Eddie's Shorts - Volume 2

by M. Edward McNally

that Neil is only wearing one shoe.

  Jay seriously considers bolting, only considering rather than acting because he has no idea at all of where he is, and because he is suddenly perplexed by the people around him on the street. They are dark, not black, but they don't look Hispanic either. Their features are flatter, broader, and even many of the men have long, wild black hair. Jay realizes with an inexplicable fear nearly equal to his new fear of Neil Wood that they are Indians. Native Americans.

  After the horn blast, many stand looking at the car, and Jay sitting within. Neil has left the car running with the radio on, and Bowie's "Let’s Dance,” is playing, deafening now that the freeway sounds are gone. The name "Custer" pops into Jay's mind and he emits a sharp bark of hysterical laughter before clamping his mouth shut. The locals shrug and go on about their business, and Jay wonders if seventeen is too young for a heart attack.

  Neil is back soon, though it is really not much of a relief to Jay. He carries a brown paper bag in one hand, which he tosses onto Jay's lap as he swings into the car.

  "Here, hold onto that, would....UNGHHHH!" Neil begins, then screams in revulsion. The bag lands in Jay's lap and he feels cool glass through the paper on his legs, and he screams, too.

  "Oh shit, I spilled my beer!" Neil says, face twisting in disgust as his naked left foot sinks into the now-wet carpet on the floor before his seat. He shudders, then pops the car into drive and swings in a tight U-turn, heading back for the freeway.

  "What the hell is this?" Jay demands, bag still on his lap. He has not touched it yet, and cannot judge the size of the glass object within, though it is quite heavy.

  "Hey, don't tip that," Neil says, changing the radio station to the Knack howling, "M-m-m-my Sharona!"

  "What am I holding here?" Jay insists. He is fairly certain it is some form of potent narcotic.

  "Just stuff to make the fishing go better. Careful, I don't think the lid's on tight."

  "Neil...!"

  "Hey, here's the on ramp!"

  The accelerating Dodge barrels through an intersection and jerks hard to the left. The tires squeal, so Neil raises his voice to shout over the wailing rubber:

  "SO WHAT KIND OF FISH DO YOU HAVE IN RUSSIA?"

  Jay howls along with the tires. The Dodge screeches all the way through the turn, then thuds back to true forward and rockets up the on ramp as though it were a runway. At the top, Neil guns it impossibly faster, holding the shuddering car steady with one hand again, while punching another channel on the radio. A commercial comes on for Meat Lover's Pizza at Pizza Hut.

  "Hey, have you ever tried one of those?" Neil asks. "I like everything except hamburger on pizza. I mean, if you want hamburger, why are you eating pizza? They don't cut up hotdog and put it on pizza, though actually, you know, I guess that might be kind of good."

  The Dodge shoots into a gap of traffic that appears to be about half the car's length. Several vehicles back, a blue Minneapolis PD sedan gives its sirens a warning bleep. Neil glances in the rearview, says, "Hey! A cop!" and Jay, with visions of spending the rest of the day, maybe all of his days, in a cell with Neil Wood dancing in his head, shrieks. He throws the bag out of the window.

  It hits just in front of the newly-washed white Saab immediately behind, and the glass jar shatters, shredding the bag. Dozens of fat, glistening nightcrawlers, some better than seven inches long explode through the air like ropes of wet shrapnel, and burst in bright smears all over the front of the pristine import. The driver stomps on the breaks and swerves wildly onto the shoulder, narrowly avoiding being rear-ended.

  Jay watches the rearview in terror, and while two other cars also go off the road, none of them roll or are struck by another. It is only a tragedy for the worms.

  "Say, Jay," Neil says, and Jay turns to him wide-eyed, face locked in mute agony. The sirens of the police car behind them are now wailing.

  "Are you nuts or something?" Neil asks.

  Thanks always for reading, and if you found any amusement here at all, please do check out the epic, Musket & Magic fantasy series known as The Norothian Cycle, beginning with Volume I: The Sable City.

  Ed McNally