Grundish & Askew (20 page)

As Grundish exits, he hears Turleen get excited. “Why Jerry Mathers, you old dog. Is that what I think it is over in the corner?”

“I don’t know, Miss Turleen,” says Jerry. “Why don’t you go take a look?”

“Oh Jerry Mathers, you old fool! You still have my moss-covered, three-handled family gredunza that I gave you years ago, you do. Why, you still must have a warm place in your heart for me or my name’s not Turleen Zurn Rundle. And to think I’ve stayed away from you all these years. Why I oughta...”

•  •  •

Elsewhere in the metal warehouse, Dora drags Askew by the hand to a tiny alcove behind a stack of storage boxes and bailed newspapers. “Let me suck your cock,” she says to Askew. “You are so brave and you protected me from that cat. I’m gonna suck your cock good.” She tries to unbutton Askew’s shorts. His flabby midsection exerts a substantial amount of force on the waistband of his shorts, making it hard for Dora to undo them.

“Wait a minute,” says Askew. “Slow down, Dora. You’re moving too fast. I like you, too. But this don’t feel right.” Askew’s throbbing boner curses his uncharacteristically active frontal lobe. “You’re my hostage. It just seems to me like rape or something if we do something right now. I might be a little goofy in the head right now. But, I ain’t no rapist.”

“Awww. You’re sweet but not all that bright, huh?” says Dora. She drops to her knees and slaps Askew’s hands away from his waistband. “I ain’t no hostage. Turleen told me I could go whenever I wanted to and that you boys weren’t going to hurt me. Anyone coulda told that. I just came along because I ain’t got nowheres else to go. And you boys and Turleen all seemed kind of nice. You all seemed like a family. And, however messed up you all may be, you got each other. And I like that. So shut up and show me what you’re packing in here.” She slaps Askew’s hands away again and works at the strained button holding the pants up.

“Wait just a minute,” Askew stalls. “Can we just talk a little bit? You seem nice. Maybe we should get to know each other better.”

“All right, Mr. Askew,” says Dora as she returns to her feet. “Tell me about you. What do you wanna do with your life?”

“Okay,” says Askew. “That’s better. Let’s talk a little first.”

“Let’s. Tell me what you wanna do with your life.”

“Well,” Askew hitches his thumbs in his pockets and rocks onto the balls of his feet, “Grundish and I got plans. He’s always been my best buddy. Always watched out for me. Grundish and I got plans if we ever get out of this mess. I don’t wanna be
bragabocious
but, oh boy, once we get going, we ain’t gonna stop.” Askew gets excited as he starts to talk about the plans, and he paces back and forth while talking.

“You’re kind of a nut. But, you’re nice, too,” says Dora. “Tell me about the plans.”

“Me and Grundish are gonna save up enough money to get a big boat, like a yacht. Or maybe we’ll buy a shut-down oil platform. Whatever it is, we’re gonna be out in international waters. Out where the government ain’t got no
exterdishun
powers. And we’re gonna run a brothel, maybe run some gambling, maybe grow weed. We’re gonna be a den of
inequity
, but a fun one, mind you. We’re gonna get rich. Grundish is gonna let me be in charge of the girls. And there won’t be nothing illegal about it because we’ll be in international waters, and the government won’t be able to do a damn thing about it. We’ll just be out there, a big
tentation
to U.S. residents and only a short boat or helicopter ride away.”

“That sounds expensive to start up.” Dora reaches into Askew’s front pocket of his shorts and pulls out the crushed pack of Blue Llamas. On the way out of the pocket, her hand brushes against the side of Askew’s turgid schlong and makes him twitch momentarily. She extracts two cigarettes and gives one to Askew. He lights her smoke and then his. She continues, “You’re gonna need a lot of money. Do you have enough?”

“No, not yet,” sighs Askew. “We’re gonna have to work on that when we get down to Mexico.”

“You’re really not all that bright, huh?”

“What?” asks Askew defensively.

“You ain’t gonna earn enough money down in Mexico. Your idea sounds good. But, you’re gonna need somebody to finance things for you.”

“We’ll figure it out,” says Askew, not enjoying having holes poked in the plan. “Grundish is real smart. He’ll make it work.”

“I’m sure he will. No doubt. But you need to think about financing. And I can help. I’ve got money stashed away. All I do is work and save. Right now I have over a hundred-grand saved. And I know lots of whores. I can find plenty of girls who’d be happy to work for guys like you and Grundish.”

