Pool_1

"Oh. It's not important, at least not here. Let me get back..." He went on, slowly drifting into an even darker voice, as Osten marveled at this amazingly adept story teller's art, and the others were still mouthing, "man you kill?" Marcus asserted, "Justice needed no explanation, not to Chuck. Those that tried to argue their slur simply got pounded. Chuck got pounded. Chuck slugged them. They slugged Chuck. But Chuck never stopped until they stopped, until they were done. They either stopped because they couldn't stomach the damage that would be required to terminate this nut case, or because it wasn't cool to beat up a smaller kid so badly." Macaluso was holding up a waving finger as he went on, "But there were those who did not make even that distinction. Such a vile specimen was Bartholemeu Boise. That ass hole got to kiss a two by four as he strutted around a corner. A bloodied Chuck delivered his carpenteric grand slam with a stutterless, 'Bartholemeu Boise, you weren't done!' " "The shocking part," Marcus' eyes deepening, " to those who were present was the absolute clarity with which a battered and bleeding Chuck had just beforehand requested 'Do you know where I might find a large stick, or a base ball bat?'... His startled friend Andre, found the wood. Thus it came to be known that when Chuck, lost his stammer, stand clear. Justice was loosed. Chuck was justice. Justice needed no explanation. It was clear." "Chucky grew fast, skinny as hell, wiry, and tall. Unlike either of our parents in his tallness, it must have been our great great grandfather's genes. With that stature came danger, but not to him." Marcus was pitched forward, scanning the length of the table slowly, "The jerk who stole my sister's bike, compounded his crime by taunting Chuck's