On Juedy morning, Jerry, Braxton, and Lagandin finished the last scraps of their breakfast and decided to have a three-way conversation.

  “Thanks for the good hospitality and better eats, Mr. J,” Lagandin said to Jerry. “That triple berry baked oatmeal went down fast, but I won’t lie to you here, I would’ve downed a plate of bacon and eggs even faster.”

  “Oh, boy, oh, boy,” Braxton mumbled while half-reading a newspaper and sipping from a cup of hot coffaux. “Please don’t get him started on the ethics of eating animals this early in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry the Jerry and Braxton Bed and Breakfast isn’t up to your standards, sirrah Winson. But if eating dead, chopped up animals is more your speed, I invite you to eat with the dogs come lunch time.”

  “Touchy, touchy, touchy,” Langandin said. “I’ll walk back on my rudeness, okay, but I won’t walk back from the fact that bacon and eggs is the right way to conduct breakfast.”

  “Keep pushing that carnist propaganda in my house and I promise you’ll be walking back barefoot to your grandparent’s house after I take your other boot, little man.”

  “Welfare for animals with four legs, but nothing but meanness for animals with two of them?” Lagandin asked. “You are a very confusing man, Mr. J.”

  “Knock it off,” Braxton said. “You’re not only testing my husband’s minimal patience, you’re also testing mine as well.”

  “Sorry,” Lagandin said. “But I’m a big, growing boy who needs his morning protein.”

  “Doubt that,” Jerry said. “Based on how hard you were running after your four incredibly fucked up friends yesterday, I think you could do with skipping a few doses of protein.”

  Lagandin’s face grew red with embarrassment while Braxton fought down a snicker. “That was a little mean spirited,” he said. “But a good one.”

  “Anyway,” Jerry said, “I’ve been thinking about something for a real long time.”

  “Yeah?” Lagandin asked.

  “You’re going to love it when he does this,” Braxton said, “or be utterly baffled.”

  “So it’s well known that the Triple I Division does a lot of public awareness campaigns for a lot of things, right?” Jerry asked.

  “Yeah, like that one time they raised awareness of wirefraud by wrapping a bunch of yarn dyed red around some utility poles in New Chemeketa,” Lagandin said. “That was really cool. What’s your idea?”

  “I think some Triple I Division special agents should fake kidnap children from stores and other places like that, then give them back to their parents as a way to bring awareness to how fast that kind of sick shit can happen.”

  Braxton placed the newspaper on the table and stared at Jerry. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” He looked at Lagandin, who failed to look very shocked. Instead, he appeared to be deep in thought. “Are you hearing this nonsense he tells me everyday? I swear he does it for attention or as some bizarre cry for help.”

  “That sounds like a public relations nightmare,” Lagandin said, “but that’s not a terrible idea.”

  “No way,” Braxton moaned. “You’re just winding him up again for a bit, right?”

  “I’m being serious here,” Lagandin said. “It’s crazy how some parents just let their kids wander around without a care in the world. Sometimes some people need hard lessons here and there to be more aware of their surroundings.”

  “Exactly,” Jerry said. “And as for fun on our end, we could keep score of how many kids we manage to snatch. I feel like I could personally manage five or six with my undeniable charm while Mr. Moon would probably get none because everybody pays attention to Hissians outside of clowder cities.” Jerry pointed two index fingers at Braxton. “What about you, my dearest lover?”

  “I’m not speculating on how many children I could successfully kidnap,” Braxton said. “What an insane thing to not only think about, but verbalize with real, actual words coming from your mouth.”

  “No offense,” Lagandin said, “but I don’t think you could get that many kids, Braxton. Your height grabs attention like a severed cock stapled to your forehead, and when you stand close to people, you scare the Vullen out of them, including me.”

  “To Vullen with this insane babbling,” Braxton said, standing up. “I need to go to the bathroom. Hopefully, while I’m doing that, I hope you two lunatics don’t end up on a federal watchlist.”

