Reservoir Snakes

“Destiny? What does destiny have to do with it?” asked the man in the suit. “I just want my cut of twenty-five million dollars. What you do with the painting, or how important it makes you feel is beside the point.”

"I'm all about those Ben-ja-miiiiiiins!" He sang in a falsetto. Then he put out one hand and raised an eyebrow. "Make with the moulah, mon frere!"

I looked at the wad of cold hard cash clenched in my hand. I thought of making rent for the first time in months, even paying some of debt off, but I couldn’t shake the memory of

my granddad sticking two wires into an outlet to turn his janky-ass window AC on or off. I pulled the white pages out of my bag and started flipping. Bingo. “Cool Guys AC & Heating.” Just two blocks away, but on a dangerous side of the street.

We called it the dangerous side of the street because it was dangerous. What made it dangerous was that every yard was infested with copperheads other poisonous snakes. We don't know why they all congregated there, but granddad said it was because of a local radio tower, WSNK.

“Thanksss for tuning into W-esss-NK,” boomed the radio tower. “Rise limbless friends,” the serpentine DJ implored. “Now!” I yelled to grandad, who threw a match in the field to start the snake BBQ. A collective hiss could be heard for miles around. “Finally did it,” he replied.