Dead Nolte Read Online Free Page A

kneeling next to his
dead body. The shade of blue his skin had turned, unnerved him a bit.
    The old saying was true, he thought, there is no dignity in
death. He looked like hammered shit, lying there on the floor, his mouth gaped
open with a fat tongue poking out. The tongue didn’t even look like it belonged
to him, it was too big, could be, it was his lung. He appeared to be blowing a
bubble, with gray bubblegum. His fingers were pinched together, and his hands
curled back sharply at the wrist, as though he had died in the middle of shadow
puppets, swans, possibly ostriches.
    A big blue pile of hammered shit, he thought. He didn’t have
all the details on how this living forever was going to work out, but he
couldn’t see how the body on the floor, was going to be of any use, it appeared
to be fucked-up-beyond-all-recognition.
    Martha rocked back on her heels and stared at Nolte’s blue
body, she had her hands together in front of her, as she peeled off another Our
Father. He smiled at the realization. The churchy bitch had prayed his ass back
from limbo, or wherever the hell he was just at, three days early. He was ahead
of schedule! There was no need for some hypocritical man of the cloth to say
the magic words, he had the churchy bitch.
    Nolte took a quick inventory of himself. Two arms, two legs,
and a head, all attached to a naked body in a soggy diaper. He must have pissed
himself when he popped over from the other side. How fucking wonderful, he thought,
still incontinent, at least he wasn’t blue. He was the spitting image of the
blue thing laying on the floor, only with a little more spring in his step. It
wasn’t the twenty-something stud body he’d been hoping for, but it was better
than the piece of shit the churchy bitch was trying to bring back to life.
    If everything worked out as planned, he would see about
doing a little potty training and getting rid of the diaper, but until he put a
few miles on the new body, it was better to be safe, than sorry. He didn’t want
to run around in haunting mode with shit dripping down his legs, he might
chafe. His situation wasn’t perfect, but it was only a matter of time, and he
would be shitting in tall cotton, diaper be damned.
    “What up bitch? Look who ‘s home!” he yelled at Martha. She
had stopped trying to revive Nolte with pleas to the Almighty and was starting
to tidy the crime scene. She screwed the cap back on the mostly empty mescal
bottle and pushed it beneath the couch. Nolte’s sudden appearance in the room
drew no reaction from her. “Church bitch, hand me that bottle!” he waved,
fanning his hand next to her ear and snapping his fingers. Martha remained
oblivious to him. He took a step back, scratching his ragged beard, “What the
fuck?” he thought, this was going to suck if he couldn’t fuck with people.
    Maybe the witch had been wrong about the ‘haunting’ part.
She had told him, whoever he let touch the coin, would tie to it and be able to
hear his voice from beyond. Once convinced they weren’t, as she put it, “crazy
as a shithouse rat with voices in its head”, they could be used as ‘helpers’,
while he hung in limbo.
    Nolte had decided to set up his helpers the day of Mommy’s
funeral. The reality of her being gone for good, reminded him that his days were
also numbered, and he needed to get some stuff ready before it was too late. He
didn’t see how Team Retard could be of any real use, but the idea of crawling
around in their empty heads had really appealed to him.
    “Hey, stupid bitch, this is your god speaking. I command you
to put a spit shine on my jimmy!”
    Something was wrong. Weak-minded Martha should be curled up
in the fetal position, screaming for her savior, and confessing stigmata. Maybe
they hadn’t held on to the coin long enough, maybe he should have had them rub
it like a genie lamp.
    The cunt wouldn’t touch the coin, Nolte remembered, it came
to him through his margarita memory, he hadn’t