’ BOOMba-bangbang. We all spin – it was far away – on the other side of the building. BOOM. The walls rattle a bit. ‘…sounds like around where we keep the weapons,’ the Westwood Ceta says. ‘What the fuck is this guy on?’ one of the old ones gapes. ‘You’re sure he’s going for more weapons?’ I snap my eyes up to the Westwood Ceta. ‘Ninety per cent,’ he shrugs. I turn to the masked old one, and say very slowly, ‘Speak clearly – word for word, What was written on that wall?’ The old one rolls his eyes, ‘Just some bullshit about fairy tale endings.’ ‘Word for word – this is important.’ ‘Uhh…’ He counts on his fingers, but he flips the middle one up first. ‘Do. You. Still. Believe. In. Happy. Endings. Questionmark.’ I chain another cigarette. Jessie says it, ‘What’s he gonna’ do?’ * * * We check out where they keep the weapons, but he’s already been there and gone. Everything is in such disarray, there’s no way to know what he took. We just head out the front doors. A mass. “You two should move on,” I said quietly. Strangely enough, they seemed to have heard me over the amplified guitar riff that was being played by the lead guitarist, Neddy Beats; and after giving Cathy’s melons a last squeeze, they drifted away and stayed away. Cathy whined that I wouldn’t let her have any fun, and I shut her up by burying my nose in her hair, and abruptly sent my wet tongue traveling along her ear, lingering at the lobe so recently teased then sliding along under its outer ridge as if tasting every pore, sending a myriad of sensuous chills up and down her spine. Cathy’s bared chest heaved and she sighed deeply, shivered once or twice before melting into my arms and asking if I was going to let her cum right there while her hands slipped under my shirt and scratched lightly at my shoulder blades. I refused to answer her question, but gave her something to think about by slowly unzipping the back of her mini-skirt, about two-thirds of the way, exposing wide expanses of.
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