Seven Demons Aidan Truhen (reading an ebook TXT) 📖

“O by no means to examine Herr Eiger. In many cases that amounts to the same thing owing to the hollowness of modern systems you appreciate—so many of them—they are simply Ponzi schemes they rest on nothing. But something with solidity is revealed as absolute by my interrogations the Rock of Gibraltar piece for example—”

(I can hear Charlie breathing heavily she is going to have to make one up and add it to my cover by tomorrow morning I am a bastard—)

“What was demonstrated there was the solidity of the stone beneath the tottering British Imperium of course the fantasy of a gunboat trader nation but as with Gibraltar so with Kircheisen the real is made more so—OH Herr Eiger I have—I would LOVE to make something that was specific to the location would you permit that?”

“I could not allow the use of our corporate branding of course—”

“NO no no I do not mean to imply your sponsorship no that would be inappropriate of course but something—I understand your facility is defined by impenetrability perhaps something to invoke that I see I see I SEE A TRAIN OBLITERATED AGAINST THE MOUNTAIN I SEE—Oh I am sorry that was loud sorry madame I trust that will come out—art you know it is percussive—”

“This does not seem—”

“Allow me to persuade you. Show me your beautiful facility I must touch it I must see it I must lick the salt from the stone I must sir—”

“You must what—”

“Yes yes I will speak to Inge. It is decided sir. I am so THRILLED to have met you. Paul, you are a genius you were quite right quite right I am SEIZED that is what I am—”

I go to embrace him and again that weird mix of manly man and something weird and like rose water chocolates as he fends me off like NO I HUG NO HIPPIES and I—feel—

I feel someone behind me and there is silence of scrutiny and I turn and I see—

Nothing.

There is an empty space where there should be a face and a torso.

Weird.

Then I look down into eyes like the sky.

—

Evil Hansel is wearing a little tiny suit today. It is double-breasted and blue, and unlike Eiger there’s no flower in his lapel. Instead there’s a little tiny pin of a Swiss flag. I actually cringe a little inside like I can feel that knife in my leg. Blood slurry in a winter gutter, slowly tipping down into the drains and sewers underneath. He smells like pool cleaner and limonene or his mother washes him in blueberry air freshener. Perhaps she does.

“Hi little dude who are you?”

“Hallo,” says Evil Hansel. “My name is Marcel.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I’m pleased to meet you Marcel I’m Banjo.”

(Sky eyes don’t blink.)

“Do you know my grandfather?”

“No I— O wait you are Hans Eiger’s grandson?”

“Yes of course.”

“No I don’t know him we were just talking I want to do things to his mountain like—I want to make art there.”

“Oh. You are an artist.”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well I hope you have a rewarding time here at our festival and that your work is productive for you.”

“Do you like art?”

“I prefer to work with Lego and so on. I also like movies.”

“Good for you.”

“Yes it is. Thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

And that’s it. Of course that’s it. Evil Hansel does not care what the fuck a stranger does with tires and old cowbells on his opa’s mountain. And I am a stranger. Jack Price is dead and my face is full of Doc juice and he does not know me at all. He does not look back.

—

Charlie makes me do much art shit. I drink apple juice and pretend it is champagne. I drink a lot of it and establish a reputation for an iron stomach. I flirt with old ladies and young ones. I talk art finance with suits and art concepts with anyone in jeans. All bullshit all the time.

And everyone knows it. Evil Hansel, even Evil Hansel knows it. Over by the buffet table there is a little heap of clothes and a shock of psycho Sound of Music hair, and a couple of Lego figures have fallen out of his hand onto the floor. One of the waiters is nudging them back toward him. Yeah. Sleep well kid. Crazy little fucker.

So yeah. Art bullshit.

After a certain point you just gotta pee.

“I gotta pee.”

“Thank you boss you don’t need to keep me informed on micturative matters.”

“I do not know what that is.”

“It’s peeing.”

“I know that.”

“Boss—”

“Yeah—”

“Go pee please.”

“Yes.”

—

Some things you just don’t see coming. Things like that I take out my penis and point it at the urinal and—

WHAM.

Because there is.

A gun sight.

On the urinal.

A fucking sniper sight.

Printed.

On where you pee.

This is a hilarious joke for executives. It is good for your pelvic floor to control aim and flow and also it is a feedback trick to reduce splash and therefore janitorial costs. Seriously. This is a thing. Porcelain semiotic design is a thing now.

But I have just been shot at and my friend is dead so I see—

The interior of the mail van—

“Price I got to go now. Okay I go but you just—”

“Don’t leave me here you Soviet prick I am stabbed—”

“I got to go now—”

“You live an untidy life—”

Agent Hannah bears down on me I am thinking about sex—

Bunnyboner—

“Wash me—”

“I am Banjo Telemark I am Banjo Telemark I am—”

I’m fine I’m just a little shook up is all it’s—

Then WHAM again but this is a different not just impact but weight. That’s not a hallucination that is something around my neck and it is heavy and I fall—

“You are him,” Evil Hansel says. “You are the man.”

There is just no way a kid Evil Hansel’s size can tackle a guy like me I mean NO WAY so he hasn’t. He has tied a curtain rope around the nasty enormous ornamental vase on the wash table and thrown a noose over my head and kicked the vase on the