58.
SNAKE
These characters do not belong to me. They are the property of J.K. Rowling and Matt Groening. Let the rambling commence.
"When in doubt, have two guys come through the door with guns."
-Raymond Chandler
Only one guy came through the door.
He had two guns.
One was a .357 and the other was a .45.
He figured it made .312 worth of difference.
This guy was not one of Springfield's finest citizens. In fact, he was one of its worst.
He looked like a bad man; old Doc Martens, tight jeans, matching jacket torn on a job, a
bulge in his shirt pocket (a pack of cigarettes) and since we're now at his face, let's just
say he wasn't a handsome man. He had hard eyes, and a piggish nose. He wore his hair
slicked back with a variety of greases. Perhaps his most identifying mark was the cobra
tattoo on his left arm. His name was Snake, and he was a dangerous customer. He'd done
it all and done time for it.
Word on the street was something was going down in Crackton, something big and
profitable. He'd been dealing Ecstacy in Crackton on every second Saturday, and hadn't
been caught yet. In his line of work, you had look out for the cops, to the point of
developing second sight.
Closing the refinery had ruined Crackton's economy. It had been built at the edge of
town, a huge, ugly, asymmetrical pit. It reminded him of the steel mills in Cleveland and
Pittsburgh; looking at them felt like a preview of Hell. They had not bulldozed the place;
all they could afford was to let it rot. So, after a walk through the weedy parking lot, he
entered the refinery, which had been cleaned out somewhat. All the windows were
broken, their frames bent and twisted.
The thing was, he could smell raw gasoline, an almost overpowering stench that filled the
space. Then there was the other smell-alcohol. There were bottles of rotgut and beer
bottles all over the place. After a moment of searching, he found a man passed out on the
floor. He wore a dark robe, and with that mane of white-blond hair-
Snake smiled. Oh, he'd be REAL popular in Springfield State Pen…
He kicked the blond man. "Dude," he said, kicking him again. "Wake up, dude."
The blond man's eyes fluttered. "Auuuuuughhhh…" he moaned, curling up into a ball of
flesh.
"Hung over, huh?"
"Ugh…" the man said. "What was I drinking?"
He had an English accent.
"Anybody else here?" Snake asked.
As if on cue, another man staggered from around one of the behemoth machines.
"Lucius…"
Snake looked down. "You Lucius?"
Holding his head, the man nodded.
"Goyle, is that you?"
"Oh, it's me," Goyle said. "I can't feel my legs, though…"
What is this, a bachelor party?
"We blew it, Goyle," Malfoy said. "Your legs are the least of your worries."
"Blew what?" Snake asked. "What's goin' on here?"
"You know how hard it is to make napalm?" Goyle asked.
"How hard is it?"
"Harder than we thought," Goyle said. "Dunno where we got the tequila."
"Anybody else here?" Snake asked.
Lucius looked at Goyle. Goyle looked back.
"Okay, you guys." Snake said. "Outside."
"I don't-"
Snake fired. The bullet ricocheted off the floor, missing Lucius's head by inches.
"Now," Snake said. He looked at Goyle. "Get him up."
Goyle hoisted Lucius up by the arm.
They staggered outside, Snake ready to shoot either or both of them.
Lucius squeezed his eyes shut. "It's too bright out here," he said.
"Close your eyes," Snake said. "I'll be right back."
He turned; there was a tall, willowy man in the doorway, searching through his robe.
Goyle shouted "Mulciber, no-"
-and Snake fired. Mulciber flew backwards, landed on his back, and did not move again.
Snake disappeared into the building.
"What did we do, Lucius?" Goyle asked.
"We got right plastered, Gregory," Malfoy said. "What are we doing here?"
"Mulciber's dead. So are Dolohov, Macnair, Jugson, and Marais. Avery and Rookwood
are in custody, Brecht has been driven away and his compatriots are nowhere to be found.
Burns is apparently housebound and Snape-well, I don't want to talk about Snape. Am I
forgetting anyone?"
"Well…Wormtail. No one knows where he is. And-ohgod-"
Goyle bent over and vomited.
"Charming," Malfoy said.
Goyle scowled.
"You know, your wife-"
A commotion at the doors caught his attention.
Snake had hit Artie Ziff over the head; actually, he'd given him a roundhouse with the
butt of the .45, across the face, shattering Artie's glasses. But the rest of them were too
drunk to capitalize. Nott, Crabbe, Ziff, that one-armed guy-his name escaped Snake-and
Travers. They stepped over Mulciber's body as if he'd never even been one of them.
"That was Mulciber," Nott said.
Malfoy nodded.
"Let's hear it for good old Mulciber," Crabbe said, and burped.
"On your knees," Snake said. "All of you."
He waved the guns at them.
The men sank to their knees.
Some of them were probably afraid they'd miss the ground.
"Now put your hands over your heads, dudes."
Looking at each other, they did.
"Now, you guys are all hung over, so I'll make this short and sweet. I'm totally taking
over this operation and whatever money and hardware you guys were putting into it."
All your bases are belong to us…
"You?"
"Who said that?"
Travers raised his hand.
"Don't do it, Travers, don't-" Ziff said, from the corner of his mouth.
"Matthew Hopkins Travers, and if you kill me, you'll know the wrath of the Knights of
Walpurgis-"
Snake pressed the barrel of the .357 against Travers's head and pulled the trigger.
A moment of stunned silence ensued, after the roar died away.
Snake blew away the smoke rising from the barrel.
"Any questions?"
according to the Harry Potter Lexicon, this was the original name of the Death Eaters.