  Jerry and Lagandin watched Braxton storm off in frustration towards the bathroom. When Braxton left the room, Jerry pointed his pinky at Lagandin. “Now that I have finished my daily quota of messing around with him, I want to issue you a serious challenge.”

  “Oh?” Lagandin leaned in towards Jerry and smiled mischievously. “And what would this serious challenge happen to be?”

  “Since I have an inordinate amount of free time on my hands due to some work-related shenanigans, I want to invite you, your grandparents, and anybody else you can wrangle over here to a fully vegan barbeque tomorrow to prove that you don’t need meat to have a good time.”

  The mischievous smile slipped off of Lagandin’s face. “Okay? I mean, I’m not above that ‘challenge’ because free food is free food even if that free food happens to be a bunch of tofu gunk, but a barbeque during the winter? That’s a bit strange, no?”

  “Listen to me well.” Jerry said. “I am Moundgia born and raised. I would grill if there was a hailstorm or reverse thunderstorm outside. What’s a little cold? Unless the cold triggers the trauma of you nearly losing your foot now or something?”

  “Really?” Lagandin asked. “If you keep making fun of me over that, I’m not going to take you up on your silly vegan barbeque challenge.”

  “Do you really have anything better to do tomorrow?”

  Lagandin opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. “You got me there, Mr. J.”

  “Shake on it?” Jerry reached his right hand towards him.

  Lagandin shook Jerry’s hand. “Can’t wait.”

  Braxton walked into the kitchen, looking at Jerry then Lagandin. “Good to see you two are still here instead of vanishing to do only the Twelve knows what.”

  “Just the man I was looking for.” Jerry approached Braxton and placed his hands on his shoulders. “We need to get a lot of groceries for a barbeque Lagandin and I are having tomorrow.”

  “What?” Braxton asked. “When did we decide to do that? Why wasn’t I asked about it? And most importantly, are you sure having a barbeque here after what happened earlier is a good idea?”

  “Huh?” Lagandin asked. “What happened earlier?”

  Jerry effortlessly ignored Lagandin. “Sorry about the whole not asking you part, but this is just some harmless busywork I’m making for myself. And if you’re worried about me having another…incident, you don’t need to worry about a single thing, darling. It will just be a small thing with friends and friends of friends, I’ll have something to focus on, and even better, I’ll do it completely dry despite you knowing how much I love drinking while being the grillmaster.”

  “Your mouth is saying one thing, but your eyes are saying another thing.”

  Jerry took one of Braxton’s large hands and kissed his knuckles. “Have these big, baby blue eyes of mine ever lied to you?”

  “Plenty of times, actually,” Braxton said. “But despite my gut telling me I’m misplacing a serious amount of faith in you, my mind is telling me you can pull this off for some reason.”

  Jerry patted Braxton on the shoulder and brought him in close for a deep, long hug. “I will not disappoint you again,” he said into his ear.

  “At this point,” Braxton said, “I feel like I should get statements like that from you notarized and legally-binding.”

  When Vendrey afternoon rolled by, Jerry found himself shockingly satisfied with how everything fell well into space. The Winsors and Lagandin had arrived an hour earlier, joined by four of his familiar-faced friends, Yurpin, Heidna, Josh, and Marrilee. In addition to this, Jerry had also gotten one of his far-flung neighbors, Campbell Bowman, to come around as well.

  Campbell was an odd, quiet man and horse rancher Jerry suspected of making extra income by letting people have certain, illicit access to his mares. But for the time being, Jerry placed these unfounded suspicions behind him and allowed Campbell to have a seat at his table.

  Jerry worked the grill like he was born near one. While deftly flipping over spicy vegetable skewers and curry-flavored chickpea burgers with one hand, Jerry chainsmoked with the other. The four teens at the table near Jerry watched him work with a noticeable level of fascination and admiration.

  “You’re going frenzi on that hotta stack,” Marrilee said. “But I don’t know if smoking so much near the food is sanitary.”

  “I have no idea what you just said with that first thing,” Jerry said, “but don’t worry your sweet, little head about the cigarettes. They add flavor.”

