VI: Of Oafs and Onions

Shasta took the opportunity and tried to make a break for it, running to Johnny with arms outstretched. He started to run toward her, and just as their hands met, the Devil raised his arm. Shasta immediately stopped, and before their eyes, was grabbed by a group of shadows, who devoured her as they rushed her back toward the opening in the rock face. Turning on his heel, the Devil followed, and the rock closed behind him.
They stood in stunned silence. Chichay and Sweaty left the car and approached them slowly.
Johnny Go sighed and walked off into the forest, alone.

The dreary landscape of a Kansas onion farm in winter matched Johnny Go’s mood. It was cold and desolate, all grays and browns, bare trees and mud and overcast skies that promised to produce nothing of value. To Johnny, all this felt exactly like his heart.
He sat on the crooked, sagging porch of the dilapidated farmhouse, a jug of homemade onion wine in one hand and a poorly rolled cigarette in the other. He had a shotgun on his lap, but it wasn’t loaded. A fucked up looking dog was stretched out beside his chair on the rough wood of the porch. The dog had one missing leg, one missing eye, a lot of missing teeth, and no name. Johnny didn’t want the dog, he didn’t know where he came from, but he seemed to be able to fend for himself, so he let him stay.
Johnny didn’t know how long he’d been on the onion farm. The days all ran together and he felt exhausted and indifferent. His only activity was tending to his vats of homemade onion wine, which he’d started making, both because he had nothing better to do, and because it seemed to take less energy than driving the fifteen miles into town to buy alcohol. And the alcohol was nonnegotiable.
Besides the dog, Johnny’s only companion was Jasper, a local Sweatpants Oaf who had come around shortly after Johnny’s arrival and never left. The man wasn’t bright and didn’t talk much, which was ok with Johnny because he was boring as hell when he did, but he was strong, took orders well, and didn’t ask questions.
He looked out over his farm, with its mud and brown grass and trees, and dead rabbits as far as the eye could see. Shortly before winter set in, they’d discovered a lot of rabbits living in the barn. They’d reproduced rapidly, as rabbits do, but Johnny was despondent and Jasper seemed to enjoy them. A little too much, as it turned out, and he kept accidentally killing them.
Johnny didn’t mind being surrounded by a shit ton of rabbits in varying stages of decomposition, and he certainly didn’t have it in him to do anything about it, but lately they’d begun attracting crows. With little else to feed on at that time of year, the crows descended on the fields and began to feast.
And, as predators follow prey, so the Goths followed the crows.

***

It was midafternoon one day and Johnny Go had wandered down the long dirt track that ran through the center of the onion farm. All around him were dead rabbits and pecking crows, but he hardly noticed. He stopped for a moment, unsure of why he was walking. What was the point? He should just go back to the porch. But then, what was the point of going back to the porch? What was the point of any of it? Shasta was gone.
He flopped over onto the ground. It was cold and damp, with Kansas mud seeping into his canvas overalls. He managed enough motivation to lift his wine jug to his lips to drink. The onion wine, at once bitter and weirdly sweet, with an aftertaste that stung your eyes, warmed him momentarily. Then the chill returned and he wondered whether he should just stay there until he froze to death. He’d sent Jasper into town, but even once he got back, it wouldn’t occur to him to look for Johnny. He’d be long dead by the time Jasper found him.
“Come and get me, crows,” Johnny said as he settled into the ground, waiting for the Kansas winter to carry him off.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there on the ground when the sounds of music reached his ears. He hoped it was a symptom of his impending death, either a hallucination or just the music that plays in the waiting room of Hell. Johnny opened his eyes quickly to check. Nothing.
He went back to waiting, but the music continued. And worse, it started to sound like some kind of intolerable industrial noise band. Annoyed, Johnny sat up. Where was this racket coming from? This wasn’t something Jasper would listen to, and he and Jasper were the only people on the farm.
Wearily, Johnny Go got to his feet and shuffled back up the lane, following the sound of experimental German noise. Across one of the fields was a grouping of small cabins that had originally housed farm workers and their families, back in the days when the onion farm was fully functioning and productive. Now, the cabins were in worse shape than the main farmhouse, and looked as if they hadn’t been inhabited in decades. Until now.
The closer Johnny got to the cabins, the louder the music became, and the angrier he felt. When he reached the largest of the cabins, it was clear that someone was living there. He never walked this far from the house, so he didn’t know how long they’d been there, and he made a mental note to ask Jasper.
Johnny marched up to the door of the cabin and pounded on it. It was the most forceful thing he’d done since arriving at the farm, and for a moment he thought he’d have to take a nap to recover from the effort. He was about to pound again, resenting whoever was inside for making him go to the effort more than once, when the door opened.
A tall, gangly man answered. He had curly dyed-black hair which hung limply to his shoulders. He had a beaked nose and messy black eye makeup ringed his small, squinty eyes. He was dressed all in black, with several layers of black t-shirts, sweaters, and a trench coat on to ward off the winter chill. He had on huge industrial combat boots, which made his feet look comically large compared to his bird-like legs, clad in tight black jeans. Johnny looked behind the man into the cabin and saw at least three others, all dressed similarly, although the girls looked more Victorian, and the other guy seemed like he’d borrowed his wardrobe from a Tim Burton movie.
“Yeah?” the man asked.
“Who the fuck are you?” Johnny demanded, although by now he’d recognized what was going on: His farm was infested with Goth Squatters.
“Who are you?” the man asked in return, defensive.
“I’m the fucking owner of this farm, shitstick,” Johnny said, taking a step into the cabin. The man started to look uncomfortable and backed away from him. The cabin was sparsely furnished and extremely rundown, but it looked as if they’d made an effort to clean it up. They’d draped heavy curtains over the windows, and covered the only lamps with dark material. Candles burned everywhere and a couple of tacky crucifixes were hanging on the walls, both upside down and rightside up. The stereo seemed to be the centerpiece of the cabin.
“And?” the man asked, with less confidence this time.
“And, no one said you could squat here, for one thing,” Johnny said. “Especially if you’re gonna play this fucking industrial bullshit. You’re not the only ones trying to wallow.”
“But this is who we are. We need our music.”
“No one needs this, Curley,” Johnny replied.
“It’s Ravensorrow.” That gave Johnny what might have been the closest thing he’d had to a laugh since he got to the onion farm.
“Ok, man.”
“So, what? You want us to leave?” the man said, a whiny tone creeping into his voice.
“Ugh,” Johnny said, the futility of it all washing over him. “You’re gonna have to pay me something, ok?” Johnny turned and started to walk away, then stopped. “And Curley? Knock off the fucking Einstürzende Neubauten and just play Disintegration, you pasty piece of shit.”

