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The license plate on the Coup Deville is nothing more than a piece of cardboard with a homemade sigil drawn in the center. The seemingly arbitrary slashes, curves and horizontal lines of the symbol are actually a composite of letters to a very simple command – “You Do Not See This Car!” On its own the stunt would probably get you pulled over on general principle alone and is one not recommended to the casual enthusiast of the occult arts. However when charged with a purity of Will and mixed in with a potent amalgamation of blessings and charms the vehicle is practically invisible on the streets.
It takes a very skilled driver to navigate her through the surge of accidents invoked by such a work though. People often forget the peril of invisibility is that it makes you a broad target to the unintentional. Admittedly though, a price well worth the ability to drive through police blocks with impunity and knowing the sirens in the rear view mirror are never for you. It also meant the Deville was safe in even the worst of neighborhoods. Even without direct eye contact on the plate the old Coup reeked of an unidentifiable dread. There’s a lot of bad ghosts still trapped in the trunk and sometimes you can hear them banging around for escape. Passengers in the back seat are often seen, mouthing the words for ‘help’, in and only in the rear view mirror.
Sometimes, if you listen close enough, you can hear them weeping. “Shut the f*ck up already!” Never-Know hammers the hood in response to the spectral wailing, “You don’t want me to have to come in there!” “And do what?” Adam asks with frustrated sincerity. “Hey, Genius!” Skinhead Dan growls. “We’re only invisible inside the car, remember? You wanna keep it down before we wake up the whole neighborhood?” “What neighborhood?” Never-Know spins around gesturing to the empty street before them, “This place is a f*ckin’ ghost town” The big Skin furrows his beetle brow menacingly at the clueless thug.
Facially, Skinhead Dan resembles a cross between the late actor Patrick McGoohan and a British Bull dog. Now mask that face over a Frankenstein Monster of a man, put it in some Oxblood Doc’s, shave it’s head and slap some suspenders over the shoulders and you’d have a rough approximation of Skinhead Dan only not quite as scary. “Alright, alright” Never-Know chants walking away from the car and joining the other four as they solemnly march towards the doorway to the apartment building.
Never-Know is built thick with the physique of an out of shape football player, a meat machine insulated with beer fat and extra muscle from the damage. He is one of those men who wears their ignorance with oblivious charm. The innocent eyes of a small child (or panic stricken animal) planted shallow across forgettable good looks.
Never-Know is what Carlos calls a ‘Luck Golem’ - a being sculpted out of beaten odds and improbable fortune into a mindless juggernaut savant. The kind of thoughtless bastard that not only rushes in where angels tremble, but often ends up trampling them down in the process, taking a pratfall off the Fool’s cliff and landing safely cushioned by crushed angel wings. The truth of the matter, however, is that the man actually has so many different curses cast on him by a small platoon of jilted lovers, betrayed friends and even his own mother, that they in their competition to render harm unto the man actually subtract, rather than add, to one another effectively canceling each other out.
The result is one of the luckiest (and stupidest) mother f*ckers to ever stroll obliviously through God’s Green Earth. Asks the ranks pooling around the doorway’s stoop, “ who’s got a joke?” No one answers. Dan takes the lead up the stairs flanked a step behind by Adam and Phil f*ck. Bob the Eunuch stands point at the bottom of the stoop. Tosses up an invisible ball, goes into a batting position, swings hard on the ball’s drop and two blocks away a window breaks inexplicably. He turns to the boys and offers – “I got a joke.” No one cares.
Project Igi 5 Ultimate Full Version Download For Pc. Dan examines the door before him with a curiosity often seen poured over a puzzle. There’s something wrong here but he can’t quite put his hand on it.
“Pfff c’mon, les’ just go inside already, huh?” Adam sighs impatiently reaching out for the door knob. He almost makes it too, when Dan slaps his hand away abruptly. “Th’f*ck man?” Adam whines sourly. “Alarm.” Dan responds stoic. Here?” Adam gives the door a look over. Then leans back and checks out the building.
The place is a complete sh*t hole by his estimate and not likely to have running water much less an alarm system installed. To be honest he’s more worried about 5-0 cruising by or drawing the attention of one of the covens operating in the Strawberry Mansion district. “Allllow me.” Phil f*ck slurs, producing a hypodermic needle out of thin air between skeletal thin fingers. Adam didn’t see him slide out of the ancient black leather jacket ubiquitously worn by the old junkie only a second ago. Nor did he see the small hang-man’s noose made of white cord, normally worn through his spike belt, wrap itself around Phil’s left bicep. A black vein begins to bulge down the gaunt punk’s forearm.
A river of oil running through the blue and green tattoos. Phil finds the sweet spot and plunges the needle’s point into the nimbus blood. “C’mon” Adam begins to protest but stops when he feels the heat of Dan’s glare scolding him. Word is Phil f*ck is not human. Not even alive.
Not no more leastways. Rumor has him pegged as a drug revenant.
