XIII – ANGELO

Keep on talking

One would assume that of all the major characters related to this TV show, I would be the one with most difficulties in getting a job. My speaking skills would definitely constitute a handicap, even though I'm only two spots away from Jarod. It's true they didn't use me that often to perform simulations, but I can be almost as good as Jarod or Alex. The trouble was that in order to keep a low profile, I had to fake speaking like a retard. The same same way Lyle faked having hair, only with talent instead of a toupee.

Leaving The Centre for the second time in more than thirty years has been great now that I don't have the need nor the obligation to get back there. Sydney invited me to stay in his place. Since I had no place of my own to go to, or money to spend, I accepted his offer.

After not even a week of his cooking and his singing, I said to him: “Look, I think it's probably for the best if I leave. No offense Sydney, but your casserole sucks and your singing makes me want to perform self-enhancement electroshock therapy.”

I don't think I'll ever forget the look of disbelief on his face. Neither will he. That's what happens when you take others' disadvantages for granted.

Finally breaking free from my old persona, I let go of everything that connected me to The Centre. But I still needed a place to stay and money to buy food. I could contact Jarod or even Miss Parker, but the prospect of having to eat pop-tarts and PEZ juice at every meal was not an appealing one. Plus, I had already made a short appearance on Miss Parker's story, a few chapters ago. She's supposed to come here by choice, not by having me summoning her.

Enough about my past, let's talk about my present! Ups! It's gone! You didn't get that? Never mind. It's obvious you have no sense of humor.

As to what I'm currently doing for a job, I'll get to that soon.

It all started on the very same afternoon after leaving Sydney's house with nothing in my pockets but a packet of CJ and a twenty dollar bill.

Before I continue, allow me to elaborate a little on the subject of Cracker-Jacks. Is it really that difficult to bribe me with something else? Seriously. How cheap are these people? Why not bribe me with lobster? Or veal? Not even a steak, for crying out loud! Do you know how many cavities I have? I'm surprised I still have any teeth left. Don't get me wrong. I like Cracker-Jacks, but I also need meat and vegetables every once in a while. Some cigar and booze would have been nice too.

Anyway, I didn't have enough money to rent a room, so I roamed for a while until I found a shady bar, at the outskirts of Blue Cove. I went in and asked to join a group of men playing poker. They assumed I was an easy catch because of the way I spoke and I didn't do anything to contradict them.

Suffice to say, when I left the bar a few hours later, not only did I have almost five grand, I also had the keys to a car and an apartment. I had to get the hell out of there fast because some people don't appreciate to loose. Especially when they think the person who's winning is somehow cheating. Well, I don't cheat. I'm just good at reading faces.

I decided to use part of the money to rent a small shop at an old mall. The place wasn't exactly top class – all right, it was a dump – but I had the perfect idea for a business and, if all worked out as I planned, I soon would move to a better location.

The previous occupant had left the counter and an empty register. When I asked the author why, he told me he was on his break. “You're on your own,” he said. The arrogant creep.

You're lucky I need you to be coherent in this story!

I was just curious about why would he leave the register behind.

Who cares?

It's a perfectly good register. I don't see anything wron

It has a curse, all right? Who ever takes the register from this shop... dies or something.

How did it get here?

How... Look! There's your first customer!

I don't see anyo

A man entered the store.

Hey! That's not fair. You're making it up as you go!

The man was wearing a large trench-coat and a black sock to cover his head. I figured he was just shy and decided to treat him with the utmost respect.

“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”

Suddenly, he pulled a gun and aimed it at me.

I didn't mean to criticize the author's research or anything, but if he knew how to write me properly, he'd know I would feel the threat before it actually presented itself. I'm just saying.

“This is a wobbewy!” he said.

“A robbery?”

“That's wight! A wobbewy!”

“What's white? The counter?”

“Not white, wight! Open the wegistew!”

“No no no. Re-gis-ter. Repeat after me.”

“I'm gonna shoot you!”

Another customer entered the store. It looked incredibly like Mr. Raines, but with breasts. That vision was so disturbing that for a moment I forgot all about my other client. Then I recognized her.

“Weren't you in another story?”

“Yesh. I was shaved by Jarod. Is he here?”

“Sorry. This is not his story.”

“Get the hell out!” the man yelled.

“Shorry. My mishtake,” she siad, before leaving the store.

I turned back to my wanna-be-wobber. “My apologies. You were saying?”

“I. Am. Wobbing. You,” he said slowly.

Points for the effort, but it still wasn't good.

“Robbing. Robbing. Rrrrrrrrrrrrr...”

For a moment it looked like he was about to snap. He trained his gun on me, aimed it straight at my head. He squeezed the trigger, but before he could shoot, a powerful kick from behind knocked him out cold.

I smiled at Miss Parker. “I almost thought you wouldn't come.”

“I almost didn't make it. The author only asked me a few pages ago.”

“He's a bit lazy, isn't he?”

“Yes, he is. Have you noticed how many years have passed since he wrote a chapter?”

All right! It's time to end this!

You just can't accept a criti

THE END