Chapter 2

"Dat could work,"I said, casing Roger's office while hiding behind the enormous half-headed cement bear in the middle of Main Street.

Sadly, the cement bear was also missing his nards due to the sticky-fingered groundhogs. With half a head and no balls, Assjacket's mascot was a sad sight to see. It broke my heart to look at the ten-foot bear without his spangle berries. I'd get his stone nuts back from those thieving groundhogs soon. They'd pay for castrating the grizzly and for trying to bury us alive.

"Youse think dat hurt? When dem groundhogs pulled off his marble bags?" Jango asked, staring at the empty spot where the bear's jewels used to reside.

"He's a rock," Boba pointed out. "But he does look kinda sad about his missin' boulders."

I shook my head and sighed. "Poor son of a bitch don't even have a name. Just ain't right to have no balls and no name."

"Let's name him," Jango suggested. "Weese can spray paint his name over his missin' junk until weese get his crotch nugs back for him."

"Dat's beautiful," Boba said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Youse are a sentimental guy, Jango."

"Thank youse," Jango said. "I try. Hows about weese name him Sturgill?"

"His nuts or his name?" I asked, wanting to be respectful and get it right.

"Weese are namin' his junk too?" Boba asked, confused.

Jango nodded solemnly. "I think weese should. Seems right. Hows about weese call him Sturgill and name his bits Little Sturgill?"

Nodding, I patted my comrade on the back. "I like it. Easy to remember if his nuts and his name are similar."

"Yeah," Boba said. "Although, Sturgill's concrete dong pillow isn't little. Maybe weese should name his clams, Big Sturgill. Youse know, so he doesn't get his feelings hurt."

"He's a rock," I reminded Boba.

"Rocks got feelings too," Boba insisted.

Glancing up at the sad, magic bean-less bear, I saluted him. "Sturgill and Big Sturgill it is. Youse asshats ready to break into Roger's office?"

"I still think it was a better plan to spray paint the word dingleberries down the middle of the road," Boba commented.

"Bunghole," I corrected him again.

"What did youse just call me?" Boba hissed.

Jango shook his head and gut punched Boba. They proceeded to pummel each other once more, while I pondered how easy it would be to pick the lock on Roger's door in broad daylight.

Ignoring the smackdown, I stared at the building and grinned. Main Street was deserted. It was always deserted. The Shifters of Assjacket were fucking brilliant. The town looked like a total dump on the outside so humans would just drive right through without looking back. However, inside the ramshackle structures, everything was pure enchantment. All magical beings lived very public but private lives. If discovered, we'd all end up getting eighty-sixed by humans terrified of what they didn't understand… which would suck.

"If youse jackholes would quit tryin' to off each other, weese could break in and start rearrangin' the place."

"Weese still need to graffiti Sturgill's meat kiwis," Boba reminded me, taking one last swipe at Jango.

"Incoming," Sassy shouted as she strafed our heads on her broom.

"Holy shit! Duck," I shouted at my boys.

Landing upside down and swearing like a sailor on a bender, the witch jumped to her feet and pretended like we hadn't just seen her pink lacy underpants.

"Sorry aboot that," she said, yanking her dress down and brushing the gravel out of her blonde hair. "Sure glad I'm wearing underpants today. That could have been embarrassing."

Sassy was a hot dame. The dingbat was Zelda's BFF and a magical menace. We liked her immensely. We hadn't started out on the right paw with the crazy broad, but we'd come to a truce. She'd waxed us not too long ago for firing her adopted chipmunk Shifter sons, Chad, Chip, Chunk, and Chutney from our underground poker parlor. That had been a bad day. We"d had to disappear for a while. As embarrassing as it had been to be hairless, it had been nice not to hack up hairballs for a few weeks.

"What did youse say?" I asked.

"I said sorry aboot that," she replied. "It's Canadian."

"Boots are Canadian?" Jango asked.

Sassy nodded. "Yes, they are, eh?"

"Wait." Boba scratched his ass and eyed her in confusion. "Did youse just ask a question or confirm dat boots was Canadian?"

"Yes, eh?" she said with an eye roll. "Canadian is a very difficult language to master. I've hired tutors from Toronto to come down and teach me. They'll be arriving later today. In the meantime, I've been watching Strange Brew and drinking beer."

"Beer?" I asked, my ears perking up.

"From Canada, eh?" Sassy said. "I'm not really a drinker, and it's next to impossible for a witch to tie one on, but Bob and Doug McKenzie drink a lot of it and speak Canadian fluently."

"Makes sense to me," Boba said, nodding. "Youse want a beer now?"

"You have Canadian beer, eh?" she asked.

