Anaideia 53

It was just before sunup when a trucker in a Peterbilt pulled off and rolled down the window. He was shirtless and a Buc-ee’s hat was resting on his head. “You boys need a ride?” he shouted past the loud ass diesel engine.

“Are you headed to Los Angeles?” I asked him.

“I’m going as far as Santa Clarita,” he said.

Shit, I thought. Close enough. So Jim and I climbed into the cab and I closed the door then the 18-wheeler rolled back onto the interstate. We were maybe an hour out of Santa Clarita and I was deadass tired. I didn’t have much to say but the trucker belched and farted and rolled down the window to hock a loogie. “You boys from Los Angeles?” he asked us.

“Yup,” I said.

“Ya know, I used to have a Mexican wife in Los Angeles,” he told us. “And let me tell ya, she sucked a mean weiner too boys. Let me tell ya.”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t understand why they’re deporting them folks. If they should deport anyone, it should be them goddamn Koreans I tell ya….”

While he went on his diatribe, I fell asleep and 45 minutes later we were in Santa Clarita. Before splitting off towards Palmdale, the trucker pulled off the interstate to let us out. “If you boys ever want to hang out, you can reach me at my Kiwifarms account at…,” the trucker began to say but I immediately close the door behind me.

Jim and I walked for a few miles more before I threw out my thumb again. Minutes later a wino mom crashed her Buick into a guardrail and rolled down her window. “You boys need a ride?” she asked.

I nodded and climbed into the front seat. She weaved in and out of traffic and narrowly missed other motorists down the 405 before arriving at Sherman Oaks. I thanked her for the ride before she barreled off back into traffic and I reached for my wallet.

“We only got $7 bucks left,” I told Old Jim. “We’ll see how far a cab will get us.”

Once again I throw out my thumb. A cabbie stopped. He rolled down the window and glanced at us with his aviators on and I didn’t recognize him. “Can you get us to LA?” I ask him.

The cabbie said nothing for a few moments before lowering his shades. “Where do I recognize you from?” he asked me.

That’s when I knew I made a critical mistake. “I’ve never seen you before in my life,” I told him.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “You’re the son of a bitch who stiffed me in Norco.”

“No sir. Wasn’t me.”

“Bullshit. You owe me $498 bucks.”

“Look, I’ll just hail another cab sir. Have a nice day.”

I kept walking down the road dragging Jim behind me and hoped that the cabbie would move along. But he persisted by getting out of the cab. The fella was big. He stopped in front of us and put his hand to my chest. “Give me my goddamn money,” he demanded.

“Look! I don’t know you!” I pleaded.

The cabbie reached for his ankle holster and pulled out a small caliber .40 then held it to my abdomen. “Now!” he said.

I raised my hands in the air and searched for the right words. “All I have is $7,” I said.

“Give it to me,” he ordered.

I lowered my right hand and pulled out the wallet. With my hands shaking, I handed him the seven bucks. He took the money and stuffed it into his jean pocket. “$491 bucks left,” he said. “A couple of vagrants walking the streets of Sherman Oaks. I don’t think folks around here would object to me blowing a hole in your belly.”

I swallowed hard. “Please don’t,” I said.

But he cocked the pistol and pulled the trigger.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 52

Randy wailed and wailed while the Madam said nothing. She stood motionless and silent and her head held low. I stormed past without acknowledging her and siphoned some gas from the Cadillac then lit the limousine on fire. Randy tried to wrestle my hand away as I reached into his jacket pocket to steal his wallet but I cracked him on the head with the butt of my gun. When that was done, I took the remaining cash from the corpses of the Dale and the driver and I stuffed the cash into my pocket and shouted to the old man.

“Come on Jim,” I said. “We’re leaving this shithole.”

Jim gladly complied and climbed into the passenger’s seat of the Cadillac. Before sitting in the driver’s seat, I looked to the Madam one last time. “Good luck,” was all I said to her. Then I shut the door and started the engine. As we driving away, the Madam was still standing like a statue in the rear view mirror. Then I adjusted the mirror to my liking.

We drove through Penelope’s pass for the last time and back into the barren Utah desert where we traversed the country roads and back to the interstate. I simply headed west. I didn’t bother to count the cash on hand but I reckoned it wasn’t much.

