Ridicula Read online

  “Then what do you propose we do?” Jade asked. This was the first time she talked directly to him since this whole crazy cab ride began.

  George thought a moment. “Wait. Where are we?”

  “Next to a highway,” Bobarino said as he eyed the sandal that hadn’t driven down the highway with the third SUV.

  “In damn Jersey,” Kenny said.

  “Near Newark by the stink of things,” added Maria.

  “Secaucus, actually,” Kenny replied, seeing a sign for MetLife Stadium, home to the Giants and Jets, although it was New Jersey (and not an insurance company). Beyond the sign, the traveling sandal settled.

  “I know someone who lives around here. I met him playing his banjo in front of the book fair in Javitz. We’ve kept in touch since.” A smile crossed George’s face. He was excited by the prospect of visiting his friend.

  “What kinda weirdo is he?” Jade asked, echoing Kenny’s thoughts.

  “Don’t worry about it,” George replied. “I’ll just call him.”

  At that moment, a fourth SUV was honking at them, or more exactly, at Bobarino, who had ventured out onto the highway, presumably to retrieve the sandal. “Get off the highway!” the New Jersey SUV driver yelled out the window while swerving to avoid him.

  Bobarino picked up the sandal and chucked it at the driver. Perhaps he had forgotten the reason he had gone to get it in the first place unless it simply was to toss it at any SUV passing by. The sandal slammed into the rear window, not breaking the glass but causing the driver of the SUV to screech to a stop right in the middle of the highway. Of course, a fifth SUV honked and yelled at the other driver before moving on.

  Bobarino ran toward the stopped SUV in the highway, and other cars passed him on the left as if he were just an extraordinarily slow vehicle on the road. “What the hell were you doing, asshole?” the SUV driver asked, exiting his car and ready to fight.

  “Yo, man, can’t you see we need help over here?” replied Bobarino in his Italian, Greek, or an Eastern European accent (Kenny couldn’t tell which).

  The man in the SUV was built like a wiry Popeye on acid instead of spinach. He raised his muscled arms in a boxing stance. “We all fend for ourselves here in Jersey.”

  “Yeah, well us New Yorkers can knock out anyone in an SUV even if they are from Jersey,” replied the cab driver. He nearly chuckled as he spoke and continued to advance toward the other man. The whole thing might have indeed been funny to Bobarino.

  Kenny expected fists to fly as Acid Popeye went to meet him halfway. “You from the Bronx?” he asked.

  “What’s it to you? Are you a Yanks fan?” George had once told Kenny that Bobarino had beat up a man for talking trash about Derek Jeter before he retired. This whole affair might end up getting even uglier. Then, however, he realized one fact about north New Jersians: they ALL were Yankees fans to some degree.

  “Yanks are pitching like shit, but they’ll still win it all,” said Acid Popeye. And just like that, the tension of the situation deflated.

  “Yeah, they will,” Bobarino said, now looking like he was going to hug the other man instead of killing him.

  “Afraid I don’t have a spare, buddy,” Acid Popeye said, changing his tune and seeing why they were stranded. Can take you for help, though I don’t know if we can find anything open at this time of night.”

  They walked to the cab, Acid Popeye’s SUV still in the middle of the highway with no hazard lights on. George approached them, talking excitedly. “Can you take us to Main Street in Secaucus? I know someone who lives there. He’ll be able to help.”

  “Sure thing, buddy.” Kenny guessed that Acid Popeye thought of all of them as buddies now.

  They all walked toward the SUV. Bobarino looked back. “What about the cab? We’re near Newark. It could be stripped or something.”

  “Well, unless you want to stay by the cab until we get back, there’s not much we can do,” Kenny said, finally beginning to sober up. The punching cushion session was finally out of his system.

  Bobarino contemplated, and then continued to the SUV. All five passengers fit in the large vehicle without an issue, but Kenny was thankful that Acid Popeye had been the only one in the car beforehand.

  They were off. The driver seemed to know his way around the area, and George helped him find the building where his friend lived. Kenny wondered who this friend was, for he had not heard George mention this person, nor had he known that George liked to read. Why else would he have been at Javitz during a book fair?

  He hoped everything would work out, but his sobered thoughts told him otherwise. Kenny had a feeling that the craziness had only just begun.

