Is it weird that I find this woman somehow strangely attractive? Without giving anything away, I'll simply say this: in a recent Guillermo del Toro film she is the twin sister of an evil Elven antagonist bent on destroying humanity with an invincible mechanized army of gold--who eventually falls in love with an amphibious supporting character and helps the protagonists stop her brother from fulfilling his plan.

Don't get me wrong. At first I was put off by her nearly translucent Morlockian paleness, lunar-yellow cat-eyes, and Chemo-patient lack of eyebrows. But my attraction progressed surely, insidiously--

Whoa, freaky...
...well, I guess she is kind of pretty...
...you know, there's a certain patrician charm to her...

...I want to tear her clothes off with my teeth and screw her in a livery stable.

Outside the Olympus Mons Gentleman's Club a large Samoan bouncer Zebra-striped with tribal tats stood like a totem pole menacing the first European eyes. Howl and Vincent emerged from another more discreet entrance, Howl counting a sheaf of bills while Vincent pointed a Smith and Wesson Dirty Harry style at some imaginary target.
    "This is a big fucking gun for a couple of fags to be carrying," Vincent said as he planted a fresh smoke between his lips. "Where do you suppose they got it?"
    "Probably one of their dad's liquor cabinets or something," Howl said off-handedly, shuffling the cash like playing cards. "This is a nice wad of cash," he added after a third count and flashed the extorted money with satisfaction. To be sure, the man owed them. In a blow-frenzied rage he snapped one of his girls' neck, and Howl and Vincent showed up out of the blue to clean up, no questions asked. But now all of a sudden they came back, demanding two-thousand extra for "unexpected trouble."

"We ran into a bit of a snag. Cost us a bit, and we think a little extra compensation is in order," Howl explained diplomatically. Naturally, the man refused, but Vincent had thought of that and brought the gun just in case. Howl joisted himself on the man's desk, eyes cold and unrelenting. "Take your girls' tips, I don't care what you have to do. We want our money." Then he straightened up, some of the hardness going out of his face, only to be replaced by a wily sort of look. "Or not. I'm sure the cops would love to know what happened to--what was her name, Vincent?"
    "Bitch." Vincent gave a jackal's grin at the four barely clothed girls in the room. The man remained tense and quiet, sweating .44 Magnum cartridges, and the girls started making all manner of useless displays of distress and terror, exasperating Howl's impatience.
    "Ladies! Get. The fuck. Out!" He nodded at Vincent who scattered them with a gesticulation of the gun, giving one girl a firm slap on the ass on her way out. "Our payment," Howl intoned gravely.

The Pontiac started with a cough and a rumble, like a sick horse. Vincent drove and talked, while Howl swam around in his own thoughts.
    "Just like Sierra Leone."
    "I remember."
    "Except easier. What do you mean you remember?"
    "It wasn't that long ago." Vincent plucked the smoke from his mouth and scratched his head with the same hand, sprinkling ashes on his hair.
    "You were just a kid, I didn't think you were aware--"
    "I wasn't stupid." At this Vincent laughed, while Howl resumed his thoughtful vacancy almost bitterly. A moment later he looked up. "Stop at a gas station."
    "Why?"
    "We need gas." Vincent looked down to see that they were near empty. At the station Howl went inside to piss and fill his pockets while Vincent filled up the tank, smoking a cigarette while he waited. When Howl returned, he had a few lotto tickets, two pockets full of Tylenol and Ibuprofen, and a pack of Red Vines.
    "I was thinking," Vincent said, racking the pump and crushing the smoke underfoot, "We should buy a house. You know, as an investment. We could save up a bit for the down payment. I mean, my credit's shot, but yours is cherry." Howl nodded from outer space, where he was apparently playing chess against Bobby Fischer's ghost. Vincent snapped his fingers at his face. "Yo Howl. What's up?"
    "I'm gonna get our two-grand back. And your Remy."
    "Eh, it's not worth it anymore. We made it up in spades with those fags' guns and now this two in our pockets." Howl's resolve seemed to solidify into two tightly clenched fists.
    "I'm gonna do it." Vincent shrugged nonchalantly.
    "Well, if you want her that bad."

[back] No fate. No future. No GED.
[back] No fate. No future. No evidence.
[back] No fate. No future. No acquaintance.
[back] No fate. No future. No mercy.
[back] No fate. No future. No heiress.
[back] No fate. No future. No Columbine.

Tom Paine's lunchtime hustle soon gave way to the unassuming idyllic quiet of the surrounding industrial park and acres upon acres of meticulously sprinkled lawns. It was the drowsy, sleeping security-guard kind of quiet that always comes right before a high school massacre, as Sebastian and Alex made ready for a coup de grace showdown to avenge their angsty homosexual love.
    While Dashboard Confessional blared from a busted speaker in Alex's Jeep and they put on various finishing touches such as double-bandoliers and fingerless gloves, Howl was watching undetected from a primer-gray '79 Pontiac Grand Prix one car over. Eventually, Alex noticed.
    "Check it out." He nodded at the Pontiac. Howl, realizing he'd been found out, got out of the car, followed by an older-looking guy with trauma-streaked hair and a bowling shirt beneath his leather jacket.
    Bastian (as he liked to be called) stepped forward, brandishing the bright red shells on his chest, and simply said "Go home." But Howl and his companion walked right up to them anyway. "I said go home," Bastian repeated. Howl shook his head, eyeing their laden duffle bags. Not with alarm or wariness, but with something else that bothered Bastian.
    "The name's Howlett. For the record, you can call me Howl. This is my associate, Mr. Vincent." Before Howl could finish his introduction Bastian racked the slide of his Glock. But again Howl did something that bothered him: he grinned over his shoulder at Vincent, who smiled back like he was high. All of a sudden, Howl was at Bastian's throat with a gun of his own, while Vincent pointed one right at Alex's forehead.
    "Colt 1911. It was my grandfather's sidearm in WW2. But that doesn't matter. My gun's bigger than yours and it's pointed at your neck. Give us your guns." Howl pressed the Colt firmly into Bastian's Adam's apple.
    "The only way you can stop us is to kill us," Bastian growled.
    "Don't flatter yourselves. We just want the guns." Howl lowered the Colt, but then without warning brought it up and smashed Bastian in the face, knocking him flat on his ass. Alex lunged toward Howl but was pushed back at the end of Vincent's piece, so that he could only watch in horror as Howl continued to smash Bastian's face over and over until there was nothing but blood.
    "Take our guns!" Alex screamed, almost hitting falsetto in his hysteria. "Stop hitting him!" Howl got up and nodded to Vincent to release the kid. But just as Alex was about to rush to Bastian's side, Vincent gave him a swift kick to the balls, dropping him to his knees. Alex glared tearfully up at Howl.
    "Are you a cop?"
    "No. I'm a senior." As Alex crawled over to Bastian, Howl and Vincent loaded the duffle bags into the trunk of the Pontiac. Then Vincent drove away with all their guns and Howl went back to the school.

[back] No fate. No future. No GED.
[back] No fate. No future. No evidence.
[back] No fate. No future. No acquaintance.
[back] No fate. No future. No mercy.
[back] No fate. No future. No heiress.
[forward] No fate. No future. No compensation.