***

Johnny was back on the porch, sipping onion wine and staring off into the distance when Jasper wandered up with Johnny’s supplies from town.
“Got your stuff,” he said. Johnny listlessly gestured to the house, and Jasper went in to put the supplies away. When he finished, he came back out to the porch and sat down in a rickety chair beside Johnny. His bulk threatened to collapse the chair and his faded blue sweatpants seemed like they could barely contain him. They sat in silence for a long time.
Finally, Johnny spoke. “There’s a bunch of Goth’s squatting in one of the cabins over there,” he said. “You know about that?”
“Naw,” Jasper replied. “I don’t go over there.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Johnny said, “But they were playing the most pretentious bullshit music so I had to go see what was up. I came here to succumb to my heartache in quiet solitude, you know? I’m feeling bad enough without having to listen to that trash.”
Jasper said nothing, but a few minutes later got up and disappeared across the field toward the cabin. Johnny sat in his chair for a while, drinking and smoking, before finally going into the farmhouse and falling asleep in an old recliner.

***

The next day Johnny checked his vats of wine, grabbed a new jug from the cellar, and sat down on the porch. After a few hours, the dog wandered up, climbing the porch steps with difficulty, as his single hind leg struggled with the steps, and his single eye struggled with depth perception. He sat down next to Johnny’s chair.
Eventually, the sound of droning synthesizers cut through Johnny’s malaise and he sat up, angry. He grabbed his shotgun and walked slowly across the field, his irritation the only thing giving him the energy to make the walk. The dog followed, thumping along, always walking in an arc that resulted in large loops around Johnny. Johnny didn’t notice.
When he reached the cabin, he used the butt of the gun to smash out all of the windows along one side. As he attacked the last one, an enraged Curley came through the door.
“What the fuck, man?” he whined.
“I told you. If you’re gonna stay here, you have to keep this gother-than-thou shit down,” Johnny said.
“Yeah, your Oaf came by last night and told us the same thing,” Curley said. “And I don’t like the way he looked at Winter.”
“Who the fuck is Winter?” Johnny asked. Curley gestured to a waifish girl who had appeared silently behind him. She looked like her huge Victorian skirts were the only thing holding her up. She locked eyes with Johnny for a moment, then looked away. “Ah, your mistress?” Johnny asked, looking at Curley.
“Yeah,” Curley replied. Johnny looked at the woman and thought immediately of Shasta. A wave of sadness washed over him and he alternated a moment between wanting to curl up on the floor of the Goth’s cabin, and wanting to punch this ungrateful little snit in the throat for daring to have found love. He shook it off.
“Look, we’re all depressed here, Curley, but as the owner of this farm, I don’t want to hear any Current 93, Ed Ka-Spel, or any of this other snooty crap. Put on The Cure or I’m cutting your electricity.” He turned and started to walk away.
“Yeah, but-”
“How’s a guy supposed to drink himself to death to fucking Hamburger Lady, Curley?!” Johnny shouted over his shoulder as he walked away.
“It’s Ravensorrow,” the man said, quietly to Johnny’s back.

***

Inside the barn, Jasper sat, holding one of the rabbits as carefully as possible. There were a few left that he hadn’t yet crushed. He knew he shouldn’t pick them up, but they were so soft, and he liked how he could feel their tiny hearts beating.
A noise from across the barn caught his attention, and he looked up to see the one Goth enter. The leader. The one he’d told to stop bothering Johnny. Jasper put the rabbit on the floor of the barn. It scampered away as he stood up, and he was relieved that he hadn’t killed it.
Jasper looked across the barn and saw that the Goth was walking very quickly toward him, his hands balled into fists at his side. When he got to Jasper, he stopped.
“Stay away from Winter,” he said. Jasper just stared. “You hear me?”
“It’s winter,” Jasper said slowly. “I have to stay here until it’s over.”
“Don’t play stupid with me, Oaf!” Curley shouted. “I saw how you looked at her! She belongs to me!” In response, Jasper nodded his head slowly, as if agreeing. But then he shrugged, and Curley was furious. In the next second, he’d wound up and lunged forward, attempting to land a punch upward into Jasper’s jaw.
Jasper merely raised his gigantic hand and blocked Curley’s blow. And in doing so, caught the man’s fist in his own and squeezed.
The sickening crunch of bones echoed through the empty barn, and a moment later, Jasper stepped over Curley, who was writhing on the ground, clutching his broken hand and moaning. Jasper left the barn without a look back.