  “I don’t think carcinogenic is a flavor,” Marrilee said.

  “You’d be surprised about that statement if you read more food labels,” Jerry said. “Also, what the Vullen is a frenzi and a hotta stack?”

  “It's a reference to a show we all like to watch when we get high,” Josh said. “Frenzi’s Food Fight. Guyan Frenzi is the name of this celebrity chef who goes around reviewing local greasy spoons around Almandica. He's a huge weirdo who calls grills hotta stacks.”

  “I guess that’s slightly more comprehensible.” Jerry flipped one chickpea burger over. “By the way, I have two big questions for y'all.”

  “Hit us with it,” Lagandin said.

  “Now, most of you may not remember this, but when I was a few moments from showing you the business of my human hole puncher, all of you were incredibly fucked up on drugs,” Jerry said. “What was up with that little episode?”

  “Holy shit,” Heidna said. “You were going to shoot us? I thought you were trying to hand us flowers.”

  Jerry regarded the young woman with sincere confusion. “You pulling my leg here, kid? You should remember when people have handguns near you.”

  “Nope,” Yurpin said. “I remember being super fucking scared, but you had some crazy good blood and flowers visuals going on.”

  “What he said,” Heidna added. “I don’t remember most of it, but I definitely remember you trying to hand us flowers that were attached to your hand. They were the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen, and you wanted me to taste the petals. I guess I’m glad the dogs scared me before I tried to grab your gun.”

  “That makes two of us,” Jerry said. “I’m not at liberty to give you full details about my current situation, but let’s just say that I’m doing the allegation shuffle. And I don’t think popping some poor, unarmed girl with my service pistol would help me any.”

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  “Allegations?” Yurpin asked. “What kind of allegations?” He looked towards Lagandin. “Dude, did you really bring me out here to a barbeque headed by a guy that’s running around touching people?”

  “What?” Lagandin asked. “No! Use your twelvedamn noggin or at least what’s left of it, Yurpin. Mr. J isn’t that kind of guy. I think.”

  “Sorry for being curious,” Yurpin said, rolling his eyes.

  “To be honest,” Marrilee said, “I’m a little curious about what kind of allegations we’re talking about. When you’re a young woman and a strange, grown man starts throwing around the word ‘allegation’ attached to his name, you gotta be vigilant.”

  Jerry fought the powerful urge to tell Marrilee, Lagandin, and Yurpin to shut the fuck up and stop asking questions he couldn’t answer, then allowed the more rational side of his brain to control him.

  “Forget I said anything,” he barked. “But for the record, the allegations against my person are not and will never be sexually perverse in nature.”

  “Isn’t that what they usually say?” Heidna whispered to Lagandin, who motioned for her to shut up.

  Jerry decided to ignore that quip and asked, “So my second question…what’s up with the crazy looking group get-up y'all have going on?”

  From Lagandin to Marrilee, all of the teenagers were dressed up in distressed military fatigues and well worn black boots. Heidna even wore the blue beret of the Mendakian Union Navy ran through with several safety pins.

  “It’s a fashion statement,” Yurpin said.

  “And that fashion statement is?” Jerry asked.

  “You know,” Lagandin said, “I think we should—”

  “Don’t be shy with me now,” Jerry said to him. “I’m a cop, but I’m not a cop if you get what I’m saying.”

  Lagandin sighed. “My friends and I have…certain opinions about the armed forces of the Mendakian Union. And we express these certain opinions through our fashion.”

  “Here’s some wise words for you,” Jerry said. “A young bullshitter can never outbullshit an old bullshitter, kid. So just tell me what you and your friends are really trying to say with those funky outfits.”

  “We wear this stuff to disagree with the Mendakian Union putting its military on a golden pedestal,” Lagandin said. “They put on a big propaganda show about how they’re the ‘most moral military’ in Almandica while wearing a bunch of neat, pristine uniforms, but that’s not true. So to fight against this narrative, we take their symbols and show our displeasure by mucking them up a lot, making them our own, and running around in them. That make any sense to you, Mr. J?”

