Oren lifted his head back as the smoke of freshly lit tobacco filled his eyes. He squinted a tad as he glared at the priest. He exhaled. Then he waved away the smoke. “I’ve heard the name before,” he told the priest..
The priest nodded. “You should have. He was a famous conquistador.”
Oren smirked, spat on the floor, and took another drag. “So you’re saying he shares a name with a famous conquistador?”
“No. I’m saying he is Hernando De Soto.”
Oren failed to contain his disbelief. He quickly guffawed then shook away his doubt momentarily. But before he said anything, he took the jug of shine. He drank of it and tried to work through the priest’s logic. “Let me get this straight,” he said, “Hernando De Soto is still alive because he found the fountain of youth. Now he’s hoarding it and pretending to be a judge of some city in the armpit of America. Did I get this right?”
“That’s a pretty asinine way of putting it. But yes.”
“It’s asinine. But that’s what you’re telling me.”
“Look son. I ain’t asking you to believe me. But I am asking you for your help. This fountain is the last of its kind. We destroy it, save your brother, and this curse on mankind is over with.”
“Last of its kind?”
“Yes. There were other fountains all around the world. I was a part of a holy order sworn to destroy all of them. Now I’m the last of that order. I destroy this fountain and my life’s mission is complete.”
“Uh huh. So, uh, how do you propose we destroy this fountain?”
The priest leaned back and stroked his long white beard. Then he gazed out past the shit smeared windows to the tall, scraggly grass outside and thought. “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” he said. “As I’m sure you can imagine, it ain’t gonna be easy. Of course, it doesn’t help that we ain’t the only ones lookin for it either. The Nine boys seem to have gotten a head start.”
Oren’s headache was starting up again. “Oh for fucks sake, who are the Nine boys?”
“Well, really they’re just called the Nine. But there’s only two of them.”
“Are they out to destroy the fountain too?”
“No. They aimin to take it.”
While struggling to understand this convoluted quandary, Oren thought it best to start pounding the shine. And in the midst of lingering between inebriation and a full blown concussion, it occurred to him that his objective remained—retrieve his brother and get the hell out of Louisiana. If he could find those stolen vacuum cleaners, that would be nice too. He kicked the tires with the priest. Maybe there was a solution in all this nonsense. “So are you gonna let em take it?” Oren asked.
“Shit. I don’t know which is worse—the Nine boys or Moorhouse Parish Sheriff’s Department.”
“How fuckin bad could it be? You said there were only two of them!”
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Internet Ruined Everything 