Saints in a Chip

“I need to pee!” Lucy shifted in her seat, her legs crossed tightly.

Jude, swatting aimlessly at a persistent fly buzzing around his head, barely managed a glance in her direction. “Yeah, well, join the club,” he muttered under his breath, his attention flicking between the road and the insect taunting him.

“You smell like shit!” the fly buzzed near his ear, its high-pitched drone gnawing at his patience.

Jude clenched the steering wheel, fighting to keep his focus on the landscape, which had shifted from the dry yellows of the desert to patches of green pasture dotted with rugged rocks. “I can pull over,” he offered half-heartedly. “You can take care of business in the bushes.”

Lucy gave him a deadpan look. “I’m a girl, we don’t pee like that.”

The fly circled relentlessly around Jude’s head, its incessant buzzing punctuated by whispered taunts. “I bet you taste like shit!” it hissed, darting near his ear. No matter how many times Jude waved his hand, the fly always found its way back, buzzing close enough to whisper, “You smell like shit. You taste like shit. You must be shit.”

Gritting his teeth, Jude muttered under his breath, “Fucking fly.”

Lazaro, chuckling from the passenger seat, glanced over. “Just ignore it. There’s a gas station not too far from here. We can fill up, grab something to eat, and take care of... other business.”

Lucy’s voice piped up from the back, barely hiding her desperation. “How far?”

“About 20 minutes,” Lazaro said, turning to see her shifting in her seat. “Can you hold it?”

“I don’t have a choice,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice steady despite her discomfort.

Jude glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “I can pull over. No one’s around.”

“I’ll wait,” Lucy said, trying to sound composed, but her tight posture betrayed her struggle.

Just as Jude and Lazaro shifted their focus back to the road, a large object crashed onto the hood with a loud thud. Jude's heart raced as he slammed on the brakes.

“What the fuck!” The words exploded out of him, his hands gripping the wheel tighter.

“Potty word!” Lucy chimed from the backseat, unfazed by the sudden jolt.

“Not now!” Jude snapped, eyes wide as he scanned the windshield, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He squinted through the windows, looking in every direction but seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Lazaro leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “What the hell was that?”

“No idea. Came out of nowhere,” Jude replied, bewildered.

He cursed once more under his breath, shoved the door open, and jumped out. He rushed to the front of the vehicle. His eyes immediately fell on a sizable dent on the hood. The metal crumpled in as if something heavy had smashed into it.

He ran his hand over the damage, scanning the area again. Nothing seemed out of place—no tracks, no signs of whatever had hit them. Everything appeared disturbingly normal, save for the dent.

Lazaro examined the dent with a casual shrug. "Patrick can handle that, no problem. It’s nothing serious."

Jude climbed back into the driver’s seat, buckling his seatbelt and turning the key. "Who’s Patrick?"

"Old friend. Runs the gas station we’re headed to. Don’t worry, you’ll like him," Lazaro said, leaning back in his seat.

Before Jude could respond, the fly returned with a vengeance, buzzing around his ear again. "You smell like shit!" it hissed, driving him closer to the edge of his patience. "Because you're shit!"

Just as Jude tightened his grip on the wheel, a sudden, sharp scent of citrus filled the car. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Lucy, arm stretched out, an orange peel in hand, spraying a fine mist toward the fly.

The buzzing stopped almost immediately, and the fly’s insults shifted to panicked squeals.

“Let me out! She’s trying to kill me!” The fly’s taunts turned frantic, its voice rising in panic. “Let me out! She’s trying to kill me! Let me out!”

Lazaro calmly rolled down the window, and the fly’s desperate cries faded as it was swept outside by the breeze. Jude finally exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. He pressed down on the gas pedal and smirked.

“Thanks, kid. You just saved my day,” he said, glancing at Lucy through the rearview mirror. "Now, let's take our pink princess to a proper bathroom," he said, puzzled about where she had pulled an orange from.

Lucy’s lips curled into a small smile, but her legs remained tightly crossed, her discomfort clear despite the brief moment of triumph.

Lucy rushed into the gas station liquor store, her hands slamming down on the counter with urgency. “Where’s the bathroom?” she nearly shouted in desperation.

The man behind the counter, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and an apron, lazily pointed to the left without looking up. Lucy darted off as fast as she could.

As the door swung shut behind Lucy, Jude and Lazaro stepped into the store. The man behind the counter leaned forward. A slow smirk spread across his face as he propped his chin in one hand. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Lassie,” he drawled, mocking, the smirk never leaving his lips.

