Grundish & Askew (23 page)

“I would not ignore them or bust a nut in ’em,” says Askew loudly. “I’d take care of the ladies. Dora’d help me. And she’s the only one I’d be screwing.”

“The hell she is,” says Beaumont. “You’d ruin the whole operation. Just like you do everything else you touch. Lord knows Grundish has done everything he can to jack you out of the sewer, but you don’t ever appreciate it. If you think Grundish is gonna let you tend to the ladies now, you’ve gone even crazier than you already were. Grundish ain’t gonna let you be in charge of nothin’. He’s gonna put the boots to you, just like you did to me. That’s what he’s gonna do.”

“No, he ain’t. Grundish ain’t never laid a hand on me. He’s my best friend, and he’s nice to me. He ain’t gonna hurt me.”

“Well, he’s finally tired of your shit,” says Beaumont. “He’s gonna beat the shit out of you and then go off and start up his own floating whorehouse without you. He’s gonna leave you, you crazy bastard.”

“He won’t do it,” shouts Askew. “He’s my best pal. We stick together through thick and thin. We’re in it together for the whole
kitten caboodle
.”

“He’s gonna kick your ass and then split,” says Beaumont. Softly, over and over, Beaumont tells Askew, “He’s gonna leave you alone, you crazy bastard. He’s gonna leave you all alone. He’s gonna leave you, ya crazy bastard.”

“He ain’t. I tell you, he ain’t.” Askew puts his hands over his ears and scrunches his eyes shut. “Oh! Grundish, help me, Pal.” When he opens his eyes, Beaumont is gone. Askew is still on his back, half in and half out of the water. His heart is leaping through his chest, and he is gasping for breath again. When he settles and regains his composure, Askew pats his torn shirt pocket, looking for his cigarettes. His pocket is empty.

“They’re all gone. Your friend took them,” says a voice that draws Askew’s eyes in its direction. His vision takes in Stubbs the dog and Idjit Galoot both sitting beside him, wagging their tails. Stubbs offers Askew a Sordes Pilosus cigarette. “Maybe you should try one of these. They’re my favorite brand.”

Askew sits up and accepts the offering, turning it in his fingers, studying it, running it under his nose and sniffing it. “This ain’t menthol, is it?” he asks suspiciously.

“No, Mr. Askew. It most certainly is not menthol,” answers Stubbs. “Trust me. That is one fine tobacco cigarette I’m offering you.”

“I’m guessing it’s French or something like that, from what I can
gleam
from the brand name,” says Askew. “Am I right or something?”

“Yes, something like that. Go ahead and rest a moment. Enjoy the smoke. Then you will need to come with us.”

Somehow the cigarette is already lit. Askew takes a long drag on it, feeling the smoke expand in his lungs. He cranes his head back to exhale, blows the thick smoke out, inhales, and blows more smoke out once again. “Wow,” sighs Askew. “That is a tasty smoke.”

“We told you,” agrees Idjit Galoot. His sad and seeping eyes scan Askew’s badly battered mug. “Now, if you don’t mind my saying so, you have some nasty cuts on your face. Can I cleanse those wounds for you?”

“Sure, man,” says Askew. “That’d be real cool.” He lays on his back smoking, the cigarette lodged in the gap between his front teeth. Idjit licks at the lacerations on Askew’s face, loosening the coagulated crusties, sometimes gently gnawing at the stitches.

The cigarette burns down to the filter and Askew flicks it out into the water. The fireball fizzes out and a catfish mouth emerges from the muck, whiskers twitching, and snatches the butt, swallowing it before the other fish can get to it, only realizing too late that it isn’t food. Askew pulls his face away from Idjit’s enthusiastic cleansing tongue. Dog-breath-aroma clings to his face.

“Now that you’ve enjoyed a smoke, you have business to attend to. Please follow us,” says Stubbs.

“Yes, please walk this way,” advises Idjit. The dogs turn and walk toward the junkyard, their synchronized tails wagging back and forth, metronome-like, to some unheard rhythm.

Askew manages to work his way to his hands and knees, still unable to stand. He crawls behind Idjit and Stubbs. Gravel punctures the skin on his hands and knees as he drags himself toward Jerry’s warehouse. The palms of his hands are dimpled from pressing down on pebbles. The three of them reach an orange VW van with the roof-top popped. In front of the van, stuck in the ground, is a sign. The sign makes little sense to Askew. It reads:

TONIGHT IN THE VAN
FOR MADMEN ONLY
PRICE OF ADMITTANCE, YOUR MIND
NOT FOR EVERYBODY
DORA IS IN HELL

“What the fuck?” grunts Askew. “What’s that mean?”