  “Right on,” Yurpin said. “You can’t build the future out of spent bullet casings.”

  Jerry hummed in vague agreement. “Though it is technically my job to get you and your friends in trouble for the supposed crime of such brazen anti-Mendakian Union sentiment, I’m not gonna do that nonsense, and not just because I don’t wanna do a bunch of bullshit paperwork. I used to serve in the Henryson Marines Corps myself, the Gatorlegs to be exact. And let’s just say that when you see how the sausage is made, you start making a list of reasons to burn down the butcher’s shop.”

  At the mention of Jerry’s veteran status, Lagandin’s friends produced several “oohs” and “aahs” more befitting small children watching a magic show rather than teenagers at a barbeque. It seemed that their intense, collective distaste for the military ended at the borders of the Mendakian Union. Jerry snickered at that observation. Josh and Heidna appeared to be the most fascinated.

  “I’ve heard of the Henryson Marine Corps,” Josh asked, “but I’ve never heard about the Gatorlegs. What’s that?”

  “You know how regular Henryson marines are men trained to be very good at breaking things and killing people?” Jerry asked. “Think of Gatorlegs, officially known as the Henryson Marine Corps Marauders, as men who turn the two things I mentioned into a grotesque art of sorts. I happened to be one of these artists.”

  “Did you…did you ever kill anybody?” Heidna asked.

  Marrilee jabbed Heidna in the shoulder, causing her to cry out in shock more than pain. “Did you swallow dumbass pills before you came here?” Marrilee hissed at her. “Don’t you know that’s a question you never ask these kinds of dudes?”

  “Sorry,” Heidna mumbled.

  “Eh, I get that question a lot when I mention being in the Henryson Marine Corps or Triple I Division to civvies,” Jerry asked. “But to answer your sincere, if mildly insensitive question, yes. I have killed before. But one thing I refuse to do is get into the gritty details of my homicidal actions. Trying to make me into your personal murder magazine to gape and gawk at is a very good way to piss me off.”

  Stiff, awkward silence fell across the group. Nobody said anything to anybody while Jerry finished up the rest of the food on the grill. He placed the grilled goods on a large metal plate, then ushered Lagandin and his gang of psychonautic hooligans inside of his home, where there was a warm atmosphere and warmer smiles.

  In the kitchen, where a spare table from the basement was brought up to hold all of the guests, Braxton, Campbell, and the Winstons were having a great time. This sight shocked Jerry. Braxton wasn’t exactly the social butterfly of the two, but whenever it came to doing whatever task needed doing, he was painfully dependable.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Jerry said to Braxton and the rest of them. “The food is ready, and I’m so hungry I'm about ten minutes from taking a bite out of somebody here, so let’s all get into it.”

  Once everybody but Jerry took a seat at the tables, The Winstons invited everybody to take part in a group prayer dedicated to Saint Beatroo, the Saint of friends and fellowship. Jerry, an ardent avoider of anything that involved god bothering, successfully fought down the urge to roll his eyes with the help of Braxton subtly glaring at him. When the prayer was finished, Jerry worked to distribute his grilled handiwork across the table before sitting down near Braxton and Campbell.

  “I hope everybody enjoys this little feast of mine,” Jerry said. “And don’t be afraid to ask for water. The food itself is cruelty-free, but the spices and seasoning I used will certainly kick your—”

  Braxton coughed loudly and deliberately.

  “Uh, butts,” Jerry said. “Now let’s dig in!”

  Silence descended across the table as everybody slowly tucked into their hot meals. True to Jerry’s word, the spices and seasoning wasted no time abusing the weaker palates of the party. Marrilee and Josh begged for glasses of cold, iced water. Turpin ate slowly and carefully, as if the food wasn’t quite up to snuff. Campbell remained a trooper despite the runny snot leaking out of his nose and tears running from his red eyes. Jerry laughed and passed him a handful of napkins.

  “There’s no need to prove you got heart to me, man. All I wanna make sure is that you’re having a good time, and not damn near dying at my table.”

