DESERT SNOW CH 14 CHASE THE NIGHT TRAIN

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Of course we ran. Wouldn’t you?


Fuck hanging around and making friends. We had their money, but we earned it.


We faced a very large man who had a very large and fucked-up ego, and Joey immediately brought him down. No need to make him feel better. He fell better. Fuck that dude.


Out. Out. Out.


We ran to the lights. We were ghosts looking for escape form hell. That hell was called the Silver Dollar Saloon. The lights beckoned us at the airport, up there on Dakota Avenue. Them lights looked like safe travels to far off places, and that was what we needed at this moment. We needed to be far away. We need to travel to the Bahamas.


Well, of course, No. We just needed to visit the lovely Sans Joking Estates shitty apartments. Hey don’t look at me and Joey that way. We were simply trying to do good for ourselves.

Well, two destitute punk rockers doing very bad things won’t get prayers answered on a daily basis.

Two “wells” in a row calls for a well drink because that was all we could afford for you.


3… 2… 1… PROSIT!



No one drove their vehicles by this asshole of a place, except for taxicabs to the airport, and from the airport. Everyone else stumbled into that shitty dive bar, and then crawled back home covered in piss and condoms and crabs. Taxi cabs did not stop there on their way to the airport, nor form the airport.



“To The Airport” indicated the promise of good money, and the ride form the airport held the golden traveler. We were not golden. We were snowmen, melting in the desert.


(You know, The words “Shitty Dive Bar” says quite a lot here. It was not a “Nice Dive Bar” where you would visit to have some drinks and share a story. You crawled there to do very bad things. That is precisely why we went there, and then we got the hell out.)


We ran out of that hellhole. This is a proper tune form the Oett to illustrate this here event.


Soon enough, the friends of that very large man saw him rolling around on the floor in the sawdust and body fluids and they somehow knew that his behavior was not form pleasure. When he was able to speak, he said, “I got sucker-punched.”


That was true.


Joey and I ran and ran, and I kept checking to make sure that the wads of cash form all of the evening sales were still in my leather. I said, “Joseph, *gasp gasp* do you want to carry all of this money now?”

Joey said, “Nah, you *huff huff* keep it safe!”


Then there was the sound of a Harley Davidson screaming to life. This sounds was followed by another one, and another one, and another one…


Oh No.


It sounded like a chorus of demons erupting form Hell.

Joey said, “Hey Urb, I think we need to get inside the fence.”


I looked over and saw the chain-link fence we ran beside.

It seemed like a good idea.


I had been thinking about burying the money beneath the walnut trees that grew along this path, beside the road. Then I realized that we should not lose it because we would not remember which place it rested and rotted, nor leave it for others to discover. We would have to carry our hold of gold back with us.

Was this greed? Or was this courage?



Nah, it was greed.

But fuck that, the gold was ours. We worked for it.


This indicated that we would have to cross over the top of the fence, and there was concertina wire up on top. Just enough tiny spirals to keep walkers out, and not like in a prison where they are large spirals to keep the desperate inside.



Always mind your leather. It can save you.



I said, “Joseph, we will get sliced up form the razor blades. We can crawl over the top if we use one of our leather jackets.” I nodded back at the Harley bikers racing around, looking for us.

He saw me in the blue lights of the airfield. These were small lights that looked like cemetery grave markers for blues musicians. They were spaced about a yard apart, in a square matrix, across the whole field.



Joey said, “OK, do it.”

I shook my head. I said, “I got all the money in my inside pockets. The hidden ones.”



He shook his head. He said, “Your jacket smells like bad pussy.”

I laughed. I said, “That sounds like the name of a punk band. Hehehe”


He laughed, because it was true, and we both recognized that it was form bad pussy that I had encountered.



I pointed back to them bikers making bigger circles around all the streets back there. I said, “NO. It’s all tight in my hidden pockets. I can’t take it all out now, we would lose some of it. We will not leave a dollar behind for them assholes to find.”

Joey’s face got panicked. He loved his leather. Don’t you love your leather?


He did not say a word. He pulled off his leather and handed it over to me. I swear, I saw a glint of a tear on his face.

I threw his jacket up over my shoulder and stuck my fingers into them chain links above my head and stuck the toe of my leather boots into a lower one. The thing about steel toe boots is that the chunky tread will grab on to such a line of wire and you can use them to crawl like a super punk hero.

I reached the top of the ten-foot high wall of chain link and held on with my toes and one hand. I grabbed his jacket form my shoulder and flapped it up and down to open it up like a bird wing, and then I flipped it up and over the barbed wire that held razor blades in it.

It caught. It held on. I used the arm of his jacket to pull myself up, and this action set the blades deep inside the leather of his jacket. This was good for our escape, but not for his leather.



I crawled up and over and swung down and jumped. I landed in the desert dust on my belly and got the wind knocked out of me. I rolled around and tried to catch my breath.

When you have the wind knocked out of you, you panic a bit. It doesn’t matter how many times you have this happen to you. It’s like an autonomic response or some shit.