Lazaro strolled over, settling into a stool with a calmness that only he possesses. “Friends call me Laz,” he corrected with a casual smile, meeting the man’s gaze.

The store owner leaned back, his eyes scanning Lazaro with playful suspicion. "Friends? Are you sure about that? From where I'm standing, I only see one." He smirked, pointing to himself while shifting his weight on the counter. "What’s your poison? Whiskey?"

Lazaro chuckled, the familiarity settling in. "You know me too well." He gestured toward Jude, who was cautiously pulling up a chair. "This is Jude, a newcomer. Jude, meet Patrick."

Jude nodded, sliding into the seat. "Hey."

Patrick's voice drifted, half-muffled as he rummaged through a cabinet full of bottles. "Newcomer, huh? Thought they stopped sending fresh faces. Are we already at phase three?"

Lazaro leaned back in his chair, his voice calm as he quoted, "Your words shape your deeds."

Patrick froze mid-reach, his hand jerking just enough to cause him to knock his head on the shelf above. "Ah, clumsy me..." he muttered, rubbing his bald head before turning around with an old bottle of whiskey in hand. He moved with forced nonchalance as he set out three glasses, filling each with an amber splash of liquid.

"Don’t pay attention to my rambling, newcomer. I’m getting too old for this crap. Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m saying," he said, offering a crooked grin as he pushed a glass toward Jude.

The Watcher's smirk deepened as he eyed Patrick. "Lie to save lives," he muttered knowingly, catching the subtle shift in Patrick's expression.

The store owner's grin faded into something more thoughtful as he turned his attention back to Lazaro, who casually tossed back his drink as if it were water. "Well, I am too old for this... no lie there." His gaze sharpened. "But where's Tommy? Did you lose him or what?"

Lazaro paused for a moment, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "Something like that," he muttered, not meeting Patrick's eyes.

The store owner's expression shifted, the wheels in his head visibly turning. Then, as if a light had clicked on, his eyes widened with sudden realisation. "No way!" Without warning, he darted around the counter and grabbed Lazaro by the head, both hands gripping tightly. "You did it?"

In that instant, Jude’s eyes flicked over the man and caught three things he hadn’t noticed before—odd but not unheard of.

Patrick had four fingers on each hand. He was bald. His ears were sharply pointed, almost elfin in shape. Jude blinked, shaking it off. Modifications like that were common enough these days—people splitting their tongues, reshaping noses, even tattooing their eyeballs.

But something about Patrick tugged at the edges of Jude’s mind, an eerie sense of familiarity he couldn’t quite place—like a half-forgotten memory lingering just out of reach. Without realising it, his fingers began to fidget with his wedding ring, absentmindedly turning it around his finger.

Patrick’s face lit up with excitement. "Oh... you did it!" he exclaimed, his voice full of awe. "Son of a bitch, you're here!"

Jude’s eyes flicked between Patrick and Lazaro, utterly baffled. Whatever Patrick was so impressed about, it went right over his head. He hadn’t had nearly enough whiskey to join them in whatever strange conversation this was, and the gap between their words and his understanding only widened. Lazaro’s vague replies weren’t helping, leaving Jude feeling like an outsider to some inside joke he wasn’t part of.

Lazaro, however, didn’t seem thrilled at all. With a quiet sigh, he gently pried Patrick’s hands from his face. "It’s nothing special, really..." he said, trying to downplay whatever Patrick was celebrating.

Patrick leaned in, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "So... how does it feel?"

Lazaro shrugged dismissively. "Not much different, to be honest," he replied, clearly trying to keep the conversation short.

Patrick, undeterred, gave a small, almost theatrical bow. "Well, welcome to the dark side, my friend. We have cookies and… whiskey!"

Lazaro forced a brief smile, but it didn’t last long. "Thanks... I guess."

Patrick's eyes narrowed as he straightened up. "What about Tom? Is he next?"

Lazaro’s posture stiffened, and his discomfort was noticeable. "I don’t know... don’t think so," he answered, his voice tight. His gaze shifted, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Speaking of which, have you seen a landmark scanner around here?"

Patrick moved back behind the counter, casually grabbing something before glancing over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, there’s one just around the corner, like 250m away.”

Jude let out a light chuckle. “Well, that should be easy—unless there’s a nest of snakes or a swarm of vests waiting for us.”

