A Fistful of Tannenbaum Chapter 2: Sierra Mist

Editor's Note: Yeah, like this has been edited. Last time, The thinly-veiled Bagel character Jed Foster met his old acquaintance of some fashion Hans "Two-Bit" Reilly and made an allusion to a coupon for a free backrub. A gun was involved, some macho slogans, and off they went.

By the beginning of the second chapter, Foster and Reilly had found their way to the Sierra mountain range in whatever country it's in. The climb was rigorous and difficult, for Reilly. Perhaps a little bit for Foster as well, but not so much as for Reilly.

"You've made me remember what I liked so much about kicking back in my palatial estate and receiving fellatio from one of the many twentysomething girls in my employee," said Foster with a huff. "Everything."

"That's not the Jed Foster I remember," said Reilly, wearing a smile. The Jed Foster he was thinking of had been a car wash attendant in Ojai, California, a black fellow with a magnificent gold cane and a mustache. But this Jed Foster was who he needed to climb the mountain range—to get to the lockbox.

"I thought I'd seen the last of that lockbox twenty years ago," said Foster, picking up the train of thought from the narrative. "Back then I was a young man. Younger."

"That was when you made the promise to Audreybell, as previously mentioned," said Reilly.

Foster thought of Audreybell in descriptive detail. Her bright, teeth-filled smile. Her magnetic green eyes, the orange-tinted hair hanging about her head in long folds. Those monster titties. Her voice was sweet, like a saw ripping through wood, calling his name with love: "Jed! Jed, dear! Pour that tequila down my throat so I don't have to tilt my head forward. I fear I might vomit again."

Sweet, sassy Audreybell. How he cursed her name and memory, those full lips and scratchy beard stubble. How she had made him promise, on her deathbed, after he accidentally mortally wounded her: "The lockbox, Jed. Don't ever forget the birdcage."

"The what? Birdcage?"

"Sorry. I meant to say lockbox."

And he never had. Forgotten, that is. Or did one time, for a very short time, in 1986 during a fabulous hand of cards, but he remembered right after he lost his shirt. How in the name of all that's holy could a straight flush beat a pair of aces—nothing's higher than aces.

"Jed! Watch out!" screamed Reilly in sheer terror.

Foster barely had time to duck Reilly's swung pick axe.

"Just keeping you on your toes," the son of a bitch said. "There's infinite dangers ahead, so many you can count them on two hands. Don't think they left that lockbox unguarded."

The government's most dangerous men. Twelve of them, each more dangerous than the last, unless they were put in order of height or something. Jed took a deep breath and scaled the final cliff.

"There, we've climbed the highest mountain in the entire range," grumbled Jed. "Whew. One heck of an afternoon."

But he didn't get to complain much longer. For ahead of him, in the distance, was a small cabin. Unoccupied, maybe; booby-trapped, definitely. And home to the lockbox.



Next Chapter: Danger Cabin!

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