Joey said, “Holy shit Urb! You all cut up?!”

I grunted and could say nothing.

Joey looked over his shoulder and saw that there was s ingle bike riding up the road towards us. We would be caught by them bastards.


I minded my breathing, I stopped my panicking. You can do this after a little bit, if you take it easy. You know what to do when this happens several times in your life.

He said, “Fuck.” He looked back at the biker. He said, “Urb! I’m gonna bail now!”

I got a bit of air in and I said, “no”


Joey said, “What?”


I motioned for him to climb up.

I got more air in and I said, “I’m ok”



Joey nodded, and he grabbed the leather arm of his jacket and dug his boots into the chain link fence and he pulled himself up.

He made it over the top and fell down into the desert dust and got the wind knocked out of him.


I couldn’t help myself. My breath was coming back and I laughed. “Heh heh heh *kaff kaff* heh”



Joey panicked, and I saw his jacket still hanging form the top of the fence. I saw the lights of that Harley just about to pass by and I pushed him down into the dust, face first.


The biker zoomed past and Joey elbowed me off of him. He still couldn’t breathe, but now he was a sand man, not a snowman. He scrambled away from me and tried to catch his breath, and I saw the biker stop up ahead and begin to do a three point turn. He noticed something.


Luckily, there was some traffic form the taxicabs that made him stop and walk his bike backwards while still straddling it.



You don’t get off a bike and guide it backwards. It simply weighs way too much. You have to do little duck feet slaps on the pavement while still sitting upon it after you put the bike into reverse gear. Never dump your Harley. It’s bad form.


He was coming back this way to check something out that must have caught his eye. Something like a tiny black leather jacket hanging over the top of the chain link fence, lit from behind by small blue lights.

I got my full breath back and the tiny sparks in my eyesight flew off to the moon. I could breath again.

Joey: not so much.

Yet.



I crawled over and stood up and I grabbed the chain link fence. I would get Joey’s leather back for him, and protect us.

I climbed up and grabbed the other arm of his leather, the one hanging on the near side, and I pulled on it.


By now, two young punk rockers had grabbed it on the other side and set the leather deep into the razor blades inside the concertina wire. It was married to the fence now. I knew this, but still I pulled.

I pulled hard. I heard the ugly sound of leather ripping.


Oh. No.

I understood.

I climber up further and looked over to see the biker swing his bike back to us. He was coming back now.


I panicked again. I climbed up one more step in the links and reached over and grabbed the other half of Joey’s jacket and pulled it back to my side. I felt my own leather get caught in the razors that stuck through Joey’s leather. I got a slice in my skin. I did not get a cut deep into my arteries. Thank Bacchus.




I tugged at the jacket in furious panic and heard his jacket tear form the slices and the rips. It was a lost cause. I looked at the biker roaring back our way, and looked down and saw Joey get up on his knees, finally catching his breath.


I did not bail. His jacket was fucked. But leaving his jacket there would be too much of a hint. Maybe there was a chance.


I grabbed both of the arms of his leather in one hand, and then I let go of the fence with the other, and just before I pushed myself away, I had both hands on his leather.



It was horrible.

The sound of a leather jacket ripping into razor shreds is the worst sound to hear, other than the clang of an alarm clock on a Monday morning.


Most of his jacket followed me down as I jumped, but it did not tear away completely. I swung back against the fence and Joey grabbed my legs and pulled me down to the desert dust to finish the job.


He sacrificed his leather. It was for a good cause.


The biker slowed down as he neared. Joey and I lied flat on the ground. Joey was still hitching, trying to get his full breath back. He did that heroic effort with almost no breath in him, and a dusty face.


Joey pushed my face into the dust. Was it protection, or was it payback?

Yeah, it was both.


The biker looked around, but the walnut trees confused him. Maybe he liked to have black walnuts in his mouth?


Of course, they would find the remainders of Joey’s leather the next day, hanging in shreds there, lit by the bright, unending blaze of the searing Califuckno sunshine.



Tonight, we scrambled away in safety, like cockroaches from the head light of a Harley motorcycle.


We just needed one of them damned airport taxicabs to do this.


This calls for a drink of some black ink. Will you join me as I say good night to you?



Good. I knew you were like that.


3… 2… 1… PROSIT!


.

[Dear Booze]

Just so I have this straight... the house party and the explosion and Jerry's car disappearance... this is all within about 48 hours? Please say "yes", because IT'S FUCKING AWESOME!

What a nail-biter this part was. Please continue.

[mistah willies]

Ruining a perfectly good leather jacket like that. What the hell?


They should have just made friends.

Boooo ze

[oettinger]

Just so I have this straight... the house party and the explosion and Jerry's car disappearance... this is all within about 48 hours? Please say "yes", because IT'S FUCKING AWESOME!

What a nail-biter this part was. Please continue.

I think so, 48 something.
Nailbiter, yes. I forgot to sip my drink for five minutes.