“What the fuck is this?”
“Do you want your life or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then start guessing.”
“Ok. It smells spicy.”
Shasta’s shoulders tensed. “That the best you can do, Moody?”
I sighed. Women. “Let me whiff it again.” My ass hurt.
She waved it in front of my nose, letting it linger. It was more than just spicy. Cinnamony. Hot. My mouth watered. Jingle lyrics hit my mind.
I said, “So kiss a little longer…”
“Yes,” she said and clapped.
“I know this!” I said. Intrigued. I hummed. Hummed. “Smile a little longer. Something a little longer…” Pictures of couples passionately kissing came to mind. Then the gum in a bright red package.
“Big Red.”
“Yes!” Shasta clapped. “Well done!” She shoved the stick into my mouth, gave me a big kiss on the lips and play slapped my cheek.
“I could get used to that.”
“Good!” she laughed. “Because there is more!”
“Oh, God,” I groaned. But the gum was good. “I haven’t had this in years.”
“It isn’t as vastly distributed these days. It was first launched by Wrigley’s in 1976. It was advertised as passionate and fiery, making one want to get the groove on, but after limited success, the company repackaged it as a breath freshener. And sadly, no more kissing commercials.”
I stopped chewing and stared at her. “Where did you learn that?”
Shasta laughed out loud. In Jack Rabbit Slim’s cellar, it was like a damn sunshine of giggles. “Aunt Millie was my caregiver. My brother took very good care of her and she took good care of me. Well, she had a poodle named Mr. Darcy. He had the most dreadful nail fungus and we had to take him to a very special nail clipping expert every single week. The expert’s name was Parsley Adams, you know like the vegetable, and she –”
“Parsley is a herb.”
“Oh no, Parsley was an Adams. Herb was her husband.”
“No, the plant. It’s a herb.”
“Herb was more a vegetable you mean?”
“No, Parsley is a herb.”
“But I plainly told you that Herb is Parsley’s husband, you silly man. Anyway, while Parsley and my aunt would take care of poor Mr. Darcy, Herb, that is, Mr. Adams and I would discuss the history of chewing gum, being that he worked in the field. Suffered a terrible accident. Caught his hand in a giant gumball machine. Whacked it clean off. Just awful. It’s a good thing Parsley had her special dog nail clipping business for them to fall back on, you know.”
What the fuck was she talking about? “You Sexy Thang” blared upstairs and a clash of heels and dancing hit the floor. The contest was moving along and we’d better be moving along if we wanted the opportunity to leave before Hank’s baboons had finished with their wives.
“Now,” she waved her hands impatiently, “this tree house you speak of? It won’t work. My brother already knows about that place, too. You’ll have to do better than that.” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. How would they have known about that spot? No one knew. How long had they been following me? They were good. Too good.
Shasta stood up and put the gun in her armpit. She walked over to me. I looked up at her. She said, “Open up.”
“What?”
“Open your mouth.”
I opened my mouth.
“Now spit it out.”
“What the…”
She smacked the back of my head, smartly. The gum flew out like a penny right into her hand. “That’s better.” She walked back to her chair and stuck the wad underneath, just like a rebel schoolgirl.
My mouth still hung open.
“Now.” She dropped the gun back between her thighs and drew something else out of her purse. “Scoot in here.”
I leaned in.
“Smell this.”
I sniffed. My mouth began to water once more despite my maddening thoughts of what Shasta’s brother knew. It smelled refreshing. My nose knew the smell. It made me feel happy. Like a kid again.
“What is it?” I asked.
Shasta said, “You’re slobbering on my fingers.”
“Sorry about that.”
“I’ll let you think on it awhile. In the meantime, where’s another good place to hide? Think on it, Moody. Remember, my brother’s a real mean bastard. If he found out his own sister dissed and ditched him? He’d have his baboons rape, quarter, burn me and throw my ashes to the four corners of the earth. E-A-R-T-H.”
She spelled this out for emphasis. As if I didn’t know we were fuckin’ sitting on the big green and blue globe rotating around the big yellow hot thing. She was a weird one all right. I felt sorry for her.
