” I see yo ass bashed his head in like you did me. At least you sent him on his way with one blow to the head unlike me who you kept bashing ’til the white meat showed.” Crenshaw or what was once Crenshaw, blocked Sully’s escape route up the stairway. ” All these years yo’ ass held my work tapes, walking around like shit ain’t wrong. Baby doll Mrs. Grunwald had to push hard to get you out into the world at birth, cause yo’ balls were so swollen with chutzpah. I could make yo’ ass dead like me, like those fucking “Creepy” horror magazines my bass player Chucky Briscoe used to read between takes back then, but nah son that would be too easy on yo’ ass, plus I have plans for you son,” said Crenshaw who was now sitting next to a whimpering Sullivan H. Grunwald, who had slid down along the wall to the floor, a haunted wreck. Placing a ghoulish hand on Sully’s knee, Sully shuddered.
” What do I do? What do I do?!” cried Sully.
” First we get rid of that MF’s body, you from New Jersey ya’ll know how to make a body disappear,” Crenshaw gave out a hoarse chuckle that smelled of sheet rock and compose. Then we…”
To be continue