Babysitting Money is Live!

Gavin English isn't in Chicago searching for an unfaithful woman's wedding ring out of the goodness of his heart. He's doing it for the fifty thousand dollar check the unfaithful woman gave him. All he has to do is track down the pretty boy who stole it—in one of the biggest cities in the country.

Lucky for Gavin, ex-police Lieutenant Jack Daniels knows her way around the city—her city—and she's agreed to set aside her mommy duties for a few days, so that she can babysit him and his assistant while they're in town.

But somewhere between Gavin's visit to the busted-down crackhouse and their stop at a low-rent donut shop, Jack's peaceful babysitting gig turns deadly and the bullets start flying.

BABYSITTING MONEY brings together Ken Lindsey's heavy drinking, hard-boiled PI (TO THE BONE, ON THE EDGE) and J.A. Konrath's retired hero cop/brand-new mommy (WHISKEY SOUR, SHAKEN) for an intense, laugh-out-loud thriller. 


Babysitting Money is now available for the Kindle, you can get your copy for only $1.99 RIGHT HERE.  Writing this with Joe was incredibly fun, and I can't wait to get to the novel we'll be collaborating on soon.

As most of you already know, I have recently pulled my titles from KDP Select and re-listed them at other great vendors like Smashwords, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, etc.  Babysitting Money is no different, and will be available through those other retailers as well, it just so happens that publishing on Amazon is quicker than most other places.  I'll keep you updated (if not here, then on my Facebook or Twitter or at KenLindsey.com).

And here's the part where I ask for your help.  I know that not everyone out there has the two bucks to spend on an ebook.  Whether or not you can buy this thrilling, funny, awesome short story, I would be so grateful if you would help me get the word out.  Share the link on your facebooks and twitters and tumblrs, share the blog, retweet the tweets...  Whatever you can do to help get the word out will be huge.

Help me show Joe Konrath (who has sold over two million books in his career) that working with n00bs like myself is well worth the time and effort!

As always, thanks for reading,
buh bye then

WARNING *Lots of Sh!t* and Some J. A. Konrath Collaboration News

I've been writing most of the day today.  That shouldn't be a big deal, it's what I do.  Right?

Well, yeah.  But I have these days, these awful days, when I just know that every word I put down on paper is shit.  Hell, every word I have ever put down on paper looks like shit on these days.  It's a simple choice to walk away from the keyboard on days like today.

Walk away.  Watch a movie.  Read a book written by someone who isn't shit.  Stare at your half-empty cup of coffee and listen to the Decemberists until you pass out.

Those are all viable options on days like today.  Everything makes sense except for the writing...

Maybe that's why it's so important to write on days like this.  Trudge, stomp, fight, kick, cuss, murder your way through every single word you can squeeze out of your brain meat.  When I accomplish something on a day like today, I know it was worth it.

Speaking of worth it...

About BABYSITTING MONEY

Gavin English isn't in Chicago searching for an unfaithful woman's wedding ring out of the goodness of his heart.  He's doing it for the fifty thousand dollar check the unfaithful woman gave him.  All he has to do is track down the pretty boy who stole it—in one of the biggest cities in the country.

Lucky for Gavin, ex-police Lieutenant Jack Daniels knows her way around the city—her city—and she's agreed to set aside her mommy duties for a few days, so that she can babysit him and his assistant while they're in town.

But somewhere between Gavin's visit to the busted-down crackhouse and their stop at a low-rent donut shop, Jack's peaceful babysitting gig turns deadly and the bullets start flying.

BABYSITTING MONEY brings together Ken Lindsey's heavy drinking, hard-boiled PI (TO THE BONE, ON THE EDGE) and J.A. Konrath's retired hero cop/brand-new mommy (WHISKEY SOUR, SHAKEN) for an intense, laugh-out-loud thriller.

