…Ma Bracken was making homemade orange pudding while Mom sewed up the cut from the fence post and extracted the pellets. It had been Bro that had hunted and shot him down by the fence-line. But he told her it was just some dudes in a white pickup truck. Bro was his Number One Bud after all. The pellet that flattened out on the back of his head did hurt some.
Darn Bro, watch the head shots next time...
…The trailer door creaked open as Dad came home from First Shift. He was feeling a little rough and smelling none too good...
…He had blood and shit and urine—is that dog-shit?—all over him. He was in a holding cell in some prison, he thought. At least it sounded too big to be a jail.
Where do they take you instead of Central Booking?
Wake up dummy. Stuff is happening.
He opened his right eye and peeked out from beneath his—is this my leg?—into the hallway beyond the bars. Out in the hall was a messy crime scene. Somebody had obviously gotten a weapon and hacked up some guards. Guys and gals in lab coats and even an FBI dude were out there. The whole situation was kind of weird; particularly the fact that his head was stuffed down between his legs under his left thigh—dude this has got to look so gay!
He sat up and looked ahead of him. On the opposite end of the cell were jammed about twenty criminals—mostly young gangbangers, but with some big old-school guys too. They looked scared to death and they were all staring at him like he was Charles Manson or something.
Hillbilly do you think we did that?
Listen dummy, we are an I, not a we, okay?
He looked out into the hall again at the cleanup crew.
Someone is zipping up a body-bag, and someone else is taking pictures, and that fat chick is trying to figure out whose hand that is.
He stood up and stretched and noticed that he had a piece of tissue stuck under a cuff.
Your handcuffs are broken—you’d think they’d make them better than that.
Is that intestines?
No that would be like a sausage casing. That must be lung tissue stuck under the cuff…and between your fingers…and under your nails—oops, my bad.
Oh gross.
He looked around self-consciously and tried to discard the battle gore nonchalantly.
Yeah, you did that. This should be a long stay.
I wonder if the chow is any good? I bet the rice pudding sucks!
Just then three gang bangers shoved a transvestite across the cell at him, and two big West Indian hitters shoved some fat dumpy well-dressed dude in his direction also.
This is an interesting development.
Jay was the only Caucasian in the cell. The transvestite was tall and light-skinned—kind of pretty actually, except for the big Adam’s apple and pointy chin.
At least she shaves her legs and has breast implants.
Dummy, that is a he.
Oh yeah, okay, got it.
The he-she or whatever it was sounded like a chick with a cold as she primped at her hair extensions and placed one hand on her—it’s—his—darn—hip and began to speak with him, “Hi, what’s up Hot Stuff?”
He nodded at her uneasily. Something was wrong with his mouth.
“Look, my name is New-net-the-love, nice to meet you whoever you are.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as the fat guy pushed himself to his feet nervously and the gangbangers and hitters and dealers all looked on with some curiosity.
New-net-the-love continued, “We understand discretion, prying pig ears and all—nice to meet you.”
She—he—it—darn this is creepy—then extended her—oh Jeeze—hand to shake and Jay took it and nodded. He wanted to reassure her—he—darn—it—darn!—but his mouth did not feel right.
I wonder if I got my teeth knocked out.
Mom was always afraid of that you know. ‘You know, it is all fun and games until someone looses a tooth,’ she always used to say.
He then sat back down against the wall, and oddly enough, New-net-the-love would not let go of his hand, and also sat down in her—just give up figuring this out—evening dress and stuck her tongue out at the gangbangers, who now looked at the fat guy and pointed at Jay.
This is some weird stuff going on here.
The little fat man walked up to Jay and then started to gush with effusive hand motions, “Look man we get it, we do. They was setting you up and smacking you down. You fought the good fight—you know a little messy but we—all my friends here behind me—just want to let you know how much we appreciate you jacking up those corrections officers—that is what they are called! I knew it began with a C—on behalf of everybody stuck up in this joint. Okay—we cool right. We just wanted you to know that we saw the guards start it. It was a clear case of self-defense, and we did not see anybody get eaten! Nobody, no big monster guard getting his lungs ripped out—nothing like that!”
New-net-the-love was still holding his hand as she chimed in, “Ugh humm, no siree, we didn’t see no radio-swinging tazer-happy inmate-abusing guards get eaten—we did not see that shit, did we boys?”
All of the other crowded prisoners then agreed with a murmur and the fat dude wiped the beading sweat from his brow, and even took off his shirt and started wiping the vile remains of Jay’s night of adventure off with his own soaked shirt—a nice shirt actually. “Look brother, I’m a DJ, just got caught with a personal quantity of some weed—name’s Three-Dee-Biscuit—we cool right, like I don’t need to worry about making it onto the menu right?”
Jay began to get offended, and thought he’d be a little diplomatic and said,…well nothing really came out that sounded like a word, because half of a tongue was stuck between his bottom front teeth—and it wasn’t his tongue!
Oh this is inconvenient.
Three-Dee-Biscuit started to gag and turn away. But New-net-the-love was made of tougher stuff. “Now that’s just too nasty! Let me help you with that…yuck…damn, this shit be jammed up in there…pull yo head back Baby...turn yo head and clench yo jaw…yeah, it’s commin’…there it’s out, Hot Stuff.”
New-net-the-love discarded the human tongue with a flick of her long fingers. She then wiped her hand on her dress as she continued, “Really, you’re better than that, you were doing fine with that kung fu fighting before you went wolf-man on them. You can relax now Baby; New-net-the-love has got your back—do you have my back Hot Stuff?”
Do you think maybe she’s in a feud with some of these dudes?
No dummy, she likes dudes, and you’re a dude!
Oh yuck!
Well, be nice at least. She has been helpful.
Three-Dee-Biscuit was throwing up between the bars and a guard was yelling at him and New-net-the-love just primped her hair and adjusted his-her-it bra provocatively…
No wonder Randy isn’t into sex, if this is all the better it gets in these parts. Come on Three-Rivers, start a war with the Dutch colonists and call me back. I miss them little red girls…