“The thing is, I wanna have my own life now, Moody. I wanna be a circus girl. Come on now. Think real hard. I don’t wanna die. Do you want me to die?”
“Course not.”
“Do you want Hank’s baboons to hurt me?”
“No.”
“Are ya sure? Cause you haven’t been real honest with these hidin’ places up ‘til now. And I think you might want me as dead as he’s gonna want me.” I could hear the tears in her voice, even though it was too dark to see them on her face.
“No, Shasta. I wouldn’t want him to lay one finger on you. In fact, I wouldn’t let him.” I leaned forward and touched her shoulder.
Shasta leaned in close. The fruity smell of what she held with the nearness of her form made me feel like doing jumping jacks. She said, “Then for God’s sake, Moody! Where’s your best hiding spot? Best place ever! Tell me or Hank’ll find and kill me!”
Without thinking I shouted, “The crypt under Saint Mary’s!”
Damn!
Damn!
Damn!
I shouldn’t have told her. I shouldn’t have told her. Juicy Fruit, the name of the gum popped into my mind.
“Juicy Fruit,” I said.
“Good boy,” she said calmly, and gently slid the gum between my lips.
Heaven. I could get used to this.
She said, “Juicy Fruit is one of the oldest chewing gums, dating back to 1893. During the Second World War, the word juicy was removed from the name and packaging due to lacking ingredients. After the war, the ingredients and the word juicy were reintroduced as well as the bright yellow packaging.”
“Well, don’t that bring one to a happy place.” I grabbed my face. What had I just done?
“It did for Herb Adams.”
“Good for him,” I said.
“The crypt won’t work.”
“Why not?” I glanced up.
“He knows.”
He did? This was worse than I thought. He already had the jewels. My ass throbbed like I’d been zapped by solar flare in the dead of a south Texas summer draught. I stiffened my back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Infection, I think.”
“The bullet?” Shasta asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Okay. This is gross. But I can do it.”
“Do what?”
“Stand up and drop your shorts.”
“No way.” This was not happening.
She stood and aimed the gun at my head. “Carl Moody, drop your shorts and bend over that chair. And… oh, hand me your knife.”
I handed her the knife. She handed me object C. “Just smell it while I do this. Bend over. Hold on, there’s some whiskey over here.”
While Hank’s guys raided a decade and a half worth of my life’s savings, I bent over a metal chair, my bare ass in the air, so little sis could play Get That Bullet while I sniffed her flavor of the week. What a moron.
“Okay. Got the good stuff.”
“Can I have a swig?”
“Not yet. Did you smell object C?” She dug in with the knife.
“Mother f –”
“Don’t swear about your mother. That isn’t polite. Smell what I gave you.”
It was… plain. “OUCH!”
“Moody!”
“What?”
“You’ve got a bullet in your ass!”
I bit my lip against a string of words I knew she’d disapprove of. What the fuck was this. Just who did this honey bunney think she was? Another wave of pain, and then – a pop!
“It’s out.” She dumped the whiskey on my skin, the wound. Burning.
“Jesus on a –”
“That isn’t polite, either.”
I bit my tongue. “Give me a swig of that.”
“First you guess. I gotta sew you up. I got a kit in my purse.”
“What the hell else you carry in that thing?”
“I can make this hurt a lot worse, you know.” She jabbed me.
“Gah. Okay. Okay. Fine. The gum. It’s uh… plain. Reminds me of that stuff when we were kids. We’d blow those bubbles.”
“Uh huh. You’re on to something. Bubbles.”
“Like bubble gum,” I said.
She said, “Rhymes with gum.”
I guessed. “Yum?”
“Yep!” She finished with the thread.
I felt a sharp sting.
“Pull her up. You deserve the rest of this whiskey. Nice ass by the way.”
I felt my face flush red and I popped the gum into my mouth. I chewed a couple times and blew a bubble while I drew my pants up and buttoned them. She glanced away. At the $5 Mil hak ! sign. She played with the knife like she wanted to do something with it.
