The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers. (delascabezas) wrote in frankandeddie,
The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers.

On Muggled Fandom

"Jesus Eddie, some people will pay a lot of money for these stupid things. I'm glad you made me stop at that book store last night."

"You mean stop IN the bookstore. I can't believe you are selling those stolen copies. The release isn't until tomorrow! You are ruining the mystique dammit! And you even sold one to a reporter! From The Times!"

"That didn't seem to stop you from staying up and reading it all night."

"That's different. I'm into this stuff. You are just in it for the profit. You don't care about the literature!"

"Eddie, this is a kid's book. I'm not going to say writing for children can't be literature. Hell, some of the longest lasting stories are childrens' stories. Stop fucking treating it like it is Charles Dickens motherfucking magnum opus."

"Frank, you don't understand. You've never read them! You don't comprehend the depth of the..."

"Look man, we went over this. If I have to choose between hauling around a trunk full of stolen books and a trunk full of corpses, I'll tell you which one wins. The one that doesn't requite borax and a hose at the end of the night. At bloody fucking eighty bucks a pop, these things are like phonebooks made of cash."

"I still say it is unethical. You have no soul Frank. None!"

"Whatever. Look, that last sale was the end of inventory, o.k.? Enough side business. What do we have on the lineup tonight?"

"Just a sec. Lemme see here... Oh, very funny asshole."


"Ovid Molder-Mortal? C'mon asshole, I read book two."

"Eddie, cut the shit. What does it say on the roster sheet?"

"Frank, I can't believe after spending all day ruining my fandom, you'd stoop so low. If I hadn't already read the book, you probably woulda covered the roster sheet with a postit covered in spoilers..."

"Eddie, I seriously don't care right now about your ranting about this crap. You didn't sleep because you were up all night reading that stupid book, and now you are just talking garbage. Just tell me the address."

"37 5/16ths Central Plaza"

"What are you smoking? Jesus, you can't even read! Gimme that. Huh, weird. Maybe you can read. Bella left a note at the bottom. Says it is right off the main concourse. She must mean the entrance by that stupid side avenue. You know, the one named after the rich guy? Is there even a building there?"

"Frank, seriously, this is not funny anymore. What are we doing tonight?"

"What the hell is this crap at the end about payment exchange services retainer? What in the blue hell is a fucking Sickle? Ugh, Bella is definitely going to have some explaining to do when I get hold of her."

"Frank. Really? Not funny. Who is the mark, for real?"

"Um, apparently, we are supposed to look for someone who looks like a cross between Telly Savalas and a shark, wearing a black robe, waiting for a bunch of other freakazoids at the location. Ice him on sight, and take the necklace he is wearing as proof of kill. Who the hell wrote up this bio sheet? It's fucking hand-written for shit's sake, and it looks like someone's been at it with a hole-punch. 'Watch out for whore cruxes'... What the hell is a whore crux? Is that like a sex toy?"

"And the mark just happens to be named Ovid Molder-Mortal?"

"I've done as much reading and driving as I can at the moment, you double check the name. What are we doing this with? Has to be relatively clean if we need to get a necklace."

"The only thing we can use is love."

"What the fuck did you say Eddie?"

"We have to remember our gloves. I'm thinking garotte."

"Nah, too much work. Besides, we got no guarantee on the sneak angle. The laser scope still in the toolbox?"

"I think so... Frank, we can't just shoot him!"

"Why not? Fast, relatively clean. With a headshot, it'll slow down body ident by ruining facial and spreading dental in a ten foot radius, and most of that will be tooth chips. I think it is the way to go here."

"But Frank, it is so... Anticlimatic!"

"Anticlimactic? He's a mark Eddie. Someone wants him dead, enough to pay us. We make him dead from a long way away, so that he won't even know we are looking at him at the time the steel-jacketed lead goes through his brainpan. Problem solved."

"But what about..."

"Look we're here. I'm gonna use the Rem seven, and a hollow point. You go get the necklace. After we meet this courier, you can explain whatever the fuck got to you."

"Frank, I think..."

"Look, there's the q-ball now. Damn, he's pretty tall. What the hell? He's talking to a bunch of Klansmen? Don't they wear white? Maybe they are anti-clansmen?"

"Death Eaters!"

"What did you say? Wife beaters? No, they aren't wearing fucking wife beaters, they are wearing big black cone-shaped capes."

"Frank, I really think..."

"Shut it Eddie! Be ready to make a run for that necklace. I'm gonna have to switch to the AK to take care of the witnesses."

"Ugh, this is so wrong Frank."

"Just get moving Eddie. Count ten and I am gonna start to shoot. What the shit?! Oh fuck. Get back in the car. Eddie! Get back in the motherfucking car! Now."

"Frank, what happened?!"

"Eddie! Did you see that?! He just blew up. He motherfucking blew up into a giant cloud of steam and shit! What the hell was he packing?! He knocked over that goddamned pickup he was standing next to. That hole has gotta be fifteen feet wide!"

"Frank, I didn't get the necklace."

"No shit Eddie. Lets get the fuck outta here. I don't want to be here when the cops show."

"Or the Ministry."

"The what?"

"Frank, just drive. I gotta fill you in on a whole lot."

"After that shit Eddie, you can tell me whatever you want. There just better be a drink at the end of it."

"Butterbeer Frank. Butterbeer for both of us."


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