"Did they move all your s**t from your old Suburban to this one for you, too?"
"Yep."
"I gotta get me some minions."
"What am I? Chopped liver?" Skeeter said from my earpiece.
"No, Skeeter, you ain't chopped liver. You're a bona fide African-American homosexual computer genius with the social skills of a four-year-old and the physical prowess of Stephen friggin' Hawking. So as minions go, you ain't much good for the heavy lifting."
"Fair enough." He said, but I could tell he was pouting a little.
"Hey, look on the bright side, genius. I just compared you to Stephen Hawking." He laughed, and I went back to the truck to gear up. Bertha went into her shoulder rig, my survival knife went into a belt sheath, and I threw on a flannel shirt to cover them up. Then I slid Granddaddy's sword o