  Campbell sniffled. “Thank you, Jerry. I love the food, but it’s so spicy, I feel like setting my stomach on fire.”

  “Buddy,” Jerry said, “if you think it burns going in, just you wait until it burns coming—”

  Braxton coughed loudly and deliberately. Again.

  Lagandin and his friends laughed at Jerry’s crude, but cut-off humor, making him feel like a celebrity.

  “See, Brax? They like it! And they like me, too!” Jerry said. “I don’t know why you’re so vullbent on censoring me? We’re all adults here, are we not?”

  “That much is true,” Braxton said. “But don’t you think you could make your humor suited for more mature audiences?”

  Jerry grinned at the unintended flexibility of Braxton’s orders. “Some humor suited for mature audiences coming up. Hey, everybody, what’s cheaper than buying floss?”

  “You tell us, oh mighty lord of the grill,” Lagandin said.

  “Having a Hissian girlfriend,” Jerry said.

  Everybody at the table except for the Winstons and Braxton burst into raucous laughter. The Winstons seemed to be confused while Braxton groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if trying to wake himself up from a nightmare he had found himself trapped in.

  “I don’t get it,” Mr. Winston said. “What do floss and Hissian girlfriends have in common?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lagandin told him. “Mr. J is just a bit of an eccentric.”

  “I see,” Mr. Winston said before he resumed eating as did the rest of the table.

  For a few moments, scattered laughter, amusing anecdotes, and small discussion rambled around the room. But the longer Jerry paid attention to Yurpin, the harder he found it to focus on the good times with friends, acquaintances, and loved ones around him.

  “Hey, Yurpin,” Jerry said to the teen. “How is the food treating you?”

  “Uh, it’s treating me fine,” he said. “Yummy, yummy in my tummy and all that good news.”

  Jerry frowned at him. “Really?”

  “Yeah…really.”

  Braxton leaned towards Jerry, covered his mouth, and stage whispered, “Ease up. Now. He’s probably just high on something weird that killed his appetite.”

  “Really?” Jerry echoed at a normal volume. “It’s just that Yurpin doesn’t seem to be happy with his meal. I promise you can be perfectly honest with me. I won’t freak out on you or anybody else because I am a man that takes criticism very well.”

  Yurpin gave in. “To be honest, yeah, I’m very disappointed with this whole thing. This was supposed to be a barbeque, right? Well, what is this? Where is the meat instead of this weird curry chickpea burger stuff? Lagandin, in his exact words, promised me a meat fest!”

  “I said meatless,” Lagandin shouted at Yurpin. “MEATLESS, not meat fest you deaf idiot!”

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Winston said. “Is that how you usually talk to your friends?”

  “No, it’s not,” Lagandin said. “But you’d understand if you knew them like I knew them.”

  “You know what I know, too, Lagandin?” asked Jerry. “That your friend over there is uninvited from my house, but definitely invited to eat shit.”

  “What the Vullen, man?” Turpin said, sounding both scared and angry. “Y-you just said you’re a man who takes criticism well? No offense, but this is a fucked up way to treat a guest.”

  Jerry stood up and started yelling at the top of his lungs. “You want to talk about fucked up, you brainless jit? Fucked up is inviting somebody into your home, then having them insult your cooking and hospitality, then thinking they’ll just lay on their back and take it like a good brothel whore near a gendarmerie base. That is what’s fucked up to me, Yurpin!”

  “Hey!” Braxton stood up. “Jerry, you’re overreacting and taking this barbecue to a dark place nobody but you wants to go to. Now calm down and apologize to Yurpin.”

  “No,” Jerry said. “I’m not going to apologize to this shameless ingrate. In fact, if I knew he was gonna act like this in our home of all places, I should’ve put him in a box the first and last chance I had.”

  Braxton shook his head in utter shame while everybody but Campbell took that part of Jerry’s outburst as a sign to leave the house. Immediately. Campbell watched Jerry and Braxton continue their blowout fight, chewing thoughtfully on his curry chickpea burger.