On a brighter note, this is happening any minute!  I've collaborated with J. A. Konrath to write this fun, short thriller, BABYSITTING MONEY.  It's been kind of a dream, because Konrath is one of my favorite writers (who has sold somewhere around two-million ebooks and has an incredibly popular blog about the publishing world) and he just happens to be a lot of fun to work with.

BABYSITTING MONEY should be released on most popular platforms any day now, and it's only going to be $0.99.  Another piece of awesome news on this front is that Joe Konrath and I will be putting out a follow up full-length novel, which will also feature Gavin English, Jack Daniels, and a bunch more characters from each of our worlds.  I have two other manuscripts I'm working on right now that I need to finish up before that happens, but I'm thrilled and can't wait to get started.

I think that's it for now,
thanks for reading,
buh bye then

Spring and The Other Guy

I'm so glad Spring is here. It's still cold, but I believe it's a different kind of cold; it's your cold foot when you wake up with your leg hanging out from under the blankets. It's only the leftover chill from the night, and it means that the rains, and then finally, the sun is coming. I'll miss the snow, but I'm ready for the new season.

I realize that it's been a long time since I've posted any of my writing on here, so I'm going to give you guys another of my short stories. WARNING: FOUL LANGUAGE AND DESCRIPTION OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

I hope you enjoy it, this one's called:

"The Other Guy"

I remember the night that I decided to leave. He had been drinking again, which wasn't any kinda surprise, and came home yelling about how I'd stolen his life (also not a surprise).
“Fuck you, Denise,” at that point, it had become his catch-phrase. “I can't believe I'm stuck with a waste like you, I coulda' had any girl in school... I coulda' done whatever the fuck I wanted... but you had to get knocked up!”
It was a mantra by that time, and he'd been perfecting it since the first time I asked him to stay home, instead of going out to get plowed with his buddies. I was used to it... hell, it was almost a comfort on those nights I had been worried he wasn't coming home. I don't know what did it that night, but hearing him say “knocked up” in his special way... well, it just brought bile to the back of my throat. I'm still not real sure why I said it... or at least, I'm not sure why I picked that night to say it.
“You're right, Steve. If only you could've been as limp on that night as you normally are...”
WHAM.
It definitely wasn't the first time he'd hit me, but I'd never felt the blood explode in my mouth like that before. What a prick.
“You dumb bitch...” gosh, my fella had a way with words.
I spit. It was disgusting. Saliva and snot, mixed with blood and... oh shit. It was tears too, the bastard had made me cry. I think that's what did it. I was so disgusted with myself for crying, and giving that pig the satisfaction.
I spit again, this time just to clear my mouth so I could talk. I was pissed, and I was going to be heard. Even if he killed me.

“Wait.” CLICK
I take a drag off my cigarette as Dave turns his recorder off. I don't really know him, but he's cute and he smells great, and he asked me to call him Dave. So I do.
“Do you mean that he'd beaten you before?”
“Well sure,” I'm givin' him my sweetest grin, and he looks surprised. It's cute.
“Why didn't you leave earlier, then?”
“I was in love, wasn't I?”
“How could you ever love someone that would hit you?” He's naive, but his voice is sweet, and he means well.
“Well, Dave,” I start, noticing I'm getting pretty far down on my cig already, “my daddy used to hit me with a switch when I was bein' bad...” I give Dave a second to think on what I'm sayin'. “I still love him.”
CLICK WHIRRR
Poor Dave doesn't get it, so he takes a deep breath and starts his recorder thing again.
“Okay, Denise. So, you spit out the blood so that you could talk...”