I gulped the whiskey. It burned down my throat about as much as it had on my ass. Terrible. I wanted more.
“Bubble gum was invented in 1928 but the brand Bubble Yum came about in 1975 by Lifesavers.”
“I remember those. I liked cherry.”
“I liked pineapple. Anyway, it was the first bubble gum with soft chewy centers. Someone started the rumor the company had made it with spider eggs. The rumor spread like wild fire. America was in an uproar! Lifesavers combated it with full page ads rebutting the attack and even put it in the New York Times! Can you imagine a secret ingredient of spider eggs?” She laughed.
She was so excited, passionate about it. I laughed.
“The thing is…” She played with the knife and smiled. “Mr. Adams, you know, Herb? He was responsible for the ingredients of Bubble Yum. And it was true. Spider eggs. They collected them from the South American spider called the Yumaca Spider. They loved the chicle evergreen tree, which the gum was originally made from. The hatchlings only hatch once every ten years, all at the same time. Lifesavers had figured they would skip collection on the year the spiders hatched, preventing any hassles with children finding baby spiders in their bubble gum. Turns out they miscalculated and got the year they hatched. Gross, right?”
I gagged on my bubble and spit out the Bubble Yum and remnants of whiskey. They didn’t go good together anyway.
The music up above turned to something newer, hipper. Rihanna sang “Disturbia.” This was getting weirder by the minute.
Shasta looked at the $5 Mil hak ! sign. A look took over her eyes. She aimed the knife and swung her arm like a baseball player. The knife spiraled through the air and hit the hak light bulb dead on. The hak part went out, leaving the $5 Mil on.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Parsley, Mrs. Adams… it’s the trick I’m going to do for the circus. They spin a clown dwarf around on a wheel and I throw knives at him. People bet that I won’t hit. But I will every time! You see the circus dwarf has a condition called Riley Day Syndrome. He can’t feel pain. Poor fella. Anyways. That crypt at Saint Mary’s won’t work remember. Where else?”
Her brother didn’t know anything about my dough. Something else was goin’ on here. I said, “I ain’t saying more ’til I got security.”
“Security is sitting in the hak sign over yonder.” She pointed at the sign.
“You promised me I’d get out of here alive.”
“No. I promised you I’d get you up top if you guess all four objects.”
“And I did.”
“You guessed three.”
Big Red. Juicy Fruit. Bubble Yum. Damn. She was right. Only three.
She said, “So tell me the hiding spot.”
I put my hands on my hips. “We need to get out of here before that contest is over. I’m not buying your séance of fate shit. Tell me what’s going on here, Shasta.”
She turned and faced me. Her face determined. Hurt. “Coincidence.”
“You’ve got enough coincidence to cram up your as –”
“Cut the vulgarities, Moody. I’ve had enough of that where I come from. Tonight my life changes forever.” Her voice cracked with emotion. She walked back to her chair and sat. “I don’t think you understand the implications. I could leave you high and dry at any moment. I hate to think what Hank’s men will do to you.”
It didn’t matter whether I believed her or not. She was feisty, hardheaded and stubborn. But so was I. “I ain’t telling you anything until you do your last little gum sniff thing.” I was acting tougher than I was feeling.
“But…” she argued, holding the gun in my general direction.
“We sniff first, Shasta Star.” I walked over and sat in the metal chair across from her. I placed my hands on my knees and stared her straight in the eye.
She pointed the gun at my chest.
The music stopped upstairs, then thundered with more fervor than before.
I felt nervous. Breathless. Sweaty. The room spun. I was seein’ shadows. They were dancing to music that’d gone from an innocent bluesy twist to a chase me with a butterfly net wink wink dance club straightjacket. Shasta made me feel funny in the head. Real funny. Especially holding the gun point blank at my chest, blinking at me as if she were considering having coffee or tea with her key lime pie.
“Oh, alright, you big bully. But then you tell me the best hiding place. Promise?”
I nodded, relieved.
She lowered the gun, placed it in her lap and drew one more object out of her purse.
