This is the End 2(42)

But now I didn’t have any wires to choose from. I felt the same overwhelming sense of my own demise. Death was counting down for me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

When Rocket finally reached the pool table, he cocked his head to the side, licked his bloody lips, and stared, as if studying a bug on a pin and finding it sexually arousing. Exhibiting superhuman self-control, I managed not to piss myself, and instead used my only remaining weapon. Truth.

“I didn’t kill your aunt. I didn’t even know who she was. Your cousin Neil hired me to find her because she’d gone missing.”

Some of the rage melted off his face, replaced by confusion. “Neil?”

“Do you know your aunt used to be a man?”

“Yeah. He invented the intranet.”

Actually, he’d only invented the search engine the intranet used, but I saw no need to correct Rocket on that point. He raised a fist, ready to pound me into the wall.

“That means”—I spoke quickly, flinching away and squeezing my eyes shut—“now that your aunt is dead, you’re a billionaire…”

The blow didn’t come. I peeked open one eye. Rocket had his hand in the air, but he wasn’t throwing the punch.

“I’m rich?”

“Your aunt is dead. You and Neil are her only surviving relatives. You inherit all of her money and possessions. And there’s a lot.”

He lowered his fist. “Who’s Neil?”

“Your cousin.”

“Don’t have no cousin. My mom only had one brother—Aunt Zelda. I’m really rich?”

“You could hire Donald Trump the Third to be your cabana boy.”

Rocket didn’t look enraged anymore. If anything, he appeared pensive. Maybe I’d actually have a chance to—

“I’ll save you, Talon!”

McGlade came running up behind Rocket. He had my tiny folding knife raised up over his head.

“McGlade! Don’t!”

“Die, you enormous son of a bitch!”

McGlade stabbed Rocket in the left ass cheek. To my trained eye, it didn’t seem to be a killing blow.

Rocket snarled, then stared down at McGlade. McGlade grabbed the knife’s handle and yanked on it.

The knife wouldn’t budge. It was lodged to the hilt in the roider’s rock-hard gluteus maximus, and I doubted nothing less than a block and tackle would be able to remove it. McGlade grunted with effort for a few seconds, trying both overhand and underhand grips. He even tried bracing his foot against Rocket’s leg. Eventually, he gave up.

“You got a really strong ass, buddy,” McGlade said, out of breath. He wiped his brow with his sleeve, then gave the knife handle a baby pat. “You should keep it there. Makes you look tough.”

“You’re dead,” Rocket told him.

“Kinda figured.”

Then McGlade took stupid to the next level. He reared back and kicked the knife blade.

Rocket’s eyes practically shot out of his head. He howled, the roid rage once again taking control, and backhanded McGlade so hard it could be heard in neighboring states. Then he turned his fury on me. Shoving the pool table to the side as if it weighed nothing, he grabbed my shirt and lifted me up over his head.

I’d felt trapped before. Now I felt helpless, which was even worse.

He tossed me, visions of broken bones and organ failure swirling through my head as I spun through the air.

Incredibly, miraculously, I landed on something soft.

“You broke my fall,” I said, amazed.

“You broke my ribs,” McGlade groaned underneath me.

I disentangled myself from McGlade and picked up an overturned metal chair. Rocket rushed at me, fists clenched. I kept him at bay like a lion tamer, poking at him without letting him grab the chair and pull it away. He still had my knife in his buttocks, but I didn’t think asking for it back was a smart idea.

“You’re rich now,” I said, as we circled each other. “You don’t want to go to jail for murder.”

“I’ll hire a good lawyer.”

“Bust the chair over his Nazi head, Talon,” McGlade said from the floor. “This fucknut gets that kind of money, he’ll start the Fourth Reich.”

Rocket turned to McGlade, snarling. I busted the chair over his Nazi head. The roider stumbled, falling to his knees. I reared back to hit him again, and he kicked out one of his enormous legs, sweeping my feet out from under me. I dropped the chair and slammed onto my back.

McGlade screamed. I watched. Rocket had his arm. The giant snapped it in half, like it was a breadstick. I saw McGlade’s knuckles touch his elbow. He saw it, too, and lost consciousness in midscream. Then Rocket gave me his full attention.