The Demon Senders Read Online Free PDF

business and I’ll go about mine. But this is my hang out, not yours. Don’t go peddling your bullshit around here.”
    “How do you know about the feather? That old weirdo I picked up on the side of the road the other day a friend of yours?”
    “Still haven’t figured things out yet, huh Trevor?” the man said. “No, he ain’t no friend of mine and he sure ain’t no friend of yours.” Though the man was sitting in the darkest part of the bar, it was still light enough that I should have been able to get a clear view of his face. I could tell he was young, no more than thirty, but there seemed to be almost a haze that clouded his features. Almost like it would be impossible to give a description of him.
    He had dark hair that seemed well kept but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you if is eyes were blue or polka dot. “Why don’t you enlighten me about what I haven’t figured out yet, then I’ll go about my business and let you go about yours?”
    The man smiled (I think), picked up his beer, toasted me with a head nod, then proceeded to drain the beer into his gut. He stood up, put his hand on me and said, “I don’t work with fucks like you. Go ahead and keep playing your pathetic American nostalgia crap music and leave me to my work. You’ll figure it out soon enough and then we’ll have more time to get to know each other.” I tried to jerk away from him but his grip was ridiculously strong. “I’ll bring you down just like I brought the others down, you pathetic fuck. That’s a promise I intend to keep.”
    Hazy Face got up real close to me, his breath steaming against my eyes.
    He let go of his grip then banged his shoulder into mine as he headed towards the door. I didn’t want to give the impression I couldn’t handle myself in a skirmish, but him knocking into me set me spinning around, losing my balance and crashing into the bar. If I remember correctly, I had a bruise across my lower back that lasted well over a week.
    I’m not what most would call an imposing figure. I stand around five-foot eight and can’t remember the scale ever exceeding a hundred and fifty pounds. In my earlier days, I took exception to the names other kids would call me. Small fry was the one that pissed me off the most. Don’t get the idea that I liked to fight or I was self conscious about my diminutive size. It’s just some people who feel the need to make themselves feel better by putting other people down need their asses kicked.
    And kicked hard.
    If I were to estimate, I’d say I got into around fifteen scrapes during my life and probably lost fourteen of them. My dad used to tell me getting my butt kicked wouldn’t hurt as much as would having my pride squashed if I let bullies and assholes walk all over me. This hazy-faced a-hole had six-inches and fifty pounds on me, but I wasn’t about to let him knock me around the bar without at least some comeback from my end.
    “Asshole,” I mumbled after I was sure he was far enough away to not hear. But of course he heard me. He stopped halfway through the exit door. He turned towards me, his back holding the door open, and pointed towards the other end of the bar. “I believe your partner wants to catch you up to speed, Mr. Nostalgia.” He grinned, spun around and left.
    Now, I’ve played gigs with some other musicians before, but never enough times with any one of them to say I had a partner. The closest person I’d say I was a partner with was this other musician named Tom. I’ve already told you about my stature so when I tell you the name we were planning on gigging under was “Big and Mac,” you may be able to guess that Tom was a pretty big dude. Hadn’t seen the big part of our act in quite some time. Kind of wished Tom was around to help me teach Hazy Face a lesson. And while I did okay with the ladies, I sure wasn’t in the position of saying I had a partner when it came to the relationship world. But that hazy-faced dude was pretty