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15 d. e. a. t. h. At the wrong time Death rang to take him away Not ready he said grabbing the door my stocks are up and anyway I’m bigger This was true: Death was maybe 5’2” on tiptoe with a little pot Cuts no ice I gotta bring you in The shrimp had rusty handcuffs rattled them at Charlie like a sleazewad bounty hunter Where were Charlie’s wife his kids the rotten neighbors? Nobody pulled his weight these days He should have charged the bastard grabbed his skinny neck and thrown the cuffs away but felt light-headed somehow faintly nauseous: his breath came shallow fast his hands and forehead cold Who says you gotta I mean have to bring me in? said Charlie falling back on dignity voice stubborn but unsteady— Tell him I am not ready!—dropping contractions in his corporate manner 16 I love it when they whine Death muttered snapping on the cuffs and yanking Charlie wheezing toward the door By the time they got out the lawn the street the Oldsmobile were gone Who? Charlie gargled damp as cheese Who? Death’s voice grated like a lacy muffler Ah Boss is woise than me he said and littler I’m just his Anagram his muscle-mime: remember how you liked to curl your lip? He’s the one in you who H. A. T. E. D. Get it? That was too neat like Charlie’s room in Hell where nothing could be moved at least not far It took two hands to lift a pencil: before he could write the “H” in H. E. L. P. it snapped back down He saw that this would take a lot of time ...

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