Seven Demons Aidan Truhen (reading an ebook TXT) 📖

name is what and I don’t know who to talk to about it. Like who to make representations but also like who to talk to.

I’m the first of the Seven Demons. I have all of them in my blood right now. I think you could cook an egg on my balls. Volodya would do it he would stake me out and cook an actual fucking egg and he would claim it wasn’t weird just some old Ukrainian survival thing.

When man is losing that much heat, is no alternative in cold night.

(Head rush.)

Fucking post-Soviet log-cabin motherfucker I think he just made that shit up. Fucking universal donor bullshit.

I leave the coffee and I go and stand behind the awful bar and stare into the stupid mirror between the Japanese whisky and the French vodka.

“My name is Jack Price and I am the Price you pay.”

But I’m just not feeling it. Who the fuck is that in the mirror? Got some crime face going on but who the fuck?

“My name is Jack Price.”

“Hi, I’m Jack, and I’m—”

I mean the thing is it was funny one time but once you pay a price it is paid and that’s it. Otherwise it’s a subscription.

I am not a fucking subscription.

Looking at that face. I dunno man who the fuck owns that face? Some guy. One time was a coffee guy. Then he was a smartass coke guy. Then he killed a bunch of folks. Some stuff happened in between whatever. Then his friend died his employee and he was evidently not ready for that to happen.

How is it he was okay with his lawyer that he was actually a little bit in love with how is it he was okay that she got shot in the side of the head and he was fine with that but this is not okay? Who thinks that way?

Who?

“My name is—”

I’m not feeling it.

Yeah well Jack would you like to phone a friend?

Sure why not I got lots.

Lots of friends.

Only want to talk to one of them.

—

“Hallo yes this is a post-Soviet log-cabin motherfucker and I am a little bit dead forever right now please leave a message beep.”

“O you’re deceased? Well gosh that’s embarrassing I forgot—man is my face red—”

Face arms legs fuck I was fucking covered in blood so—

(Head rush. I think I may be high. Demon juice high.)

Okay come on come on my name is—

“MY NAME IS”

“My name is FUCK IT”

What am I ever supposed to do with this?

You know what Jack why don’t you call someone who isn’t dead?

—

Outgoing VoIP call:

“Hi It’s Barton hi I am VERY RICH in a water bed right now who’s this?”

“Hey Barton it’s Jack Price.”

“Jack Price?”

“Jack Price, Barton.”

“Jack who?”

“The guy with the plane. The bad guy, Barton. I have had a not good day do not make me come over there and murderize you for being you.”

“O Banjo Telemark? The artist sir?”

“…Yes. Yes I am an artist Barton.”

“Okay sir.”

“…”

“Sir?”

“…I am thinking Barton. I will require your input shortly.”

“O. O okay just uh—that’s a little tricky right now sir there is stuff going on—yowow mama Calliope—I’m just a little distracted sir—”

“…”

“…”

“Fog of crime.”

“O my saints and kittens—yes sir fog of crime sir—”

“…did you say saints and kittens?”

“…um yes sir I was greatly moved—oh my—now I am a little self-conscious sir—damn it I will beat you like a four-egg omelet—not you sir I am talking to Calliope—”

“Barton I would send you more money but you cannot possibly spend what you have.”

“Oh thank you sir I guess.”

“Is there anything revolting you need that I can arrange or pay for you seem like a nice person there are certain aspects you might balk at.”

“No sir I’m real contented right now sir you see—oh—oh YEEEebob be a little kind there—I’m fine sir—just a little matter of—”

“Barton I do not think I need to know what you are doing and I fear you are about to tell me so I am going to go. Call me if anything comes up.”

“Oh very good sir okay O yoooyooHOBA—”

“Bye now Barton.”

Call disconnected.

—

See there’s two ways of doing something so that no one knows it’s happening. There is the one where you walk on tiptoe in the dark and if the lights come on you have a problem like—

Well I guess you get stabbed in the leg with an oyster knife.

But then there is the other way of doing something that no one knows is happening. Fog of crime. That is when you fill a room with light and noise and women in sequins and men in top hats and ten thousand elephants and while all that is happening and everyone is staring at the show—

You stab someone with an oyster knife.

Sometimes it’s about the modus and that is good. Sometimes it is all about process. But other times you fucking mainline your Ukrainian and the blood of your criminal associates and you just fucking do it. That is also some kind of truth.

Sometimes it is about the vision and my vision right now…

(Wham.)

That was more than a head rush. I think I just exploded out of my own face and—

I can see worlds of crime. They are all around me and I am them. I am space and time I am coffee I am cocaine I am universes. I am gods and I am—

I am Demons.

“My name is—”

Yes.

“My name is—”

Say it.

“My name is Banjo Telemark.”

Let me show you my art.

—

Ringedy ring.

I am busy being full of worlds of crime so I let it go to voice mail.

—

Ringedy ring.

Voice mail.

—

Ringedy ring RING RING RING okay fine FINE what—

O it is Sharkey.

—

It probably is not the ideal moment to take this call because I do not feel diplomatic and Sharkey, well you know: Sharkey has cause to be a little annoyed. In fairness—well if I had it to do over—

Naw I guess it would go exactly the same.

VoIP encrypted: accept y/n

“Hi it’s Jack I’m a little busy right now but go ahead.”

“Jack it’s Sharkey.”

“Hi