Still copryrighted, so don't even bloody think of it.
I returned to the main floor of Big Daddy's to find that the dwarves were now in the process of some deranged version of the "chicken dance", possibly trying to seduce the bottle-blonde. She seemed to be going through the motions of masturbating with a jalepeno pepper and the cheap-suited men wear starting to howl like monkeys over it.
At the end of the bar, there was a short red-headed bloke. He seemed tired or depressed. He wasn't drinking much and he kept reaching into his pocket, but never pulled anything out of it. Like me, he was completely bored by the spectacle on stage. I wondered over.
The bloke looked at me nervously, but didn't say too much. That was understandable, as, upon approach, I saw he had three inch-high ninjas on his left shoulder, all trying to stab his ear.
Eventually, I had to break the silence.
"What's going on, Mate?" I asked abscent-mindedly.
He looked at me and opened his mouth as to speak two or three times before anything came out.
"My partner was just grabbed by the pigs, man. Now I've got an appointment to keep in Brockton, Mass, and I can't get there. I've got two fuckin' weeks and no transport and if I'm late, they're going to fucking kill me."
"Appointment?"
"Yeah, man. I've got ... you a cop? You've got to tell me if you're a cop, otherwise it's entrapment, man."
Even through the orange-haze settling nicely over my brain, and the obnoxious thumbing of rap and the site of ninjas trying to pierce this bloke's ear, I knew he had no bloody clue about law enforcement. Fortunately for him, I wasn't a cop.
"Naw, mate. I'm a fuckin' PREACHER! Man of the cloth, I am. Whatever you tell me is like confession. Cops can't even get it out of me with fuckin' truth-serum."
"A preacher, man? No shit?"
"No shit."
"Okay, man. I've got connections, right? But I can't travel on my own. No car and I'm not going by fuckin' bus. So I hooked up with this asshole with wheels. He was going to take me up to Brockton, man, but he got nailed. I've got his fuckin' keys, man, but I can't ride the fuckin' thing."
"What've you got, mate?"
"Twenty ounces of grass and about half a key of coke and some acid."
"Sounds like a party. Lead the way, I'll get you where you're going."
By now, I was surrounded by huge crowds of various gods from all types of religions. Impressive, huge things with eighty-seven arms and eyes of fire. I almost lost this bloke in the crowd, but I managed to follow him out the back door to a parked Harley fat-boy with two huge saddle-bags and a side car.