Tales of a Drunken Degenerate, part five, "Ain't no thing but a Chickenwing!"
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After breaking your nose, the fat detective finally told you what you were doing in the interrogation room. Video surveillance footage from the Super Wal-Mart showed a young woman and a man who looked remarkably like you fleeing into the night after the girl was caught shoplifting and the guy punched an employee in the face and laid him out.
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Detective Blake's intention had been to get you to confess to the previous night's incident and thus allow him the honor of adding an assault charge to your lengthy, if rather unimpressive criminal record. But he'd fucked up when he lost his temper and broken your nose, and he knew it. What's more, he knew that you knew it as well. Once you've stopped the worst of the bleeding with the handful of Kleenex he'd begrudgingly provided you, you suggest that the two of you make a little deal, and he's understandably quite receptive to your proposition.
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You walk out the front doors a free man less than an hour later, all records of your latest stay on a one-way trip to the paper shredder, and your nose freshly bandaged by the jail's nurse.
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Your car is still in the police impound lot, but you've got a letter releasing it to you free of charge in your pocket. Unfortunately, that letter and a cigarette lighter are the only things in your pocket, you're flat broke. You decide to walk to your friend Chickenwing's house, a couple of miles away but still a hell of a lot closer than the impound lot.
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Chickenwing, whose real name is Derek, got his name because he was born with a physical deformity that caused one of his arms to be much smaller and more crooked than the other. You'd first met several years ago at a dealer friend's house. He was one of those unfortunate souls that will put up with almost anything just to have a "friend" to hang out with. Besides being cursed with the poultrylike limb, he was also morbidly obese, none of which mattered to you. What mattered was that he had an enormous drug habit and willingly shared his drugs, and would occasionally let you borrow a few bucks if you asked nice enough.
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You arrive at the door to his apartment in one of the more rundown complexes downtown sweaty and out of breath from the hike. You knock loudly, and when a minute passes with no response, knock louder still. "Just a minute!" comes through the door.
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This means Chickenwing is in the middle of enjoying his unbelievably extensive porn collection and wants to finish his business before answering the door, and this is by no means the first time you've been forced to wait outside. Chickenwing is a man who takes his masturbation VERY seriously, (something the two of you have in common) a pervert of the highest order, regardless of who may be waiting outside.
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When he finally opens the door, he's even more sweaty and out of breath than you were when you first arrived. "What the fuck do you want? I don't have any dope, and I don't get paid until next Friday!" He goes to close the door and finds your foot is already inside. "Let me in Chickenwing, you Dirty Nigger!" you cry with a silly grin.
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"What the fuck happened to your nose?" Curious now, he opens the door and grants you entrance into his disgusting palace of self-pleasure.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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