Patrick shook his head, his expression tightening just a little. “Not vesps. Monkeys.”

Lazaro raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem too fazed. “Monkeys? Doesn’t sound too hard.”

Patrick’s uneasy laugh betrayed him, a nervous edge slipping into his voice. “Yeah, good luck with that. You’ve clearly never met Albert’s tribe.”

Jude, mid-sip, paused and frowned. “Wait, monkeys? You think one of them’s what jumped us earlier?”

Patrick’s expression darkened, and he leaned on the counter with a sigh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was them. Those monkeys went rogue a while back. I’ve had my own run-ins with them—stealing tyres, causing chaos. And the weird part? Tires are free. Go figure.”

Lazaro, intrigued, leaned forward. “What do you mean they went rogue?”

Patrick rubbed his jaw, his gaze drifting for a moment. “They don’t follow the rules anymore. Not here, not in the next town over. It’s been a real problem for everyone. People tried dealing with them, even called in help from...”

“Len?” Jude cut in, the name slipping out with certainty.

Patrick’s eyes widened slightly, shaking his head. “No, not Len. They called Paris. And let me tell you, it got ugly.”

Lazaro’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Paris came here himself?”

Patrick nodded, folding his arms. “Yeah, he showed up in person. Tried reasoning with Albert and the rest of the tribe, laid it out for them—follow the rules, or get blacklisted.”

Jude leaned in, curiosity piqued. “And what did they choose?”

Patrick let out a short, humourless laugh. “They chose to be blacklisted. No one around here would risk that, but those monkeys? They didn’t care. I don’t get it. It’s like they want to be left behind.”

Lazaro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe we should investigate. Paris is too much of a... radical thinker. Maybe we can get through to them and talk some sense into the tribe.”

Jude leaned forward, frowning. “What do they do, exactly? Besides stealing tyres?”

Patrick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Chaos. Destruction. They terrorise people and smash things up. I’ve even heard they’ve gotten violent with some folks—no reason behind it. Just violence for the sake of violence. It doesn’t make any sense.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “We’ve tried talking, negotiating... nothing works.”

Jude took a slow sip of his whiskey, then set the glass down, his expression hardening. “Would you mind keeping an eye on the kid for us? I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Lazaro glanced over at Jude. “You know she’s gonna need to scan her hand too, right?”

Jude nodded, his brow furrowed. “I know. But here’s the plan—you and I go first, scope things out, and figure out the safest route. Once we know it’s clear, we bring her in.” His eyes darkened with worry. “From the sound of it, those monkeys aren’t gonna care if she’s a kid or not.”

Patrick waved a hand dismissively. "She can stay here, no problem. As you can see, it’s not like I’m busy." He gestured to the empty gas station, then continued, "But those monkeys... they’ve been a real headache. Just the other day, two lions came in and asked for drinks and fresh meat. They ate, drank, and left without causing any trouble. Not a peep. But the monkeys? Whole different story."

Before leaving, Jude leaned against the counter, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface. “How much do I owe you for the gas and drinks?” he asked, eyes flicking up to meet Patrick’s.

Patrick’s face scrunched in confusion, his eyebrow arching as he glanced at Lazaro. “He doesn’t know the rule?”

Jude frowned, puzzled. “The rule says don’t steal, right?”

Lazaro gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. “There’s another set of rules.”

Jude blinked, his eyes widening in disbelief. “More rules? How many do you need to run this place?”

Patrick leaned forward with a grin, speaking slowly as if explaining something simple to a child. “What I give you today is that you offer back in another form tomorrow. That’s it. Everything here is free.”

“Everything is free?” Jude repeated, still processing the idea.

“Pretty much,” Patrick confirmed, his smile stretching wider.

Jude took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Alright then, see you in a bit. We’re off to figure out what’s going on with the monkeys.”

Just as Jude and Lazaro were heading out, Lucy burst in, looking relieved. “Feeling much better!”

Jude didn’t even turn around as he called out, “Stay here, princess. We’ll be back soon.”

Lucy frowned, glancing between them. “Where are they going?” she asked.

Patrick let out a deep sigh as if the weight of the world had just landed on his shoulders. “They’re off to... well, I think they’re going to war.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Such a shame, really. I liked them.” He gave her a sideways glance before casually asking, “Do you like pasta?”

Lucy’s eyes went wide, confusion and alarm flashing across her face. “What war?”