Chapter five – Shooter, mediator extraordinaire

It took another hour and a half to restore the living room into its previous squalor. There were large chunks missing in the coffee table and Rainey had refused the use of the vacuum, citing, "It smells up the place. And I can't stand those deodorizer things." Mort had passed out, as he did after every rampage. He wouldn't remember… and Rainey didn't fancy having to tell him, seeing as it would probably inspire him to do it again. Theresa left, saying she needed to find her counterparts, before they bought more skimpy underwear. That left Rainey to baby sit two highly enraged psychotics, respectively. Shooter was still digging in the garden, silent except for the methodical sounds of the shovel breaking the earth. Deciding that the digging noises had been going on for long enough, Rainey stepped out the back door. The shovel had been discarded, and had been stuck upright into the earth, in Shooter's trademark style. He finally spotted the homicidal man, down on his hands and knees; potting petunias.

"You cut quite the intimidating image, planting those flowers." Rainey remarked, standing in Shooter's light. The Mississippian man looked at him, before staring pointedly at the shovel, his jacket hanging off the top of the handle. Rainey shrugged, before seating himself on the wooden steps, taking a cigarette out of his housecoat pocket. Shooter glanced up at the sound of the lighter.

"I thought you didn't smoke."

"That's Mort." Rainey corrected between puffs, "I actually liked the stuff. It was all Amy's doing." Shooter rose from the ground, brushing his hands off on his pants. Rainey offered the tall man before him a cigarette, a tanned hand removed the tobacco. He tossed him the lighter and moved over, allowing the farmer to seat himself on the wooden stairs as well. They sat in silence, smoking the chemical laced tobacco before Rainey spoke.

"Mort passed out." Shooter nodded and continued smoking. Rainey sighed, grinding out the filter, watching the last plume of smoke escape from the snuff.

"What happened?" Shooter didn't reply, his brown eyes following the chemicals that were rising into the air. Rainey waited. Shooter liked to choose his words and he had to respect his decision. Even if it was causing his throat to double clutch, and his fingers to twitch. Finally, the known psychotic rose and began to wander through the small garden, his cigarette butt discarded.

"Those ladies, Liana and Smithy, were right nice. Until Mort showed up. Liana, the one who had made my acquaintance originally, took a likin' to him. Mort didn't like either, he wanted them to get out actually. Before he went off on his tangent, he grumbled somethin' about Amy. So naturally, they had to leave. Didn't need those girls upsettin' dear Morty-poo," Shooter shrugged, the sarcasm hiding the fact that he hated the rampages Mort went on just as much as Rainey, "I asked them to leave nicely, I swear to all that's holy,"

Rainey interjected, "Not much is, anymore. Except maybe Doritos…and Mountain…" Shooter moved to the shovel, resting his hand at the top, daring Rainey to continue. He shrugged and muttered his apologies, urging Shooter to continue with the recount.

"So, I asked them to leave. Told them it was a bad time. And then one of them, I don't quite know which one it was, went nuts. She started yellin', saying somethin' about rejection and all of these things. Mort got angry and I had to play mediator, naturally. One of the two of them started sayin' things about the housekeepin'; somethin' about the pillows and such, catty girlish nonsense. Mort got real mad and grabbed that poker. By that time, the girls got right out of there. I shoved Mort into the bedroom, and I haven't seen him since."

Standing up, Rainey moved next to Shooter. He slung an arm around the taller man's shoulders and asked, "How are your carpentry skills?

A/N: Yes. Well. That is that. I could see Shooter doing the shovel thing. Hate it? Love it? Wonder what I'm eating for dinner? Hit the little blue button.