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Episode 8


Copyright Information


Episode 8

Copyright © 2018 by K J Walt

First Publication: October 2018

Cover design by Pixie Moon

All art and logo copyright © 2018

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.


To my husband and children for all their support. Love you guys!

A shout-out goes to Kara, Jesse and Alexander Bettin for their helpful input!

And to all the people who love a crazy short story filled with messed up characters who fight for their own!

Table of Contents:

Copyright Info









Wandering has left my Gypsy blood but that doesn’t mean my life is boring.

It’s been a wild couple of days.

One letter changes my world. It’s crazy how a simple piece of paper can punch you in the heart.

I don’t have time to worry over one problem for long, though.

There’s a big-footed church b*tch who’s rented apartment number eight. Holier-than-thou doesn’t cut it in this house.

And how is that tiger getting in here?

Spinning Drug Dealer has a visitor who is a little too demanding for those of us who live on Deadman Lane.

And thanks to my Pimp Daddy Uncle Gitano, I’m seeing my future differently.

Moneysaving Box Set Available! These short stories are loosely woven but can be enjoyed alone. This series is for people who like short, hilarious dramas with people who will defend their own. Get to The End this evening!

Warning: You’ll find a French bulldog with lots of issues, adult language, politically incorrect characters, and violence. This story could be offensive to some…or a lot of people.

Scroll up and buy to find out how the tiger is getting in and what happens when you push the people on Deadman Lane.

Save some money. Box Set Available!


YOSKA DRAPER – Inherited a mansion that was turned into an apartment complex from his unknown Pimp Daddy Uncle Gitano. AKA Guardian Troll

COMFREY REYNOLDS – Songwriter, Photographer who pays rent with sex. AKA Cookie Maker

ESSIE SOMMERS – Abandoned Teen who is riding for free. AKA Rainbow Teen

JAVIER SOLVAIR – Resident Barefoot, Drug Dealer. AKA Spinning Drug Dealer

ADRIAN FLETCHER – Sexy as fuck Crossdresser who can kick ass. AKA Crossdresser

CARTER MONTGOMERY – Wise, Beautifully Dark Skinned, Symmetrically perfect Yoga instructor with an English accent. He is calm…most of the time. AKA Darkolicious

SANG SANCHEZ – Asian-Hispanic boyfriend of Carter who also has an English accent as well as a foot fetish. AKA Yellowlicious

RILEY AGUERRA – Big eared guy who is lost as fuck…until he isn’t. AKA Big Ears

SHEA BACINO – Troll Fanatic, Beer drinking, Tattoo artist. Yoska is pretty sure she doesn’t own one bra. AKA Troll Lover

SLATE RUTHERFORD – Badass biker boyfriend of Shea’s.

ROCKIE – French Bulldog with Statue and Narcolepsy issues.

(Rockie has some cards and stuff out at zazzle dot com. KJ Walt Designs)

Dracu is Romanian for fuck.

Santa Madre de Tierra is Spanish for Holy Mother of Earth.








Yoska Draper

“Seven in the morning and the steps are already being trampled.”

I look out my apartment window and see a scowling woman. She is on the porch with two large suitcases. The unhappy bulldog look on her face makes me feel sorry for anybody she lives with.

I set my chicory coffee down and the rosemary leaves move about. “I need to have a late check-in like hotels.”

She’s just coming into the entryway as I walk out of my office door. Her nose wrinkles in disgust as she gets a good whiff of my ninety-year-old home turned into a brothel then turned into an apartment complex. Lots of memories here.

Sharp eyes cut my way. “What is that smell?”

Decades of sex, fighting, and drinking. Oh, and a few dead bodies. “Ninety years of housing people, pets, and pests. Plus, weathering. I’m Yoska Draper, the owner”

“I’m Faith Miles. I reserved an apartment. I only need to be here a day or two.” She looks around. “My service may only be needed for one day. That would be a blessing.”

“Let’s get you signed in.” I have her follow me into my office. Distaste is stamped on her face. This place is ugly, though.

She takes her key and I tell her where it is. Thick eyebrows slant up. “The third floor! And you said stairs! Isn’t there an elevator?”

I withhold a grin, barely. “No. My uncle wanted to keep the place close to the way it was when he bought it. I haven’t been inclined to change the place either.”

She huffs. “Well, you should. This place is a monstrosity. I haven’t seen anything in my life uglier than this house.”

I bet if you could see your soul you’d see something uglier. “It takes time for the charm of the house to be appreciated by some.”

She snorts loudly. “I’d appreciate some strong air freshener, new wallpaper, new carpet, and a fresh paint job to the outside.” She pauses. “A pretty color. Not baby-shit green and red-orange trim. Caring for your things is Godly. So is cleanliness.”

She’s stepping on a few too many nerves at once. Her feet are big enough. “Why are you here?”

She grips the Mr. T sized cross that’s hanging from a thick rope chain. “Because this is the last room available within a few miles of the religious workshop I’m working. Being among the Godly is grounding and good for the spirit. So is fasting. Going without food is refreshing. You should try it sometime.”

This bitch has some balls on her. Some rude balls. I bet they are hairy and nasty. “You new to religion?”

She gasps and her eyes narrow. “I was born into it. My father is still a deacon and my mother is the lead singer in the choir.”

“Well, apartment number eight is on the top floor. That’ll get you closer to God.”

Her eyes shoot daggers through me as she grabs her suitcases and leaves my office. I hear her mumble a prayer and shake my head. If I’m lucky, she’ll keep her ass at the workshop for most of her stay.

After straightening my desk, I head into my tiny kitchen and get another cup of coffee. While plucking rosemary leaves to toss in my cup, I see a big fucker standing on the sidewalk out front. Looks like a thug. A muscular thug. Menacing too.

“Hey, sexy man. You sure look good in all black. Come over here and I’ll show you how strong my tongue is.” MaryJo’s voice has me cringing. Does she have no survival skills at all?

Menacing Thug turns in her direction and yells, “Shut your whoring mouth.”

Anger burns my neck and circles through my blood. I set my coffee down next to my last cold cup and head for my door. That big fucker has to go.

Stepping onto the porch, I quarter the area but he’s gone. I look over and see MaryJo in short-shorts and a tube top striking a pose with her long-ass cigarette dangerously close to her wild, orange hair. A fire extinguisher in the lobby is a good idea.

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