Bright Lights, Bug City – Part 1

If we’re being honest, and I feel that we are, outside of the wrestling arena any duo with Grace as a part of it is going to draw some stares.  Even with that considered, Grace and Christie Lane make a strange combo.  Not just because she happens to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 8 inches taller and 70 pounds heavier, but because Christie is pretty funky looking on his own.  If it were possible for Kyle Mooney and Horshack to have a love child, it would probably look something like Christie Lane.  Slap on some out-of-date checkered pants and a tattered t-shirt that’s older than Grace and you really have something to gawk at.  They were sitting in Christie’s 2008 Chevy Malibu outside the apartment complex they had watched the gaunt older fellow walk into. 

Christie grinned like a madman “And so I go ‘well my pants say irregular on them’!” He laughed heartily at his own joke and slapped Grace on the thigh “You get it?” 

Grace took him by the wrist and carefully moved his hand away from her “Yeah I get it, don’t touch me please, it sickens me.” 

Christie frowned like someone said his baby was ugly “Do you?  Do you get it?  Because you’re not laughing.” 

Grace shook her head “You are the unfunniest person I’ve ever met, how you haven’t starved to death by now I cannot fathom.  There is no way you can be making money as a comedian.  Are you a rent boy on the side?” 

Christie leaned down, grabbed a mostly empty Pepsi bottle off the floor of the car, and started undoing his pants “How would you know anything about comedy?  Do you ever laugh?  It’s like you’re a fucking oil painting of a dowdy old Dutch queen!” 

Grace grabbed his arm “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Christie tried to shake her off “I have to piss, what do you think I’m doing?” 

Grace raised an eyebrow “What I think is you’re going to hold it, because what you’re not going to do is take your dick out in this car while I’m in it.” 

Christie snorted “You don’t want to see, turn your head” He continued by waggling his eyebrows at her “Afraid you’re going to like it?” 

“Zip up your pants or I am going to break your elbow.” Grace held up one finger to emphasize her point “Not your arm, to be clear, your elbow.” 

Christie snorted but zipped up nevertheless “What are you, Steven Segal’s love child?” 

“Who the hell is Steven Segal?  Another unfunny comedian?”   

“You know you’d piss in a bottle if you could.” 

Grace shook her head “I wouldn’t do that, because I am not a filthy pig.” She plucked a fast-food bag off the floor “And even though I live in my car, it’s much cleaner than this dumpster on wheels.” 

Christie sniggered “You live in your car huh?  That explains a lot.” 

Grace turned and locked eyes with him “What exactly does it explain?  You’re the funny man, explain that joke to me, tell me what about me is explained by the fact that I live in my car.  Go ahead comedian, lay it out for me.” 

Christie turned away uncomfortably “Just uh . . . . you know . . . .” 

Grace jabbed him under the arm “Hey, my eyes are over here champ.  What is it that you feel is explained with this new piece of information?  Are you suggesting that I look like I’m homeless? 

Because we could go tit for tat on that.  Are you implying a hygiene issue of some kind?  Because you don’t smell like roses yourself pal.  The stink coming off you could fell a water buffalo at sixteen paces.  Are my clothes disheveled and in a state of disrepair?  Is that what you feel like is explained by the concept that I live in my car?” 

Christie turned away again and mumbled something mostly unintelligible but that clearly included the words “bitch” and “joking”.  Grace smacked him on the ear and he swung back around clutching at it like he had a mortal wound.  

“Ow!  Don’t do that!” 

Grace have him a level gaze “Look, here’s the deal.  We don’t know each other well so I’m going to lay it out for you simply.  I’ve noticed that you tend to do what you did right there, you look away and you mutter something under your breath.  I assume that’s your way of trying to get the last word.  I find that very annoying.  If you have something to say, fucking say it.  If you don’t, then shut the fuck up.  It pisses me off when you do that.  Now, you didn’t know that about me before, so that’s fine, we don’t worry about what’s already happened, but now you do know, so cut that shit out.” 

Christie glared back at her “Or what, you’re going to beat on me?  You’re a fucking bully, you know that?  You think just because you’re a shaved Sasquatch that you can smack me around and do whatever you want!” 

Grace laughed mirthless “I’m a bully?  You’re a murderer!  I feel like that gives me the moral high ground pretty easily.” 

Christie turned away from her, muttering about how none of this was his fault and he didn’t ask for any of this and general woe-is-me bellyaching.  

Grace shook her head “Jesus Christ, what did I just tell you?” 

Christie turned back and glared at her defiantly “What are you going to do about it?” 

Grace hit him with a back-hand fist jab to the nose with her left hand, like you would swing if you were holding an ice pick.  It wasn’t a hard hit, not in the world Grace comes from anyway, but Christie jerked his head back so violently that he cracked his noggin on the window hard.  Christie grabbed at his nose and the back of his head like a baseball manager signaling for a suicide squeeze or a bunt and run. 

“God damn it that stings!” 

Grace sighed “Look, I’m not trying to mess with you here, but I want to explain something to you.  It seems like you come from some kind of shit-talking world where insulting someone is something you do to emphasize a point, but in the world I come from, if you mouth off to someone that means you want to fight.  And Christie, I want you to understand that I mean a real fight, with punching and dick stomping, not shouting and shoving and sissy slaps.  Now, if you want to fight me then let’s have a fight. If not, how about you knock that shit off?” 

Christie pinched his nose and checked for blood “Can we just fucking concentrate on the matter at hand?” 

Grace gestured towards the apartment complex “That would be wonderful.  So what’s your move in this situation?  How do you approach these bug infestations?  I mean aside from murdering innocent women to power up your magic.” 

Christie scowled “You shouldn’t joke about that.” 

“Who’s joking?  Throwing your murders in your face isn’t a joke so much as just saying the truth.” 

“It’s disrespectful.” 

Grace was incredulous “You’re the one that fucking murdered them!” 

Christie slammed his hands into the steering wheel “I didn’t ask for any of this!  You think I like living like this?!  I never wanted any of this!” 

Grace held her hands up “Okay, okay, fine, moratorium on the murder talk, let’s just . . .” 

Christie jabbed his finger at her angrily “No, for once you’re going to listen to me!  You think I wanted that crazy old fucker to lay this responsibility on me?  Do you think . . .” 

Grace pointed “Hey, that’s the guy isn’t it?” 

Christie looked around wildly “Where?  Where?!” 

Grace pointed harder “Right there, getting into the Palisade.  Follow him!” 

Christie fired up the Malibu with a cough and a bang and slammed it into DRIVE “I hate my life.” 

Grace shook her head “You are the whiniest serial killer I’ve ever met.”

Christie pulled the Malibu out into the street, nearly clipping an SUV, which peeled off with much honking and flipping of the bird “I am not a serial killer!” 


Leave a Reply