"You work for ECorp."I'd thrown my bicycle in the back of his pickup where he pulled over on that long stretch near Walker Narrows -- an act of faith, but an innocent one -- thrown it in and jumped into the cab grateful enough. Then I got the novelistic long moment, his head framed in the window of the pickup, the eyes the ears the nose the line of the hair no one I knew: no one from Voltage Temps, no one I'd passed in LISA's corridors sneaking to the john. And I considering how fast the truck might be going, how the asphalt would rasp and tear were I to jump, where or whether a point might come in which I could snag the bike from the back, snag it and have a few feet down some road before he might turn.
The pops of the shotguns just off at El Cuello Rojo Trap and Skeet spoke
Time
Time
Time .12 gauge, 20 gauge -- For years my father reloaded shells from a huge tin of slow-burning Unique powder someone had special-ordered and abandoned. They'd flash a good foot out of a 25-inch barrel and roar; I listened for his roar.
Time.
"Yes," I answer, answer the driver who has pulled over. If he knows, what can I tell him?
"Ha! Look at yourself, man - no, your eyes: look in the mirror. You fool! Like I can't spot an engineer so close to ECorp, nothing else for fucking miles."Nothing else. Voltage Temps signs my checks; I work for LISA, at the office there in Alambres, so of course I work for ECorp:
"Don't we all?"
"Who else but an engineer would peddle through the middle of nowhere on a bicycle with his shirt open and his tie flapping in the air like a goddamn dog's tongue."
I don't know any engineers: what I'll write comes without expertise.
"You headed down the bike trail, down the river?"
"Sure." A little out of my way, but I'd ride with no traffic, and that would do.So I sat and looked at the ducks on the river. I decided to write you, to write this, to actually post it.
Just don't believe a word.
7 comments:
Where can I get some of what you are taking?
If you post this "mayday" in America wouldn't it be prudent to translate it into English? Just wondering.
Jack,
"Don't believe a word?" Are you serious? Who you think you're talking to. What part of 'it is what it is' don't you understand? Hey Honky, you are what you is. Capiche? If I want alibi's I'll talk to my wife. Furthermore I give the suggestions around here.
Hey hey. My oh my. The streets of heaven are lined with Eskimo Pie. They are called Valkyries. I suggest you go on Letterman and announce you are entering the human race. Jack Molar is my dentist's name. Just thought you would be interested.
Jack,
You don't know any engineers? Are you talking to me? You know all engineers. Does annal retentive ring a bell? Engineers never make mistakes, no they just make minor adjustments. Sure. Righto. Indoubitably.
And I considering how fast the truck might be going, how the asphalt would rasp and tear were I to jump, where or whether a point might come in which I could snag the bike from the back, snag it and have a few feet down some road before he might turn.
Jack the truck will have to be at a virtual stop for you to open the door jump out go to the bed reach in and grab your bike without you falling flat on you ass, in which case the asphalt wouldn't rasp and tear. Notwithstanding the fact that asphalt never rasps under any circumstances. Are you writing in code? With a name like mole it wouldn't surprise me.
Jack,
Wouldn't cuello blanco been a more apropos name for the skeet shoot near the engineers at Ecorp? After all we are not in Biloxi Mississippi? Are you fucking with symbols again? Mother Nature doesn't like you fucking with symbols. Either does the KKK.
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