Beyond the stretch of houses, further past the prostitutes and the lit-motels and the ecstasy of degenerates shooting up in dim-lit alleyways, was the crowning jewel. The Casino El Rey. And like satellites, the orbiters of armed black men were flooding the doors and rushing inside, for a reason Floyd could not understand. Though he watched it from afar, his body nearly at all fours and grown to inhuman form. Demonic was not the word, though it was the source of his troubles.

He looked feral, deformed, elongated with arms twice their lengths now and legs reaching a tripling, the kind of man that looked like he was put through a medieval stretching torture device and left for days, months.

His clothes barely fit him, he wore his pants like shorts and his suit like a small tube-top vest. He thought to leap off the building, to another, and approach the Casino that was in the midst of its own chaos. His pocket rang. He answered, had to.

"Hey, hey, hey, where do you think you're going?" The phone said. Floyd had it pinched between his ear and his shoulder as he ran to the next rooftop.

"Where do you think? Home," Floyd grabbed onto the ledge of a window sill, he dragged his body up and onto a balcony ledge, then with one great leap, jumped off with a kick. Part of the balcony chipped, it fell and collapsed on a vacant black car. The hood caved in, the lights flashed on and off, and the alarm would not stop yelling. Now on the rooftops, he could see the city clearly. The contours of the flat rooftops and the big signs like a sort of mesmerizing circus. He saw the figures, the plastic giants, he saw the dingy metal-sheets covering whorehouses. He saw the soldiers driving by in armored vans, not even hiding their intent to a growing crowd.

Floyd readied himself to leap off from the ledge.

"I wouldn't recommend that," Turnus said. The voice was clearer now.

"Of course you wouldn't, you want my mother dead," Floyd said, "And let me tell you something if anything happens to her-"

"Yeah, I hear that all the time," Turnus said. "If I do such and such to the such and such person you love, all hells and all fury's will fall down on me. I hear it all the damn time, and when you hear something so often, it becomes hard to take seriously,"

"Oh, it won't matter how you take it. When I'm done with you, you'd have known I was serious."

"Now that's some fine spirit, but a little ungrateful considering I saved the mother of your child," Turnus said.

"You didn't save shit,"

"Oh? Had I not intervened, Ritcher would be hunting down Luanne. She'd probably be dead by now,"

"So what? Let him come," Floyd leapt onto the next rooftop. His movements so aggressive and so careless that he didn't even realize he cut a cable satellite in two as he ran past it. Or that an electrical wire had tried to close-line him, but by brute force, he had caused enough tension to have it snap. The shock didn’t even hurt anymore if there was one. He was just so damn fast.

"You're very stupid, aren't you?" Turnus said. "It was a trade, Floyd. Luanne for Salome. That was the exchange, that was the deal, and if you ask me, it was a good deal."

"Shut the fuck up,"

"By virtue of being on the line this long, I'm going to guess you're interested in what I’m saying. So I won't shut up, sorry," Turnus said. "What I will say is this; what has your mother done for you?"

"Everything. She's my mother, she birthed me. You obviously didn’t care about your mother, but I do about mine,"

“Oh, I loved my mother more than you can imagine,”

“I find that hard to believe,” Floyd said.

“I love her so much it’s easy for me to spot the difference between love and fear. And you fear your mother. Or at least, respect the fear she causes in other.”

Floyd breathed heavily into the intercom. It sounded too loud and too raspy for any human throat to make.

“Ahh, you have questionless respect. The worst kind of respect,” he said. “But how much does your mother respect you?”

"Be careful with what you say, I might come after you ahead of schedule,"

"Your mother tried to control you and Jezebel and Luanne. It failed. But she did try to control you, no? Because she cares more about winning than you, right? That’s been her goal. To win. That’s a ruthlessness you don’t have,”

"What are you getting at?"

"Luanne and I...had a long chat,"

The words struck his stomach like flint-made-spark, and the fire brewed and stewed his blood. It came to a boil on his face. He felt his ears light up, his nose-tip burn. His eyes turned green, his tattoo glowing with seeming contempt.

"Luanne told me about how Salome really saw all of you. All the plans...and all the lies and all for...victory, Luanne said. Salome just cared about winning," The phone said. He stopped atop a building, the smoke collected around him from the exhaust pipe blowing to his rear. "You were always just a means for her. It makes sense though, right? She's always been the type of person to care more about herself and her reputation. Everythings an act with her, a means to make you move. Right? The act of being a brooding mother. The act of being a mournful mother. The act of being a supportive mother. All acts. And behind her masks, there is nothing."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He held the phone close to his ear.

"She's always treated you like a piece to her game. You know this, I know this. I'm the one playing opposite of her, after all."

"What point are you trying to get across?" Floyd asked. "She's my mother. It doesn't matter how she sees me, what matters is what I do for her,"

"You say that, but do you mean it?" Turnus asked. "For example...if your lover was in trouble, at the same time your mother was. Who would you choose?"

His eyes grew iridescent. A color of bright algae, of toxicity.

"If you hurt her-"

"Jesus, you're so unoriginal," Turnus screamed. He sounded frustrated, which only made Floyd angrier. The shags of his robes dangled, brushing his feet from the hot wind. "The Vicar, you idiot. You didn't kill him,"

"How do you know? I might have crippled him."

