"Well, sir, what do you suggest? We stand here and shed tears and call each other names... or shall we go to Istanbul?" Kasper Gutman ~ The Maltese Falcon

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We slowly wraith down the last of the hall, slipping out the side door unnoticed, and onto freedom. Skirting unobserved around the buildings, we wind our way down the hills towards empty the Plunger pool parking lot. We slip through a rabbit hole in the back of the chainlink fence that I "found" with a pair of Aces bolt cutters, during the one week I worked the Plunge. Then with one final glance back at Hell, take the last mad dash to delinquency.

I insist on carrying May on my back to cross the street and for the first half a block. Until we are finally out of sight of the All-Seeing Eye of Doom. Or any of the potential elder orcs lingering about looking for trouble. We end up on Mulberry Street across from the school. Just two streets up and one over from Elm, where my Deathwish awaits us at the House of the Blazing Raisins.

"Are you okay, Dare?" She inquires sweetly after I set her down in the shade of an ancient twisted Mulberry tree.

"I'm good," I heave though some deep breaths. 

May might be on the shy side of a hundred pounds soaking wet? But that weight starts adding up with every step after a thousand. Sadly, I am starting to think that I might actually owe Captian Midnight an apology after all. Because I don't think I would have made it as far or as fast as I have, without his slightly psychotic morning man-making miles.

"FYI the sidewalks suck on this side of town," I inform her between deep cleansing breaths. "Thanks to all the old ass Ent trees that rooted up the sidewalk uneven as all hell. So either you let me piggyback you all the way home, or we walk along the yards and through the hedges? Pick your poison?"

"I vote for the yards then." She smiles brightly, clearly enjoying the misadventure.

"Then let's start strolling." I sigh in relief.

I navigate a longer and more circumspect route around the oleander hedges of Mulberry Street. One that will hopefully provide us with more cover when we cross over to Elm street. May is steadier on her feet now that we have escaped Hell, so I think I can even relax a little. So we begin to meander across manicured green grass yards, stopping to smell the various poison flower beds of Mulberry Street.

"Do you ever wish we were like this all the time ...not just after school?" She grins up from smelling a belladonna flower.

"Every day, May." I sigh for her amusement. "I even have an island in my head I go to get away from class. Devil May Care Island, I think you'd like it."

"The weather is perfectly pleasant all year round. With gentle trade wind breezes, for naps in wide swaying hammocks hung between palm trees. Oh, and very doable path around the island that is not too long, but just long enough to be interesting." I instantly decide to make some girl friendly additions to the old imaginary island paradise. "With lots of tropical flowers to smell ...and none of those weird nasty tropical bitting bugs."

"Sounds interesting. So tell me more about your mind island, Dare?" She echoes prophetically in her otherworldly voice, all very "Tell me of the waters of your homeworld, Turtle."

So as we walk the winding grass paths through the oleander hedges, I start to tell her about my favorite spot on Devil's May Care Island, overlooking the clear breaktide lagoon. Where I set my fishing pole out, before dozing off in my hammock gently swaying between the twin palm trees.

We wind haphazardly down the street and cut through two hedge paths between the streets. Skirting down a narrow gap between fences, that I never even noticed were there. But that somehow seems designed for this very purpose. It's truly amazing to me the strange things one runs across, that you never knew were in your own neighborhood, when you are hiding out from the authorities.

When we come around the corner onto Elm, I am relieved to find that Aces old sky blue Impala is nowhere to be seen. He's probably still down at the VFW talking trash with his warmongering buddies. Sing slaying songs about all the war orphans he made by killing their wrong thinking parents in his 747 fighter plane.

"Aces car is gone, so looks like we're in the clear from here," I reassure her taking her elfinine hand in mine.

I continue to check for raisin sign, but can see no tale tell markers of raisins anywhere in the near vicinity. So I wraith her quietly down the drive, and open my garage up to get on the Deathwish bike on the bounce. I give May a big bright pink helmet I picked out for just such an occasion, and don my standard skull cap.