Dat I do," Boba announced, clapping his paws together and conjuring up a cooler. "Youse want Alberta Crude, Helles Half Acre, O Canada Maple Ale, Beth's Blackout Oyster Stout or KickSled Cream Ale?"

Sassy leaned over the cooler and peeked in. "So many choices, eh?" she mused. "I have to think aboot it."

Jango grabbed a can and popped the tab "What do boots have to do with beer?".

"Everything," Sassy explained. She picked up a can of Alberta Crude and sniffed the contents. "This one smells very Canadian."

The broad downed it in one noisy swallow. Impressive.

"I'll have one of each," she said, picking up a can of O Canada Maple. "A variety of Canadian beer will relax my brain and make it more open to absorbing the nuances of the language, eh?"

"Whatever youse say, Sassy," I agreed, sampling Beth's Blackout Oyster Stout. "Dis is nice. Havin' a brew at noon in the middle of Assjacket with good friends."

Thirty minutes and twelve beers apiece later…

Sassy burped and giggled. "Why are we hiding behind the half-headed bear?"

"Crap," Boba said, wobbling on all fours. "Weese gotta paint Sturgill's name on his nuts."

Sassy glanced around. "Who's Sturgill?"

"Weese named the bear," I explained. "His name is Sturgill and his missing gangoolies are Big Sturgill. Weese are gonna spray paint his name over his missing privates so people will know what to call him."

Sassy stood up and grabbed the can of spray paint from Boba Fett. "I'll do it."

We watched in appreciative shock as Sassy misspelled Sturgill in neon blue. The ten-foot, ball-less, half-headed cement bear now had the word Seagull painted right above his crotch. While the witch was a looker and could hold her booze, she couldn't spell for shit. Whatever, it was the thought that counted.

"Done," she announced. "You still didn't tell me why we're hiding behind Sturgill."

"Cause weese are casin' Roger's joint," Boba said, handing everyone another and eyeing the crappy job Sassy had done on the bear. "Weese are goin' on the straight and narrow."

"For one week," I added.

"Righteous," Sassy said, downing her thirteenth beer. "Have you hairy dummies ever played beer pong?"

"Invented it," Jango Fett said with a grin. "Youse wanna go?"

Sassy scrunched her nose and tugged on her long locks. "I have to think aboot it."

We sat for nine minutes and twelve seconds while Sassy drank two more beers and thought about it.

"I'm done thinking aboot it. The answer is yes," she announced.

"Youse want boots?" Jango asked, confused and staggering a bit on his paws.

While we could hold our liquor, Canadian beer was fucking strong.

"Everyone wants boots," Sassy explained, waving her hand and producing a beer pong table, twenty-two plastic cups, and ten balls. "You weenies ready?"

"Born ready," I said with a grin.

One hour later. No clue how many beers…

"So lemme get this straight," Sassy said, only slightly buzzed. "You're going to open a legal business?"

"Bingooooo," Boba said, slurring his words. "Weese are openin' a numeral dome for sssled steeeeeple."

Sassy tilted her head to the side and stared at Boba. "Are you speaking Canadian?"

Boba shrugged. "Could be."

"I think you are," Sassy confirmed. "Very impressive. I still have no clue what the hell kind of business that is, but my tutors will be able to explain when they arrive. Do you need any help?"

Jango was on his back staring straight at the sun. He was a drunk dumbass.

"Weese could use a model to practice on," he said. "Also, I think I'm blind."

"I used to model," Sassy said, tossing her hair and making me dizzy. "I'm more of an actress now after my starring roles in the Assjacket Community Theatre musical productions of Mommie Dearest, Jaws and Shaun of the Dead, but I could strut the runway again for a good cause. I'm all aboot good causes—Canadians are very nice people. Being nice will make me more fluent."

"Youse wanna be our model?" I asked, seeing three of her.

"Sure," she said, hopping to her feet. "Let's do this. I have an appointment with my Canadian experts in an hour."

"Are youse good at pickin' sssssslocks?" Boba slurred. "Weese can't get into Roger's office."

Sassy laughed and shook her head. "Why did you leave your socks in Roger's office? Sounds kind of kinky to me. No worries. I have a key. I'm supposed to water his plants while he's gone. We can grab your socks, and I'll strut around the office and model for you. You can take pictures of me, and I'll be the gorgeous face of your new business."

There was something seriously wrong with the plan, but for the wasted life of me, I couldn't put my paw on it.

"Sounds good to me," I said, grabbing Jango by the scruff of his neck and dragging him across the street. Boba staggered behind us.

Again, I racked my brain for why this was stupid. I came up with nothing. Therefore, it wasn't stupid. My logic was outstanding.