“That is for you to figure out,” says Stubbs. “You are a madman. You can get in. Perhaps you would benefit from sitting a spell in the van.”

“Uh, okay,” Askew shrugs his shoulders and tries to stand, still feeling as if his body is being held close to the surface of the planet by a double dose of gravity. He gives up on trying to stand and starts to climb into the open sliding side door, sitting on the floor at the edge of the open doorway. “Would you guys mind bumming me a couple more smokes for while I’m in here?”

“I’d be glad to. I have a fresh pack here. You can have it,” says Stubbs, moving closer to Askew, the pack held in his teeth. “I’ve been meaning to quit anyway.”

Askew grabs the cigarettes from Stubbs’ mouth and wipes slobber from the cellophane wrapping. Two small indentations mar the pack where Stubbs’ canine teeth slightly pierced it. Askew slaps the top of the pack against his dimpled palm, packing the smokes, and peels the wrapper from the top. “I think I’ll have one more before I go in. Can I borrow your lighter?”

“You can have it, too.”

Askew takes the lighter from Stubbs’ mouth and wipes the slobber on his shorts. He lights his cigarette and begins to smoke. “Hey...” he says to the dogs, starting to thank them for their help. But, when Askew looks up to say thank you, Stubbs and Idjit Galoot are gone. Standing in their place is Alf the Sacred Burro. Askew works his way to his feet and finds himself unsteady, shaky, bordering on convulsive. He draws hard on the smoke and exhales, inhales, and exhales again before he clears the smoke from his lungs. His head feels three sizes too big and sluggish.

Alf sizes up Askew. “Look at you,” says the Sacred Burro. “Standing palsied at the gates of death yet afraid to die. I guess I can’t really blame you. It’s not your time yet, though. So don’t be freaked out about going in the van.”

“What do you mean standing at the gates of death? I’m not dying, am I?”

“Well, you are currently in the midst of water intoxication delirium. In case you don’t remember, you just chugged three gallons of water and passed out. And this isn’t the first time you’ve done that, is it?”

“Doh!” says Askew, slapping himself on the forehead. “I did that again, huh? I’m not real sure why I do that sometimes. I guess I ain’t quite right in the head. I just get so thirsty when I’m stressed out.” He rubs at his gashed forehead where he just slapped himself. “I ain’t gonna die from it, am I?”

“At this point you’ve caused additional minor brain damage. Your brain is swollen. It’s too big for the space allotted in your skull. So it’s basically crushing in on itself in your head. Luckily, the portions of your brain that control your respiration and temperature haven’t been affected yet. But, you have done irreparable damage to the part that manages your impulse control. Before it gets any worse, you need to drink some sports drink to replenish your electrolytes. And you need to piss. Piss a lot.”

“Is there anything that you can do to, like, I dunno, help me?” asks Askew.

“Yeah, all your sickness – I can suck it up. Throw it all at me. I can shrug it off.”

“Okay,” says Askew, thinking to himself that the beast of burden is talking nonsense. “But there’s one thing, donkey, I don’t understand. Why are you here? Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I’m here to help you. I’m the helping kind of donkey. And I’ve made something for you.” Alf arches his back and begins hacking, gagging, and contorting himself into unnatural positions until he ralphs up a hairy brown lump at the feet of Askew. “Take that. It will bring you good luck.”

Askew picks up the donkey-loaf and sniffs it. “Wheeee-ewww!” His head snaps back involuntarily as if kicked in the jaw by an invisible foot. “That smells like rotten throat cheese, man. What the fuck is it?”

“It’s a bezoar
^[41]
. A wad of undigested vegetable fibers and hair that has accumulated in my stomach in a hardened mass. It is said that bezoars have mystical healing powers and can drive away evil spirits. Keep it in your pocket and no harm may come to you. At least that’s what they say.”

“If you say so.” Askew flicks his cigarette and studies the bezoar closely. It looks like a turd with a beard and is hard like a rock. He pockets the good luck charm and eyes Alf suspiciously. “How is it that you seem to know what’s best for me? You’re a donkey, no offense intended...”

“...And none taken...” Alf’s ears twitch in response to a horsefly buzzing around them.

“...But, you seem wise for an animal. And I feel like I can trust you. Why is it that you know so much?”

“A donkey lives a long time,” Alf says cryptically as he turns to walk away. “Now get in the van. And don’t forget to drink lots of sports drinks.”

