Cassus

"Have you ever seen anything really cool and just wanted to fuck the absolute shit out of it?"
The smarter half of the asker's two house guests, a young and cynical brunette, pondered the question seriously.
"That's vulgar." the other half, red-haired and freckled, commented.
"Not you, Ginger." the host responded condescendingly.
"My name is Lou."
"I have." the brunette answered the original question.
"An inanimate object?" Ginger-Lou asked.
"Yeah."
"What was it?" asked the host.
"My father's hot rod. It's a '54 electric blue kitten. Gorgeous."
"I don't mean like that."
"What'd'ya mean then, Kasey?" Ginger-Lou was curious.
"Like... a movie. Or a television show. Or song."
"Fuck a song?" Ginger was near laughter.
"Or a story." the host added with reservation.
"Like Playboy?" the brunette lit a cigarette.
"No... like a novel. Or poem."
Thomas Chassus, the brown-haired cynic, furrowed his brow. "Sorry man, I'm not into art."
"Okay. Back to you, Ginger."
"No... I can't say that I have. Although when I was younger, I had a real obsession with Mark Twain's work. And Tom Sawyer was my hero in elementary school."
"Alright, let's roll with that. So you wanted to fuck Tom Sawyer?"
"What?" Lou and Thomas said in unison.
"To BE Tom Sawyer."
At this point, the host stood from his spot on the red velvet couch and pulled a Swiss Army Knife from his jacket pocket. His two guests watched as he flipped the blade open and, without warning, dove it straight into his thigh. Lou's big green eyes widened in horror as a bright red splotch grew on Kasey's gray suit pants around the knife handle.
"I wanted to be sharp, so I fucked a blade." he grinned. Thomas smirked slyly. "You, sir, are a renegade."


************

"Kasey!" a voice shouted from down the empty sidewalk. The silver-eyed, silver-tongued blonde looked up and turned to find its owner. He held a glossy wooden cane in his right hand, a lit cigarette in his left. "Hey." he grinned half-heartedly. It was Tegan Hoss, a mate from his elementary school days. Tegan was destructive and clingy, always wanting to break the law but too unoriginal to come up with an offense worth real jail time. "What's with the stick." he asked, eyeing his ex-pal's latest accessory. "Got into a knife fight wtih some spics. One got me in the leg. It's nothin'." Kasey grinned nonchalantly. "Wow... Kasey Cassus in a real knife fight. Wait till the cubes here about this!" "What cubes?" Kasey leaned on his cane a bit. "Y'know... All the old guys. Jerry, Ted, Doug... All of 'em. You're the only one of us who didn't keep in touch after St. Robert's. Although now I see why, you sly dog. They're gonna get a kick outta this!" Tegan cackled. Kasey squinted. "You still... You all still hang?" "Yeah." "Hm." "Hm what?" Tegan's eyes glimmered a bit at the hint of mild jealousy in Kasey's voice. "Nothing. I just didn't think you were like that." Kasey replied vaguely. "Like what?" "Like Ted, Douglas, and Jerald. They're all queers, y'know. Well, Jerry and Douglas are. Teddy though... Teddy's a free spirit."
Tegan's eyes widened. "What?" he blurted in disbelief. "Teddy is a free spirit. He does it with boys and girls." Kasey hid a smile as Tegan squinted in confusion, coming a shaky hand through his brown buzz cut. "How do you know?" he asked. Kasey glanced around the empty street as if to make sure no one were eavesdropping, then he leaned toward Tegan, causing Tegan to lean in toward him, and he whispered the following:

"I saw them."

