Say no to Drugs

January 21st, 2009 by Joel | Posted in Kitch |

Kitch and Drugs stood at their bullet bikes four dark blocks away from the warehouse. “The chopsticks were in the door?”

“No, just one,” said Kitch. “I’ve never seen anything like that.” He was looking back towards the warehouse.

“Damn.” Drugs, still boosting, kept putting his hand in different pockets of his jeans like he was searching for a key that did not exist. “Strange night.”

“To say the least.” Kitch was standing still and looking down at his hand. He was holding one of the shuriken that had been aimed at his head.

Four blocks away, the warehouse exploded. Drugs flinched and turned to look at the flames pouring skyward. For a moment, he was still-the flames enough to keep his attention.

Kitch dropped the shuriken into a secure pocket and sat down on his bike, flipping the ignition. The sound of the engine was enough to pull Drugs’s attention away from the blaze. His stream of movement began the moment his attention was unfocused. “Well, that took care of whatever was in the crates.” Drugs stated the obvious in a need to fill the silence.

Kitch was silent, not really wanting to talk.

Drugs was moving more than ever. “You wanna hit a club tonight?” It was as if, having focused on the fire and then broken away, his body was making up for lost time.

“No,” Kitch said to Drugs. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Oh, okay, man.” Drugs sat down on his bike and started it up, checking to see if his deck was secure. “Well, catch you later.”

Kitch dropped the clutch and accelerated down the dull, small street. Neither he nor Drugs looked up. Had they, they may have noticed a dark figure standing on the roof above them. As Kitch sped away on his bike, Drugs following a few seconds later, the dark figure turned and walked away from the edge of the roof. Had Kitch been watching the dark figure he would have seen the long, straight sword mounted on the figure’s back.

Had he seen this, Kitch would have been disturbed and sleep would have come slow that night, if at all. However, as he entered an elevated expressway and blasted past the cars around him, sleep was the farthest thing from Kitch’s mind. His mind was on the shuriken in his pocket and the ninja he had killed.

His mind was on the chopstick buried in the office door, which was now so much cinder.