When I have her firmly seated behind me and ready to roll, I kick down on the starter on my deathwish. The bike starts clean, I engage the clutch and slam my foot down into the first gear. Which is right when the Irish Antichrist rounds the corner in full gardening regalia, with her samurai sunhat mosquito netting thing obscuring her demonic features.

The Irish Antichrist takes one long look at me with May's hands wrapped tightly around my chest from behind, and slowly starts shaking her horns in displeasure. I nod her off and I rev the engine once to make the "get the hell out of my way ...please" point. But instead of moving out of the way, she counterattacks with the killer cut the engine throat slicing gesture. When I politly decline the demand, the demonic entity proceeds to cross her arms to dig into her position. 

At this point, it's clearly going to be a war of wills with the Irish Antichrist. As in will I or will I not run down the evil little old lady in the garage doorway. To be honest, I really have to think this one through for a minute or two? As we continue eye-warring each other over the rumbling thundering handlebars of the Deathwish.

Much to my displeasure, I opt for not running her down this fine foul day. After all what would Aces do without the Irish Antichrist and her rightness always hovering around? Poor old bro would probably be lost without her always telling him what to do all the time. Even worse, who'd feed poison to the stray skunks and make morning war with the Celestial kitchen demons? Of all of us, I think it's probably the poor Egui would probably miss her the most. After all, the Chinese kitchen demons are relatively new to this country, and don't really know anyone else who hates them yet? So I cut the Deathwish engine and let the last rumbling of freedom die.

Of course she immediately takes this as an opening to start up asking her unnecessary questions and sharing her unwanted opinions.

"What are you already doing home from school?" The Irish Anarchist seethes at me in all her glory. "And who is that on the back of that infernal machine?"

"Maybe." I eye her back.

"Maybe?" She snorts, adjusting her viewpoint to scour another soul. "Ah, and why in heavens name is May Belle Grimm on the back of that infernal machine?"

"Bad day," I cut her off coldly. "So we are going to see May's The'Rapist ...and get some things straightened out."

"What things? And since when do you arbitrarily decide to leave school on your own?" Irish suddenly thinks better of that stupid move. 

"No, scratch that for the moment. Start by explaining why May Belle's bad day a 'we' activity?" Irish's eyes narrow into to mine.

"Because it included both of us?" And it's either this, or I drive back to school and take care of business? Which based on my prior experience with Aces, I gather you're not a huge fan of the school of thought that violence actually does solve problems. "So do you mind moving out of the way now, so we can get gone already?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do mind." She removes her hellish helm to bare her fangs. "You made an agreement with Aces not to look for trouble or to be troubled. Does this look like not looking for trouble to you, boy?"

"Naw not, Aces said what he had to say that talking day. So I pretty much told him straight that I don't do that ...ever. And I damn sure never agreed to take static from anyone ...ever. In fact, I told him the exact opposite whatever it was you just said. That I don't start static but I will finish it ...every time." I emphasize back evenly.

"It was clearly implied, that you would avoid exactly these kinds of entanglements." She hisses back at me like a viper on vengeance. 

"And again ...not my problem." I counter back coldly.

"Well, it will be just as soon as May Belle's father finds out what you've gone and done." Irish digs in hard. "Even more so when you played hooky from school to do so. Regardless of these so-called 'bad day' circumstances."

"And thus the trip to the doctor dude's or whatever?" I drone back.

Having to constantly re-explain things to Raisins, who clearly weren't getting it the first time around, is sadly something of a bad habit for me now.  

"Darren please, enough. It was a nice idea, but it's not worth the trouble between you and your grandmother." May shakily slides off the bike and down to the ground. "While I appreciated the effort  ...I think our day in the sun is done."

"I'm not even close to done, May." My eyes bore right into the Antichrist, and I am looking for that long lost fight now.

