Ridicula

  Ridicula

  by

  Adam Altman

  © Copyright 2018, Adam Altman

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-64255-396-3

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64370-298-8

  Maude pulled up in her truck. “We gotta be going,” Maude spoke hurriedly through the window and opened the passenger’s side door for him. Anxiety was apparent in her brutish face.

  He got in without much thought. If he had been thinking, he would have realized that he wasn’t involved in the trouble that Maude had likely gotten into, that he had no reason to go with her, and that he was hungry; Maude had no food, not even jerky, in the truck. And if he had stayed in Lake Tahoe longer, he could have avoided everything that was about to happen. But Hippie always seemed to find himself in interesting situations. So why should this be any different?

  Maude peeled out with Hippie in tow. Where they were going now, he couldn’t guess. He knew, however, that he’d be in Wyoming eventually.

  He always ended up there.

  Acknowledgement

  This dedication is for the large list of people who made this book possible. You know who you are.

  Ridicula (definitions by point of view)

  1) Ridiculous to most but par for the course for the selected few—Hippie.

  2) Extremely ridiculous but somehow plausible—George Cramwell.

  3) Well beyond ridiculous, approaching stupidity and insanity; mostly associated with humans—Freckles.

  4) Spanish word for ridiculous but without the accent mark.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: A Modern Hippie

  Chapter 2: Trying to Avoid the Inevitable

  Chapter 3: Freckles

  Chapter 4: Mistaken Identity

  Chapter 5: A Glut of SUVs

  Chapter 6: The Chase and the Capture

  Chapter 7: Waterskiing 101

  Chapter 8: Faulkner

  Chapter 9: This One’s for the Birds

  Chapter 10: Following Each Other

  Chapter 11: The Send Button

  Chapter 12: The Hat and the Cat

  Chapter 13: A Soap Altercation

  Chapter 14: Inside a Jules Verne Novel

  Chapter 15: Before the Big Day

  Chapter 16: The Ranger

  Chapter 17: Bloodshedder

  Chapter 18: The Dawn of Reckoning

  Chapter 19: The Rich and the Obsessed

  Chapter 20: Bloodshedder’s Soulmate

  Chapter 21: The Grand Fetcher Escapade: The End of the Ultimate Chase

  Chapter 22: Seventies or Eighties Music

  Chapter 23: Bloodshot Love

  Chapter 24: Doggy Joy

  Chapter 25: Contemplation

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Dressed in camouflage brown clothes to blend in with the immediate semidesert surroundings, Carolyn investigated the situation at hand. Her subject was within sight, at least via binoculars. She watched anxiously even though she knew that he couldn’t see her, and it was unlikely that he could recognize her in any case, nor could the one he was with. She was too far away, and twilight shadows covered her.

  The two were walking down a dingy street—kind of a half-road, a dirt-nothing where weeds made up most of the road and where potholes caused flattened tires. She had seen many bad roads in places other than the crappy ones in New Jersey, where she grew up. This was one of those roads.

  The stranger talking to her man looked like someone who may have been in the news forty years ago. He had a scraggly beard like a hippy, but somehow, he appeared more sophisticated. This was perhaps because of what he held, surely a product of excellent quality. Her man would want nothing other than the best.

  She had never seen her man use drugs. That’s not what he was about. That is probably why she saw sophistication in the other man, who was no drug dealer. He likely sold better quality material. Her man was often in the company of such men—those who looked shady but were of higher class. And being out together at twilight would make sense, for her incubus was a man of the night.

  Just like she was a lady who preferred the night.

  Her thoughts wandered. She began to think of her life as one big investigative news blogger, reporting about potential assailants but not making any big difference to the world. She was both the pursuer and the assailant, a victim of her desire. She wondered about her motive, for she was never clear about why she was doing what she was doing. She reasoned that it was because she has gone through life without him, the one who made her long existence worthwhile.

  She had found him now and was certain he was the one. She had smelt him up close, and his scent was right. He had the allure, the blood, and the odor.

  He fascinated her.

  And he was gone. She had let her distracted thoughts overtake her long enough to lose focus, letting him disappear. The only human she saw now was his friend.

  Damn!

  Well, his friend would have to do. The hippy was her only lead now. And she was certain that he would eventually lead her back to the man Carolyn pursued.

  Chapter 1

  A Modern Hippie

  The sun had just started to peek over the lip of the roof when Hippie awoke from his slumber. He lifted his head from the threadbare brown couch and breathed in the crisp air of the morning. Still groggy from sleep, he sat up to look at the leaves on the few trees whose height reached above him and studied the red rocks that formed the small hills of the terrain.

  As he touched the tiles of the flat roof, he thought about the long trek he was going to embark on this lovely late summer day. His friends had kindly let him sleep on the couch on the roof of their house — the same couch he had brought up there the year before. Luckily, it didn’t rain much in these parts, and the couch wasn’t dilapidated enough for him to be forced to sleep elsewhere. It was rather comfortable, actually. He had spent nights in far worse surroundings.