***

Later that day, Jasper showed up on the porch. He didn’t sit down. He looked agitated. Johnny didn’t care, so he didn’t ask him what was wrong.
“I did something,” Jasper said, scratching the back of his head uneasily. Johnny just looked at him and said nothing until finally Jasper continued. “That guy, the Goth leader?”
“Curley?”
“He says his name is Ravensorrow.”
“Whatever,” Johnny said. He felt tired and was sick of hearing Jasper’s voice.
“He yelled at me in the barn. I was in there petting the rabbits and he came in.”
“And? Come on, Jasper, pick up the fucking pace here. I’d rather not have your words be the last thing I hear before I shuffle off this mortal coil.”
“He tried to punch me.”
“Tried?”
“I grabbed his fist and… There was lots of crunching sounds.”
“Oh,” said Johnny. “Well, hopefully it’s the hand he uses to work the stereo.”

***

The next day, the Goths showed up at the farmhouse while Johnny was sitting on the porch. There were more of them than he initially realized. They lined up on the lawn in front of the porch, like a pale, sickly army. Johnny noticed that Curley's hand was in a cast, which had been white, but which his crew had tried to color black.
“Your Oaf assaulted me,” Curley said. Johnny yawned.
“He’s not my Oaf,” Johnny replied.
“He tried to put the moves on Winter, and when I confronted him about it, he broke my hand.”
“That’s… exactly how he tells it, actually,” Johnny said. “Except for the bit about putting the moves on Winter.” Johnny looked at Winter, who looked flushed. Johnny couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or not. “Anyway, what the fuck are you coming over here complaining about? It’s not my job to mediate your domestic squabbles. You don’t even pay me to live here!”
“Yeah, but-”
“I swear to whatever dark lord you think you worship, Curley,” Johnny said, getting to his feet and picking up the shotgun, “if you don’t get the fuck away from my porch I will send you and your ghouls to meet him face to face.” The Goths started to back away. “I came here to mourn, and you’re fucking it up.” Johnny dropped the gun to the porch floor and slumped back into his chair. The Goths continued their retreat, but as they hurried back toward their cabin, Winter lagged behind and kept looking over her shoulder at Johnny.

***

That night, Johnny was asleep in his chair on the porch, having nodded off there earlier that afternoon. He awoke to the sound of someone singing. Not exactly singing, maybe, more like a deeper humming. Johnny looked around, hoping that maybe he’d died and was about to be admitted to Hell where he could finally see Shasta. But then he realized how cold he was, and he knew he was still at the onion farm.
Johnny looked across the fields, which were bathed in frost and reflecting the full moon. It was ghostly and beautiful, and try as he might, he didn’t really care about it at all. Then he noticed the figure moving across the field and realized that it was the source of the humming.
The figure was clothed all in black, with a hood, and long skirts that swept the rutted ground. Some sort of large cross or amulet hung around the figure’s neck, and glinted eerily in the light. As the figure got closer, Johnny realized it was Winter. He sighed. Why wouldn’t these people leave him alone?
Winter approached the porch and stopped just at the base of the steps. She stared for a few moments, still humming. Johnny could see that she was wearing some kind of old-fashioned, floor length traveling cloak wrapped around her body. The hood covered her hair and most of her forehead. She kept her eyes lowered, so that only the lower half of her milk-white face was visible, glowing in the moonlight. For a moment, Johnny thought of how, even just a few months ago, he would have really dug this situation. But now, the ache in his chest suppressed interest in anyone and anything else.
“My liege,” Winter said, raising her head. “Lord of sadness. Allow me to share in your sorrow, so that mine own sadness can unite with yours and carry us from this dark land.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Johnny asked, and as he did, Winter climbed the few steps up to the porch and stood before him for a moment. She then opened her cloak, throwing it back over her shoulders, revealing her pale body beneath, naked save for a pair of black, knee-high, lace-up boots. Johnny sighed. “Fine,” he said. He stood up and unbuttoned his canvas overalls.
Afterward, Johnny Go got up and went into the house, locking the door behind him and leaving Winter alone on the porch. She knocked on the door, but he didn’t answer.
“Master?” she called. “I wanted to spend the night in your chambers.” She received only silence in response, so she sat down, shivering, to wait
“When you gonna make up your mind?” she sang softly. “When you gonna love you as much as I do?” But Johnny either couldn’t hear her song, or didn’t care, and eventually Winter gave up and went back to the cabin, where she refused to sleep beside Curley.
Despite this humiliation, Winter was not to be deterred that easily. She returned the next morning, just as Johnny had taken a seat on the porch and rolled his first cigarette. She climbed the porch steps and kneeled in front of him.
“Sire,” she pleaded. “Forgive me if I misunderstood. I thought, from the things you’d said and the way you looked at me, that we were kindred in our grief.”
“Kindred in our…” Johnny trailed off, thinking, then snapped to and looked at Winter. “I lost the only woman I ever loved. To the fucking Devil Himself! Who is a real thing, by the way, and not just some fictional character you and your prince of darkness pals pretend to worship. He’s fucking terrifying and you posers wouldn’t even make it through the rectal exam step you go through to get to his chambers.
“My plan is to sit here, drink onion wine, and wait for the time when I can see Shasta again. That’s grief. It has nothing to do with this performative bullshit. Go back to your fellow actors.”
“But last night,” she whimpered, “when we…”
“When you were standing naked in front of me? What the fuck did you think I was gonna do?” With that, something angry flared behind Winter’s eyes and she stood. Then, without another word, marched off of the porch. Johnny tipped his jug of onion wine to his lips and drank.