Inside the van Askew folds the back seat down into a bed. He grabs a bottle of water from a cooler full of ice and lays back, smoking and drinking more fluids. The barely-audible strains of a sitar creep down Askew’s acoustic meatus and gently sing their song to the tympanic membrane. A whiff of patchouli tickles his nose. “Smells like hippies,” he says to himself, smiling. “Like unwashed, filthy, happy, happy hippies.”

“It’s a hippy van, Daddy-O,” giggles Dora as she climbs into the rear of the mini bus. She’s wearing only a poncho and has a bright yellow Black-Eyed Susan tucked into her hair. A red peace-sign is painted on her cheek. “Put away that water. You’ve already made yourself sick with that stuff. You need one of these.” She holds out a bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade.

Askew recaps the water bottle and tosses it toward the front seat of the van. “Hey, Baby,” he smiles at her. “What do you think of this here minibus? It’s kind of groovy, ain’t it?” The sitar music increases ever so slightly in volume, occasionally accented by foreign language chants. Askew chugs the Gatorade. “Come over here and lay next to me. I’ve missed you.”

Dora strips away her rancid poncho, and lies out naked by the door. “You want me to come up there, Baby?”

“I don’t just want you to. I need you.”

“Here I come.” She rises from the floor and slinks up the bed on all fours, her back bowed downward and hind quarters tilted up, like a pussy in heat presenting to a tomcat. The tempo and volume of the sitar increase in intensity.

Askew blows a thick cloud of smoke that forms a gray, smoggy ring around the top of his head. “Kiss my aura, Dora,” says Askew, grabbing her hair and dragging her face up to his. Kissing her so hard that her teeth smash his lips, making him bleed.

“Oh, yeah,” she smiles, her teeth glistening with his blood. She leans in again and deep kisses her man.

Askew pulls Dora’s head back by the hair and stares into her eyes. “You want some more.”

She says, “yeah, Baby,” and they roll off the bed onto the floor, groping and probing, slapping, tickling, ripping off Askew’s clothes until all he is wearing is a pair of black socks held up by garters. And then he is in her, fucking with great fervor. Mounting her from behind, doggy-style, he closes his eyes and jack-hammer pounds, gripping tightly onto her hips to keep her from being knocked away by his deep lunges. Askew thinks about how he loves the view from behind, the visual of the penetration, the nice round ass tilted up toward him. He likes reaching around and grabbing at the tits as they flop in time to his thrusts. The sitar and Indian chants build in volume and intensity, the rhythm driving Askew’s hips forward and pulling them back in great violent bursts. He opens his eyes to enjoy the view and instead of a smooth, rounded ass, he sees a furry tail wagging and his member forcefully pounding a crusty dog asshole.

“Ouch!” snaps Stubbs. “No lubrication and no reach around! Hell, you can’t even scratch me behind the ears while you’re doing that?” He attempts to skitter away, his sphincter momentarily seizing up and pulling Askew with him, rectal walls prolapsing, forming a fleshy pink sock on Askew’s member. “You’re a lousy date,” says Stubbs as he clumsily pulls away from Askew. “Give me a cigarette.”

“AW JEEZUS! AW JEEZ! WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT THE FUCK? AW FUCK! JEEZ!” Askew launches himself from the van, landing on his hands and knees, retching up fluids and chunks and more fluids. His stomach continues to heave even when the warm flow of vomit ceases. “I wanna shoot myself,” he says to the open van door. “I can’t believe I just boofed a dog. Oh, God!”

“Calm down,” says Stubbs from the open door. “It’s not like I enjoyed it either. I prefer to be with the ladies myself. And if I do have to do something like that, I definitely would opt for pitching over catching. Especially with your passionless, mechanical thrusts. But, somebody had to get your mind out of the gutter and urge you to purge some of that water. Now, get up and take a piss.”

“You mean you did that to make me puke?” Askew wipes his mouth with a shaky forearm.

“You’re going to die if you don’t eliminate a lot of your water, and quickly. Now take a piss.”

“You made yourself look like Dora? You used her feminine
wilds
to seduce me just so you could make me puke?”

“Well, let’s put it this way: I didn’t do it because I wanted to shit blood for the next week. Now piss. And give me a cigarette when you’re done. I love smoking after sex.”

Askew grips the van and pulls himself to his feet. Placing one hand on the minibus and leaning forward with his body at a forty-five degree angle from the ground, he lets loose with a thick, powerful spray of urine. His free hand pushes down on the still partially-erect cock, directing the flow into the ground. The sound, like a cow pissing on a flat rock, continues for what seems like minutes.