"Your stunt last night drew the police, the only bodies you left were Hawaiian shirt wearing drunk idiots. And prostitutes. You didn’t kill shit worth all." Turnus said. "Wanna know what I did? Bribe the damn commissioner, told him it was a gas line explosion. You made a mess. I cleaned it. And I didn't find no god damn Vicar in the garbage bin, let me tell you,"

"So? What’s this got to do with Luanne?" Floyd screamed.

"Oh, I’ll tell you. That’s the point," Turnus said. "Or rather, I’ll tell him."

"What does that mean?"

"Suppose the Vicar found out where she loved…" Turnus began.

Turnus’s blood froze. Right in his veins, everything to a halt. The rage turned numbing.

"3536 San Martin St, Downtown. Does that sound familiar?" Floyd said.

He felt like vomiting.

"You-!" He bit his lips. "I'll kill-!" The foam came down his mouth, rabid. "You fucker-! What do you want?"

"Shh, shh, darling," Turnus said. "I'm playing the game. And you're making me play this card. So here's how it's going to work. I'm going to give you a chance to go hunt down the person you fucked up in killing, okay? You’ll get a full day, that’s generous right?” Turnus said. “Fact is, I don’t give a shit about your mother, I want her dead in fact. But I’m also afraid of the Vicar, and I’m also afraid you’ll stop Ritcher.”

"I should have killed you a long time ago," Floyd said. The heat in his voice was gone. It was trembling. He was trembling, not to the cold air of the falling skies, or from the shock of heat blasting from the exhaust. He was trembling for himself, for Luanne, for his mother most of all. He could almost see it, a few miles off, that giant center building. The fumes rose through his pants, out his belt, and through his coat. His neck was exposed to the cold. Not that he could feel it. His body, although sweating from the vapor, or his skin raising to goosebumps from the cold, he could not feel much of anything.

“Yeah, you should have,” Turnus laughed once. A single scoff. “I can’t have you fucking up anything. I promised Luanne I wouldn’t send Ritcher after her, but I never promised her not to send the Vicars or Aenea after her. So I’ll do just that unless you get to them first,”

He almost let the phone drop.

“Hello? Are you there? This is my checkmate, the, lest you can do, is say something stupid.”

"Why are you doing this? You never cared about the family legacy, or even being a witch. You never cared about anything."

"I care a lot about this family. Not in the way that you do, though, or the way Ritcher does." Turnus's voice went low. It was unique in the being the first time Floyd had ever heard him this way, and also unique as the first time he had ever felt true fear. The first time Turnus had shown anything else besides snide arrogance or obnoxious jaunting. He sounded like a Wolfe. Finally. Low and steady, with words even toned like a well-balanced sword.

"I despise this family," Turnus said. "I despised father. That's why I had you kill him, it wasn't hard either. The fool would never accept an incestuous grandson. I was glad when I was right, and glad when I was right into thinking that you and Luanne would kill him."

"Why?" Floyd screamed. Nervousness ruled him. His words slipped out. And he started thinking those cheap thoughts nervous men think to comfort themselves.

Maybe. Maybe! If he could just hold him on the phone, if he could just delay it, as if time would stop for them. Convince him, maybe? Maybe he could stall long enough to save someone. Everyone. Fuck.

"Why couldn't you leave everything alone, what the fuck made you like this?" Floyd asked.

"That's not important to you. The details are irrelevant and too much a luxury of those with time, of which you have none. Know simply, that I am a victim of ambition, casualty to that war of greed," Turnus said. "Everything. Father. The casino. Mammon, let it all go away, purge it, that’s what I say,"

"Just let me save mom, that's it. Just let me stop Ritcher. Please, I’ll take her and Luanne, and we’ll all just leave-"

"I believe you. I do," Turnus said. "But I don’t believe your mother would ever go down like that. And I believe that about her too,"

A pause. Floyd felt his shoulders struggle to hold the phone.

“A day. Find him any way you can, or I’ll have him find you,” Turnus breathed heavily. “And Luanne,”

And he hung up.

It was like coming up the steps to an execution.

Floyd finally knew what it meant to be a man against the block, his back straight and his body tied to the wood. Blindfolded, before him the fleet of executors with loaded guns. He knew what it felt like to stand before the barrage, to be shot in the heart. He felt tears stream down his face. His eyes did not quell. Whether he knew it or not, his body changed. His fingers lengthened. He fell on his knees. The tears formed scars across the flesh they touched, such that it appeared like two green lines ran from his eyes, downwards perfectly perpendicular and only stopping at his neck.

His hair grew wild. Some of it fell, in patches. Some of it receded to white. His mouth thinned, cheeks sucked in, the fat eaten away by some force in his body. His body enlarged by hypertrophy, his clothes stretched out. Upon his waist rested Dion's gun, it rattled to his enlarging waistline.

He did not notice any of it, or rather, was uncaring to the transformation. His tears could not stop, his pain seemed too great a swelling.

He let the phone fall from his grasp and strike the floor. He wanted to scream, above all else, but felt the words too soft to break through his strong cries.

She's terrible. She always was.

He slammed the floor with two clenched fists.

But she was mother, as she's always been. A mother. My own. A mother like Luanne. A mother like no other. Mine.

He stood up, his shoulders slumped over, and hands dragged like two long links of chains. They swayed left and right as he changed course. The casino behind him, he was heading for the call of the wild, to Dion. Wherever however, he’d find him.