’77 14, part 4

Like I said, you never could count on the blotter acid in those parts to be dependable. And for that matter there was a thing about me and acid, anyway. Some trips all I wanted to do was mellow and watch the show; others I turned at some peaking point into a beer drinkin' psychotic Godzilla from hell. You never knew what would trigger me…a perceived bad TV show, a hot beer, a cop with an over-bright flashlight…or maybe a Ninja offering…

"Here." Rodent pushed a paring knife, a crescent wrench, and a greasy shop towel into my hands. The stars blinked off the chrome of the crescent wrench. A spider winked at me from the trunk. I looked up at Rodent. He was grinning.

"What's this shit for?" I asked. In my head it sounded like I said, "Wuussssa thisssa shhhhh foooooo," all echo-y like, bouncing in and out of the Chevy trunk.

"Shhssssshhh," Rodent said. "Weee gottsaa gisss some gasss. SSSSneakk overr tharr behinnnd that shhheddd to the bbboat and grrab the gass tankk."

I already had enough of this echoin' shit. What Rodent was saying seemed important. Fun over, trigger pulled.

"Goddamit, Rodent, speak clear. You're sayin' we're gonna git some gas outta that boat. Naw, you sayin' I'M gonna git some gas outta that boat. What YOU gonna do?"
The echoes were gone. For the first time I noticed the crickets- a symphony of electric cheep - cheeps from everywhere; the woods and streetlight in them were glowing sharp but still; the stars were falling out of sight; the black Chevy had turned swirling purple and smelled like burnt oil. Rodent was still grinning.

"I'm drivin' the getaway car, man."

"Aight." For some reason a mixed up Monty Python skit jumped in my mind. "You're to stay here, and I'm not to sing."

"What?"

"No singin', dude. Hee. Aight. I'm gonna go get us some gas. Here, hold this." I handed Rodent the tools. I put a hand on the trunk lip and pulled a boot off.

"Whatya doin'?"

"Gettin' Ninja, man." I pulled the other boot off. "I get real quiet barefooted." I picked both boots off the gravel and laid them in the trunk. My feet felt every wrinkle and pebble on the road through my socks. The crickets stopped.

"Ninja?" Rodent wasn't grinning anymore.

"Ninja. Keep your voice down. Gimme them tools. Shut the trunk, quiet like. Get in the car, quiet like. If you hear any noise down there, get the hell outta here, go to Dale's house and stay there…I'll catch up later. Shouldn't take me more'n five minutes or so."



The fence between the yards was shoulder high, made of evenly-spaced barbed-wire strings stretched tight a foot or so apart. I was on the property of a brick house to my right; the only light there looked to be a rear bedroom, maybe 60 watts vaguely pushing through a curtain. There were pine trees on the fenceline and scatterings of cottonwoods and mesquites in the yard; all of them had dropped needles and leaves for the wind to move into intermittent piles at the fence. In this summer the stuff should have been crackly but I moved without sound over and through it. My feet tickled. I looked left into the target yard. A cat walked up the driveway into the streetlight. It looked like a green possum. I put my hand over my mouth and snickered. Fuckin' green possum. The cat/possum paused, looked toward me, continued. Ninja, baby.

The barbed wire stopped, butted to the wood of a slat privacy fence that ran on to encase the back of the yard I was in. I looked over. The streetlight hung off a creosote telephone pole at the back corner of the house. Everything here was lit by it, including me. There was an old white Ford pickup parked road-forward under the only window on this side of the house…bathroom window….'she came in through the bathroom window'…shutup, mind. I could see a light shining from way inside through the open bathroom door. A red metal-flake bass boat was hitched to the pickup. In the streetlight it looked like a jillion red stars in the shape of a…uh…bass boat.


I took another look at the bathroom window, tucked the tools in my britches, took two stocking steps between the barbs, over, dropped in beside the pickup. A flailing commotion under the truck made me freeze…BONK, BONK, SCRATCH, SCRAMBLE…the cat/possum tore down the driveway, back to wherever she came from, leaving me some crazy green tracers. Jeebus. Breathe, Huffman. Breathe. So much for Ninja.

I stared at the bathroom window and listened. A cricket somewhere behind me decided things were safe enough for singing. Good enough. I hunched over and creeped to the back of the boat – Creepy-crawly? Where did that come from? Oh fuck, Helter Skelter. I'm on a mission for Charley. Ya know, dude, ya DO have a parin' knife in your britches…GODDAMIT, MIND, I DONE TOL' YOUR STUPID TRIPPIN' ASS TO SHUTUP. WE'RE HERE TO STEAL SOME GAS, NOT CARVE UP A FEW –

I heard a creaky sound from the house. Like a floor board. Maybe an opening window. Maybe just the normal house creak. But a trippy creak from movement. Dayam, Charley, we're busted. Gotta hide. I crept around the boat and ouch rammed my shin into the propeller screw. I'm screwed. The Navy calls that a screw. Propellers are on airplanes. Goddam Boot Camp. Goddam a sore shin. Get someplace…I saw a tool shed behind the house. I ran the gap in the streetlight, turned the corner of the tool shed and ran slap into an open screen door. BAM! Screen door on a tool shed? What the…

"UH-HUH!!! I BEEN WATCHIN' YOR THIEVIN' ASS!!! GIT OUTTA HERE AND TAKE SOME OF THIS WITYA!!!"

Pow.

Zing.

.22 rifle.

Walla-walla-bing- GONE. I took a quick look around and went for the shortest distance between me and shot; the barbed wire.

Pow.

Zing.

"I DONE SAID GIT!!!"

I heard Rodent crank the '67 up and roar out, tires squallin'. I flat-foot jumped the barbed wire…

Pow.

Zing.

My right pants leg didn't swing over quick enough. The top wire grabbed me. Goddam bell-bottoms. And goddam school sports programs. If they hadn't kicked my stoner ass out I'd have cleared that…

Pow. Zing. Pow.

I landed directly on my head.