***

Winter stomped into the barn and saw Jasper, standing in the corner, a dead rabbit in his hands. He looked nervous.
“I was just petting it,” he said, by way of an explanation. “It happens sometimes. I’m really strong.” Winter walked over to him and took the dead rabbit from him, placing it on the ground.
“Show me,” she said as she stood up again. She put her arms around Jasper’s neck and kissed him, slowly at first, then with increasing ferocity. She tugged at the waist of his sweatpants, and he finally understood.
Within fifteen minutes, Winter was dead.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Dixie Doublestacks was stretched out on the couch in the living room of the ranch house. She had a bottle of rum balanced on her stomach, and took small sips from it every now and again as she stared distractedly at the TV, which was playing an old rerun of Mash. A small, iridescent cockroach clung to the wall above the couch. Chichay Milano came in and sat down on the other couch. She picked up the newspaper, but didn’t open it.
“Any word from Johnny?” she asked.
“Nope,” Dixie replied.
“You think he’s ok?”
“He’s fine.”
“I know he lost the love of his life, but I wish he’d let us know where he was. Or at least that he’s ok.”
“I told you. He’s fine.” No one spoke for a moment.
“I see your cockroach is still there,” Chichay said, finally.
“Yeah,” Dixie replied, glancing up. “He’s a demon, so he’s not going to just leave on his own.”
“I still don’t really understand how a demon was able to follow you up from Hell.”
“Don’t ask me how physics works,” Dixie said. “The Devil Himself had other shit on his mind, obviously.”
“Throw that rum bottle on her,” the cockroach whispered.
“Fuck off, Timiny,” Dixie said, glaring at him. Chichay looked concerned. “You want a rum bottle thrown, do it yourself.”
“Uh, I think I’ll go see what Sweaty’s up to,” Chichay said uneasily. She practically raced from the living room.
“I thought you were cool,” Timiny Cockroach told Dixie. “But you’re just some boring square, like the rest of ‘em.”
“No one’s making you hang around, bug.”

***

Upstairs, Chichay found Sweaty Mulligam in their bedroom, changing from one hopelessly stained shirt to another.
“That cockroach is starting to freak me out,” Chichay said, sitting down on the bed. “I think he just tried to get Dixie to hit me with a liquor bottle.”
“Well, it’s a conscientia mala demon,” Sweaty said. “That’s what it does.”
“Hits people with bottles?”
“If necessary. It’s there to stir up shit. It’s like the opposite of a conscience, it just tells you to act on all your horrible impulses.”
“Dixie doesn’t need any help in that category,” Chichay said.
“Yeah, but that’s actually what I find a little unsettling,” Sweaty said, sitting down next to Chichay. “Ever since we got back from Hellbeach, she hasn’t been up to any of her normal shenanigans. And even a cockroach demon can’t get her to act out. It’s weird.”
“So, what, you think all the usual hijinx are all Johnny’s doing?”
“Oh no. I’ve seen Dixie get up to some downright disturbing shit on her own. If anything, Johnny sometimes reins her in. But I think she’s either depressed or worried about Johnny. Or both. Which, you know, is a weird amount of normal human emotions for her.”
“Hm,” Chichay gave that some thought. “She does seem really down. But I won’t lie. I like the fact that the living room hasn’t been set on fire in a few months.” She rested her head on Sweaty’s shoulder.
“You ready to go?” he asked. Chichay nodded, and together they left the room.

***

It was late when Chichay and Sweaty walked back across the large lawn of the ranch toward the house. They’d gone to the Troubadour’s cabin, along with Rex Ponticello, for dinner and a few hands of Pinochle. Rex opted to stay behind for another hand, but Chichay and Sweaty had to be up early in order to manage their hugely successful deep fry restaurant the next day.
Dixie had been invited, but as she was in the process of succumbing to her ennui, she didn’t accompany them, or even respond when asked. Everyone was secretly glad, since they found this subdued Dixie to be disconcerting, and the cockroach demon, even though Dixie was the only person who could hear him speak, was freaking them out.
It was a crisp winter night, not too cold, and the sky was incredibly clear. A blanket of stars was visible, and they stopped in the center of the large rear lawn and looked up. Suddenly, Sweaty took both of Chichay’s hands in his.
“I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Shasta. She and Johnny were each other’s only true loves.”
“I know,” Chichay said softly, squeezing his hands. “It’s devastating. For both of them. He waited for her for so long, and she was gone in an instant.”
“It really put a whole new perspective on love. Ever since we got back from Hellbeach, all I’ve been able to think about is how important you are to me. How I really don’t know what I would ever do without you.”
“Sweaty, I can’t imagine life without you, either.”
“Listen, I know it’s corny, and a weird cultural formality, but it just feels really important right now,” he let go of her hands and reached into the pocket of his surplus fatigues, drawing out the small black ring box that he’d found all those months ago in the safe deposit box. He opened it up and presented it to her. “Will you marry me?”
Chichay gasped, one hand flew to her mouth, the other rested over her heart. For a moment she said nothing, just nodded her head.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Oh my god,” she said, finally. “Yes!” She threw her arms around Sweaty’s neck and kissed him. When they finally pulled apart, Sweaty took the ring from the box and placed it on Chichay’s finger. They both looked down at it and smiled.
“I must say, Mulligan, I’m a little surprised by what a traditionalist you are,” she said, taking his hand. He grinned.
“I’m surprised by what a traditionalist you are, Assassin Milano. I wasn’t sure you’d be into the ring or the proposal.”
“What can I say? I like a love story just as much as the next girl.” Chichay lifted her hand and admired the ring, which seemed to sparkle, even in the dark.
“Where’d you get this?” she asked. “And when?” She and Sweaty had been together nearly every day, and he’d been so focused on work that he hadn’t time traveled in a long time.
“Yeah, funny thing about that,” Sweaty said, his voice bewildered and a little sheepish. “Remember our treasure hunt?”
“Yeah,” Chichay replied, looking at him, confused. “What about it?”
“Well, the ring was the actual treasure.”
“You’re kidding!” She exclaimed. “What?!?”
“It was in the safe deposit box,” Sweaty said with a chuckle. “I palmed it so you wouldn’t see.”
“So you pretended it was an Imo’s gift card in there instead?”
“Oh no, the gift card was in there, too.”
“Why?”
“I guess future me knew I’d need a cover story? Honestly, I have no idea.”
“Why didn’t you just show me the ring?” Chichay asked.
“Because we’d only been together, like, a couple of weeks,” Sweaty shrugged. “I didn’t want to freak you out.”
Chichay started to laugh. “Right, my new boyfriend, who happens to be a time traveler, took me on an all day scavenger hunt across three states to find and decipher clues left behind by his future self, and you were worried that an engagement ring was going to scare me off?” By this time, Sweaty was laughing too, at the absurdity of it all. At the fact that this incredible woman loved him.
“I love you,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her.
“I love you, too, Sweaty Mulligan.”

