Mailbox for Lloyd Henreid, Executive Assistant to the Devil.

Flagg was out, and Lloyd wanted, more than anything, to go to sleep himself. It seemed like he was halfway there already when Kojak interfered. Lloyd looked up, squinting with dazed confusion.

What's the matter, Lassie? Timmy fall down the fuckin' well again?

He blinked. Tried to get his vision to refocus.

Oh. ShitHe started to push himself up ( Read more... )

"Don't worry, I got this," Lloyd said, raising his hand, nothing but calm confidence in his voice. In truth, he wasn't so sure he had this at all. It wasn't that he was incapable of dealing with technology -- nothing like that. Lloyd could handle a tape player or a car radio just fine. But this thing, whatever it was... well, it was obviously way ( Read more... )

[continued from here]

Lloyd was pretty sure he’d heard something, and that something had sounded a hell lot like a scream. He wanted to believe it had been his imagination playing tricks, the wind howling, or just the island being up to its usual shit, but he wasn’t counting on it ( Read more... )

"When I was just a baby, my mama told me, Son, always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns..."

The words were thick, trembling in the dusty air of the dungeon, and there was a note in there that wasn't usually present in Johnny Cash's famed tune.

Fear.

Lloyd was trying hard not to lose his shit (not that he had much left), but the stillness ( Read more... )

While Lloyd wasn't all that well-versed in Murphy's Law and all of its variations, it was the only legal system he'd been consistently bound to throughout his entire life; he had the learned awareness that the universe wasn't a very nice place, and that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably meant that there was an ugly surprise ( Read more... )

Things had quieted down since the party, and even though Lloyd had run into Flagg a couple of times since, life seemed to be getting back on track. Who knew, maybe the Walkin' Dude had forgotten to bring the apocalypse with him like some sinister Santa Claus this time around. And maybe that was just Lloyd being stupidly hopeful, but he was sticking ( Read more... )

This wasn't a conversation Lloyd was eager to have. Matter of fact, the one time he'd been less eager to be at Glen's doorstep was back when he'd come to discuss truce terms (a talk he'd had enough sense not to start with 'Hey, man, about that shooting in you in the face thing'). But this wasn't a hell lot better than that, and the dread was ( Read more... )

[takes place after this and this]The party was getting unbearably, scorchingly hot, and Lloyd wondered how long he had before he started either breathing or pissing fire, because he was already sweating like a stuck pig. On second thought, those probably did more bleeding than sweating, but Lloyd had his bases covered either way -- there was a ( Read more... )

[takes place after this]Lloyd didn't know how long he stayed down, and he didn't give much of a shit, either. His mind was so blank he could have easily passed out without even noticing... or maybe he had, who the hell knew. But eventually, the freaky apathy began to wear off, like a limb starting to regain circulation, and he dragged himself to ( Read more... )