4:15 the phone rings. I stub out my cigarette into the overflowing coffee can and pick it up. Frantic voice on the line.....something about an underpass and a bad man with a bad plan....and a dame. Dammit it sounds like a setup, but I'm a sucker for the dames. One of these days they'll be the death of me, but not today. I gotta get even before I get dead.
I hop on my clunker and head up the ravine. Aguajito is a mess, rich people driving around in nice cars. Should have been my first sign to turn around. These kind of people shouldn't be here. Not now.
I get to the first bridge, right before the hospital, and a hunch tells me I'm about to drum up some business. Underneath the bridge something catches my eye. A plastic bag. I've seen this before, and I swore I could smell that scorched motor oil.
A closer look and it wasn't a body. But what it was sent chills down my spine. What kind of a sick fuck leaves moldy garlic bread for me to find? Where's the dame? And why do I kind of want pasta for supper?
On to the second bridge, where I knew it was Showdown City. I parked the Cross-Check out of site and tipped my
Some days I don't even know what side I'm on anymore, but once in awhile, for that slimmest of moments, I remember how I got into this mess in the first place. Big things. Things like Justice. Dames. Cycling. Screaming down hwy 68 with yahoos driving the shoulders through corners. So if you see me out there, say a little prayer for me. And God help the day that comes when I finally catch the cat that's been shitting in my garden.