“We probably only have 40 bucks,” I said to Jim. “Do you think we can make it to Los Angeles?”

“Shit if I know,” he said.

It was another roll of the dice; one of many that I took since the journey began. The flat and unappealing landscape left little to admire so my mind started to wander. There were so many that passed on in this odyssey: the Chechens, the Chinese, Tom, Burl, Karl, the prisoners, the men in the wilderness, Vic.

And Dale.

My time was coming. But it wasn’t today.

On a single tank of gas, we made it to Sacramento and at California’s capital I took the 5 southbound to Los Angeles. I drove straight on through the night. It was clear that the Cadillac would run out of gas somewhere between Stockton and Bakersfield and when we reached Delano during dead of darkness the engine petered out.

“How are your legs, Jim?” I asked the old man.

“Terrible,” he said.

“Well, we’re gonna have to ditch this piece of shit and hitchhike.”

We got out of the vehicle and I threw the keys on the ground. I stuck out my thumb and continued walking southbound and prayed to god that highway patrol wouldn’t stop us.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 51

Welcome to Utah the sign read. I knew exactly where we were headed; it was to the charred remains of the Candyland Brothel where so many of Randy’s victims met their end. It was at the thick of day when the Cadillac and limousine pulled off into an undisclosed dirt road and down through the mountain pass where we braved the threat of Penelope with the late Vic Weathers weeks earlier. It felt like ages ago. Finally we entered the dry lake basin and there in the center was the remains of Randy’s empire in the desert. With his pistol ready, the driver ordered us to exit the limo.

Randy climbed out of the driver’s seat of the Cadillac while gnawing on a Slim Jim. The Madam got out on the passenger’s side and Old Jim from the backseat. Randy offered Dale and me some of his processed jerky.

“Shove it up your ass,” I retorted to his offer. But Dale accepted.

Randy took a deep breath and looked around him. “Such a beautiful country,” he said.

“It’s dead,” I replied. “Just like I will be. And with any luck you will be too.”

He spat and shook his head. “Okay then,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I have something I want to say,” Dale interjected. “Before I die, I’d like to say I feel blessed to have had the time of my life. I never thought that…” But before he could finish, the driver lifted his Ruger to the back of his head and pulled the trigger. The bullet exited his forehead and his body fell limply to the ground.

I turned my eyes.

And when the shock of his death wore off, Randy signaled to the driver to shoot me next. “Just a moment,” Old Jim interrupted. “I’ll handle this.”

“Dad,” Randy pleaded, “just let him do it.”

“No no, it’s fine.”

Jim checked his six shooter and walked over to me. “Sorry James,” he informed me.

“I don’t take it personally,” I said.

Jim relieved the driver and I looked to the shadows on the ground to see his pistol aimed at my head. Then I looked Randy dead in the eye and the seconds felt like eternity.

There was a gun shot. I again looked at the shadows and watched the driver fall to the ground. When I turned around, he had a hole blasted through his temple.

“Dad! What are you doing?” Randy shouted.

“Well I figured I couldn’t shoot my own grandson,” Jim reasoned.

Randy and the Madam were stunned silent. I nodded a thanks to Jim and picked up the Ruger from the driver’s lifeless body. “Well Randy, it looks like you’ll be dead sooner than I expected,” I said.

“James, don’t be stupid,” he pleaded.

I looked at Dale’s corpse. “Don’t feel too bad for him,” I said to Randy. “He knew what was coming. What’s about to happen has nothing to do with that.”

“What’s about to happen?”

I looked to the mountain pass and then up at the lingering sun. “You claim this as your empire,” I said, “but you have a challenger. I suspect that the sun will set behind those mountains in about four hours. It’s possible to reach the pass before then. I would know.”

Then I shot him in the kneecap.

While he pathetically screamed in agony, I came closer. “Unfortunately I think you can still make it to the pass before Penelope can get to you,” I said, “so I’m gonna need an additional handicap.”

So I shot him in the other kneecap.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 49

Randy finished his glass of scotch and paced around the basement. At that moment there was nothing I wanted more than to be done with this charade so I looked at Dale who was unbothered by this tension. “Well Randy,” I declared, “I don’t forgive you. So let’s stop pussyfooting around and get this over with.”