There he stood over me, staring down like I was something he'd wiped off the bottom of his shoe. I could see that he hated me in that moment, and it made me feel so much better.
“There ya go, Steve, don't stop now. Show me how much of a man you really are. Hit me again.”
For a minute, his face turned red and I could see that he was trying to fight that fire that had roared up inside of him. He wanted to go off on me, to beat the words back into my mouth, and I just sat there waiting for it. But, if you'll believe it, the anger disappeared just as fast as it came.
“You bitch,” he smiled as he said it. The asshole. He smiled and he cussed, and then he had the nerve to start laughing. Fucking prick.
“You just wanna be able to go to work and show all your new pals how mean I am. Damn girl, you almost drug me in with that shit.” He walked into the kitchen, then, and from my place on the floor, I heard the sound of a beer can opening. “Well I aint gonna be the one payin' for your pity party this time, honey,” he said from the kitchen. “You want a beer?”
Like I said, fuck him.
“Honey.” I kept hearing his calloused fucking voice, just dripping with sarcasm as he said it. That was the moment when I knew that I was done.

CLICK CLICK CLICK
Dave's recorder starts making a funny noise and he snatches it up off the table.
“Sorry, Mrs. Henley...”
“Denise.”
“Sorry, Denise.” He licks his lips as he talks and it gives me a shiver. “Just need a new tape, okay?”
“No worries, sweetheart,” I say as I light another coffin-nail. I can't keep the flirting tone out of my voice with this kid, and he's young enough to be my son. Damn, it's been a long time.
CLICK WHIRRR
“Ok, Denise, so he was outright mocking you... you had to have been pissed.”

Pissed doesn't even begin to describe how I was feelin' that night. I was out of my mind, right then. If I could've set his ass on fire with my thoughts... well, you better believe that I would've been roasting marshmallows.
“That's what made everything so shitty, ya know,” Steve said as he made his way back to the living room. “You had to go get that job. You coulda done anything... cooking, cleaning, or hell, you coulda got a job a the goddamn 7-11.”
I couldn't take my eyes off him. I hadn't moved from the floor, my shirt was soaked, and all I could smell was copper, from the blood in my mouth, and the booze he reeked of.
“Nope,” he started again, “you had to go help that slut Penny run her little 'coffee house.' Steve flopped onto the couch like he'd been working all day, instead of jacking off to the Sears catalog and then getting drunk. “Oh well, Neesy, you dug your own grave on that one.”
I don't have to tell you, Steve hated Penny. She was taller than him, and he was one of the only guys we knew that she hadn't had sex with. So, of course, he hated her.
“You're right, sweetie,” I said with as much phony sugar as I could muster, “it has nothing to do with you being a drunk, or the kiddie porn you think you've got hidden on your computer.”
For a second, I saw that flare in his nostrils, and I thought he'd come at me again. Somehow, it didn't last, and his lead-ass didn't budge from the couch.
“Not tonight, Denise. Tonight, you get to be the bad guy.”
Can you believe that shit?! I sat there, blood still trickling in my mouth, stunned as if he'd hit me again. I get to be the bad guy? Fuck him. Did I say that already? Fuck him.
So there he sat, bold as day and with his beer in his hand, and he fell asleep. I remember watching as it happened, and being completely at a loss for words. I knew he wasn't going to wake up til those drinks hit his bladder and he had to piss, and all I could think about was the likelihood of me having to call in to work the next day. I couldn't let Penny see me with a fat lip.

“So that was the night that you decided you were going to leave him?”
“Yeah, that was it for me.”
Dave picks up his recorder and starts playing with it, but doesn't turn it off. I can see his mind working, he has questions but maybe don't know how to ask. Jesus, his eyes are a pretty shade of green.
“What are you thinkin' about, hun?”
“Well, why?” he starts and stops real quick. “I mean, if he'd done it before, why was that night so different?”
You know, I've wondered that myself. The only difference I can see is that he stopped.” I light another cigarette as I think on what to say next. Dave just looks on at the wall, like he's waiting for me to explode or something. “The only answer I could ever come up with, was that it was his final insult, wasn't it?”
“Calling you a bitch?”
I almost spit out my cigarette, tryin' not to laugh. “Heck no, sweetie. He spent lots more time callin' me a bitch.”
“I don't think I understand what you mean, then.”
“Well, the bastard didn't even think enough of me to be hurt by what I said. After all the time he'd spent wailin' on me, and cuttin' me down, I figured he owed me that much. If he hit again, or at least screamed at me... well at least then I woulda' known he was payin' attention.”

