Dirty Eden Read Free Page B

few questions, presented no concerns.” He laughed, his shoulders bouncing gently underneath his disheveled hair. “You, my friend, are one of the dumbest sheep I’ve met in,” he glanced down at his pretend watch, “oh, at least thirty minutes.”
    I crossed my legs and looked out in front of me. “Why even bother with me then?”
    He shrugged. “I asked myself that and intimately decided to change things up a bit.” He raised his back from the bench and smacked his hands together, then stood and began to pace. He tossed his hair back, seemingly annoyed by the twigs.
    I briefly wondered why he had twigs in his hair to begin with.
    The man went on:
    “God is an ass, but then it’s not His fault entirely that I got such a bad rap. Sheeple have been twisting my stories since the Beginning.”
    I nodded, still humoring him. Had to hand it to him, he was almost convincing.
    “Honestly,” he continued, “Things are easier for me these days; I don’t have to work as hard to make my point, and I’m never without company.” He stopped pacing for a moment and glanced across at me. “You get my meaning?”
    “Yes, I think I do,” I said with another nod, but of course, I was lying through my teeth.
    “The thing is, Norman Anthony Reeves, I work with the Big Ass in the sky; always have. Without me, God—who, I should tell you, did not actually create everything, He only manages it—couldn’t do His job, and vice-versa.”
    I stopped him right there.
    “Alright, enough of this Hollywood audition bullshit,” I said. “Who the hell are you and how do you know my name? No, wait,” I put up my finger, “I almost forgot: because you stole-my-wallet !”
    The right side of his mouth barely lifted into a grin, one that somehow shocked me. He stared at me for a moment, gauging me with eyes like Rebecca Hines when she knew she had my nuts in a sling the second she bent over.
    He wet the dryness from his lips. “I know more about you than your name, Norman,” he said, grinning. “I know that you like chocolate syrup on orange sherbet, that the sound of foil makes you cringe. I know you had a crush on your cousin in fifth grade and I know all about the Mrs. Griffith bra incident in seventh.”
    I had been drugged. Maybe Martin slipped me something on the bus earlier. I thought back, desperately trying to recall, but realized I never even had a cup of coffee.
    “Shall I go on?” he said, turning a palm over in gesture.
    “Look,” I stumbled over my thoughts, “I don’t know what this is all about, but — ”
    “I haven’t gotten that far yet,” he interrupted.
    He pointed across the street. “Do you see that woman over there on the bike?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m going to kill her to prove it.”
    This needed a few seconds to register.
    Finally, I just smiled and let the stun fade into disbelief. “I have to hand it to you,” I said, “you had me for a moment. I’ll give you that much.”
    I went to leave then because gullible had left, shaking my head at the fact that I even thought for a second to give this moron a chance. “I’m calling the police,” I said, looking back while at the same time realizing that I left my cell phone on the counter this morning.
    I got several feet away from him and then an ear-shattering screech locked my body still as a taxi careened toward the woman on the bike. I watched in absolute horror as her body bounced off the hood of the car, flying through the air like a ragdoll before crashing onto the pavement behind the taxi. I saw the burnished spokes on the bike's wheels spin and then fold into a chaotic, twisted mess under the worn rubber of the tires. The taxi driver threw open the door and stumbled out, his wide, horrified eyes gaping at the crimson smear on the hood where the woman's head had been. I couldn't seem to speed it up, get it over with, and put an end to her suffering and mine. My own eyes looked from the taxi driver and to the woman lying on the pavement,