Randy stopped pacing and looked at the Madam and her eyes drifted to the floor. Then he sighed and poured another glass. “You know what this means don’t you?” he asked me.

“It means in a matter of minutes we’ll dead and buried,” I said plainly.

He swallowed the scotch whole. “But what about your friend there?” he asked, referring to Dale.

“Oh, me?” said Dale. “Yeah I’ve know that this was coming for a long time.”

I could’ve been wrong but I thought I saw a small tear streaking down Randy’s cheek. Whatever emotions he might’ve been feeling, he concealed them well with his following statements. “Okay then,” he said, “but I won’t do it here. This is my home. I wish that I could have given you a better ending but I must have you two escorted to the desert and shot. I’m very sorry.”

“Shove your apologies,” I said.

Randy signaled to the driver and the driver briefly left the room. A moment later, Old Jim stepped out from behind the door with his six shooter ready. “Jim!” I gasped.

“How’s your aim dad?” Randy asked him.

“I may be old, but I can still shoot the pecker off a…”

“Alright alright,” Randy interrupted him. “Take these men out to the desert and have them killed.”

“Dad?!” I shouted.

“Yeah, Old Jim is my dad. Which makes him your grandpa I suppose. I thought it was obvious. You’re both named James. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road…”

Christ, I thought. It was obvious. But it didn’t matter anymore. Old Jim and the driver approached us and took us by the arm. “Hello James,” Jim said to me.

“Jim! Papaw!”

“Papaw,” said Jim. “I remember my papaw. Legend has it that his dick was two feet long and he strangled Wild Bill Hickok with…”

“Dad!” Randy interrupted. “Enough with the stories! We have a job to do!”

“And where are you going?” I asked Randy as he was picking up several Manila envelopes.

“I have a meeting with the Vietnamese in an hour. Sorry that I can’t make it.”

“So a meeting with the Vietnamese is more important than the death of your own son?”

Randy stood motionless at my challenge. “But this is a very important meeting,” he said.

I shook my head. “How typical of Randy,” I said rhetorically. “He can’t even look his own son in the eye.”

He slammed the glass onto the tiled floor and it shattered into a thousand pieces. The Madam was startled by the sudden burst. “Alright! Goddamn you!” he shouted. “If this is what you want then I will grant you your last request! I will, by god, journey with you to the desert where you will meet your demise!”

“Thanks Randy,” I said. “That’s very sweet of you.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 48

Randy didn’t know what to make of Susan. He sipped the scotch mere feet from her face with her eyes bowed to the floor. I turned my head to see a tear stream down her face. Though this was the moment she had been waiting for, nothing had prepared her for it. “I don’t think I know you,” Randy said.

Susan palmed her eyes and lifted her head to face him. When I looked at Randy, I could tell he was genuinely perplexed. “Where is my mother?” Susan managed to squeak out.

Randy squinted his eyes and took another sip. He lowered the glass and placed it in his left hand. “Darling,” he said, putting his right hand to her cheek, “I’m sorry but I don’t understand your question.”

“Where is MY mother,” she repeated.

“If you could tell me who you are, perhaps I could help,” he said, taken back by her sudden forcefulness.

“Susan.”

“Susan who?”

“Susan Brucetti.”

He took his hand off her face and had another sip. “Brucetti?” he asked and swallowed hard. “I believe a Lyonette Brucetti was under my employment many years ago. Is that your mother?”

Susan nodded and lowered her head again. Randy’s face began to blush and he nervously scratched his head. “I’m afraid that I haven’t seen Lyonette in some time,” he explained. “Last I heard, she was living in Chico with her husband. I apologize, but I haven’t been keeping close tabs on her.”

“You’re a liar,” Susan said.

“Pardon?”

“You’re a liar. You sold her into sex slavery.”

“W-why would I do that?”

“Because that’s the kind of man you are!”

“Susan, sweetheart, I think you have the wrong idea. You see, Lyonette and I were lovers for a very long time. I loved her. Why would I sell someone I love into slavery?”

“Then why would she abandon me?!”

Randy turned around and refused to face us. He sat his glass of scotch down and rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry Susan,” he said, “had I of known, I would have done something.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had a child together. A girl.”

Susan looked at me with wide eyes. No words came. In real time I could see her heart sink to her feet and Dale shook his head. “Told you it was a mistake,” he uttered under his breath.