***

The next morning, as the group gathered around the kitchen table eating breakfast, something they’d taken to doing at least once a week. After everyone was seated, Chichay and Sweaty announced their big news. Rex and the Troubadours were thrilled, and jumped from their seats, rushing around the table to hug the happy couple. Dixie stayed seated and poured more vodka into her orange juice glass. She yawned.
“I guess you’re gonna wanna throw a wedding here?” she asked. Chichay looked over at her.
“We hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” she said, looking at Sweaty. He shrugged.
“I guess the first thing we should do is have an engagement party, right?” he asked.
“That’s a great idea!” Chichay exclaimed. “We could have that here at the ranch in a couple of weeks. We could have the restaurant cater it or we could just barbecue.”
“We’ll help anyways you need us,” Johnson said, beaming.
“Yeah, let me know what you decide,” Rex said. “I’ll make sure to clear my calendar.” Chichay turned to ask Dixie whether that was ok with her, but she had already disappeared from the kitchen. Sweaty looked out the window and saw her walking across the lawn.
“I think she misses Johnny more than she’s willing to say,” he said.
“It’s weird to think of Dixie as having emotions,” Chichay replied.
“Other than rage, you mean,” Wang Chung added. The group nodded knowingly.

***

Out on the lawn, Dixie sat on a fence overlooking an empty pasture. Timiny Cockroach sat beside her. She sipped vodka straight out of the bottle.
“We could set fire to something,” he said. “Maybe one of these beat-ass old barns. Or the cabin those tools live in.”
“Meh,” Dixie replied.
“Well, what if we kill some cattle?”
“You can if you want,” Dixie said.
“Wanna go fuck up a strip club?” To this, Dixie didn’t even respond. Timiny rolled over onto his back, his little legs sticking straight up.
“I can’t believe how fucking boring you are! I followed you up because I thought this was gonna be an epic time. Everyone in Hell talks about you and your antics. You’re a legend, girl! But what the fuck. If I’d have known the reputation was a lie, I’d have stayed downstairs with Himself.”
Flattery gets you nowhere with Dixie Doublestacks, though. Timiny tried another approach.
“Maybe we should go get Johnny,” he said. Dixie looked over at him, but then shrugged.
“I told you. He’s working some shit out and needs to be alone.”
“Yeah, but maybe what the two of you need is to shake each other out of this funk, you know?”
“I’m not in a funk,” she said, taking another long drink.
“Sure, sure,” Timiny said. “But maybe he is. Maybe he needs you.”
“Nope.”
“C’mon! We’ll go find your partner, fuck some shit up along the way. Really get you back in the saddle!”
“What’s the point, cockroach? Johnny doesn’t need me, and he doesn't want to be found. I’m doing just fine sitting around here. I’m satisfied.”
“Hey Dix!” Chichay called as she approached. Dixie looked over her shoulder and sighed.
“Now what,” she whispered.
“You could just smash that bottle and stick her with the glass,” Timiny suggested.
“Shut the fuck up, you little filth bug.” Chichay arrived and climbed up onto the fence beside Dixie.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Dixie replied.
“Uh, ok,” Chichay said. “I was just thinking. Me and Sweaty haven’t really set a date yet, or even totally figured out what we want to do for our wedding, but I thought I’d start getting some stuff done. You want to come with me to look at dresses?”
Dixie turned and looked at Chichay, an expression of shock and disgust on her face. Then she looked at Timiny Cockroach. “Ok, demon. You win. Lead the way.” With that, she jumped down from the fence and crossed the large lawn, draining the vodka bottle as she went and tossing it carelessly over her shoulder.

