🌻 The Clive Saga - Chapter 25

Deadman’s Stare

No photo today I was afraid my phone my melt if El Fuego stared at me too.

You’d think a dead guy would be all on board for chillaxing for a few days. I’ve been tied up testing new flute designs and chasing my latest retirement‑fund‑draining idea — combining leftovers from flute making and school scraps with epoxy to make bowls, coasters, plaques… mostly paperweights so far. You’ve got to start somewhere.

Clive’s been on his own for a week, and boy, have I heard about it. He’s still keeping a running list of my failures — and reminds me daily. He also thinks he needs upgrades: computer, chair, air conditioning, you name it. None of it meets his demanding standards.

So I thought I’d make him happy with a different drink today. That’s where I went wrong.

“Kid, what the heck is this pink stuff in my Mt. Dew cup?”

“Clive—”

“Don Clive or El Zorro, Kid! You leave me hanging for a week and lose all sense of your position in this partnership — and my position.”

“Sure, El Zorro, have it your way. It’s Mt. Dew.”

“Look, Kid, even a dead guy can tell the difference between cactus‑juice green and pink ambrosia. This is pink. Mt. Dew — the nectar of the gods — is a smooth afterlife green. And besides, it tastes all fruity.”

“Yeah, it’s a new Mt. Dew flavor they had. I thought you might like it — Strawberry Goji Berry. I tried it and liked it, so I figured you’d enjoy a change‑up.”

“Well, Kid, it’s a darn good thing no one’s paying you to think, because you’d be broke. You can’t even make the right choice for my daily drink. Let me give you a word of advice: if you ever think about making a decision without my input — stop. Remember, you aren’t good at making decisions, which is why your shop is loaded with tools you don’t use.”

“Going right for the throat today, Don Clive.”

“You’re lucky it’s only words, Kid.”

That’s when he noticed the new piece of kit in the shop — big, blue, with oversized clamps. Hard to miss. His sword pointed at it, and he turned his head toward me. Those black eye sockets locked on — looks can’t kill, can they? Even dead men can’t kill you just by looking… right? For a minute, I swear my heart started to get icy.

“What’s with this blue hunk of metal hooked up to your compressor, Kid? Explain yourself.”

“Listen, El Zorro — I generate a fair amount of bits and pieces of wood waste that normally go to the landfill. I thought it’d be good to turn them into useful, beautiful items like bowls or coasters.”

“Look, Kid, who’s in charge here — me or you?”

“Sure, El Zorro, let’s play this game. Of course you’re in charge.”

“Great, we’re on the same page finally. Then why did you spend… how much did you spend, Kid?”

“El Zorro, it was $280. It can handle large and deep epoxy pours — just a few dollars more than the smaller ones.”

“Kid, that’s a lot of Mt. Dew and snacks. If you’d asked, I’d have said you aren’t even keeping up with your current obligations, and now you bring a new distraction into the shop without asking.”

“Don Clive, with you it’s easier to beg for forgiveness.”

“Kid, don’t make me get El Fuego involved, or you’re going to feel like you’re wearing Milk‑Bone underwear. And fix my drink — and get me a snack. Sometimes you give me a migraine, Kid.”

“I know the feeling, Don Clive.”