“Goddamnit Dale,” I said.

“What was a mistake?” asked Randy, still not facing us.

“Forget it,” I said.

“I’m gonna be sick,” said Susan.

Randy picked up the glass again and ignored the comment entirely. He turned around and leaned against the table. “Susan, my dear, I think you should leave,” he said. “I don’t want you to be a part of what’s about to happen.”

Susan quietly nodded and the driver took her by the arm and escorted her upstairs. She never looked back at me. She was defeated.

When she was gone and the shock wore off, I looked at Randy. “Two damaged children,” I said. “That’s your real legacy.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 47

It was a shame that we arrived in Tahoe after nightfall. The mountain vistas and alpine would have been a glorious sight to see before death. But the limousine descended into obscure wavy backroads before arriving at Randy’s rocky sprawl and the driver exited the vehicle with a Ruger ready. “Welcome to the Furie estate,” he said after opening the backseat door. “Please step out of the vehicle or be shot.”

We complied with his demand and stood in a row in the late night mountain air and the driver waved us in through the immaculate entrance. Inside the mansion, the walls were adorned with bear skins and moose heads with a few human skulls for added effect. But before I could take it all in we were pushed through the house and down the stairs into a padded and soundproofed basement where on the other end Randy was yelling racial slurs through a microphone while playing Baldur’s Gate. We stood on one end of the basement while the driver shuffled to the other end to inform Mr. Furie.

“Your guests sir,” the driver said.

Randy swiveled around in his chair and when he laid eyes upon us he smiled. “Welcome! Welcome!” he greeted.

“Randy, if this is supposed to scare me then you’re doing a shitty job,” I said.

“Scare you? Why would I try to scare you?” he asked.

He stood up and flattened out his maroon smoking jacket and the Madam stepped through a hidden door disguised as a book case and handed him a glass of scotch. He took the glass then sniffed and swirled it. “The real reason I asked you here is to beg for your forgiveness,” he informed us.

“Why should I forgive you?” I said.

Randy squinted to bear through what seemed to be his internal torment. “Oh why can’t you see the burden placed upon my shoulders?” he posed. “The whole world pleads for forbidden contraband and services and those screams fall into my ears like cries in the night.”

“I can’t imagine the pain you must be in,” I said sarcastically.

“No man can imagine it,” he said, not picking up on my sarcasm. “I come from a long line of service providers; an ancient lineage we are.”

“No doubt,” I said. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“I’ve always desired you to be a part of this proud tradition,” he said with a tinge of mournfulness. “There’s no greater honor than a son following his father’s footsteps.”

“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” I replied.

Randy stepped a little closer with scotch in hand to look us up and down. He could tell something was amiss. “Where’s the fellow among you who destroyed my desert fortress?” he asked.

“He died in the wilderness weeks after,” I told him.

“A tragedy for you no doubt. But a fitting end for a warrior.”

“He got what was coming to him.”

“A fate that we all must face.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 44

“So you fucked Susan?” Dale asked me over breakfast.

“We didn’t fuck,” I informed him. “We made love. Don’t be so fucking crude, Dale.”

“Well how was it?”

“A gentleman never tells. That’s something you wouldn’t know about.”

We sipped on our mimosas and Bloody Mary’s over a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon and steaks and all the greasy foods to cure a hangover. Susan was still in bed while Dale and I maintained our company in the kitchen. I was on maybe my fifth Bloody Mary when there was a knock on the door.

“For Christ sake!” I shouted. “Why do we keep getting visitors?!”

So I go back down the foyer to answer the door. It was the hotel manager with a smug look on his face. He was alone this time without his gaggle of minions. “Not so tough now huh? Asshole,” I said to him.

“I have a message here from one Randall J. Furie,” the manager said. I took the paper from his hand and opened it up.

“Dear James,” the message read, “sorry for kidnapping you and keeping you prisoner. I’m also sorry for killing those Chechen and Chinese guys in front of you in Norco. Please forgive me. Love, Randy.”

I look up from the paper and back at the manager. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” I ask him.

“Mr. Furie is willing to send you a limousine to escort you to his home in Tahoe,” the manager said.

I crumble up the paper and throw it in his face. “You tell Randy to come HERE and apologize!” I say.