***

Dixie roared up the highway in a primer gray Chevy Nova. The dashboard was littered with fast food wrappers and the floor and passenger seat were full of empty beer and liquor bottles. The car was cluttered and filthy when she stole it, but it was a travesty now. Timiny Cockroach rode on the top of the steering wheel.
“Pull into the next restaurant with a drive through,” Timiny told Dixie. “We’re gonna ‘fire in the hole’ ‘em.”
Dixie rolled her eyes. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
“I’m just trying to ease you back into it,” he replied.
“And you called me boring,” Dixie muttered.
“Hey, you have a better idea, hit me.”
“Yeah, it’s called watch TV at the ranch.”
“Does that involve wedding dress shopping with Chichay?”
“Shut up.”
A short while later, they pulled up at the drive through of a Whataburger on the outskirts of Dallas. Dixie ordered a bunch of burgers and a large Coke, and ignored Timiny when he begged her to order fries.
She pulled around to the window to get her food, and after taking the paper bags full of burgers from the young kid in the window, she reached back for the soda.
“Do it!” Timiny urged, flapping his cockroach wings. “Let ‘er rip! Douse this kid! Come on come on come on!” Dixie sighed and turned back to the window.
“Fire in the hole, I guess,” she said, and halfheartedly chucked the soda back through the window. It hit the kid in the chest, but he managed to catch it. The lid popped off, but only a little less than half of the drink spilled on him.
“YES!” screamed Timiny. “Drive! Drive! Drive!” Dixie drove, but for once she drove slowly and rationally. Timiny whooped it up on the steering wheel. “WHOOOOOO!”
With a sigh, Dixie reached for a burger.

***

Dixie Doublestacks crossed the warehouse parking lot carrying two huge shopping bags, one in each arm. When she reached the Nova, she popped open the trunk and stuffed them in. Timiny Cockroach fluttered up to her shoulder.
“What took you so long,” he asked.
“It’s a huge warehouse of unsold Halloween shit. It took me a minute to find what I wanted. Then I had to wait for this sales guy to leave me alone so I could take it.”
“You stole it? That’s cool! But what do you need a costume for?” he asked. “I don’t normally go in for those kinds of elaborate pranks. I’m more spontaneous. You gotta seize at the opportunities as they come up. No time to get into costume.”
“Shut the fuck up, demon,” Dixie said, slamming the trunk closed. She walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
“I’m just sayin’,” Timiny said as he appeared inside the car.
“It’s not for a prank, you infernal frat boy.”
“What’s it for, then?”
“It’s just for, like, persuasion.” She started the engine and roared out of the parking lot.

***

“We gotta find an old guy,” Timiny said. He was on the headrest behind Dixie. She was driving with one booted foot resting on the window of the Nova. They had just crossed over into Oklahoma. Dixie was drinking a bottle of Old English and didn’t say anything. “Don’t you want to know why?” Timiny asked.
“I assumed it was only a matter of time before you told me,” she said.
“Flaming dog poop!” Timiny practically shouted. “What you do is, you get a paper back and you fill it with dog poop-”
“Yeah, everyone knows this prank,” Dixie said. “Everyone in the world has probably done it.”
“No way! Most people are squares, and I’ve been in Hell for centuries and haven’t been able to influence people like I used to.”
“Uh huh,” Dixie said. “I thought you were supposed to represent the worst of my impulses?”
“I do!”
“Seriously? I did worse shit than this as a child.”
“What, drinking rum while watching TV? Oooh, really edgy,” Timiny taunted her. Dixie shrugged.
“I mean, if this is what you wanna do, fine. Let’s find an old man, and light a bag of shit on fire.”
The plan went off without a hitch, mostly because it’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. Dixie played along, silently sipping from yet another bottle of malt liquor, as an old man stomped out the flame, then despite Timiny’s frantic urging, got calmly back into the Nova and drove away.
“Ok, next I think we should find a public pool,” Timiny said once he’d settled down a little bit. “Chuck some shit into it.”
“You know, at some point we should look for Johnny.”
“We are! I mean, I look for him every time we stop.”
“Fuck you, bug demon.”

***

And so they went, driving a meandering path North, eating fast food, drinking cheap beer (Dixie only) and pulling off a variety of stunts that Dixie found mundane, juvenile, and not even close to the usual cosmic level of psychopathy she achieved with Johnny. They smashed mailboxes (Dixie wasn’t angry enough to muster her rage-strength), defiled swimming pools (who cares, it was winter anyway), and vandalized shopping centers (it would have been edgier to vandalize a church, Dixie thought, but wasn’t going to give the demon the satisfaction of participating). All the while, Dixie tried to think about where Johnny Go might be.
They made it as far as Kansas when Dixie pulled off the highway, insisting that she needed a decent meal. She headed to what appeared to be the only establishment in town, a building which served as a diner, truck stop, post office, general store, and meet up place for local farmers and truckers. She bellied up to the counter and ordered steak and eggs and coffee, and spiked the coffee generously from a flask of bourbon. She ate ravenously.
“Ain’t seen Jasper much lately,” a voice from the booth behind her said.
“He’s been hanging out at the old Steadman place out on the four,” another voice replied. “Owner finally showed up after all these years, if you can believe it. Jasper’s been helping him get the place up and runnin’ I guess. Been coming in here for supplies, real weird stuff. Must be a city person.”
“Well, Jasper’s a weird boy,” the first voice said.
“Yeah, but this stuff takes the cake.” At this, Dixie perked up. She resisted the urge to turn around, but listened intently, straining to hear over her shoulder. “Like get this, other day he comes in the shop, asks for “little red hot dogs”.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” the first voice asked.
“Well, I didn’t know, either. Then Jasper explains. They’re like cocktail weenies, only they’re red. Says they look like dog penises.”
“Now what’s a nice guy want with something like that?”
“I’m askin’ ya!”
Dixie didn’t need to hear any more. She jumped up from the counter, tossed a handful of rumpled bills on top of her plate, and raced out of the building.
“Lotta city folk comin’ around lately,” the second man said, watching her go.
“I blame that newfangled fancy brewery.”