The kind of fight that I can lose myself in. The kind of fight that I don't have ...but it has me. All that old rage is building in me, and I am so blazing done taking shit from everyone and anyone ...but especially Irish. We've played nice enough for long enough that maybe she thinks that dark past is behind us. That she's somehow earned the right to critique my life and my choices. But I was there on the pile of shit that was my life that night not her. And I haven't forgotten that she had a heavy hand in how my horrible childhood played out. That no thanks to her hatred of my mother, that we ended up being those "Other Dean's", the hated ones.

"My agreement with Aces was clear. You respect my choices, I respect yours, and this is my choice. So I am choosing to handle my business, my way. So I have zero need for your input. So if that's going to be a problem for you?" I nod to the trash bags. "I'll just get my luggage and go home now ...with May. So problem solved."

But Irish isn't biting on my ultimatum any more than I actually mean it. Because we both know I have nowhere else to go now but straight back to hell. Sadly, she also knows me well enough by now, to know that I won't be dragging down May with me. When I descend back into the normal madness that is my Insanistani life at home.

"Oh contraire, grandson mine. Seeing that you have May Belle on the back of a motorcycle in my garage, at my house ...that makes it my business."  She snaps back on the attack. "Not to mention, that I will be the one to take the call from the school regarding 'our bad day'?"

"Oh yes, and the added joy of dealing with May Belle's parents as to her whereabouts?" She waves her sharp claws away at May. "Which I will have to deal with that too. Because Lord only knows what kind of assinine stupidity with fall out of your face at that point."

"Now you said it was 'we' who had a bad day at school?" Irish narrows her glare into me hard. "That whatever has you all riled up that included both of us? So out with it boy ...what has you two running away from school and off to parts unknown? With May Belle on the back of that infernal machine, no less?"

"Darren they're gonna find out anyways. Especially, when my dad calls and starts to complain." May advises wisely.

Of course, May has put a lot more pieces together at this point then I have. So she already knows what hate is on the horizon.

"Show your grandmother the detention slip." She waves away the war. "It's not like we have anything more to hide at this point anyways."

"Fine." I leg off the bike. Then dig the detention out of my pocket and snap it over at the Antichrist for inspection.

Irish bites a gloved finger, gnawing off her gardening glove and begins reading the elegant cursive crap.

"Detention May Belle Grimm ...Disrupting the class: Talking during important announcements after being warned against doing so on multiple prior occasions. Disruption of class: Inappropriate contact with another student..." Irish glances up at me severely and slowly intones the death sentence. "...Inappropriate Kissing?"

"That's a lie, nothing about any of this whit was inappropriate." I stare down her judgmental glare.

"Well, this says you two were necking during class." Irish is clearly annoyed by this, going right into her standard "I told you so" mode. "I warned you what would happen if you didn't keep your head down? Pushing all your wyrd ways in other peoples faces."

"It wasn't like that." I snap back on the attack. "It was nothing more than a peck on the cheek that missed. Not some making out session."

"Well, this says inappropriate?" She snaps the orange slip at me. "Aren't there clear rules against that kind of inappropriate displays of affection at that school?"

"Yeah, but not like what happened." I snap back on the attack. "Nothing about that kiss was inappropriate, except us. Or else every kid who got dropped off by his flocking mommy would be serving detention for making out. So if what we did was below some standard? Then a quarter of the school would be expelled for dry humping their girlfriends' goodbye in the hallways after lunch."

Irish is clearly not pleased to hear about all the "dry hallway humping" going on in the hallowed halls of Hell on the hill. Probably because back in her day, before fire was invented, kids only huddled together in abject fear. But even then, probably only at a respectable distance.

"Then show me exactly what you two were doing and I will decide for myself." The Antichrist raises the stakes on our deadly game of Demon vs Devil.

"Excuse me?" I side eye her evilness.

"If this so-called 'missed kiss' was as innocent as you claim it was, then what's the problem?" Irish levels her own ultimatum. "Not like you two haven't been necking in the movies on more than one occasion ...according to my sources." The arrogant smirk of superiority spreads crookedly across her twisted old visage.