“I do not wish to have a bloodbath in my hotel sir.”

“Well there’s about to be a bloodbath if you don’t get your ass back on the elevator and tell Randy my demands! You hear?!”

“Very well sir,” the manager said. Then he bowed and returned to the elevator.

“That’s right! Run away you pussy ass bitch!” I shout.

I close the door and go back to the kitchen where Dale was spinning the chamber of his revolver. “Who was that?” he asked.

“That bitch ass manager,” I say.

Susan storms out of the bedroom in her robe and glared at us. “It’s 11:30 in the morning!” she cried. “Can you guys keep it down out here?!”

I avert my eyes away from hers. “My apologies,” I said. “We’ll be quieter next time.”

Susan tied up her robe and adjusted her mood. “Good morning, James,” she said.

“Good morning,” I said, still not making eye contact.

“Are you two enjoying your breakfast,” she stammered.

“Yes.”

Susan stood up straight and took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose I should get ready for the day,” she said.

I gently nod.

Susan goes back into the bedroom and closes the door. Dale puts down his revolver and looks at me. “That was awkward,” he said.

“Do you think it was a mistake?” I ask him.

“To fuck her?”

“To make love goddamnit!”

“Well I don’t know much about women or much of anything really. But yes. It was a mistake.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 43

I sat at the end of the foyer and pounded the tequila bottle and I waited for our inevitable visitor. It was late. Dale and Susan were fast asleep and tucked away in their bedrooms while I was alone with only my thoughts and Walther PPQ to protect me. I added the silencer to the gun so as to not wake them up.

I was nearing the point of blackout when the knob twisted. I raised the Walther and waited for the intruder. I heard heels clanking onto the marble floor and from behind the door appeared the Madam in a form fitting red gown. She stopped momentarily to stare down the barrel. “I knew you’d come,” I said as I slurred out my words.

“I’m only here to deliver a message,” she said.

“You’re dressed awfully well to just deliver a message.”

“This? I just left a Hoobastank concert. Anyway, I’m here to tell you that Randy isn’t mad at you for burning down his brothel. In fact, he wants to visit him at his villa in Tahoe.”

I took another shot of tequila. “Tahoe eh?” I said. “Now I know where to find him.”

“You and I both know that he’s a dangerous man. You’ll never get to him.”

“Yet I was the one that torched his empire in the desert.”

“He wants bygones to be bygones. You’re his only son. He wants someone to leave his legacy to.”

“He should have thought of that before making me his prisoner for two months.”

The madam nodded. “So why did you come to Reno?” she asked.

“You know why.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“I would if I had bullets in this gun.”

“Well, Randy’s invitation stands. If you wish to see him, I believe you know how to contact me.”

She glanced at me one last time. “He’s waiting on you,” she said and then closed the door behind her. I took another swig of tequila. Susan appeared from behind her bedroom door in a robe and slippers. “Who was that?” she asked.

“The Madam,” I said.

“You mean to tell me that we robbed a robbed a UPS store and stranded a naked guy in the middle of the desert for nothing?”

“I wouldn’t say it was for nothing,” I said. “It got her attention. And besides, I had a pretty good time.”

Susan pulled up a chair and sat beside me then rested her hand on my shoulder. “Mind if I have a drink?” she asked. I handed her the bottle and she drank. “What are we gonna do now?”

“Randy’s in Tahoe,” I said. “I reckon we ought to stock up and ambush him.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea goddamnit. But that’s the only idea I’ve got.”

“Does she have your friend?”

“Which one?”

“Old Jim.”

“Shit. I forgot to ask.”

Susan took one last swig and sat the bottle down. “Come on,” she said, “we need to get some sleep.” She stood up and I grabbed her by the hand.

“You’re the only one who understands what I’m going through,” I said to her.

“You’re drunk,” she said.

“Of course I’m drunk. I’m always drunk.”

“Go to bed and we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“But you’re sleeping in my bed,” I said then gently kissed her hand.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 27

Around 5pm we packed our shit and exited the hotel room and I threw the room key onto the receptionist’s desk and apologized. “Sorry for destroying the room,” I said. “You should really clean up this shit hole.”

“Get the fuck out,” he ordered.

