“Assault,” Pratt called weakly.
I advanced on him, grabbing him by his stupid shirtfront. I rattled him so energetically his head bounced against the wall on a rubbery neck. “I’ll give you fucking assault, you toolbag,” I growled. “You get the fuck out of my shop. You might be able to bully around thirteen-year-old boys but now we’re on an even footing.”
He spat with each word he spoke. Looked like there was blood in his spittle. “Maybe we don’t want any of you and your fucking Lost Boys living in Avalanche.”
“What’re you gonna fucking do about it?” His shirt in hand, I whipped him to the front of the hallway. Tossing him into the big long room, he spun on his ass, his face redder than ever. His hat came off, and I stomped an angry boot down on it, smashing the crown. I tossed it like a Frisbee onto his fat stomach and snarled, “The Lost Boys are in good with the Assassins of Youth now. There’s a new game in town.”
Pratt struggled to stand without assistance. “Oh yeah? You’ll be singing a different tune, you two-bit hustler, once the town council finds out what you do for a living in Bountiful. Profiting off the filth and downfall of your fellow men.”
Something struck me, but I didn’t have time to ponder it. “Well you were fucking soliciting my house and getting your rocks off, Pratt, so I’d say that makes us even. Wouldn’t want your million-year-old town council to find out about that, would you?”
He was on his feet, arms twirling like a ballerina. A very beefy, lumpy, uncoordinated ballerina. “Who are they gonna believe, Rockwell? Me or some uneducated ass peddler? Besides. I think I’ll be getting me some of that long, juicy cock every day from here on in. Don’t forget. I’m your master.”
“Don’t count on it, pervert. The sight of you makes me ill. Now get the fuck out of my establishment.”
He took a few wobbly steps toward me. He held his smashed hat like a discus thrower. “Oh, I’m counting on it, slave. I’m fucking counting on swallowing your meaty sword a few dozen more times before you cry uncle. Because if you don’t, I’m going to make sure Deloy Pingree doesn’t see the inside of that dental school.”
And he reached between my legs and gave my cock a squeeze.
I think I was in such shock, I did nothing. The overwhelming thought was how did he find out about Deloy’s dental school? Then Gideon came in—there was still a little bell attached to the door, old-time style—and he gave the exiting mayor a giant shoulder bump. The mayor crashed into the doorjamb and the two men growled at each other, but soon the pervert was toddling on his way, slamming on his hat that now resembled a boater. I stood speechless when he hopped on what looked like a hoverboard and wheeled off down the sidewalk.
“What the fuck was that idiot doing in here?”
I figured it was best to be honest. I had done nothing wrong. “He came to threaten me about my business. Said I’d never get it off the ground unless I let him suck my wiener.”
“Fuck that!” spewed Gideon. “You know, that guy’s been trying to run this town like a fucking dictator for years. The fucking town council has the same seven members that existed when it was formed in 1985, can you fucking believe it? They claim it’s evidence of everyone’s satisfaction! Well, you know what? We’re gonna have a sit-down soon and choose our own fucking candidate.”
“That’s actually a good idea. Sounds like you’ve got a lot of people coming around to your way of thinking.”
“Damn straight we do! Levon, we don’t give a shit that you run a whorehouse in Bountiful. You think we’re shining examples of so-called upstanding morality? No, but if those fucking polygs are any example of upstanding, we don’t want it.”
I sneered. “They’re the worst examples of hypocrites. That guy beat me within an inch of my life, then comes up to Bountiful to blow me.”
Gideon sputtered with indignation. And I hadn’t even told him about the threat to Deloy. “That’s it. That’s fucking it. I’m scheduling a sit-down—sorry you can’t come, brother, but that’s how it is—to decide who our candidate will be. Elections were in November but primaries are in June. We need someone with a clean background, so that rules out most of us. I’m sorry all this shit is happening to you, man. Makes Avalanche look like a pathetic, twisted place. And that’s the last image we want to project. Listen, I’ve got to get up to the Altar of Sacrifice Mine.”
I frowned. “But it’s dark. Don’t you close it down at night?”