  “Twelvedamn it,” Braxton roared. “What an insane thing to say to some dumb teenager who doesn’t know any better.”

  “You want to talk about insane?” Jerry roared back. “That druggie twerp disrespected me in our house that we built with our two hands. He’s very lucky I didn’t send my crazy ass flying across that table towards him for that.”

  “Oh, so you could have more reasons to have Mr. Moon get on your ‘crazy ass’ and put you in prison or worse, huh?” Braxton stomped his foot. “If you knew how much grace I have given you for the shit you pull even when I try to see the better parts of you, I would be canonized into the Twelve at this rate.”

  “I don’t need grace, I need understanding,” Jerry said. “Understand where I’m coming from when people try to treat me in ways that just aren’t right, man.”

  “I do understand you and why you act the way you do,” Braxton said. “But eventually I’m going to stop understanding and leave you alone to figure shit out for a bit.”

  “Leave me?” Jerry screeched. “Come on, Brax. You can’t hang that kind of stuff over my head like that, man.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he said. “I’m saying…fuck this. I’m going on a walk. I’ll see you later. Just make sure you don’t make a mess of the house when you stress drink like you always do after things you start like this.”

  “You got it, big man,” Jerry snarled at Braxton.

  Jerry watched as Braxton got his massive coat and huge gloves before walking out the front door, slamming it so hard, some of the pictures on the wall shook. In the crushing silence of the house, Jerry felt his adrenaline quickly fade, only to be replaced by the skull-numbing shame of not properly handling his emotions.

  “Great twelvedamned job, Mr. Genovesi,” Jerry hissed at himself. “How do you manage to keep pissing on the legs of your life with such persistent ferocity?

  “I’m not sure,” Campbell said, “but you have a way with words. Have you ever considered taking up poetry?”

  “Whoa,” Jerry said. “Why are you still here?”

  “I’m very hungry and unlike Yurpin, I respect your culinary talents of the vegan variety,” he said. “What more do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing at all actually,” Jerry said. “In fact, I would very much appreciate it if you left my home for the time being. Now.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said. “But understandable. Can I at least use your bathroom and take some food home?”

  “Go for it,” Jerry said. “Be my guest so you can quickly become my ex-guest.”

  “Nice.”

  While Campbell carried out with what he wanted to do, Jerry fumed as he went to the home’s liquor cabinet and got the dark green bottle of Gadsur’s brand whiskey and one crystal glass. He sat on the couch and attempted to keep the appearance of a proper, refined alcoholic by slowly pouring the whiskey into the glass, but he soon quit when this process wasn’t getting him drunk fast enough.

  Jerry abandoned the glass and started downing mouthfuls of the whiskey like water. The harsh mouthfuls left him with a hot chest, a burning stomach, and watering eyes, but he kept going until the room spun and his rushing thoughts became muddled enough to be manageable. He soon lost track of time and what to do with himself, but decided to remedy both pressing issues by getting his catcaller to bother Anthony. Anthony often chided Jerry as much as Braxton chided him, but often put time away to listen to his drunken rantings.

  Jerry attempted to walk up the stairs to reach the bedroom, one woozy step at a time until his right foot slipped. He cried out and went down the stairs with a great, ass over head crash, managing to somehow keep his liquor, limbs, and life intact.

  “Are we okay over there?” Campbell asked from the kitchen. “That fall sounded painful.”

  “If I wake up and see you by time I wake up again,” Jerry slurred, “I’m gonna shake you down for rent.”

  “Noted.”

  “Noted,” Jerry echoed with venomous sarcasm. “Well, bottoms up!”

  He rolled on his back and continued drinking himself deeper into such a furious stupor, he impaired the function of his legs and bladder to disastrous effect.

  By the time the bottle was near empty, Jerry was seeing double of everything and utterly incoherent. Moments before he blacked out, the last thing he saw out was Campbell furtively looking back at him while stealing all the bulk oats from his kitchen.

  “You…you…thieving bastard,” Jerry mumbled. “Those oats are for…for…aw, fuck it. Nighty night for me.”