#cannabim

    Silver was about to join him when he noticed Bim’s undershirt- which was draped over the toilet seat- was spattered with red. And, upon closer investigation, so was his suit jacket and pants.

    “Why’re your clothes all dirty and stained?” He asked, and from within the shower there was a groan.

    “Oh, just a shoot,” Bim answered nonchalantly. “There was a lot of fake blood. I’m going to have to get that suit dry-cleaned now.”

    That made sense. Silver stepped into the shower, sticking his head directly under the scorching spray in hopes that it would wake him up. Immediately, Bim’s hands were on him, running up his sides and brushing over his chest and shoulders, cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss.

    Bim’s hands smelled coppery. Tangy. Like blood.

    Silver stiffened and drew away, taking one of Bim’s hands and examining it. There was no blood. “Your hands smell weird.”

    “Oh really?” Bim kissed him again. “I may have gone a bit nuts with the fake blood. I had to die dramatically. Gotta wow the cameras.”

    Silver mmm’d into his mouth, then closed his eyes, savoring the warmth and wetness of Bim’s lips. He really could fall asleep again. Right there.

    Bim said something else. He started. “Huh?”

    “I said,” Bim chuckled lightly, “I may have peeked at the letter you got in the mail this morning, and it looks like you won’t be bothered by your little friends anymore.”

    “What?” Silver gaped at him, now fully awake. He ran a hand through his hair, slicking the soaked strands back. It took him nearly a full minute to find the words needed to stammer out “H-how? Why?”

—

    “Little friends,”  indeed. There had been nothing “little” about them. Nor was there anything remotely “friendly.” The gang- who’d called themselves “Satan’s Servants,” which to him was both incredibly boring and incredibly obtuse- was a monstrous pack who’d seemed to take pride in belching and gun-waving and boasting about how much they could belch and gun-wave.

    He was used to these types. His boss was Wilford Warfstache, after all. Not only that, but Bim Trimmer was more monstrous than any of them.

    He knew instantly- as soon as he fixed his hair, did a quick internet search, and found their hidey-hole- that he was going to enjoy what was going to happen.

    And he did. He enjoyed the identical expressions of surprise on each of those thugs’ faces when he waltzed into their hideout, introduced himself as “the fabulous, handsome, and much-acclaimed show host Bim Trimmer,” and declared that he would “have a quick word with your brutish, half-wit leader.”

    As he would find out- after killing his way through a dozen or so men who didn’t take his gracious offer of diplomacy very well and decided instead to whip their guns out and try to shoot him- the son of the famous mob boss Silver Shepherd had sent to jail wasn’t brutish at all. David Arbuckle was a tiny thing, barely out of puberty.

    It sure didn’t stop him from pulling a gun and clocking Bim in the jaw with the butt, with much more strength than he should have.

    But that was the only surprise he’d had. A bloodthirsty little beast he was, a smart little beast he was not. He screamed curses and threats as Bim disarmed him and knocked him to the floor.

    “Take it easy,” Bim had said, rubbing at his jaw. “I just want to have a chat-”

    But there was no reasoning with him. No convincing him to back off his hunt for Silver Shepherd who, as Bim could quote, “was an annoying fuck who had no business meddling with matters bigger than him” and “a useless, pathetic excuse for a hero who would get what he deserved.”

    That hadn’t sat too well with Bim. His temper had gotten the better of him, and he’d used that gun to deliver a mean pistol-whip.

    His tone was much different when David woke up. He wasn’t nice. He wasn’t fair. And in the end he got David to write a polite note informing one Silver Shepherd that he was in the clear.

    He’d snatched the note and left David Arbuckle in a bloody mess. The police would collect him soon enough.

—

    Silver Shepherd stared at him expectantly, but Bim only shrugged. His boyfriend never had to know what he’d gotten up to while he’d been asleep. Never had to know that one of those thugs was enough to fill his freezer.

    “I guess they gave up,” he said, giving a faint smile. “Decided trying to kill you was too much trouble.”

    “I guess,” Silver said, a wide grin crossing his face. He leaned in, kissed Bim hard. “We should celebrate.”

    “You’re lucky Mr. Trimmer decided to spare you.” Dark got up from his desk, stepping around it, leaning against the front of it and fixing her with a dead-eyed stare that reminded Bim of a shark. Her eyes tracked his every move. No doubt she’d wet her pants by now. “He could’ve subjected you to a rather painful death, much like your fellow contestants.”

    One side of his mouth pulled up into a wicked smirk. “He can be rather creative, can’t he?”

    She didn’t answer. Her shoulders shuddered with silent sobs.

    Dark abandoned his desk in favor of circling around the back of her chair, trailing gray fingers across her shoulder gently, as if he was her friend. “Now, I’m not nearly as creative. Not like our Mr. Trimmer.”

    Time seemed to slow to a crawl. It took a moment for the contestant to process the meaning behind Dark’s words, but when they did her shoulders tensed. Bim saw her start to get up-

    In an instant Dark’s hands shot out and there was a sickening snap as he wrenched her head to the side, snapping her neck.

    She dropped back into the chair like a stone, limbs sprawling, head lolling. Meanwhile, Dark straightened, regarding her with a cold glance.

    Then, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

    And Bim’s phone rang; the lively trill seeming to shatter his perfect illusion.

    Bim froze as Dark’s head whipped toward him, as he advanced and seized the show host by the lapels of his suit, dragging him to his feet.

    “You were supposed to leave, Trimmer.” Only the slight flare of Dark’s nostrils and the narrowing of his eyes gave any indication that he was furious. That one wrong move would mean Bim’s head. “You better have a good reason as to why you are still here.”

    Bim tensed, eyes darting toward the dead contestant. Or his neck.

    He took a deep breath, then flashed what he hoped was a seductive smirk and reached up to ever-so-lightly touch Dark’s chest. “I was hoping to surprise you.”

    It seemed to work. Relief filled him as Dark snorted and released him. “Consider me surprised.”

    Then he gestured to the contestant. “At least I won’t have to wait for this mess to be cleaned up.”

    Bim heaved his best sigh of disappointment. “But-”

    “But nothing.” Dark started back toward his desk, pausing only to shoot him a piercing glare. “You perform for me a service, Trimmer. And in return I allow you to continue with your monstrous eating habits. Unless you would like me to find someone else-”

    “Point taken.” His palms were sweaty. Half-nerves, half-excitement. Dark killing the contestant replayed itself over and over in his mind. He forced himself to approach the body, to pick it up.

    “Oh, and Trimmer?” Dark said, and Bim glanced up. “Do not ever hide in my office again. Not if you would like your habit to remain simply between you and me.”

    Fear prickled up his spine. Bim nodded, so quickly that his glasses nearly fell off his nose. “Understood.”

    Dark nodded as well, finally tearing his attention away. “Good. Now leave my office, for real this time.”