CLICK
“Can I get one of those?” he asks, pointing at my cigs. I flash him my best smile as I fish one out of the pack.
“What's the matter, hun, don't want proof of your smokin'?”
“Ha,” he laughs as he lights it and sets down the non-recording recorder. He takes a long pull from the cig and I can see it, pure ecstasy, as the smoke rolls down his throat. I know that feeling. “I suppose not, my girlfriend would be pissed.”
“Well, we wouldn't want that now.” I'm a little jealous about the girlfriend, and I can't even believe it. Dave relaxes as he smokes, casually blowing rings, and obviously somewhere deep in his head. I take a quick look at the clock, it's ten-fifty. He won't be here much longer.

CLICK CLICK WHIRRRR
“Denise, I just have one last question for you.”
“Shoot, darlin.”
“From the story you just shared with me, it seems like you decided to leave Steve about ten years before the fire. Why did you stay for so long? Why keep letting him push you?”

We had a lot of good times, Steve and me. Even after that night, when we weren't drinking, we got along pretty well.
Some days, he was a downright sweetheart. He'd rub my feet, or make dinner and light some candles. No it wasn't Steve that pushed me too far. He was my friend, hell, my partner... I loved Steve. It wasn't Steve I was tryin' to get rid of when I torched that house, it was the other guy.
Once he got some drinks in him, Steve wouldn't be there no more. He became somebody else, and whoever it was, he was a prick.
That's who I killed the night I started that fire. Steve was just an innocent guy that didn't get out in time.

CLICK
Dave's nervous now, I can see it in his eyes. “It's okay hun, I would probably think I was crazy too.”
“I don't. I was just wondering... Is that why you pleaded guilty? Most people would have gone for self defense, or even an insanity plea.”
“Hell, Dave,” I say as sweetly as I can, “I killed him. No question about it. I figure that I should pay my bill, just like everyone else.”
BUZZZZ
“Visiting hour is over,” comes the security guard's voice over the intercom.
“Oh. Okay,” stammers Dave as he picks up his recorder. “Thanks, Mrs. Henley.”
“Denise.”
“Thanks, Denise. You'll have to let me know how your parole hearing goes,” he says as he lays a hug on me.
“I will, hun. And make sure to tell your professor that if you don't get a fair grade,” I flash him a little wink as he heads to the door, “even convicts can get free matches.”------

A Short Story, a Blogfest, and a Pizza Boy (minus the pizza boy)

ANIMAL WRITES BLOGFEST (CLICK ME)


So I signed up for my first ever Blogfest! You can follow the link on that there TITLE :) You really should, Dayana has a great blog, and I'm super glad to be one of her followers.

An advance warning: This is not a feel good story, and it may get a little graphic. Animal cruelty is disgusting, and I tried to be honest about that in this story.


Scent of Fear

sniff snuff sniff
This damn kennel reeks of fear, I've been smellin' it since they started bringin' in those others. First timers... ya can always pick 'em out by that smell.

I lean against the bars ta' see what's there... can't see much, but the growlin's already started. Once they catch a whiff of another dominant, the newbies always go right ta' growlin'. Most of 'em won't last though... there's just too many of us ol' timers here, and we already got the taste and scent of blood.

Once you make it past your first time... well, ya' can't ever go back.

There's a ruckus outside; a bunch of snarlin' and bangin' against the kennels. Someone got loose. Dutch'll be here any second, and whichever poor bastard is out there, well he ain't gonna make it to see the ring.

SLAM

That'll be Dutch... I scoot way back in the kennel and pretend to be sleepin'.

"What the hell's goin' on in here? I'll skin you mangy bastards if you don't..." I hear him take a couple steps... there's a mean soundin' growl, then a thud and a whimper. "Well, I'll be dipped. I think you're Dallas's pooch, huh?"

