The Feet of God
45 - IMAGINE MY SURPRISE
Freddy drove over to North
Loup and parked the bus by The Loup de Loup Bar & Grille where we was
scheduled to play that night. Me and
Bobby unloaded everything and hooked up all the equipment for the evening’s
performance while the others lounged about the dining area. After finishing our work, we joined the rest
of the family to scarf down gratuitous chilidogs and draft beer served by the
management.
Six beers later, and a gut full of chilidogs, I wandered back to the bus for a
little siesta before showtime. But
before dozing off I took the opportunity to dig through the piles of costumes
and props for spare change. If I could
get my hands on another Lucky $20 I’d walk away from my roadie job right then
and there. I mean, I’d been working my
tail off for the family all this time and got nothing to show for it. Okay, maybe I didn’t spend any money, but I
didn’t make none either. In fact, I was
still in the hole for the coffee from the first day. Although I didn’t find any loose cash in all
the rags lay’n about, I did score a pack of Lucky Strikes underneath a soiled
pair of Bobby’s jockey shorts. I allowed
myself a private moment to lean back, light up a smoke, and nod off….
Many hours later, after we’d finished our gig at The Loup de Loup Bar &
Grille and was loaded up, we hit the road headin’ south. No sooner did we start the journey down the
endless miles of highway than Bobby made a public announcement, “Okay, dearest
family of mine, do you know what tomorrow is?”
“Tuesday!” They all shouted like
contestants on some incredibly simple game show.
“Bingo. And what is Tuesday?”
Dead silence.
“Okay, that’s a toughie. I’ll give you a
hint. Think hot water.”
“Are we in some kind of trouble?” Cherrie whined.
“No, no, no,” Bobby shook his graying perm.
“It’s shower-at-a-motel day.”
Everybody clapped and cheered.
“I have officially reserved our accommodations at the Monett 4 in Elba.”
“Elba?” Cherrie’s glassy eyes
shined. “You mean like the peach
dessert?”
“Not quite, sis,” Bobby pinched her breast.
“Elba’s a town in Nebraska.”
“Cool,” she giggled.
Just then Freddy shushed everyone, “Shhhh!
Shhhhh! Hey, gang, listen to this.” He turned up the sound real loud on the bus radio:
“…armed and highly dangerous. Repeating this newsflash: Lennie Conchiglioni - also known as ‘Slack’ - reportedly escaped from lockup in Smoot where he was being held on charges of deflowering the underage granddaughter of Elvira Smoot, heiress to the Smoot Fertilizer fortune. Mr. Conchiglioni stole a policeman’s gun during his daring getaway and is considered armed and highly dangerous. Police from Smoot have launched a manhunt to track him down, but no one knows Mr. Conchiglioni’s whereabouts at the moment. Stay tuned for further breaking news. And now we return to our regular programming and the ‘Fresh Air Farm Report’ brought to you by Strafer’s Crop Dusting & Skywriting.”
Freddy turned off the radio
and things was eerie quiet until Mom broke the silence. “Now just because he’s escaped doesn’t mean
he intends to come after us.”
“I’m not so sure,” Cherrie focused her concern.
“What was it he called us when they dragged him away? A bunch of lousy fucking assholes? And didn’t he swear he’d even the score? And that he’d hunt us down no matter what it
took, and kill every fucking one of us?”
Bobby was sarcastic, “You’re batting 1.000 on this one, sis.”
Cherrie beamed like she just got an A+ on an algebra test.
For some reason Buffy was getting real excited over in the corner where she’d
fashioned a little bed for herself. Her
eyes was like a rabid fawn’s, and she commenced to pick up the pace of her
mitt’s constant beating against her thigh.
Bobby turned, “Hey, Buffy, wanna see our
old roadie again?”
The muffled pounding of the mitt grew real intense.
“But he doesn’t want to come and play with Buffy. Oh, noooo.
Slack wants to beat the living shit out of Buffy and Cherrie and Mom and
Freddy and Bobby, because Mom fingered him for screwing a little girl when it
was Freddy who got lucky.”