Tegan's jaw dropped and he put a hand over his mouth in shock. "When?" he asked, regretful the second the word slipped from his lips.
"It was the end of the 5th grade. At Jerry's old tree house one day after school. I'd gone over to return his old trading cards and I saw 'em jerkin' eachother off. I mean this guys were really goin'' to town. Well, mainly Dougie and Jerry. Teddy was only watching." Kasey said, trying desperately to keep a straight face. "Watching?" Tegan looked disgusted. "Yeah. And touching himself. And you know Teddy was in real good with the broads. Well, in 5th grade at least. So it's not like he didn't have options." Tegan grimaced at this enabling Kasey to continue, too amused by his own story to quit.
"I asked 'em about it later and stuff, 'cause I didn't know what was going on. I mean, I was 11-years-old for Christ's sakes. I had no knowledge of how good it felt. And to be frankly honest, it does feel quite good." Tegan's face grew beet red. Kasey went on. "They said they were just rough-housing. But I wanted to rough-house too, so-" "Are you a fruit." Tegan cut Kasey off. "Well, sure I am." Tegan's lip twitched in disgust, horrified. "You're a sinner, Kasey. You know that, right?" he seemed genuinely concerned at this point. "Well we're all sinners, Tegan." "Yeah, but you're a worse sinner than I am. You went to Catholic school. You know how He feels about those kind." "Well you're a queer too, right?" Kasey asked gently. Tegan looked close to puking. He staggered backwards a few steps. "You think I'm a fag?!" he shrieked angrily. "Well, birds of a feather tend to fly together." Kasey grinned deviously, taking a shake-y, cane-aided step toward the homophobe. "Don't touch me, you freak." Tegan snarled. There was an awkward and tense pause between the two as Tegan eyed his childhood friend in horror, and Kasey took a drag from his cigarette. He blew the smoke out through his nose and giggled, as if the quiet had been suddenly broken by a fantastic joke, then said, "Okay, well seeya Tegan. Oh, and tell those cubes that if they're ever in the neighborhood, I'm always down for rough housing." And with that, the tow-headed fib-aficionado turned and continued to walk toward his original destination, the Totsy's Diner on Mortine St. He threw his cig into a bush as he entered the restaraunt, his cane clacking loudly with each step he took. A few customers stared at him as he made his way to an open spot at the counter. He sat and turned to smile back at those bold or rude or curious enough to still be looking, then proceeded to pull another loose square from his jacket pocket. A waiter sped over to take his order.
"Hello welcome to Totsy's may I take your order." the employee said tiredly, his voice monotone and lacking punctuation. "Perk up, kid. You're like a corpse's corpse." Kasey slid his cancer-stick into his mouth and lit it with his silver Zippo lighter. "Yeah, well if you worked here you'd be dead inside too." the waiter retorted. "Then quit." "I need the money." "Whatever. Black coffee, please." Kasey smiled up at the waiter, a couple strands of blonde hair falling into his eyes. The waiter frowned, confused at the short rebuttle, and left to the kitchen to fulfill the order.
"Two more..." an older gentleman mumbled from behind him. Kasey whipped his head around abruptly. The older man looked up from his table where he were reading the morning paper. "Two more people have gone missing. That's seven since Monday, and it's only Thursday. And with all the others, it totals to be nineteen people missing this month." the geezer furrowed his brow with concern. Kasey took a drag from his cigarette. "Yeah that's alot! Bet the whole city'll be missing before they catch whoever's doin' this." the old man shook his head. Kasey turned his back to the man, not wanting to hear anymore. He found all news, no matter how gory or gut-wretching, to be boring due to the fact that he was somewhat conceited and lacked a care for other people or their feelings. To Kasey Cassus, it seemed all people wrote about publicly were death and politics. Between the two, though, he personally preferred 'death'.Those stories were at least a little humorous from time to time. Well, in a dark, cynical sort of way.
The grumpy waiter returned with Kasey's order and sat it down in front of him on the counter. Warm, coffee-scented steam floated up from the mug. Kasey stuck his index into the drink and retracted it slowly. The skin on the finger was red and scolded. "Too cold." he said, pushing the mug away. "What?" the waiter asked. "It's nearly frozen. Can ya heat it up?" The waiter looked at the drink in disbelief. ""I heat it any more and it'll be on fire." Kasey snorted at this remark. "It's colder than a snowman's ass cheeks." The waiter pinched his face up, now slightly confused and offended since he'd made the brew himself. "Taste it." Kasey urged nonchalantly, gesturing toward the steaming mug. The waiter, now genuinely unsure of himself, grabbed the mug by the handle and, despite its warmth, took a large gulp. His