Must've been Runner, then... He's a beast. I don't know what Dutch hit 'em with, but it had'ta been big, cuz Runner ain't even whimperin' anymore. Bad for Runner, but good for me. That means one less fight for the rest of us.

"The rest o' you mutts better keep yer' damn yaps shut!"

SLAM

With that, Dutch is gone, just as quick as he came. The fear is even thicker in here, now, most of these dogs ain't seen Dutch before. They got no idea what he's like, or how he acts when we ain't here. He feeds me good, and even lets me sleep in the bed with him... when I win, and ain't too bloody and hurt, that is. He promised that today was gonna be my last fight. All I gotta do is win, and he won't bring me back no more. I plan on winnin'.

There's no more growlin' or barkin' now. The old timers like me are just waitin' our turn, and the newbies are too scared, too wired, too clueless to know how to act. So they just stay quiet. It's better that way anyhow.

The noise from outside is gettin' louder. They'll be makin' bets and talkin' trash like they do. Pretty soon, Dutch'll be in ta' get me. Then it'll be time ta' get ta' work. It ain't fun, and I'm older than I once was, but at least I get fed regular. Some o' these poor dogs get brought in, off the street. Hungry and tired, without any meat on 'em, but willin' to fight to stay alive.

I guess that's what we all got in common.

Then, the noise from outside gets real loud. Someone opened the door, and I'm sure it's Dutch, cuz all the others got real scared again. I can't stop my tail from waggin'. I know what's comin' next, and it makes me all jittery. My front shoulder still hurts from last time, but I don't limp or whimper. Can't let 'em see me as weak. They'd be on top of me quick, I know I would.

"Come on, Duke," says Dutch as he starts unlockin' the kennel. "It's time to show these pups how we do it."

sniff sniff

I can smell blood on him as he puts the shades over my eyes. Could be Runner's, but I don't think that's all. They've already had a few fights today, and there's always dogs that don't make it out. The thought puts me on edge, and I can't help but to start snarlin'. Don't know who I'll be fightin' today, but it's bad luck for them.

The place he pulls me to smells bad, like blood and smoke and piss. They always do. The people are already screamin', some of 'em know me and yell my name. "Duke. Duke. Duke." That's always strange, the only one I care about is Dutch, and he's right next to me.

"Okay, Duke," I can feel Dutch kneelin' next to me, "it's about time. You gotta just one this one more, ya' know."

I can smell the dog across the ring. He stinks, and I got a picture in my head of what he should look like. Big. Mean.

Dutch jerks the blinds off my head and I only have a second to look... I was right. He's huge, and he's got blood and spit hangin' like shoelaces off his face. This ain't gonna be easy.

Soon as his mask comes off, this one's on the lunge. He comes at me low and quick, just not quick enough. He means business, but he's a first timer, no doubt. He's already low and half-way turned when I snap up his back paw. He ain't frail, but I tear through his skin quick, and he starts flailin'. He's scared. This won't take long.

He turns real fast, spinnin' two or three times before I feel the bones crack. He screams loud, I see a few heads turn away. It ain't pretty, but I don't know what they were expectin' when they came here. He starts pullin' away, and I let him.

The screamin' stops, and he thinks it's over, but I didn't hear Dutch's whistle. I'm on him fast, and he's surprised. He yelps, but it only lasts a second before I feel the flesh on his throat give way.

Ahh, there's that whistle. I let go, but somethin's wrong. There are new people, and lights everywhere.

"Get down!" they holler over and over again, and folks are listenin'. Dutch won't be happy about that.

I'm spinnin' around, lookin' for Dutch when I feel somethin' go around my neck. It's a leash, and it ain't Dutch. No point in fightin'. Whoever's holdin' this thing is strong, and ain't gonna let go. I just hope Dutch is okay, I don't hear him anymore.