***

It took Dixie about an hour to locate Route Four, since she’d gotten pretty drunk while eating at the diner. Timiny had the good sense to shut up and let her concentrate. When she finally found the road, a long, flat, straight road with fields on either side and the occasional turn off to farm properties, it took her another hour of driving before she found the farm.
She wasn’t sure how she knew it was the right place. There was no sign. Only a broken fence post with a sprig of rusted barbed wire sticking out of the side. A muddy lane led back from the main road, and Dixie could just make out the roof of the house. She turned the Nova down the lane, careening back and forth across it and leaving large gashes in the muddy fields on either side.
When the farmhouse came into view, she could see a figure sitting on the porch, and as she came to a stop in front, she could see that it was Johnny. Dixie let out a sigh of relief, then opened the door and stepped out of the car.
“Afternoon, fucker,” she said, crossing the lawn toward the porch. Johnny stood up, a sad and tired smile peeking out of the corners of his mouth.
“Look what the fairy skank mother dragged in,” he said. Dixie stopped at the base of the steps and looked up, and they stared at one another for a few moments.
“Dix,” Johnny said finally. “Welcome. Sit, share with me the bitter onion wine of sorrow. Drink my pain.” He gestured toward a sagging empty chair, then flopped down into the one next to it. He picked up a jug that was sitting at his feet.
“Uh,” she replied, sitting down.
“Sorry,” Johnny said. “I guess that was pretty dramatic. I’ve been surrounded by Goths.”
“Ew, really?”
“Yeah, they’re squatting in one of the cabins. Worst fucking taste in music, too. I came here to bend the knee to the tragedies of life and-”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Sorry. Anyway, my solitude has been interrupted by Crime and the City Solution.”
“Gross,” Dixie said, shuddering. “Want me to see if I can take care of ‘em?”
“Well, funny you should mention it. One of ‘em’s gone already.”
“Oh yeah? I didn’t think that’d mesh with your tragic solitude schtick.”
“It doesn’t, but you know how I get when someone’s desperate. Anyway, I didn’t kill her. Jasper did.”
“Oh yeah, who’s Jasper?”
“This Sweatpants Oaf. Started coming around when I got here and just… won’t leave? He’s really strong, so I think the Goth chick tried to revenge-fuck him and he killed her in the process. He also keeps killing all the rabbits.”
“Yeah, I wondered what the deal was with all the dead rabbits,” Dixie said.
“Anyway, Jasper does whatever I tell him and doesn’t talk a lot, so mostly I ignore him unless I want him to go to town and get me stuff. Because Dix, I do not have it in me to do anything but drink.”
“Yeah. How’d you get this place, anyway?” She looked around, noting that there wasn’t much to look at other than mud and dead rabbits.
“I’unno. I found a deed with my name on it in a safe deposit box in Olathe. This was years ago. Mighta been from my great-grandnephew or uncle or some shit, who knows. For a while, everywhere I went, some asshole at the telegraph office was always tracking me down, saying I inherited something, so I finally went to check it out. But when I did, I just signed for it and hit the road. Never went back. This is the first time I’ve been here, actually.”
“What’re you growing?”
“Only thing you can, I’m told. Onions.”
“Ew.”
“I know. But I figured out how to turn ‘em into wine.”
“Any good?”
“Not at all.” He handed her the jug and she drank.

***

Dixie and Johnny were still sitting on the porch hours after she’d arrived, much to Timiny Cockroach’s dismay. He fluttered around Dixie’s head impatiently. She ignored him. Eventually, Johnny had to ask.
“What’s the deal with the roach, Dix?” he asked. She groaned.
“Some kinda cockroach prank demon. Followed me up when we left Hell and I haven’t been able to shake him since. He’s” here she lowered her voice and whispered to Johnny, “supposed to be your evil conscience, but all he wants to do are these juvenile pranks.”
“You guys wanna go egg some cars?” Timiny asked excitedly.
“We’re gonna just relax for a little bit, Timiny. Maybe we’ll pull a prank for you later.”
“You should go scope out a good spot, though,” Johnny suggested.
“Yeah! Ok!” Timiny shouted before buzzing off down the lane.
“Thank god,” Dixie said once he had gone. She took a long pull from her jug. “So how long are you thinking of sticking around here?” she asked finally, hoping it wasn’t too early to broach the subject.
“Till I die,” Johnny said. “Which’ll hopefully be sooner rather than later.” He pounded the last of the wine and tossed the jug out onto the lawn. A gasp escaped his throat as he did. “I miss her so much, Dix.”
She looked at Johnny in the closest thing Dixie Doublestacks ever came to sympathy. “Yeah, I get it,” she said.
“It’s like, I hadn’t seen her for years. I accepted that I’d never see her again. I missed her, you know, but I was used to missing her. But then I almost got her back and it’s like, fuck.” He shook his head, then reached for a new jug of onion wine and ripped off the top. Johnny placed the jug to his lips, tilted his head back, and drank. When he was finished, he set it down on the battered porch. “What the fuck is the point, you know?”
“Do you think if you drink yourself to death, you’ll actually get to see her again?” Dixie asked. “The Devil Himself seemed pretty pissed at us.”
“Yeah, I thought about that. But I’ll have an eternity to come up with a new grift. And anyway, it’s the only play I’ve got.”
“Gonna miss a lotta shit,” she said, not really expecting that statement to have an impact.
It didn’t. “Eh, what’s shit if I can’t share it with her?” he asked. “I’ve been here… how long? And I haven’t really worried about what I’m missing. Although the one thing I miss is the fucking sweet silence before those little Goth shits got here.”
“Well,” Dixie said, standing up, “In the interest of making your last moments on Earth more palatable, why don’t I mosey on over there and see what I can do?”
“Thanks, Dix,” Johnny said. “That’d be downright decent of you.”