eyes widened while piping hot coffee burnt his tongue, and watered while he parted his scalded lips to gasp in air. A few customers looked on as he frantically wiped his mouth with the backs of his hands and scowled at Kasey. "It's fucking hot!" he shrieked angrily. A fellow barista whipped her head around in shock. "John!" she shrieked. But John was already pissed. "You're an asshole. Pay up and leave." he growled. Without objection, Kasey pulled a quarter and a dime from his pocket and sat them gently on the countertop. John's eyes glanced at the change then returned to Kasey's face. "No tip?" he asked with disdain. Kasey stood and grabbed his cane, then put a pallid hand on his hip and replied, "It was cold." And before John the waiter could shape his burnt tongue into another profanity, Kasey turned and left, clacking out the door and onto the street.
"Hey mister!" a child yelped from the opposite sidewalk. Kasey's eyes jolted upward in surprise as a small boy, despite the few cars that were steadily moving to and from across the road, ran to him excitedly. "Hey kid, you're supposed t' look both ways-" "Were you in the war?" the child cut him off. "What?" he asked, looking the boy, who couldn't be more than seven, up and down, then squinting in confusion. He'd somewhat wanted to be a soldier, but in his opinion, the last good war had ended when he were ten. Now that Hitler were dead, the only fights going on were ones over money or weaponry. But the prestige of being a uniformed man was incredibly strong and exciting. USO dances with easy girls, free food at certain eateries, and America's blessing in all your endeavors. Kasey eyed the boy again, now deciding to play along. "Yep. Sure did." he replied with false pride. "Really?" "Yeah. That's how come I have this walkin' stick. A nazi got me right in the leg, damn German bastard. Damn the Germs! And the Reds!" he shouted with acted rage. The young boy's eyes widened. "He shot you?" "Yeah. In the thigh. Then to top it off, he stabbed the wound with his bayonette. But the doc says I only need a couple more weeks with this cane and I'll be good as new." Kasey wore a cocky grin. "Wow, mister! I only asked because I saw the cane. My dad got hurt in the leg too. Except he lost his." To this, Kasey winced. "Oh really? I, uh, had a buddy that lost his arm. And a few toes." he lied now with slight reservation. The boy frowned in response. "That's no good. Tell him that Wallace Parker wishes that he grow all new toes and a new arm to match." "Are you Wallace Parker?" asked Kasey. "Yep. The second. And I'm gonna be a soldier." the boy smiled, then jammed a hand into his jeans-pocket and began fishing around frantically. Kasey watched in amusement as Wallace jabbed his fingers around until he found what he were looking for: two shily pennies. He held his hand out gingerly, the coins in his palm. "Here. One for you, and one for your pal."
Kasey eyed the pennies with mild guilt. "I can't take those." he said, a tad solemn. "Well, I've got two dimes, if that's any better." Wallace said, sticking his hand back into his pocket to find them. "No, no. It's not that I don't appreciate it, it's just..." Kasey took a moment to think of his words, then continued, "Soldiers don't fight for the money. They... We... Fight for the country. America."
Wallace looked at him, only partially understanding what he meant, and pulled his hand back out of his pocket, this time holding two pennies, but also two dimes. "Take it. I want you to have it. That's eleven cents for you, and eleven for your pal." he urged. Kasey reluctantly took the change and held it in a tight fist. "Thanks, kid." "And remember to tell him it's from Wallace Parker." And with that, Wallace turned and crossed the street once again, this time looking right and left first, then disappeared around a corner.
Kasey pocketed the money then looked down at his cane. Brown, wooden, cheap and had a plastic handle. He looked at his thigh, which was clothed in a pair of burgundy high-waisted trousers. He slid his hand over the area where he knew his wound was. It stung for a few seconds then became numb. He'd stitched it up himself pretty well with the aid of nurse Ginger-Lou (Thomas Chamus had been too disgusted and arrogant to touch the thing), and it was healing decently. He liked the idea of having such a deep scar. He thought it would make him look like a real tuff guy, like James Deen or some type of jailbird. When he wore tennis shorts, everyone would see it. When he went to the beach, people would notice. When he were... With a girl... She would look and say, 'Gee, what a scar. You must be a real badass.' And he would say, 'Why yes, yes I am.' But those hadn't been the reason he'd done it in the first place. It had been a spur-of-the-moment action. He'd felt it so he did it. Ginger-Lou's look of astonishment alone had been enough to make it worth it. Although, if he'd known that he'd end up needing to use a cane for the next couple months because of it, he may have thought twice.

Although he still woulda did it.

*TBC*