"Well you're a good boy, aren't you?" It's a gentle voice, no one I've heard before, and he leans down next ta' me. "It's okay, fella, you're retired now. There's some food in the truck, and we'll take real good care of you."

Retired... looks like Dutch kept his promise this time.

Bloggity updates and other stuff

Hey there, you're looking spiffy today ;)

umm, this is funny, and I love Assassin's Creed


Yeah... So, I've been doing some work on the blog! (if you didn't notice) I dig the tabs on top of the page (go ahead and look) a bit more than the links that had been on the side of the page (don't bother looking, they're not there anymore). I also added my "Works in Progress" page, so you might be able to see what I've been up to, at least as far as writing goes.

I'm still editing and doing the big read-through on "The City," but I've made some progress in other areas also. I finished up a first draft of my query letter, but I'm going to hang on to it a bit. (I actually sent out some early queries, but I think I'm going to edit it a bit before sending more). Haven't gotten any further with the synopsis, but I haven't been slacking, so I'm okay with that.

In the past few months, I've written a couple of short stories that I am going to start submitting. My first stop with those, will be an awesome magazine called "The Sun." (I may be late finding this jewel, but I love it!)

As far as projects go, I already have the idea for my next big one. It's only an idea for now, but I'm pretty excited about it! Wanna know more? Well, for the low price of $9.99...

Just kidding :)

I don't have much, but the generic idea is a diesel-punk storyline about a girl called Clockwork Charlie. That's it for now, as I said, it's a very new idea.

So that's all I have for you, for now.
buh bye, kids

Forward Motion

Even on a slow day, you can accomplish something. I sometimes get down on myself if I don't reach my word count goals, but then I have a day like yesterday. I was just flat out sick, under the weather even. I did nothing. The slow days and short days aren't that bad, because at least I'm moving forward.

Today was great. I hit my word count early and feel so much better, it's like a different me. I wish I had sucked it up and done something yesterday, it feels like a whole day wasted. Oh well, I'll get over it :)

Well, since I've been gone for so long, I haven't posted any of my writing like I was planning. So, I think I will actually post one of my short stories today so it can fill out some space on today's blog.

Here ya go, please forgive the formatting. Blogspot isn't very format friendly.

Never, Ever Bring This Up Again:

