Lord Swagger Jack Cometh
The Diary of Magnus Cray Day 5 — Continued
Lord Swagger Jack isn’t any older than 16, and that’s being generous. He claims he’s 18, but I’m positive that’s a load of crap.
Frickin’ kid was there, though, just as his text promised he would be, sitting in a beat-up old Ford pickup on a single-lane dirt road atop a berm running through the bayou. The truck reeked of manure, and the kid’s jeans were filthy brown with the stuff, but the techno-tribal music blasting out of his speakers made me feel like I was in an Eastern-bloc disco just after the fall of Communism.
“How’d you get my phone number?” I asked the kid after giving in to his demands that I call him Lord Swagger Jack.
He snaked around a sharp turn in the berm smoothly at 50-per. The thing was barely even a road, and I’d call driving it at 35 stupidly too-fast.
“You’ve got your magic, I’ve got mine,” Lord Swagger Jack said (and with that I will hereinafter just call him ‘Jack,’ dear diary).
