Chapter 21

It was a long few weeks for Mule, stuck at home with his mother for the most part. They ran out of beer and couldn't steal any from passed out Mexicans since the weather had turned cold.

His mother complained constantly about the lack of alchohol. When this wasn't on her mind, she went on and on about not having anything to eat, since she had blown all her money on lottery tickets, plus the people next door had moved out and she could not watch their television from her porch any more.

The lack of beer bothered a man who liked to crack a top the first thing in the morning, but worrying about Squiggy was a bigger concern.

He had gone out to check on his friend twice. The first time, Mule was still on crutches. He tried to hitchhike and got rides from two ugly women, who both kicked him out of the car when Mule wouldn't show him how he got his nickname. Chief Arnold saw him near the city limits, crutching away and took mercy on Mule, driving him the rest of the way to Squiggy's house.

Squiggy wasn't there and it didn't look like he had been there. The second visit was a week before Christmas. He got up early one morning and decided it was time for the cast to go. His doctor had not released him, since Mule had not gone to see him. But Mule was tired of the cast and cut it off with a hunting knife.

He only cut himself twice. The first one on his thigh hurt like a booger, but didn't bleed. His second mistake was right above his ankle. This one also hurt and was deep enough to almost see the bone.

Mule was a man on a mission, though, and wouldn't let a little blood stop him. He took off walking and realized that was a mistake. Mule made it downtown before stopping at the pharmacy for some bandages and antiseptic for his bleeding wounds.

They took mercy on Mule and comped him a couple of large bandages and suggested the cut above the ankle probably needed stitches. He didn't have time for stitches! Mule needed to check on his friend. A good piece of duct tape had to do for now.

He went next door to Verna's cafe, hoping for a ride. Nobody was leaving, preferring to sit around the tables, drink coffee, smoke their smelly cigarettes and try to talk louder than everybody else.

Mule was leaving when he saw a familiar face drive by. It was May, the woman who had shared their company on Thanksgiving. He waved her down and she parked in front of the pharmacy. May rolled the window down while checking the mirrors, wanting to make sure her parents didn't drive by and see her talking to Squiggy's friend who had thunked her father over the head with his crutch.

"You seen Squiggy?" he asked.

She shook her head. May had not seen or heard from him, not that it was a surprise after what happened in the parking lot of the church.

"I's worried about him," Mule said. "Can you gimme a ride out to his place?"

"Why are you worried about him?" she asked. There was some concern in the tone of her voice.

"I ain't seen him since that day."

"Neither have I."

"That sucks," Mule added.

She nodded. May was also a little concerned about him. It had been rough around her house for several days after the incident. Neither of her parents liked Squiggy before that day, and their opinion had only worsened. Her father was even worse than her mother after word got out what happened to him. He even had to shave off his beard and mustache since there were several gaps thanks to Squiggy plucking out the facial hair.

"Can I have a ride?" he asked.

"I can't do that," May said. "My parents would kill me."

He didn't exactly have a high opinion of her parents. Mule nodded and started limping away. The pain was getting bad, both from the hurt leg and the cuts. He wondered if the pharmacy would let him have some pain pills, but decided they probably wouldn't without a letter from the doctor.

Mule had to stop and rest twice before getting to the highway. He was about ready to give up when a truck pulled up next to him. It was an older man in a white truck with beady eyes visible underneath his hat, advertising some race car driver Mule had never heard of him.

"You the feller that hit Jimmy Alice over the head with the crutch?" the man asked. Mule nodded, wondering if this was a friend or foe of the little man. "Good. Need a lift?"

"Naw, I was needing a ride."

The man looked confused for a few seconds. Several cars were backed up behind the truck. "Get in," the man said.

Mule didn't need to be told twice. He hopped in the truck, a newer one without any trash in the floorboard. There was a sack in the seat and Mule could smell what it was.

"Want a beer?" the man asked.

"I'd eat a fresh turd for one," Mule said.

"That ain't necessary. Just get you a beer."

It was Coors, Mule found out with glee, his favorite brand. He pulled a beer out of the sack and drink half in the first drink.

"You must be thirsty?" the man asked.

"Yep," Mule answered. "I ain't had a beer in two weeks, or so."

The man was stopped at the four way light. Traffic was fairly steady. Several big trucks were flying by, going way too fast.

"Where we going?" the man asked.

"Squiggy's house," Mule said as he finished up the beer.

"How far is it?"

"About three away."

"Huh?"

"It takes about three to get there."

"Three what?"

"Beers," Mule said. He looked in the sack and saw there was at least eight beers left.

"Strange way to tell distances," the man said. "Help yourself."

Mule grabbed his second beer and popped the top. He gave the man directions and looked out the window, savoring the beer. It was taking a little of the pain away.

"Thanks for the ride and the beer," Mule said. They had arrived at the flashing yellow lights and turned back toward the lake.

"What's your name?" the man asked.

"Mule."

"Is that a fact?"

