Outside, a monster of a pink Cadillac was idling in the schoolyard. A dozen guys, two of whom I recognized as the bandits I had sent packing, stood around the car. Some of them were training guns on the school’s windows. I did a double take at the car itself – not only was hot pink decidedly too garish for our new grey-friendly color scheme, but the hood was decorated with an assortment of severed dolls heads. Several of the men even had mohawks – real ones. I was beginning to feel like a bit of a liar for not shooting myself sooner.
One guy in particular, dressed in what looked like cut up monster-truck tyres, lifted a megaphone and started proclaiming assorted nonsense. It revolved around his Lordship of the Ashen Lands and other horseshit I chose to ignore.
“Friends of yours Chucky?” I asked my captive.
He only grinned wider and flipped me off.
“Then lets get re-acquainted.” I grabbed his desk and heaved it to the open window, putting him on clear display.
Then I hit the deck, grabbing Junior as I went.

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