"Not to mention, that missing time after Thanksgiving now comes to mind." She drones dryly under her breath.

"You need to mind your own now..." I start my death threat dance. But I am stopped short of cursing her back to hell, by a soft pair of lips on mine that breathes her light into my dark heart.

Apparently while Irish and I have been seething and snapping age-old slights at each other, May has moved close enough to me to hold me back. So with no warning whatsoever she reaches up to my face and kisses me with an audible sighing smack. While the kiss is quick and clean ...it is oddly also a whole lot more passionate than the frivolous kiss this morning in homeroom.

"There, one and done." May smiles shyly.

Irish blinks back in clear surprise, then frowns, then scowls ...then reads the angry orange slip again. Then shakes her scowling horned head some more, before sharing more of her folksy old world raisin'isms.

"That's it?" She points her crooked claw at us. "That is what this detention is for?"

"Yeah, like I already told you twice...it's a lie." I try to shake off the fog that May's kiss has caused my mind.

"Well, that can't be right." Her evil eyes narrow accusatory at me. "There must be more to this than that? That was little more than nothing."

"You think this whit has anything whatsoever to do with what's right?" I counter coldly. "The only thing that's right about this whit is that little bastard Or'sir started whit with May. So now he's gonna pay for the privilege with pain. End of story."

"Or'sir?" Irish scowls.

"That's what Darren calls Mr. Dyuvetter, Ma'am," May informs politely. "He's our homeroom teacher. Actually, our substitute teacher while Mrs. Grant is out on extended maternity leave."

But now whit get seriously weird ...or weirder? Because Irish looks like someone just killed one of her beloved stray cats with a lawnmower. In fact, if I didn't know any better? I'd swear that the Irish Antichrist is suddenly a lot more blazing irate now than she was ten seconds ago slighting and fighting with me.

"A Dhuyvetter?" Irish spits out, and it strikes me as odd the way she intones 'A', almost as if it's her version of Butchy's"Flocking A".  "As in Little Greg Dhuyvetter did this whit!?!"

"Yes, ma'am?" May nods somberly.

"Start talking sense, you two." Irish snaps back. "What does that little sheethead ...have anything to do with why you two are not in class at the moment?"

I have to take a moment to shake the fog out of my head, because it almost sounded a lot like Irish just said "little shithead". But as I am not familiar enough yet with the old school San Fall slang, to know that 'sheet' and shit while synonymous ...are not the same thing at all. Unfortunately, as I will soon learn, in Irish's world every "Sheethead" is a shithead, but not ever shithead is a "sheethead". Something which I will soon come to find out is a very big distinction in the old worldview of the Ancient Irish Antichrist.

"Like I already told you twice." I am still looking for that fight that somehow is now lost in translation. "Kissing ...Or'sir ...detention ...argument ...leave ....go solve problem."

"And from a Dyuvetter, no less?" Her emerald eyes flare sparks as she starts her seething. "So you both can swear to me right now on a stack of bibles, that if I were to go down to that school and raise holy hell about this nonsense?" She snaps the angry orange slip of doom like a whip crack. "That I am not going to walk away with egg on my face? Because you two got caught in a broom closet or anything more sordid than what I just witnessed?"

"What's a broom closet?" I counter this piece of stupidity with one of my own.

"No, ma'am. In fact, we are always very careful to not draw attention to ourselves ...at least until today." May replies sadly. "But this is all my fault, not Darren's."

"I'm the one that made the mistake and kissed him in front of other people, not the other way around." May tries to take over the blame game. "And I'm the one that overreacted to everything that happened after. All Darren did was stick up for me when things got too loud."

"Kindly explain that to me in detail, start from the beginning." Irish commands coldly. "I want to know everything that happened this morning. Step by step, word for word, from that kiss, all the way up to how you two end up here, on that infernal machine."

"Why?" I eyed her cold. "It's 'our' problem not yours?"