This was the last man we spoke to for several days. We left the one horse town and trekked back up the mountain slope and towards the pass as the sun fell below the horizon. We passed the Bacardi bottle between us before realizing it wouldn’t last till midnight and we finished drinking it anyway. An hour later we came across the creek where we last encountered Penelope and filled our canteens. Vic wondered along the shoreside looking for her footprints and when he found where he was attacked, he followed her path over a ridge away from the pass. “This way!” he declared. So we went over the ridge and deeper into the mountains before finding a comfortable spot to camp. When we found one, Dale pissed around the perimeter while Vic made a fire.

“Dale, what the fuck are you doing?” I ask.

“Supposedly snakes and scorpions won’t cross over human piss,” he explained.

We all took turns standing watch throughout the night but the mountains were eerily silent. The next morning we packed up and penetrated deeper into the rocky terrain. Our elevation was steadily climbing and the air was harder to breathe. We gnawed on jerky throughout the day which caused massive dehydration yet Vic was pushing forward at breakneck speed.

“We ate all the goddamn jerky!” Dale yelled and threw down the non-biodegradable bag on the ground.

Vic noticed a ridge line of trees and ran ahead of us. We heard a gunshot echo from the that direction and minutes later we saw him peer out of the woods with a coyote carcass. “Here’s some sustenance,” he said and dropped the body.

That night we feasted on coyote meat and in the morning we continued the march. The dry dirt and sun baked rocks eventually gave way to pine needles and evergreens and the air grew crisp and clean. We didn’t know how deep into the mountains we were and only Vic provided any sense of direction. Though I had assumed Old Jim would have tired by then but he seemed reinvigorated. I on the other hand became weary of the purpose of our pursuit. When we came to a bluff overlooking yet another deep valley, I had had enough.

“Are you sure we’re on the right path?” I asked Vic.

“Goddamn you! Of course I’m sure!” he spat back.

Perhaps we should have followed the doctor’s advice and taken Vic to a real hospital. His quest for vengeance was overpowering any good sense left in his mangled brain. We had escaped certain death only days earlier but like a desperate gambler we kept going all in. But finally the gamble paid off. As the alpine winds swept through the valley and threatened to chill us, Vic noticed a yellowish speckle on the ground. He knelt down to rub his finger across it then placed his finger to his lips and licked it.

“It’s her alright,” he said.

The sky darkened and the winds picked up and we sought shelter in the nearby woods. While the rest of the group set up camp, I ventured a little deeper into the wood on a whim. About 50 feet away from camp, sitting alone on a small meadow on top of dead pine was a brown open crowned cowboy hat similar to that of the late Karl’s. To my chagrin I realized that Vic was right: we were on the right path.

I picked up the hat and carried back to camp where the others were roasting the meats of rabbit and vermin captured earlier in the day. I squated down and tossed the hat in the middle for all to see. “Damnit Vic,” I uttered, “you’re right. I don’t know how but you’re right.”

Vic chewed off a hunk of rabbit meat impaled on a stick and spat out the fat. “Aye mate,” he said. “I told ya before that I’ve seen the devil. She’s the foulest and most evil thing in these hills. The devil can run but she can’t hide because I know her face. I know her name. I know what she thinks. And I know where she sleeps. It makes you wonder why she’s called the devil. Maybe I’m the terror that stalks these mountains.”

As nightfall came and the fire died, I covered myself in the stolen nylon blanket and held my Uzi tight. I could barely sleep a wink as I kept one eye on Vic. Five days we had been looking. I chose to give it one more day. It was a morning of blistering cold and I awoke from a flash of sleep to see Vic standing over me.

“Good morning,” he greeted.

“Good morning?” I said.

“I have something I want to show you.”

While the others slept and a glimpse of morning skies hovered above, we marched a mile or two into a crowded wooded valley. By yet another creek bed, Vic kicked away a few stones and pointed to a pile of brown excrement. “Do you know what that is?” he asks.

“It’s a pile of shit,” I said.

“Aye. It hasn’t hardened.”

“So?”

“So, it means we’re close.”

“You think it’s Penelope’s shit?”

“No. In these parts, no other creatures could shit a log that big.”

Indeed, I agreed. The turd was at least a foot long and many inches thick. Vic stood watch while I retrieved the others and packed up camp. We caught up with him and ventured deeper into the mountains and as dusk approached we noticed a small plume of smoke rising from a camp fire above the tree line. Then we climbed higher to get a better look.