“I don’t know,” says Askew. “This is our deal, me and Grundish. What would you want out of it?”

Dora sits on a stack of storage boxes and sucks at her cigarette. She looks at Askew shyly and tells him, “I just want to be involved. Be a partner. Not have to sell myself anymore. So whatta ya say? Can I get in on the action?”

“I don’t know. I suppose it would be okay. But, I get to be in charge of the girls. That’s the deal. I’m in charge of the girls.”

“That’s cool,” says Dora, “you’re in charge of the girls. So, am I in then?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to Grundish. He’ll be okay with it.”

They sit and finish the cigarettes in silence, neither knowing what to say. “So, uh, you ain’t my hostage then?” Askew asks slyly and moves closer to Dora again.

“Hell, no! That’s what I’m telling you, Mister.” She moves toward him and drops to her knees.

“And you want to be here with us?”

“Hell yes, I do! Now shut up and whip it out.” Dora reaches out and manages to pop the button and undo the zipper on Askew’s pants.

“Can we still pretend that you’re my hostage?” Askew asks with a grin.

“Mmmrgghhhhhhh,” Dora says, indicating a yes as well as she can with her mouth full.

•  •  •

Outside of the warehouse, Grundish walks around looking for Askew and Dora. There’s nobody to be found except for Alf the Sacred Burro, now staying close to his apple tree. Grundish plucks a ripe apple from the tree and holds it out on the flat surface of his upturned hand. Alf’s lips tickle Grundish’s hand as the burro accepts the fruit from him. “Fruit from the tree of life, my friend,” says Grundish. “Enjoy.”

Alf stomps one front foot several times and sprays a joyful donkey bray. His lips curl up into a donkey smile. Grundish smiles back. A string of thick donkey saliva hangs from the side of Alf’s mouth. Gravity slowly tugs at it until the string breaks halfway toward the ground, leaving part of the strand to fall to the earth in a rounded spit globule while the remainder of the drool snaps back toward the donkey’s mouth and continues to hang from his lip. Alf stomps his foot again and smiles at Grundish.

“I understand, old man,” says Grundish. He plucks another apple from the tree and feeds it to Alf.

Grundish sits in the front seat of an old, bright orange, VW minibus with the driver’s window permanently open. On the passenger seat beside him is a load of apples picked from Alf’s tree. Just outside the van, with his head resting on the door and breaking the plane of the open window, is Alf, staring at Grundish with seeping eyes and whinnying occasionally to catch his attention.

“Neigh,” says Alf to Grundish. It’s what he says. He’s never considered
excuse me
or
hey you
. Just
neigh
suffices for a donkey.

“Here you go, Old Boy,” answers Grundish, grabbing another apple and feeding it to the donkey. Absentmindedly scratching the burro’s dirty brown head, Grundish thinks about his friend and the girl he disappeared with. He ponders how Dora fits into the equation of Grundish plus Askew. He and Askew have been friends for so long that Grundish can’t imagine doing most things without Askew. Neither Grundish nor Askew has ever been capable of a sustained relationship with a woman. Not that there weren’t ever women. There were the occasional short-lived relationships, usually terminated over issues related to arrested development in Askew’s case and actual arrests for Grundish. Their friendship is the longest enduring human bond either has known.
Hopefully
, thinks Grundish,
hopefully Askew is just getting up in her guts. And, then he’ll get her out of his system, and we can get on with our plans to scoot out of here and down to Mexico.

Alf nudges Grundish’s arm with his nose and lets out a low squeak. Grundish grabs another apple for the ass and scritches
^[36]
his head again. Alf has found a new friend. The old dreams of starring in a donkey show in Mexico are long forgotten for him. Alf is satisfied to merely laze about with somebody willing to scritch his head and feed him apples.
A donkey lives a long time
, thinks Alf,
and eventually realizes that this is what it is all about
. He nudges Grundish’s arm again to get another apple. Alf chomps on the juicy fruit and swallows. He steps away from the van and horks up a hairy, brown, vomit-ball.

“Grundish!” Askew and Dora walk around the junkyard yelling.

“Grundish!” He hears but doesn’t answer. Instead he hands another apple to Alf and rubs a soft spot on the burro’s head right between the ears.

“There you are. Where you been, buddy?” asks Askew, appearing in front of the van, holding Dora’s hand. They flash dopey grins brought on by orgasm-induced endorphins, and look like a couple of eighth-graders who have just, for the first time, partaken in the sport of bumping uglies.

