her,” Jeeves kindly intervened.
“Oh dear,” Gustavo mumbled, “I can’t believe this.”
“An ambulance is on its way,” Jeeves said. He had tied a tourniquet around Gus’s limbs trying to keep the blood concentrated in his torso. Yet it did no good. Blood was bubbling out of him. Sitting there, I pressed my hands down over the big hole in his chest, but it was useless.
“I’m going to die here,” he smirked, “in the state that Gore lost to Bush, costing him the election.”
“That’s Florida.”
“But Gore didn’t serve Florida in Congress for sixteen years … He should’ve won this state hands down … And if he did, we wouldn’t have invaded Iraq and Earl would still be alive … And I wouldn’t’ve needed that drink.”
“You can’t blame all that on Tennessee,” I replied, though I knew that he was half-joking. When he didn’t respond, I whispered goodbye and just held him until Jeeves gave me a gentle nudge.
“Who the fuck shot him?”
“We’ll ask the questions,” said the first uniform who had spotted me. “What were you doing up there?’
“Whoever shot him is a murderer. ”
“You are trespassing,” said the single African American cop in the group. “You have the right to—”
“I know my rights! How about arresting the racist son of a bitch who shot Gustavo!” I yelled, searching around for those fat drunken losers I had seen in the bar who looked like they were just waiting for an opportunity to kill someone.
“Ma’am, you’re under arrest for trespassing and disorderly conduct,” said the black cop as he and another guy in a Smokey the Bear hat stepped forward. Out came the handcuffs. I was frisked and, still wearing only the one shoe, loaded into the back of his squad car.
When we arrived at the station house, I was led into a small interrogation room, where I was offered a towel and a cold cup of coffee. Then I was asked to take a blood test, which I consented to since I wasn’t caught driving and really didn’t think I was that intoxicated. A moment later, the inside of my forearm was swabbed and a hypodermic withdrew a small plunger of blood.
“Doesn’t it seem odd to you, deputy, that they killed Gustavo in the same exact way they shot that phony Elvis just three days ago?” I asked the arresting officer, who I imagined would be more sympathetic since he was African American.
“I’ll ask the questions,” he responded without looking up at me.
“Do they know who shot Gustavo?” I asked, crossing my legs so my bare foot wouldn’t touch the filthy floor.
“I’ll tell you who shot your friend if you tell me what the hell you were doing up there.”
“Taking a piss, or at least intending to. We decided to stop for a drink and found the place locked. So I went up to pee in the woods.”
“Were you driving the vehicle?”
“Nope.”
“What was your friend doing?”
“He wanted another drink, he probably tried pulling at the door just like—what’s his name—Pappy East. It was probably one of those old bastards who always sit at the bar! Because I’ll tell you right now, that Snake son of a bitch and his sleazy buddies tried raping me the last time I was there and—”
“I shot him,” the officer interrupted me.
“What!”
“I got a report that a suspicious car had pulled into the closed lot. The Blue Suede closed early tonight because of the weather. I went up to investigate and saw this strange man holding a rifle over his shoulder. When I told him to put the weapon down, he pumped it forward with both hands, like he was loading it, so I shot him.” He paused and added: “We didn’t know until afterward that it was an umbrella.”
“FUCK!” I remembered the goddamn novelty umbrella sitting on the floor of the car and would’ve taken it myself, but the rain was coming from every direction at once. It would have been pointless using it in a storm like this. He asked me a few more questions, but I just couldn’t
“Oh dear,” Gustavo mumbled, “I can’t believe this.”
“An ambulance is on its way,” Jeeves said. He had tied a tourniquet around Gus’s limbs trying to keep the blood concentrated in his torso. Yet it did no good. Blood was bubbling out of him. Sitting there, I pressed my hands down over the big hole in his chest, but it was useless.
“I’m going to die here,” he smirked, “in the state that Gore lost to Bush, costing him the election.”
“That’s Florida.”
“But Gore didn’t serve Florida in Congress for sixteen years … He should’ve won this state hands down … And if he did, we wouldn’t have invaded Iraq and Earl would still be alive … And I wouldn’t’ve needed that drink.”
“You can’t blame all that on Tennessee,” I replied, though I knew that he was half-joking. When he didn’t respond, I whispered goodbye and just held him until Jeeves gave me a gentle nudge.
“Who the fuck shot him?”
“We’ll ask the questions,” said the first uniform who had spotted me. “What were you doing up there?’
“Whoever shot him is a murderer. ”
“You are trespassing,” said the single African American cop in the group. “You have the right to—”
“I know my rights! How about arresting the racist son of a bitch who shot Gustavo!” I yelled, searching around for those fat drunken losers I had seen in the bar who looked like they were just waiting for an opportunity to kill someone.
“Ma’am, you’re under arrest for trespassing and disorderly conduct,” said the black cop as he and another guy in a Smokey the Bear hat stepped forward. Out came the handcuffs. I was frisked and, still wearing only the one shoe, loaded into the back of his squad car.
When we arrived at the station house, I was led into a small interrogation room, where I was offered a towel and a cold cup of coffee. Then I was asked to take a blood test, which I consented to since I wasn’t caught driving and really didn’t think I was that intoxicated. A moment later, the inside of my forearm was swabbed and a hypodermic withdrew a small plunger of blood.
“Doesn’t it seem odd to you, deputy, that they killed Gustavo in the same exact way they shot that phony Elvis just three days ago?” I asked the arresting officer, who I imagined would be more sympathetic since he was African American.
“I’ll ask the questions,” he responded without looking up at me.
“Do they know who shot Gustavo?” I asked, crossing my legs so my bare foot wouldn’t touch the filthy floor.
“I’ll tell you who shot your friend if you tell me what the hell you were doing up there.”
“Taking a piss, or at least intending to. We decided to stop for a drink and found the place locked. So I went up to pee in the woods.”
“Were you driving the vehicle?”
“Nope.”
“What was your friend doing?”
“He wanted another drink, he probably tried pulling at the door just like—what’s his name—Pappy East. It was probably one of those old bastards who always sit at the bar! Because I’ll tell you right now, that Snake son of a bitch and his sleazy buddies tried raping me the last time I was there and—”
“I shot him,” the officer interrupted me.
“What!”
“I got a report that a suspicious car had pulled into the closed lot. The Blue Suede closed early tonight because of the weather. I went up to investigate and saw this strange man holding a rifle over his shoulder. When I told him to put the weapon down, he pumped it forward with both hands, like he was loading it, so I shot him.” He paused and added: “We didn’t know until afterward that it was an umbrella.”
“FUCK!” I remembered the goddamn novelty umbrella sitting on the floor of the car and would’ve taken it myself, but the rain was coming from every direction at once. It would have been pointless using it in a storm like this. He asked me a few more questions, but I just couldn’t
Similar Books