  He had enjoyed the comfort of the couch the last few days, but now it was time to say goodbye, take his belongings, and move on. He was positive he would be welcomed back in case he returned in the next few months. Knowing himself, it was certainly a possibility.

  He stood up and edged his way to the peak of the roof. He looked down, realizing that it was easier to climb up the roof than to climb back down. He thought of jumping, but it was not a short leap, and he worried that he might land the wrong way and sprain his ankle. However, this was not as dangerous as compared to many other actions he had attempted in his life.

  Without hesitating any longer, he jumped. He landed on the ground on his two feet, still standing. He raised his arms in triumph. Then he closed his eyes and murmured a silent ‘thank you,’ for his slightly aged body could not keep up with this way of life quite as well as ten years ago, although he remained in good shape and planned to stay that way.

  Of course, the family that let him stay here were all gone. The parents were at work, and the kids had left for school. Why anyone would want to go to work was beyond him. What would they get out of it? Money? Stuff? Material things did not mean much in the scheme of real life, but most people seemed possessed by them. Deep down, though, he knew that even he had to work occasionally to make ends meet.

  The family had left the door open for him. He walked in and took some time to pet and feed the cats and walk and feed the dog. They were friendly animals and he would miss them, as he always did when he left.

  Before grabbing his small leather case that held most of his belongings, he wrote a note to the family to thank them for t
heir hospitality and that he would try to keep in touch with them. He might be a hippy and a wanderer, but he was courteous about it.

  Taking his case, he took the “Care” package from the refrigerator that this family always left him, turned off all the lights, and locked the door behind him. He was ready to embark on his next adventure.

  As he waited at the side of the main road in town, he looked through his Care package. There really was not much to it, but it had some of his essentials: an apple, a power bar, a jar of wheat juice, a container of water, and of course, a few multipurpose vitamins. However, it was the two additional items that brought a smile to his face. The small bottle of niacin was a pleasure he did not often receive. Yes, when he tried some, he would itch and feel flushed for a few minutes, like a red marshmallow, with his heart beating fast, but it would all be worth it, for he always became more energetic and healthier after the initial side-effects wore off. The final item in his package was a bar of soap. The family he had just left knew that he preferred to be clean. He was a hippy, but hygiene was still important.

  As he looked up, a truck pulled over in front of him. The stout woman behind the wheel waved for him to come over. This time, it looked like he wouldn’t need to put his thumb up. It was certainly looking like a promising day. He walked over to the truck, and the big burly redneck type of woman cleared some space so that he could sit down. “Where are you off to?” she said in her gruff voice. She wasn’t the most pleasant person to look at with her heavyset frame, rotten teeth, and somewhat manly mustache, but at the moment, Hippie didn’t care. His next main stop would likely be at one of his girlfriend’s places, where he could take in a prettier sight.

  “Nebraska, not far from Omaha.” He had decided which girlfriend would be best to see.

  “That’s a mighty long way. Do you know that you’re in the Central Valley of California right now?” the woman said with a quick huff of a laugh as she began to drive again.

  “Yes, I’m aware,” Hippie said calmly. It wasn’t the first time he would go on a trip such as this. He also wouldn’t be surprised if he had to go through Wyoming again before heading back south towards Nebraska, but he was in no rush.

  “Well, I’m heading to Lake Tahoe. Ski season is coming, and I’ve got some material to deliver. It’s north of here and probably cool, but at least it’s east and will get you on your way. Do you have a jacket? You might need one.”

  Hippie thought, A motherly yet tough redneck—oh, this might work out well.

  After he nodded yes, the woman continued. “Well, is it a warm jacket? Cause I’ll be continuing to head northeast after Lake Tahoe.” Oh, yes, he was heading back to Wyoming! Maybe it was Wyoming of all places that was his true destination.

  “Look, miss,” Hippie started, “I don’t own a heavy coat. Do you think I could really fit that type of jacket in my small case? Don’t worry. I’ll make do.” Some people just didn’t understand the way of the hippy. You must travel light. If there comes a time when you own too many heavy objects, you trade some of them for something smaller or just give them away. You can even sell them at a fair price, of course. This hippy was not just thumbs, peace, and love.

  The woman trucker was now driving onto Route 5. Since she was heading towards Lake Tahoe, they would only be a short time on the dreaded highway. Hippie hated most highways — too many cars with the people inside them not caring about anything but getting from one place to another. Since there was too much traffic anyway, people couldn’t go as fast as they wanted, so they blew their horns, cut off other drivers, and just acted like fools. Hippie often wondered where everybody was going so fast — probably home or work. Well, he guessed that home would be okay if relaxation was on their minds or the love of their significant other. But work? Oh, not that unproductive, nothing to do with reality boss man work! Real work is fine if it’s to the ends of helping people, surviving, or creating something worthwhile. But most jobs are not real, just an empty means to make tiny bits of money and with little to no gratification.

  After obliterating work from his mind, Hippie decided that he should become chummy with his host driver. After all, they were going to spend many hours together. “So, ma’am, I never caught your name.”

