks it from my hand.
—Bitch, don't even think bout cuttin1 my ass. I stick that thing in you fuckin dick.
She grabs the shoulders of my jacket and pulls me off the dealer.
I could make it harder for her. The pain is pretty bad, but I could definitely make it harder for her. Except that gun she shot me with, it was really, really fucking big. And just now I need to focus on holding the guts that want to spill
out of my belly in their proper place. Right now I need to focus on not moving too much so the Vyrus can use all its energy to close up this goddamn hole and put my intestines back together. Whatever attention I can spare from that task, I can maybe use hoping the bullet didn't fragment inside me and rip up my liver and kidneys and spleen and such. Cause that much damage, I don't know if I can get better from that.
So I'm gonna lie here quiet in the dirt and try to bleed as little as possible while Gum Snapper breaks out a set of homemade works that consist of the sharpened needle from a bicycle pump, a length of junkie's rubber hose, and a few heavy-duty Ziploc freezer bags. She goes to work on the dealer, and Police Cap comes and looks at me. —Think this him?
Do-rag takes a wire cutter from the pocket of the jeans that sag down past the top of his boxers. —It him.
He climbs the fence and starts clipping lengths of barbwire, handing them to Moustache. When they have four long ones he climbs down and comes over. —Got it all?
Gum Snapper pulls the needle from the dealer's neck and licks it.
—I got it.
Moustache kneels at my feet and starts wrapping barbwire around my ankles while Do-rag runs the ends to the bikes, twisting one strand each around the bikes' rear forks.
Police Cap helps Gum Snapper with the blood bags and they all saddle up.
Moustache looks over his shoulder at me. —Fuck I want you shitty jacket anyway, white guy? Fuck you jacket.
Gum Snapper rises up on her pegs. —Roll. Get this white guy to lament.
And they gun hard, rear tires roostertailing dirt all over me until they grab traction and burn out of the vacant lot and onto the street. Dragging me behind them, trailing blood and wondering why they think they need to take me to lament someplace special.
I can lament just fine here.
—Miserable. Pathetic. Meager. Low.
The four kids stop what they're doing and look at the man.
He bends a twisted finger at the bags of blood set on the rusted TV tray
beside him. —What is this?
The girl snaps her gum. —S'blood.
He leans forward and peers at her. —What is that in your mouth, Meager?
She shuffles her feet, looks elsewhere. —Nothin'.
Something like a tongue snakes out from his mouth and leaves a slimy trace over dry lips. —Is it? Is it nothing?
His arm snaps out and long spider fingers clutch her round cheeks and squeeze. —Then you shall not mind opening wide for me to see.
Her throat works, trying to swallow, and he squeezes harder. —Now, now, dear. Open wide.
He wrenches and her mouth opens and he thrusts the fingers of his other hand inside and comes out with the gnawed wad of gum.
—Nothing.
He grips her by the jaw, three fingers inside her mouth, his thumb digging under the chin, and pulls her close, holding the gum in front of her eyes. —This is nothing, is it?
She makes a grunting noise.
He clacks his teeth twice.
—Chewing chewing chewing. Grotesque. Perhaps I will change your name. Grotesque. Would you like that? It would suit you.
Her throat hitches again, tears are coming out of her eyes.
The hand holding the gum is shaking.
—No? You would not like to be Grotesque? Well, to keep your name there will be a price. This, this is nothing? Then the price will be easily paid.
He shoves the gum into her left