Mule nodded. He finished off the second beer and placed it between his legs along with the other empty one.

"I hear you got a root," the man said.

"A what?"

"A root, a big one."

Mule nodded. He slowly reached into the sack for another beer, watching for any reaction. The man didn't seem to care!

"Must be nice," the man said. "I got a little willy."

Mule frowned at the man. He really didn't need to know that.

"Can't even see the little guy cause of my gut and all."

Mule did not like where this conversation was going. He looked out the window. "Look, there's a hawk!"

The man didn't seem all that concerned about the hawk. "I bet the women like you."

"Some of em do," Mule said. "Most of em would prefer I had a job."

The man nodded. He helped himself to a beer as they drove past the church where Mule and Squiggy got into it with Jimmy Alice.

"You get much action?" the man asked.

"Some," Mule said. "I ain't been hunting lately."

"Naw, I meant with the chicks."

"Yeah, but most of em are skanky."

"Man! I ain't been with a chick in almost a year. Let me see it."

"Huh?"

"Let me see your tool."

Mule scooted closer to the door. "No."

"C'mon!"

"No, I ain't no homo."

"I ain't neither, just wanted to see what a big root looked like in person."

"I ain't gonna do it. You're strange."

The man skidded to a stop. "Then get out!"

Mule got out of the truck and watched it drive away. He still had half a beer and slipped another out of the sack while climbing out. The skies were turning grey and the wind was picking up from the north. He was stuck on the side of the highway, still a good two miles away from Squiggy's house.

Several cars and trucks sped by, showing no interest in the man standing on the edge of the road sticking both thumbs in the air. He grew frustrated after a few minutes and started flipping people the bird after they drove by.

Mule's leg was hurting and he sat down. This wasn't a good idea, he decided. Mule was out of beer and getting cold. He barely managed to stand and started walking toward Squiggy's house, every step causing a jolt of pain up his leg.

He never heard the truck pull up next to him. Mule was limping along when a horn honked. He looked to his left and saw the truck next to him. Inside was one of the prettiest women he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. She had long black hair, bushy eyebrows and a pointed nose that tilted up at the end.

She was wearing a low-cut blouse that revealed a good two inches of cleavage. Mule caught himself staring at the woman's breasts.

"Where you goin?" she asked.

"Squiggy's," he said. She had a pair of major leaguers, was pretty and even talking to him.

"Need a lift?"

"I could use a ride," he said.

She frowned, but smiled. "Hop in."

Again, Mule didn't have to be told twice. He could smell her perfume, a fragrance that smelled like roses. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and beat-up boots.

"Thank you," he said. Her breasts were like a magnet to his eyes. She should be in one of those dirty books Squiggy has.

"You'll have to give me directions," she said. "Why didn't you drive out here? Need the exercise?"

"Don't got no truck."

She nodded. That didn't seem to bother her. "I got some beer in the ice chest there."

Mule looked at where she was pointing, a small camo ice chest on the floorboard. He looked back at her and then at the ice chest. A beer-drinking babe was giving him a ride! Squiggy wouldn't believe this.

He helped himself to a beer. "Thank you. Want one?"

"Depends on what you're offering."

"Uh, a beer?"

"Maybe later."

Mule tried not to stare but couldn't help it. Every little bump or turn sent her breasts moving with the flow.

"Man!" he said, and cringed.

She turned and smiled at him. "You like em?"

"Uh, what?"

"You know what. They's real."

"What's real?"

"My rack."

Mule spewed the drink of beer out of his mouth. "Sorry."

"Don't worry bout it. You never said if you liked them."

He nodded and hoped his tongue wasn't hanging out of his mouth.

She slowly ran her right hand down from her throat to the bottom of the "V" shirt and back several times.

Mule knew he was drooling, but couldn't stop. "You're sweating," she said.

He nodded, still staring at her. She arched her back and pulled her shirt a little to the side of each breast.

Mule had forgotten all about his hurt leg and the beer. They were driving down the dirt road and he was having trouble breathing.

"Is this it?" she asked. They were at the clearing to Squiggy's house. The new house was still in the same condition as it was.

Mule looked around and nodded. His concern with Squiggy had lessened considerably. "Let me check and see if he's here."

Mule got out of the truck and limped off toward the cellar. Squiggy's truck was gone, so Mule had a good idea his friend was not home. The woman moved up next to him.

"I'm cold!" she said and giggled. Mule looked down and saw that it was rather nipply.

"Yeah, you is," he said. They looked like .22 shells.

"Where's your friend live?" she asked.

"In there," Mule said, pointing to the cellar.

She walked in front of him and went down the steps to the cellar. The woman opened the door and went inside. "Nobody's here."

Mule was standing at the top of the steps, wondering where his friend was hiding out. This was really bothering him. He stood there for a few seconds and realized the woman was still in the cellar.

She poked her head out the door. "I'm getting a little lonely in here."

Mule was positive his jaw just dribbled off the ground.

Chapter 22