"Oh really?" Irish smirks snarky like she has just conquered death again. "Then I'll let you in a little secret grandson of mine."

"I grew up in this town a long time ago." Irish finally starts owning her irrelevance. "I am warning both you, that tongues are gonna wag once folks catch wind of you two being something ...more than friendly? And if May Belle's parents were to hear the school's characterization of this missed kiss ...based on what's written right here? I can guarantee you one of two things are going to happen immediately."

"First, May Belle will be told by her father that under no circumstance will she be permitted to be involved with you anymore at school or otherwise." Irish eyes narrow into cold slits to emphasize her opinion as to what "otherwise" would entail.

"Then the second thing that is going to happen, is that both your grandfather and I are going to receive a call from May Belle's father. Informing us what his decision is going to be. Then demanding that we make you understand the why's and the wherewithal of that. Or he will call the school and insist that you two be kept separated at all times because you are a dangerous outside element to his daughter."

"And make no mistake, whether you two like it or not, Big Tim Grimm is still her father. So he will get his way ...one way or the other." Irish snorts in derision. "Lord knows May Belle's father has weathered enough of his own storms to know how small town minds think. Then to judge a situation without knowing a damn thing about it....one way or another."

"Which leaves you with two choices." Irish scowls out across the dying lawn. "Stand proud and show them all what you are made of. Or whether the storm you've brought on yourselves, by running and hiding in the cellar until the storm passes. Perhaps meet again someday, when people stop paying attention and move on to the next storm. In a couple of years, if you're lucky. I believe the expression is, gone but not forgotten?"

"Now you might know all about how to fight your own battles at home, just fine grandson mine. But May Belle?" Irish mouth twists into a mean snarl. "No, she will have to live here and keep taking the hits for this kiss. Long after you've decided to go back you sunshine beach bum life at the beach to work on your tan."

Did I mention that Irish fights extremely dirty? Because she just hit me in the one place I have no answer for. What happens to May after I leave this hellhole for good?

"Now I am offering you a chance to win this fight before it really gets started. To fight this fight on my terms ...my way ...in my town ...with my people." Irish's mouth curls up into something that resembles a feral smile, but a lot more hungrier. And if I didn't know any better, I would swear to the sacred sea that she looks positively pleased, maybe for the first time since we've met?

"But in order to do that, you are going to have to give up that mule headed pride of yours for five minutes, and decide what's most important to you, boy. May Belle's good name in her hometown? Or your stubborn refusal to listen to good advice when it's given? Or trust that anyone ever has your best interests at heart." She snorts. "Though this might wound you tremendously Darren? Let's get something straight from the gate ...I am not your mother."

Her angry eyes narrow into mean slits as she waits for my reaction. She seems somewhat disappointed when I shrug at the obvious statement before pressing on with talking time.

"I am not ambivalent about what happens to you, or to May Belle. Because believe it or not, I actually give a damn." Irish lies her ass off for what I assume is her new agenda, the role of caring grandmother. "Now by my watch, you have about twenty-five minutes, before Pat St. Claire calls May Belle's parents and informs them that she has not shown up for her second class. Wanting to know why they did not call her in sick today."

"Any guesses at how long it's going to take everyone to put two and two ...and you two together?" She snorts hard in the local custom. "Then her next call is going to be to me, and by then the die will be cast on this thing. The rumor mill will be up and running on all it's own. Then there will be little or nothing any of us can do to stop it."

"So start talking or start walking back to school. Fake a stomach ache, or whatever the kids do these days to skip a class and take your lumps. Or let's go up the hill and get down fighting the war. Your choice ...fight or run. You have the next two minutes to decide."

With that incantation intoned, the Irish Antichrist folds her claws over and posts up at the corner of the garage. Where she adopts her second favorite righteous twisted smirk of being right. Then makes a showing of inspecting her claws for the pending fight. Waiting for me to make up my mind, while what little time we have left ticks away.