I rubbed my hands on my thighs. She seemed to have an obsession with Wrigley’s gum. I started thinking of all the brands, ready to start naming them before I even smelt the gum. Air stirred in front of me.
“Doublemint?”
“Come on, Moody. Don’t be daft.”
“Uh, Trident?”
“Seriously!”
Okay. Okay. Maybe she was being sneaky. “Double Bubble?”
“No.”
“I know! I know. Bazooka Joe.”
She whipped it away. “You didn’t even smell it.”
Hmm… had a point.
“You’re just randomly spouting off brands without even smelling the flavor. Maybe my brother was right. Maybe you aren’t very bright.”
“Chiclet?” I guessed.
“Moody!”
“Okay. I’m sorry, Shasta, baby. Let me sniff again, huh?”
“Baby? Now you’re reducing me to pet names? We don’t know each other. We aren’t even friends. I don’t believe this.” Shasta stood and paced the floor. Music roared above. Feet dashed the floorboards like teeth. Lady Gaga’s “Monster” played. The click clack of Shasta’s heels matched perfectly with the bass above. “I thought you were a bit brighter. Thought things through. Time is running out upstairs. Twist will be over soon. I need you to tell me now. Where can I hide?”
“Let me smell again.”
She walked over and sat down. She reached her hand out, fingers quivering at my touch. I ducked my nose to them and sniffed her palm like there was coke on ’em. I closed my eyes. I smelled sarsaparilla, and something else… reminded me of Easter morning. Something I’d get in a basket with chocolate, peeps, jellybeans. That was it. Only this one tasted odd with jellybeans. Licorice. I looked up.
“Licorice.”
“Yes.” I couldn’t see her smile, but by the sound of her voice, she was having a tiny explosion in her chest.
> I said, “I had it once. My Uncle Jack, had a farm high up in the blue mountains. We’d go stay with him on spring break. He told us stories about the goose that laid the golden egg. He was the one that got me thinkin’ about them pretty jewels. I wanted a goose that could lay golden eggs. But just like the story with that boy and the three magic beans, you gotta go steal ’em from the big rich folks that have them. Then chop down their beanstalks before they get out the door.” I stopped for a moment.
“Are you talking about Jack and the Beanstalk? ’Cause that ain’t the story I heard. I heard that –”
“Just a minute. I’m tellin’ you about gum.”
Shasta hushed, anticipating.
“Normally, Easter never fell on spring break, and my folks weren’t religious, but Uncle Jack liked the Easter Bunny. Said he was the only rabbit that laid eggs like a chicken. And they were chocolate. I wished they were gold, but only chocolate. Anyhow, we spent one Easter with him,” I said it slowly, “and he gave me a basket full of jellybeans and this gum that tasted like licorice, and I think it’s called –”
“Yes?”
“Uncle Jack said it was called…”
She gripped my face. Her palms and the gum smooshed against my nose and mouth. Waiting for it. Waiting for me to say the name.
“I just can’t quite seem to remember. It ain’t a popular gum is it?”
“No. But you can remember, I know you can. And we can both move on to –”
“Opportunity,” I said, face squished against her palms.
“Exactly.”
“May I? It might ring a bell,” I asked.
“Sure. Why not.”
I licked her hand long and hard, catching up the gum in my mouth. I heard her catch her breath.
“Still don’t recall. My poor Uncle Jack –”
She gasped waiting for me to say the name of the gum.
I said, “Rest his soul. Best stuff ever with this licorice and all. Maybe you can give me the history and then I’ll remember.”
“Sure. In 1869, after losing the Alamo and thereby being exiled from Mexico, General Santa Anna brought a ton of the evergreen chicle –”
“Hey that rhymes with tickle.”
“Gee, ain’t you smart? Anyways, brought a ton of chicle to New Jersey to make enough money to buy his presidency back in Mexico. An inventor named Thomas Adams noticed that Santa Anna liked to chew the stuff. Which the ancient Mayans liked to do, also, I may add.”
Pulp Ink Page 3
