Little T kept an eye out for civilians while Big T popped the trunk and, with a grunt, dragged a rolled-up carpet out of the black Escalade. It hit the ground of the old bridge with a kick-drum thud and Little T winced.
"Careful, T", he said, "too many curious Jack and Jill's in these here parts. A scuffle will make the Boss-Man most upset".
"I think he's upset to the brim, already, T", Big T said, out of breath and overweight. In his prime Big Terror had been an ox of a man. The impenetrable steel gate to the Boss-Man's Criminal Enterprise. But years and cheeseburgers had caught up with and now stuck to him like a bad marriage and his lungs suffered in the black smog of The City. He didn't like getting old and he knew he could probably steal a few extra years if he moved to the country side. But there was no fear to mine out there, no respect for past violent deeds. No need for Terror. Just sheep upon vertigo-inducing rolling hills. And civilians. Norms.
Big T crouched down, grabbed the rolled-up carpet and started rolling it towards the railing of the bridge. Little T eyed him while playing with his knife. His weasel eyes narrowed when Big T rolled the carpet into the harsh spotlight of one of the bridge's ornate gas lamps.
"Boss-man be running out of textile if he rolls up his problems in an Axminster rug." he said and licked his lips. Opportunity had a salty taste.
"Careful, T", he said, "too many curious Jack and Jill's in these here parts. A scuffle will make the Boss-Man most upset".
"I think he's upset to the brim, already, T", Big T said, out of breath and overweight. In his prime Big Terror had been an ox of a man. The impenetrable steel gate to the Boss-Man's Criminal Enterprise. But years and cheeseburgers had caught up with and now stuck to him like a bad marriage and his lungs suffered in the black smog of The City. He didn't like getting old and he knew he could probably steal a few extra years if he moved to the country side. But there was no fear to mine out there, no respect for past violent deeds. No need for Terror. Just sheep upon vertigo-inducing rolling hills. And civilians. Norms.
Big T crouched down, grabbed the rolled-up carpet and started rolling it towards the railing of the bridge. Little T eyed him while playing with his knife. His weasel eyes narrowed when Big T rolled the carpet into the harsh spotlight of one of the bridge's ornate gas lamps.
"Boss-man be running out of textile if he rolls up his problems in an Axminster rug." he said and licked his lips. Opportunity had a salty taste.
"Not worth your life", Big T gasped and pushed the rug out of the light, his heart pounding at the effort. The rug was impossibly heavy, they'd been getting larger and heavier the last few months. The Boss-Man's rivals really were sending the big guns after him. The rug stuck on something and when Big T gave it an extra push the whole thing unfolded, rolled out like the king was coming to visit.
What had lain wrapped in the rug wasn't human. It had a hard black shell, slick with green go. Puncture holes revealed a maroon inside, horns grew from the creatures forehead and the eyes were big and multifaceted like an insect. It was a beetle, of sorts. But, disregarding the size, not like any beetle Big T had ever seen.
The T's knew horror. After all, if you worked for the Boss Man you earned the name Terror through combat and mischief. It was bestowed upon you like knighthood. And yet, the nightmarish corpse struck them backhanded with fear and awe and for a moment neither of them said anything.
True to form, Little Terror was the first to break the silence.
"Well shit", he assessed the situation.
Big T could only grunt in agreement. This explained a lot actually. No wonder the Boss Man looked shaggy these days. He was up fighting nightmares in the early hours. He'd traded rivaling gangsters for actual monsters. Big T poked the beetle creature with the tip of his gun. Then he wrapped it in the rug once more and heaved it into the river. He made a silent note to himself to never let Timmy bath at South Bank ever again.
"Well shit", he assessed the situation.
Big T could only grunt in agreement. This explained a lot actually. No wonder the Boss Man looked shaggy these days. He was up fighting nightmares in the early hours. He'd traded rivaling gangsters for actual monsters. Big T poked the beetle creature with the tip of his gun. Then he wrapped it in the rug once more and heaved it into the river. He made a silent note to himself to never let Timmy bath at South Bank ever again.
Maybe the country side wasn't such a bad place after all.
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