  “Maude. And yours?”

  “Aspen—named after the tree and the huge Dodge seventies car, not these new pieces of crap cars—but no one really calls me by that name. As a matter of fact, usually no one calls me by any one name. When necessary, some of my buddies call me Hippie, although I have no idea why,” he said with his wry smile.

  The woman did not see that smile, so she took his remark seriously, replying, “Your hair, man. Your hair.” Then, after a quick look in his direction, she continued, “And I’m sure you'll want a little of the stash I have. Help yourself—but don’t take too much.”

  “What? You have extra vitamins you can spare?” He knew what she meant but wanted to see her reaction.

  He got what he expected. “No, man. Pot, of course,” she said, amazed, still not catching on to his humor.

  After he shook his head to decline, Maude laughed for a moment. “What kind of hippy are you anyway?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m not your ordinary, pot-smoking, free-lovin’, peaceful hippy,” Hippie said laughing, and then clarified, “Oh, well, maybe I’m peaceful and a bit free-lovin’, but I don’t believe in most drugs. Vitamins will do just fine for me.”

  Hippie then hesitated a moment before asking for his drug of choice. “Got any beer?”

  At that, Maude gave one big hoot of laughter that made her mustache look more hideous. Her shirt popped out of her pants to show her bulky stomach for a moment. That ugly mix nauseated Hippie more than it should have. After all, he was used to bad-looking women and had slept with a few over the years. He knew why he was disgusted, though, remembering all his shenanigans with his beer and the round women phase of his life.

  “Well, do you got any beer?” he couldn’t help repeating.

  Maude renewed her low-pitched hoot, but this time, it became many hoots of laughter. She even veered off the highway for a moment in her display of glee. Well, at least this trip was getting off to a rollicking start. Hopefully, they would venture into the land of half streets, and then the craziness might really begin.

  And this made Hippie think of last month when George had visited him at the place where they had first met and became friends—

  Chapter 2

  Trying to Avoid the Inevitable

  “The road was called 16 ½ street,.” George Cramwell said and then writing it out on a bar napkin. “The ½ was a fraction, not a decimal.” George Cramwell finished writing the mixed number. “And the sign didn’t even point to any road. There was only grass there. Absurd. What did they do? Call it a half street cause the road wasn’t finished yet?” George shook his head and then continued. “That wasn’t the only occurrence of this half street phenomenon. The streets went all the way up to 32 ½ street or maybe even higher.” George continued writing whole numbers on the napkin.

  Kenny Dunz had heard this story a few times before, so he just tuned out George and let him continue his ridiculous rant. Maybe George was so enthralled with his story because it took place outside of New York City, where he rarely ventured.

  No matter. Right now, Kenny only had the inclination to scope out the scene.

  With a Molson in hand, he looked around the crowded bar but did not see anyone he knew. That was not a problem, though. He could always find a cute girl to talk to, but no one immediately caught his attention until a group of women around his age walked through the front door. Not bad. Not bad at all, he thought.

  But then he saw the last woman to walk in. He could not mistake the long brunette hair that hung past her ass, dark brown sinister eyes, and an indecent smile, as though she were a naughty princess entering the tavern on a dare.

  Jade had come to ruin the evening.

  Kenny proceeded to slam his Molson down i
n distaste. Beer and scoping out women were not important for Kenny now.

  His first concern was to avoid a bad scene. George could not see Jade or something miserable would happen. At best, they would avoid talking or only say a quick hello, but later, George would wind up talking Kenny’s ear off with what-ifs and melancholy self-pity. That would be bad. But if Jade and George got into another awkward conversation, argument, or even a “healthy” talk, it would wind up much worse. No, Kenny would not allow that to happen.

  “You know that there was even a 15 ¾ street? I thought I was going nuts when I saw that, especially cause the town was called: Madera. It was a 'mad era' alright,” George said to the bartender, who was feigning interest and laughter while serving drinks to his other thirsty patrons.

  Kenny tapped George on the shoulder. “Let’s go. It’s getting stuffy in here. No good chicks around anyway. Let’s go to the Shaking Tree. There should be some good music there.”

  “Well, okay. But let me finish my story first,” George replied. He always had to finish his stories.

  “But you’re only at the part about 15 ¾ street. You haven’t even gotten to the part about swerving off the main highway at the grass base at 13 ½ street and getting help from Hippie,” Kenny said in desperation. Jade might have already seen them. “And the bartender’s busy anyway.”

  “Bob wants to hear the rest,” George was saying as Kenny hurriedly looked around him. He quickly found Jade heading toward the bar. Shit! Kenny thought. And I think she’s seen me. Shit! Shit!

  He ran over to intercept her. Hopefully she hadn’t seen George yet, and luckily, George had gone back to telling the bartender his whacked-out story.

  “Oh, Kenny. How are you?” Jade said, using what she thought was her winning smile on him as he approached. Her smile was as convincing as the best of actresses, but Kenny knew better. Her smile repelled him. She had suckered so many men to do her will—and then discarded them like Survivor castoffs.