A needle ghoul. A junkie who got hold of some seriously wicked vampire sh*t and has come back from the morgue looking to score fresh highs from the living. Phil’s got no shortage of Boogie-Man stories attached to his rep. Drug addicts whisper tales of Phil crawling in through windows at night and sucking the buzz out of unsuspecting users. “So there’s this, guy, right” N.K. Begins nonplussed at the site of Phil fixing up. “and he gets back from a Hawaiian vacation.” The dark vein begins to glow with a color of rust and lava as the chemicals hit the blood.
Phil releases an org*smic shudder, moaning with breath that reeks of rotting candy and frosts across the air before him. All over his body the gallery of tattoos begin to grow brighter, the colors strikingly more vibrant. The lines in Phil’s face have been smoothed over so a noticeably younger man stands before the others. His eyes shine with an almost angelic dignity. His skin has shifted from a dirty alabaster to a milky green.
Gray teeth smile through a peel of thin lips. Reptilian eyes dart around anxiously and settle on nothing. “His buddy comes to visit him and is all like – ‘Hey man, how was your trip?’” N.K. Pitches and swings with his bat at another imaginary ball, “‘Dude!’ the man tells his buddy, ‘I had a f*ckin’ ball.
Went to the beach. Smoked some Maui Green.
Even got a tattoo.” Four blocks away a side view mirror is knocked off a VW. Truth is Phil f*ck is a narcomage. One of the best and certainly one of the most dangerous in the business. Of the many inks decorating his body, only the tiny key imprinted on his finger tip begins to light up with a faint orgone blue. “‘A tattoo?’ the buddy’s all curious.
‘Well sh*t, lemme see.” Phil f*ck presses the key up to within an inch in front of the door’s knob. From the surface of the brass doorknob three concentric circles of white flame radiate and shimmer in an aura around its surface. Within their bands there are a series of alchemical glyphs. Gently, Phil presses the ‘key’ up against the knob’s lock. The circles rotate clock and counterclockwise.
A series of insect clicks chirp through a faint sizzling noise. “‘I can’t do that’ the man explains to his buddy. ‘Well why the hell not?’ the buddy asks.” Then the fiery rings stop in their rotation. Three matching triangles with a line through their apex line up perfectly within the bands, flare up in brightness and dissolve into the air. “‘Because the tattoo’s on my dick’ the man tells his friend. ‘Your dick!’ the buddy freaks out.
‘Why the hell did you get a hundred dollar bill tattooed on yer dick fer chrissakes?” “Allllright” Phil slurs through the junk haze, “y’guys can kick in the doooor now.” “The man smiles – ‘A hundred dollar bill!’” Dan obliges. Thinking of the act as a warm-up to what he’s going to deliver soon to somebody’s skull, the big skin crashes a boot through forward. The door never stood a chance. “‘Why the hell didja you do a thing like that for?’ the buddy demands.” Through the dark hallway of the apartment before them a fetid stink of standing water and mold wafts out.
Intuition runs ice water through Adam’s veins. Something bad is about to happen. He can feel the inevitably of it deep in the bones and the churn of the gut. Before he can voice his doubts though Dan, with pistol drawn, enters the building. Phil, back in his leather and carrying his bat over his shoulder follows. Adam doesn’t want to but he enters the building.
“‘Well three reasons’ the man answers” N.K. Pitches up a final ball, swings and inexplicably misses.
Bob the Eunuch pushes past N.K. And vanishes into the building.
Unperturbed N.K. Follows, mounting the steps slowly and yelling for the others to ‘wait up’ with little concern for the boom of his voice. Pauses at the opening. He looks around the neighborhood, not quite able to shake the feeling that somebody’s watching him. Scanning the empty street and finding nothing worthy of his suspicions he presses on. “‘First off I like to play with my money’” he announces to the gathering of the other four outside a nearby apartment marked with a black ‘3’ on the door. Dan is pressed against the wall on the right of the door.
Phil on the left. Aaj Mere Piya Ghar Aavenge Video Song Download. Adam is behind Dan doing his best to look menacing with the 9mm, imitating the countless similar scenes he’s seen on various cop dramas. Bob the Eunuch stands in front of the door. “‘Second of all I like to watch my money grow'” N.K.
Stands behind Bob, readying the bat for real now. Bob and Dan exchange knowing stares. A command is given with a twitch of the skin’s pronounced brow.
Bob the Eunuch lurches back and rushes forward with his considerable mass (Bob has been described as looking like the bastard offspring of a grizzly bear and a diesel engine) straight towards apartment 3. “‘And third of all my wife will blow a hundred dollars in a minute’.” No one laughs as the door splinters around Bob’s shoulders as he bull rushes his way through into the apartment. The remaining maniac squad file in behind him. All except Adam.
Who, by his reckoning, seems to be the only one aware that they’re walking into a trap. He stands there and looks at the gun in his hand. He looks up and already can hear the shouting coming from inside. He finds a crack running along the low hanging ceiling of the corridor. The crack, with a shift of the eye and a spark of imagination, becomes a current of untapped energy. He focuses his concentration past the crashing inside the thunder and vanishes into thin air. To be continued.
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