"What?” Kennesaw whispered.
"Pendergrass was the smoothest."
Kennesaw grinned. And not the kind of grin a person makes because they are actually amused by the comment, but the one you forge to your grandmother when she asks do you like her vile lima bean casserole. Two weeks they were following a sporadic ion trail inside the Amazon Basin chasing a rogue Yikori monk and Kennesaw was not in the mood for Baja’s constant psycho prattle.
“B, if for once you could…”
Baja stopped suddenly and his eyes darted upward into the dripping canvas of forestry that engulfed them like a complex web of wonders and concealed dangers. He gripped his custom JK-74 plasma pump, he called his “Pisser” on the account that the barrel remotely resembled a phallus and the gun emitted rounds in a yellowish shade, and aimed at ostensibly nothing. Silence. Kennesaw noticed the large vein that crawled from behind Baja’s ear and twisted down his neck like the Mississippi River was pulsating like an African tribal drum.
“Oh sh*t!” Kennesaw yelled.
To Be Continued…