"WHO THE FUCK IS Y'ALL?" Blaine roared in a voice so loud it must have carried for miles throughout the decayed city.
"My name is Eddie Dean. The woman with me is my wife, Susannah. We're . . ." He looked at Susannah, who nodded and made frantic motions for him to go on. "We're on a quest. We seek the Dark Tower which lies in the Path of the Beam. We're in the company of two others, Roland of Gilead and . . . and Jake of New York. We're from New York too. If you're—" He paused. Eddie and Susannah shared another glance, this one of confusion and relief. But when Blaine spoke again, the voice was again cold and emotionless.
"Listen niggas, I'm havin a hard time believin y'all from NY. Why don't y'all stop playin and prove yo shit."
"Christ, how do I do that?" Eddie asked Susannah. "I don't know." Eddie pushed the button again. "The Statue of Liberty! Does that ring a bell?" "Uhhh," Blaine said. Now the voice sounded almost thoughtful. "The Empire State Building! The Stock Exchange! The World Trade Center! Coney Island Red-Hots! Radio City Music Hall! The East Vil—" Blaine cut him off.
"Aight nigga aight. Down in New York nigga iss all about Timbs, shoes niggas. Hats too. I'm havin a hard time seein yo foot game and shit. Yo bitch ain't got none, lookin like Hawkinsin busted in oprah an' shit wit her crippled ass." Eddie recognized the name Oprah, but Susannah sat there too puzzled to be insulted.
"But chief imma be real. Y'all gotta ask me some real nigga shit or i'm gonna fry yo ass." Blaine finished. There was a sizzling sound. A ray of brilliant blue-white light lanced down from the ceiling and seared a hole the size of a golf-ball in the marble floor less than five feet to the left of Susannah's wheelchair. Smoke that smelled like the aftermath of a lightning-bolt rose lazily from it. Susannah and Eddie stared at each other in mute terror for a moment.
"What's it talking about?" she hissed. Eddie shook his head. "I don't have the slightest idea." Then Susannahs eyes lit up.
"The riddle, Eddie! Oh but I can't remember that damn riddle…"
Eddie only stared at her as if she had gone mad. What in the name of God was she talking about? Then it came to him, and it made a weirdly perfect sense, and the rest of the riddle clicked into his mind as neatly as the last two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He swung toward the speaker again.
"It joins our talks, it joins our sport, and plays at every game.' What is it? That's our question, Blaine—what is it?" The red light illuminating the COMMAND and ENTER buttons below the diamond of numbers blinked out. There was an endless moment of silence before Blaine spoke again... but Eddie was aware that the feeling of electricity crawling all over his skin was diminishing
"Uhhhhhhhhh," Blaine began. "That shit's stupid as fuck bro, think up some real nigga shit.". Eddie stood speechless.
"You mean you don't know the answer?" Eddie asked.
"Fuck you on about deadass. I'm the king of dis shit." Blaine responded.
"Well then why don't you give us a riddle Blaine?" Susannah asked impatiently. There was a long pause.
"Uhhhh, what's got Wiz Khalifa an' Lil Uzi?" Blaine asked. The two of them were astonished. It was clear to them now; all along Blaine had been speaking in the high speech, just like Roland, and neither of them could decipher it.
"Bad n' Boujee!" a voice called out. Roland, who instead of saving Jake had actually went and mugged two people then bought himself a bottle of lean, approached them.
"What the fuck nigga?" Blaine asked. Rolands brown left hand rested on the sandalwood butt of his revolver.
"Fuckin easy nigga, y'all turnt or some shit?" Roland asked.
"Nah, cuz. These niggas sayin they from New York, but they trippin." Blaine said. Suddenly Rolands left hand shot up at lightning speed, holding his revolver. He shot Susannah six times through the stomach, fanning the hammer with his right hand. Eddie fell to his knees.
"Jesus H Christ Roland! Why'd you kill my fuckin' wife?" Eddie cried. Roland holstered the gun as quickly as he had drawn it.
"Thot was finessin y'all, nigga knew the high speech and shit but wouldn't say. Plus bitch was pregnant, just savin a nigga from child support." Roland said.
"Haha! Damn nigga you wildin!" Blaine laughed, not knowing that this same gunslinger would give him the greatest roast of all time not an hour later.