Happily Ever Aftershocks

LOBO -Predator Press

So ya, I guess I owe it to the millions and millions of readers who are always asking me evey day "What ever happened to LOBO?"

And to a lesser degree, "... and Wendy?"

Wendy and I had an amazing Christmas ... dancing in the cool moonlight listening to Tychovski, and admiring the beauty of fresh snow under bright stars. But sometime around 7:15am, relatives showed up and gave us Covid.

So we had a solid 3-4 hours of joy and cheer, but all the new January and February murders got bumped down the schedule: frozen ground is too hard to dig inconspicuous shallow graves in. And due to the spike in demand, many of these holiday murders will have to be pushed back until April ... possibly even May!

[*sigh*] I know. Same as last year.

Our New Year's Resolution is to get more cardio.

Emperor Erroneous

LOBO -Predator Press

"Well congratulations," says says Gina, looking up from her newspaper.

The idea of a Google employee reading a newspaper always cracks me up.

"For what?"  In a bathrobe, I'm just trying to get an iced coffee.

"Wendy told us you proposed to her."

Goddamit I need to get my own refrigerator upstairs.

Wincing and scratching my eyebrow, I reply "We had a conversation about getting married.  It was purely academic I thought."

I've been awake eight seconds, and I'm already in a death roll.

"We were all surprised too," she shrugged.

"I hate marriage," I explain, holding my head.  "I give up my job, friends, family, home, pets, car, sex, and all worldly possessions that don't fit in a backpack."  I surmise.  "And there is way too much yelling."

"You're exaggerating" she says.  "You've been dating her for, like, five years.  She definitely loves you."

"Wendy is the first person I've dated since the divorce," I admit.  "Do I want her to turn into a vile screaming jealous lying hypocrite adulterous racist psycho-shrew proliferating computer malware already?  No.  I think we are doing just fine as we are."

I twist the coffee cap off with a satisfying "pop" sound.

"I actually kinda like her," I elaborate.  "Why rush it?"

Malibu

LOBO -Predator Press

The irony of watching plumes of smoke along the coast from the deck of the Honeypot isn't lost on me.

"You look like you would rather be there," Fish giggles, pouring wine.

"Nah," I says, taking a glass. "Protesters, counter-protesters, insurgents ... this is fighting police on police terms."

"So you're admitting it comes down to law?"

I shrug. "Nobody was listening. This had to happen."

Fish and I are coworkers labelled "essential," so we started sort of quarantining together a few months ago to blow off steam. We're an odd pairing. Her house in Malibu burned down several years ago, and local ordinances forbade her rebuilding. In the transition, she moved to the Honeypot to consider her options.

"You understand," she says soberly, "if the business folds, you lose the house."

"Ya," I reply. "Maybe the car too, unless I can pull something out of my keyster. Gina, Rachel and Jiaying are already looking for something else."

They will probably have to take Phil II with them.

"You and Wendy could stay here for a while."

"Thank you," I smile. "But I doubt Guillermo wouldn't stand for that."

Guillermo Del Taco, Fishs' ex husband, is perhaps one of the most intimidating men I've ever met. He lost Honeypot in their bitter divorce. Bad mojo. Plus this is a bit of a trap. Fish isn't good at hiding her romantic intent. For instance, I came aboard under the auspice of 'having dinner.' Where is the food?

When I first met Fish, she was beautiful. But after her divorce, she started getting frequent plastic surgeries. She got the nickname "Fish" when someone unkindly remarked she was starting to look like a Wallace and Gromit love interest. My penis and I have intuited some sort of self-mutilation in process. She's unrecognizable now, and a weird metaphor; like America, I'm not sure I ever knew what she was. Over time, all the cosmetics and polish are observable as a very thin veneer.

This version of 'beauty' must stop. It's not healthy.

"I've been waiting for this my whole life," I muse out loud, and a salty waft of smoke blows by. "And I don't know how to help it."