“Listen to me, Colton!” Matt said. “You’re getting drunk one way or another. You can either ingest that vodka through your mouth and preserve what little dignity you have left, or—”
“Or w-what?” Colton’s voice was soft, scared.
“Or Pirate and Lion will pull your pants down and hold you by your ankles while I shove the bottle in your ass and let gravity do the job. Either way, in about fifteen minutes, you’ll be drunk. You have my word on that.”
Colton started bawling. Begging. Offering money fromhis trust fund.
“SUCK IT UP, BUTTERCUP!” Matt snarled. He’d waited a long time to say that. And, yes, it felt good.
“Get his pants down!” Matt ordered Josh and Evan.
Josh secured Colton in a head lock with one hand, held the vodka bottle with the other. Evan grappled with Colton’s pants, unbuttoning them and tugging.
Colton screamed and squirmed, even tried biting Josh’s arm.
“SHIT!” Evan exclaimed. He scrambled backwards, almost slipping in the vomit pile.
“What?” Matt was alarmed.
Evan pointed to Colton. “He SHIT himself! The fucker SHIT himself!”
“YUCK! GROSS! EEEEEEW!” Josh released his headlock, jumped back, taking the vodka bottle with him.
Colton stood there wailing William’s name. His pants and underwear hung around his thighs, leaking goo. He held both hands over his shriveled dick, whether to protect it from shit splatter or from modesty, anyone’s guess
Pandemonium ensued.
The stench of shit, piss, and puke had Evan gagging—not vomiting per se, but bent over, contemplating it—definitely in cookie tossing territory.
Colton was a basket case, vibrating like a possessed blender, agitating the vomit at his feet and the shit in his shorts, calling out to God and William—anyone really. Sobbing himself through all the stages of grief and going through them again.
Josh sought refuge from the smell, and squatted, sipping from Colton’s vodka bottle, seeking his happy place.
Princess, Clown, and the Devil looked on in morbid fascination, like looky-loos at a train wreck.
Matt felt like the universe was mocking him. Time was on Colton’s side. It was close to 7:00 p.m. Molly had to have her pictures snapped, developed, and submitted to theDaily Oklahomanby the 10:00 print deadline. Otherwise, all of this would have been for naught. If the Langley family had the opportunity to unleash their myriad resources, the whole story would be buried.
Matt still clutched his bottle of vodka. It was tempting to follow Josh’s lead and drown his sorrows away.
And then Bella Bottoms joined the fray!
Her 3-inch heels teetered in the gravel. Her glossy, black wig—French twist and curls—wobbled precariously. She towered over them all. A large handbag swung from one arm like a pendulum bob.
She put a hand on Colton’s cheek. “Calm down, baby,” she soothed, a modern Edith Cavill tending to battlefield wounded.
Colton stared up—UP—at Bella and stopped his caterwauling. His mouth gaped open.
Bella assessed the situation. “Colton,” she said. “That’s your name, right? Quit worrying about your willie and let’s get you cleaned up. Reach in your pocket and retrieve your car keys. Hand them to me for safekeeping, ‘cause those clothes you’re wearing need to be blowtorched.”
Matt, watching and listening, expected Colton to refuse. There were plenty of words to describe the guy, but naïve and trusting were not among them.
And yet—unbelievably, Colton surrendered his keys without protest.
“Who are you?” he asked Bella in a little boy voice.
Bella plopped the keys into her handbag. “Short answer: Bella. Bella Bottoms. We’ll get to the long answer later. I’d shake your hand, but, well, you need to wash it first. Besides which, I can’t honestly say I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I want to go home!” Colton whined.