“We need to keep moving along the ridge to avoid these guys,” said Vic.

I disagreed. “We’re dangerously low on supplies,” I said. “We need to see if we can trade with these folks.”

“No!” he shouted.

“Vic, I don’t want to die out here!”

“My taint itches and I haven’t slept well in three days!” Dale said. “I need more booze.”

Vic balked and the group threatened to break up. Old Jim became the deciding factor so I asked him plainly, “do you want to approach the campfire?”

With the air of a wise old sage, Jim gazed towards the sky. “What campfire?” he asked.

“How are your eyes?” I ask him.

Jim again pulled out the Browning and twirled it around his finger. “Boys, I can still shoot the pecker off…”

“Alright!” Vic relented. “We’ll go towards the campfire! But be on high alert!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back to basics part 5

As usual I strolled into work five hours late and headed straight for the bathroom. I went into the one empty stall and dropped my pants to unload an ungodly duce which was the result of drinking two six packs and eating multiple cans of Vienna sausages the night before. But as I was desperately trying to squeeze the turd from my ass I could hear pathetic whimpering from the stall next to me.

I pounded on the wall. “Hey buddy! Can you keep it down over there?!” I shout.

The crying intensified.

Through the boo-hooing and unbearable cramping of my intestines I focus on unleashing the brown beast desperately trying to escape my body. But the man next to me only howled. And as he howled so too did the wretched stench blasting out of my butthole. Finally I had enough. I unfurl half a role of toilet paper to wipe my ass and there was nothing on it. Not a speckle of shit. My stomach was a raging and boiling mess. Though the attempt to free the monstrous brown bear creeping through my body had failed I knew that someway and somehow it would find a way out. But that moment wasn’t now. So I pull up my pants and flush the toilet filled with tissue as clean as unadulterated snow and depart the toilet knowing full well that this piece of porcelain will eventually face the wrath of my ass.

I forgo washing my hands and pound on the neighboring stall door. “I hope you’re happy,” I say to the pathetic whimpering man inside, “I can’t shit because of you. This is an unforgivable transgression!”

“I’m sorry James. I can’t control myself,” the voice said.

“Dale?”

“Yes James. It is I.”

“Step out,” I order. “Face me like a man you weakling!”

Dale unlocks the door and steps out with his head bowed like a yellow-bellied coward. His eyes were bloodshot and his face crusted by streams of tears. I was disgusted. “You sad little man,” I tell him.

He cries again.

“Don’t yell at me,” he begs. “My wife ran off with a knife salesman down to Kokomo. My son’s in jail for vehicular manslaughter and my doctor will no longer prescribe me dick pills.”

I slap him across the face. “Good!” I tell him, “a little adversity serves a man well from time to time. And you my dear Dale could use some shaping up! Look at you for Christ sake! Your tits are flopping out from behind your overalls!”

A fresh batch of tears flow from his eyes. “I can’t handle life no more!” he cries.

“There there,” I tell him. “There’s always hope. God is dead and when you die your memories fade away forever. A few will mourn your death but within weeks and months no one will think of you again. The universe is an empty and meaningless vortex that expands into infinity until it mercifully fades away into a quiet heat death. Then all that was will be no more. And when that day comes your concerns will seem like a speck floating on in an immense void shrouded in darkness. Some say there is no hope in this world but dare I say where gods cease to roam is where I find freedom! Seize this life! No one can do it but you!”

Dale nods his head. “I think I see what you’re saying,” he says. He wipes snot from his nose. “You’re saying I should take a loaded Colt .45 down to South Florida and settle matters with my wife’s lover.”

I throw my arm around his shoulder. I give him a warm embrace. “Now you’re getting it,” I say. “And don’t forget: you ARE god.”

I patted him on the back and he left the bathroom with his head held high like a man born anew. But my stomach still cramped. I exited through the front lobby where I was intercepted by the boss man. I tried to ignore him as I walked out the front door. “Is this an excused absence?” he shouted at me before the door closed.

I stood with one foot outside as I turned towards him. “Of course,” I lied, “I have an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?”

“A turd doesn’t seem to want to leave my ass.”

TO BE CONTINUED….