Lord Swagger Jack Cometh

Jeff Suwak
4 min readDec 20, 2020

The Diary of Magnus Cray Day 5 — Continued

Photograph by Magnus Cray

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).

“Okay, and how do you know about my magic?”

“I was tracking you for almost a year before you went rogue, bro. I was going to take you out, honestly. You got lucky joining the good guys. Now I can help ya’ rather than ether ya’.”

“Good guys, huh?”

I took a deep drink from a gallon jug of warm water he’d had waiting on the floor for me.

“Funny,” I went on, “I never have met a group that didn’t think they were good guys.”

That wasn’t actually true, honestly. In my line of work I’ve met lots of people who admitted freely that they were the bad guys. Downright evil, even. Still, my sentiment was true-ish and sounded snappy.

“Well, first time for everything and all that, right?” Jack said.

“What’s this outfit of good guys called?”

“Nothing, bro. No name. The age of groups with names is over. We just read each other’s signals and work towards a common goal.”

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