Just off of Nevada’s Highway 50, somewhere between Carson City and Fallon, an eighties model Toyota pickup sat on the side of the road. It was a red pickup, and its tires were caked with grime and dirt, and the bumper, on the driver’s side, was bent upward and pushed through the now broken headlight.
There were two men in the truck; the driver, with his arm leaning out the window, covered in what looked like mud, holding a cigarette, and one passenger, just sitting still.
“Never, ever bring this up again.”
“What, do you think I’m an idiot?”
Matt, the driver, was stocky and tall, with tattoos covering his thick arms. Although he was still in his mid-twenties, his hair was thinning noticeably, and already peppered with grey. “Jesus,” he muttered as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette.
The passenger, Jeremy, was just as tall as Matt, but thinner and with a full head of hair. Whenever they had gone out drinking together, Matt jokingly referred to Jeremy as the “bait,” using him and his classic good looks to draw in the ladies. Not tonight though, no jokes or ladies tonight.
The inside of the truck stunk horribly, even after they had rolled the windows down. It was the filthy smell of whisky and smoke, but there was something more to it. Something awful and too sweet that made their tongues click, and their gag reflexes shutter whenever they breathed too deep.
Jeremy just stared out the passenger side window, afraid that looking at Matt while he spoke would make him lose control, and vomit. “What do we do now?”
“First we gotta go clean up the truck, and pull that damn bumper off.” Matt took one last drag and then flicked the butt out into the desert. “Then, we gotta get cleaned up, and get ridda these clothes.” He grabbed the front of his shirt, showing Jeremy the dark, oily stains.
“What about the shovel, do you think it’ll clean up?”
Matt started the truck and pulled another cigarette from his shirt pocket as he thought about it, “I guess we’re gonna hafta toss that too.” He lit the cigarette and took a long pull from it before he continued, “I mean, a shovel’s supposed ta get dirty, but there ain’t no accountin for the blood, is there?”
“No, I guess you’re right,” Jeremy shifted in his seat as Matt pulled the truck back onto the highway, glad to get more fresh air into the cab. As the cool air hit his face, he knew that the whisky had finally worn off. He could feel the wind pushing on the broken skin beneath his eye, where Matt had hit him earlier. Although it stung, he was glad for the feeling, glad to know he was no longer drunk.
Matt noticed as Jeremy touched the skin lightly, trying to estimate the size of the wound. “How’re you feelin over there?”
“It’s a bit tender, but to be honest, I’m just barely startin ta feel it.”
“Yeah, I figured ya wouldn’t be feelin it much when I hit ya.” Matt looked at his friend for a moment, a hint of sorrow in his eyes, “I am sorry for that,” he pointed at the sore, “but you were gettin’ pretty hysterical… and you were startin ta freak me out.”
Jeremy watched as the truck’s remaining headlight turned onto the gravel road that led to his house, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, I needed it anyway. That’s the only point of the whole thing I can even remember without it bein’ all fuzzy, ya know?”
“Yeah, well… that might be a good thing.” As they pulled up to the little garage next to Jeremy’s place, Matt realized his cigarette had gone out in his hand. As he relit, he gave Jeremy a serious look, “We can’t ever talk about this, can’t bring it up, ever.”
Jeremy nodded, “Do you think I can get one of those?” he asked pointing to Matt’s cigarette.
Matt pulled another of the cancer sticks from the pack in his shirt pocket, “I thought you quit,” he taunted as the corners of his mouth began to turn up.
“Yeah, well…” He lit the cigarette and took a long pull from it, enjoying the nicotine as the smoke trundled though his mouth and into his throat and lungs. “My daddy always told me not to be a quitter.”
Matt opened the door and began to get out of the truck’s cab, grabbing the keys from the ignition, “Well, you and your daddy need to get the toolbox outta the back of the truck so we can get this damn bumper off.” When he closed the door, his movement caught the motion sensor, activating the flood light on the front of the garage, illuminating the front of the truck and part of the driveway.
Jeremy got out of the truck quickly and tried to kick some of the mud and grime from his shoes before grabbing the toolbox. It didn’t come off easily, and when it did, it came off in great chunks that made a nasty slurping noise when they hit the ground.
Trying not to think about the gunk too much, he reached into the bed of the truck to find what he was looking for. It was an old toolbox, all metal and heavy, with rusted corners and a creaky handle that made him grunt as he lifted.
“Oh, Jesus,” came Matt’s voice from the front of the truck. “This mess is gonna take all night.”
As Jeremy made his way to the front of the truck, Matt stood back, looking at the damage with both hands resting on top of his head. “Is it really that bad?” Jeremy followed Matt’s eyes to the offending spot as he set the toolbox on the hood.