Grundish looks sideways at Alf.
Shit
, he thinks,
Askew was in there getting poontang. Maybe even stuck it in her fart-box, for all I know. And the way things were looking when I left, Turleen and Jerry probably dusted the cobwebs off each others goods and went at it. And look at me, stuck out here feeding apples to a broken old donkey.
His mind momentarily drifts back to his encounter in the Git-n-Go bathroom with Velda. He peels himself away from the memory and looks from Askew’s face to Dora’s and back to Askew’s again. “This is not good,” he mutters to Alf. “Not good at all.”

“Come on out, Pal,” says Askew. “Jerry wants to have a little meeting with us if we’re planning on hiding out here. And we all just disappeared on him. He and Turleen are waiting inside for us.”

Grundish, Askew and Dora leave Alf at the front door of the building. The donkey tries to follow them inside. Grundish tosses an apple away from the door in order to get Alf to move far enough away for them to get inside without being chaperoned by the burro. Inside of the building, the sound of hooves and horseshoes clanging on the side of the metal building rings out as Alf vents his frustration at the indignity of being ditched by his new friend. Inside, the group convenes again.

“We all need to talk about your situation,” says Jerry to no one in particular. His old bones carry what little meat there is on his body around the enormous living area, stopping to rub a cat here and there. “I won’t criticize what I don’t understand. But I need to know what’s going on.” He picks up a scrawny tiger kitten by the scruff of its neck and cradles it in his arm. “You boys appear to be in some trouble from what Turleen’s told me. Is that about right?”

“Uh, yeah, you could say that,” answers Grundish. He sits atop a wooden crate with his legs crossed Indian-style. “Some stuff went bad. Askew there shot a man while robbing his castle, not to mention the rest of the shit that went down. I guess we’re what you would call
on the lamb
.”

“Okay,” nods Jerry. “From what Turleen tells me, you both went a little crazy and some people got hurt. She says you went more than a little crazy.” He jabs one long, crooked, finger at the air in Askew’s direction. “Is that fair to say?”

Askew and Dora sit back in a stained love-seat with their arms around each other, beaming broken, crooked, smiles fit for a public awareness scare-tactic poster about proper oral hygiene. Beaumont sits tensed on an arm of the couch near Askew, shooting daggers at Dora’s head with his eyes. “Yes sir,” says Askew. His smile fades. “I went a little batshit crazy. But the people that we hurt were bad apples. Dudes who do some
heenous
shit. Ask Grundish, he’ll tell you.”

“It’s true Mr. Mathers,” agrees Grundish. “Askew did kind of lose it. But the people he hurt were some real Fuckers. You don’t believe us, you can ask Turleen.”

“Well, I’m not going to ask her about that now. That little lady’s plumb tuckered out after our, uh, reunion.” A Turleen-shaped lump under the purple covers of the waterbed snores contentedly in a gentle, wheezing rhythm. “And, I don’t care about all that now,” Jerry’s teeth chatter as he shivers in the ninety-degree temperature of the room. He drops his kitten to the floor and pulls a knit beanie cap on again, crossing his arms to contain body heat. “If Beaumont and Alf both think you fellas are all right, then you must be. I just can’t afford to have some wingnut going loopy here and bringing the authorities down on my compound. I’ve been living a clean life for a long time now, and I don’t need anybody snooping into my situation. I’ve sacrificed to get where I am. And I know you give something up for everything you gain. Everybody does. But I’ve really given up a lot. And I’m nice and comfortable now.” His teeth chatter, belying the proclamation of comfort. “And I don’t want no change. I don’t like change, and I don’t want none. So let’s talk about what you boys need to do. Turleen tells me you’ve got plans. Let’s hear them.”

“You tell him, Grundish,” says Askew. “It’s always so beautiful when you talk about it.” Dora wraps both of her arms around Askew’s arm and gazes at him.

“Well, Mr. Mathers,” starts Grundish. Jerry paces around the room, his lanky form hunched over. He grabs a walking stick carved from the branch of a tree and continues to move about nervously while Grundish talks. “First we need to get down to Mexico. Then Askew and I are gonna scratch up some bread so that we can buy a big ship. And we’re gonna anchor it in international waters and run a whorehouse and marijuana dispensary without the government fucking with us. It’ll be a real first class act. But like I said, first we need to get out of the country without getting arrested.”