Kazike 2: A Venezuelan Venereal Revenge

Smack went shattered little diamonddrops the bottle of Cacique.

-          We know very well who you are working for, Mickey! Better for you if you start ratting out on everyone you’ve never met, ‘cos unless “Knuckles” here is happy with your song, not even Ole Saint Peter is gonna know your face from your ass when you fart hi to him! Heeeeeeeee…!

As if to corroborate Malone’s words, “Knuckles” Finnacle cracked his fists and stepped forward, menacingly. Although Jimmy’s eyes could hardly register a blur, he was still painfully aware of the precariousness of his situation. After all, what could Gruyère do any worse than these two thugs? Among the mists of blood and sleepdepravation, he could see the Ancient One instructing le Baron to say “apple-dapple-dawn-drawn” for the Shazam thunder to turn him into Le Superbaron.

-          Frenchmaidbraysoutfit…-he spat, along three more teeth and a baseballballworth of blood and digestive tract tissue.

-          Frenchman brains in the outfit—you could almost see a glint of scorn behind “Matches” Malone’s dark shades.—Awright, awright, pal! You ain’t done quite bad in the end. “Knuckles”! Finish him off.

As the bulky humanoid’s shadow swept across the room onto terrorized Jimmy, Malone started putting all the pieces together.


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