***

Dixie returned an hour later, dusting her hands off as she crossed the field. She climbed the steps and sat down, picking up a bottle of wine and drinking.
“That was fast,” Johnny said. “You got ‘em all?”
“Well, I only had to do two. As soon as I stabbed the first one with his crucifix decoration, the others ran away. I got the second as he trying to get his stupid tight leather pants pulled back up. You weren’t kidding about the music, by the way. I had a look at that record collection and I almost died of hyperpretension.”
Johnny snorted, then a wave of sadness overtook him and he tilted his head back, resting it on the back of his chair. “Thanks, Dix.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said. They were quiet for a long time. Finally, Dixie dared to ask again. “So you sure I can’t convince you to leave here? Hit the road with me?” In response, Johnny sadly shook his head. Dixie nodded and they sat quietly again. Dixie knew it was time for her Hail Mary.
“Ok, well,” Dixie said finally. She stood up. “I guess I’ll get going. I have a lot of stuff to do around the ranch, you know.” She stepped down off the porch and Johnny stood, watching her. “Can I take a few jugs of the onion wine? I think I’ve developed a taste for it.”
“Yeah, ok,” Johnny said. He ducked into the house and returned a moment later with his arms full of jugs and bottles of onion wine. Dixie gestured to the trunk of the Nova. She lifted the lid and stood aside, presenting its contents to Johnny.
Inside the trunk, spread out to reveal its full glory, was a two person pantomime horse costume. Johnny stared in awe, his mouth open. He dropped one of the bottles.
“Found it outside Norman,” Dixie said casually. “There’s this big warehouse that has all the stuff that doesn’t get sold at those shitty Halloween stores.”
“How much?” Johnny asked.
“Nothin’,” Dixie said with a shrug. “I lifted it.” They continued to stare. “It’s a two person. Not sure who I’ll get to be the other half.” She peeked at Johnny out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his reaction. She was relieved to see that he looked envious. His mouth was open and he was almost drooling.
Finally, Johnny Go placed all the wine in the trunk and sighed. For a moment, Dixie feared that she’d failed, but in the next instant he picked up a jug, popped the cork, and took a long drink. He swallowed and sighed, turning to her.
“Fine,” he said. “But I get to be the head.”

***

By the time Dixie and Johnny had loaded all of the remaining bottles and jugs of onion wine into the Nova, Timiny Cockroach had returned. She and Johnny locked eyes over the roof of the car.
“Great,” Dixie muttered. “We shoulda gotten out of here faster.”
“Yeah, but I think he’s tied to you,” Johnny said. “It wouldn’t have worked.”
“Ok, we’ll take him with us, but we have to look for a way to get rid of him.”
“Deal.”
“Dix!” Timiny exclaimed when he saw what was going on. “Your partner coming with us?”
“Uh huh,” she said, fitting another few bottles in the trunk and slamming it shut.
“We taking that big guy with us, too?”
“Who?”
“The big guy. In the sweats.”
“Oh, Jasper,” Johnny said. “No. Why would we?”
“He’s hella fun!” Timiny shouted. “Ran into him back near that diner. He’s up for everything.”
“Well, we’re not,” Dixie said, climbing into the front seat. “Now let’s get out of here before he shows up.” Johnny got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Timiny fluttered in the window and Johnny pulled off down the dirt lane. As he drove, he took one last look in the rearview mirror, then slammed on the brakes.
“Ah shit,” he said.
“What?” Dixie asked.
“Jasper.”
“Damn it.”
“You can’t just leave him here,” Timiny said. He had floated to the rear windshield and was looking helplessly out at Jasper.
“Shut up,” Dixie told him, but then turned to Johnny. “He’s right, though, we can’t leave him.”
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to fuck him.”
“Me neither,” Johnny said. He thought for a minute. “Oh! I know! It’ll be a mercy killing. Like with a lame horse. We’re allowed to do those.”
“Want me to take care of it?” Dixie asked, kind of eagerly.
“No, Dix. He’s my Oaf. I should do it.” Johnny reached into the back seat for the shotgun. Timiny jumped onto Johnny’s arm.
“Now wait a minute! I don’t think Jasper’s a bad guy. Me and him just had a great time this afternoon. He’s easily influenced. I think it could be a lot of fun.”
“Ugh,” Dixie and Johnny said in unison.
“No thanks,” Dixie added. “Caring for lame animals has never been our thing. Besides, the horse costume only fits two people.” Timiny looked from one to the other for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind.
“Why don’t I take responsibility for him, then?” he suggested. “I’ll stay here, see what kind of mischief we can get up to.”
“‘S’your funeral,” Dixie said, rolling her window down. The cockroach fluttered over to the ledge and paused.
“It’s been real, jokers!” he said, before jumping into the air and flying away. As he headed back toward Jasper, he called to the man, “Hey buddy! Get ready cause it’s time for a panty raid!”
Johnny floored the gas pedal and they peeled off, dirt and mud spraying in their wake. “Loser,” he muttered. Dixie started to laugh. Johnny joined in, and the two laughed all the way to Kansas City.

***

They were somewhere in Georgia when they spotted it. They had stopped at a liquor store because they wanted something that didn’t taste like onion, and were about to climb back into the car when they heard the sound of a large airplane flying unusually low. They searched the sky for a moment, and then they saw it: A space shuttle hitching a ride precariously on the back of a massive 747 jumbo jet. The plane was headed South, to Florida.
The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks lowered the mirrored aviator glasses they’d stolen from a truck stop in Tennessee, peering at one another over the tops. They nodded in silent agreement and got back into the car.