At first, all Jeremy saw was the mutilated bumper, covered in mud. As his eyes adjusted to the artificial light, though, he realized that the stain was dark red, not brown as he had first thought. It wasn’t mud. There were stringy clumps of it crammed into the creases in the metal, and covering the busted headlight and fender.
Jeremy threw up, splashing whisky and bile at his feet and onto the toolbox. Matt jumped back quickly to miss the splatter, turned away from the mess, and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. “Jesus, Jeremy! What the hell!?”
Jeremy coughed and spluttered, dropping his half smoked cigarette to the ground. He turned away from Matt, leaning into himself with his hands on his knees, waiting for the burning in his nose and throat to go away. “I’m sorry, Matt, I dinna mean ta… I dinna know…”
“Damn it, man! I aint cleanin this crap up myself. You better just get your head on and get over it, real quick,” with that, Matt walked to side of the garage where a hose was hung, neatly on the wall. He unwound the hose and began dragging it back to the truck, glad for the wash gun on the end.
“Why’s it so stringy, Matt?” Jeremy was beginning to stand straight again, wiping his mouth as he said, “I didn’t know it… blood, I mean. I didn’t know it would get all stringy like that.”
Without any warning, Matt began spraying the ground at Jeremy’s feet, trying to clean the vomit away from the truck. “Blood aint stringy, you idiot. That’s the hair… or… you know what I mean.”
Jeremy’s throat clinched, fighting back another attack, “Oh god… what did we do?” His voice cracked and tears started flooding down his cheeks. His torso began quaking as it was rocked by the sobs issuing from his chest.
“What did WE do?! You little bastard!” Matt dropped the hose, which stopped spraying immediately after the trigger unlocked, and stomped toward Jeremy. He grabbed the sobbing man by the front of his shirt and slammed him onto the hood of the pickup, knocking the wind out of him.
“You best shut yer damn fool mouth! You’ll either get yer head on, or I’ll beat yer brains in right here. You hear me?” Still pinning Jeremy to the hood with his left hand, Matt slapped him across the face with his right, bringing a stream of blood from the freshly closed wound under Jeremy’s eye.
“I’M SORRY… I’M SORRY!” cried Jeremy as he cowered and squirmed, trying to get out of Matt’s vice like grip.
Beginning to raise his hand to strike his friend again, Matt caught himself, and stopped. He released his hold on Jeremy’s shirt and allowed him to slide off the hood and onto the ground. He clenched his teeth shut and took in a deep breath through his nose as he pulled another cigarette from his pocket. “Lets just get this mess cleaned up, and then you can go to bed, sleep it off.”
Without speaking a word, or even trying to staunch the blood that was flowing down his cheek, Jeremy slid the toolbox under the bumper and got to work taking it off. He loosened the nuts under the fender without much trouble, and in minutes, the bumper was unattached and sitting on the ground at his feet.
“Now, we just gotta get that stuff cleaned off,” said Matt as he dropped the butt of his cigarette into the puddle of vomit and water. He took his pack from his shirt pocket and tossed it on the hood. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, wadding it into a ball in his hand. “Might as well get some use outta this before I gotta chuck it, huh?”
Jeremy followed suit as Matt picked up the hose again and used it to soak the shirt before spraying the fender of the truck. When Jeremy approached, with his shirt in his hand, Matt soaked it for him and then both men knelt in front of the pickup, and got to work cleaning it.
The work was long and messy, taking just more than an hour to complete, and both men were silent until it was done. They both stood, tossing their ruined shirts on the ground, and leaned against the truck.
Matt chuckled as he pulled his last cigarette from its pack, “I guess you really didn’t quit, huh?” he said as he pointed to the small pile of butts that had gathered from the two of them smoking as they worked.
“You know me, I always try and do what daddy taught me,” replied Jeremy, laughing for the first time that night.
Matt walked toward the garage again, this time grabbing an old aluminum garbage can and carrying it back to the truck. “What are you gonna say if somebody asks about that eye?”
Smiling slyly, Jeremy felt a tinge from the wound as he answered, “I’ll tell ‘em the truth. I’ll tell em, I don’t remember much, but the guy that hit me was big… and ugly.”
The two men laughed and harassed each other as they filled the garbage can and used the hose to rinse away what they didn’t want to pick up. When the work was done, they stood in the driveway, watching as the sun rose above the mountains that surrounded the valley they were in.
“Jeremy, you know we have to be careful about this, right?”
“I know. Never, ever bring this up again. I get it.”
Matt reached into his front pocket and grabbed the key ring. “Well here ya go, then, these are yours. I’m gonna walk home, I think.”
Taking the keys from his friend, Jeremy smiled, “Thanks, Matt, for everything.”
Only a few yards down the driveway, Matt turned, “If I find out you ever drive like that again, it’ll be your body I bury in the desert,” with that, he waved and began his walk home.

-Ken Lindsey
posted 1-16-2010