  Chapter 6

  The Chase and the Capture

  Outside, Freckles looked around the great wilderness. When Yellowstone Park was your backyard, even a Rottweiler used to the country had to admire the expansive milieu. But he could explore later. Right now, he had important business to attend to. He took his dump on the road.

  When he finished, he admired his handiwork. A park ranger or some pedestrian would find that one, for sure. Sometimes he had to make his presence known. After all, what other dogs in the area could dump something that beautiful?

  Turning aside from his handiwork, Freckles spotted a rodent sprint by him. By the smell of it, he quickly determined it to be a chipmunk. He considered chasing it but dismissed the notion when he smelled the scent of a different animal, one he was sure he had never encountered. Curious, he followed his nose.

  When close, he looked up to see a small animal race past him. Indeed, he had never seen the likes of it before. Sure, it sort of looked like a squirrel with its bushy tail, but it was not any kind of squirrel he had seen. And by the looks of things, this animal was chasing the chipmunk. Who had ever heard of a squirrel chasing a chipmunk?

  In any case, Freckles knew that he had to get a move on it if he were to witness any more of the chase. He ran after them, a dog on an escapade.

  In the dusk, Freckles had to rely on his nose and ears more than usual. He was often a visual dog, as many a Rottweiler can be, hence the reason they are good watchdogs, but he was still a dog, and smell was his focal sense. Thus, he believed that he could follow the chipmunk and the other animal easily enough.

  But the animals raced towards the woods and through the bushes where Freckles had more and more trouble navigating. Those Jack Russell digger dogs might have already caught up with the animals he was chasing, but his Rottweiler frame was just too large to maneuver around bushes and bramble. He would just have to plow through, not worrying about thorns or poison ivy.

  These little hassles wouldn’t disturb his fun. He thrashed through the thicket like a Doberman might do when suddenly free from his tethering. The chipmunk and the odd other rodent now certainly sensed the trouble they could be in.

  Of course, Freckles would not hurt them, though. He was in it only for the fun of the chase.

  The thrashing through the woods seemed to work. He was catching them, although the trailing unnamed animal gave him no heed.

  Then the chipmunk simply disappeared. How could this be? Freckles still smelled the rodent. And quite close by too.

  The other animal clued him back in by beginning to burrow into what once was an excavated rabbit’s den. This gave Freckles time to catch up, but still the weird animal did not pay him any attention.

  The big dog recklessly bounded toward his quarry with joy and gusto. When he made it to within a few paces, the bushy tailed multi-brown-colored animal whirled around—teeth snarling and claws extended, ready to strike.

  Did this animal think he stood a chance against a Rottweiler? Freckles grinned in merriment, but he did not advance any closer. He had no reason to. He did not wish to harm this creature.

  The chipmunk took that moment to ditch its hiding place and attempt its escape. The multi-brown-colored animal with ears like a fox saw this and leapt after the chipmunk.

  For Freckles, that meant the ch
ase would continue. He barked with glee.

  The dog ran and ran. Nothing could stop him when he was on the chase. He scrunched sticks, jumped rocks, sloshed through mud, and continued to thrash bushes. However, somehow the rodents kept ahead of him. That was until they reached the tallest fir tree in the area. Freckles recognized it because he had been this way before. It was the great Douglas-fir tree, which he nicknamed Grand Fetcher. Whenever he visited, he retrieved branches, or he chewed on bones. The branches and cones obviously fell from the tree, but where the bones came from and from which small animals were mysteries to him.

  The chipmunk attempted to lose the other animal in the substantial growth of the tree, but the other creature navigated the inner branches with ease. It could not be stopped easily. And that thing was hungry!

  Then the chipmunk did something Freckles had never seen a chipmunk do: it climbed up the tree. This was a normal practice for squirrels, but chipmunks were ground critters.

  But the other animal could climb trees too, and Freckles began to realize that the chipmunk would not escape without help. Normally, the chase would end without any harm being done to the other animals, and Freckles liked the chipmunk’s tenacity, so he decided that he would help it escape. This other animal would find other pickings on this night anyway, Freckles was sure.

  The dog leapt into Grand Fetcher as if it were a broken fence, right below where the animals were climbing. The predator animal had not expected anything to come blasting below him, so it lost its grip on the branch and fell to the ground, unhurt. This gave the chipmunk its chance to escape.

  But Freckles was now entangled by the branches. He had to be careful to escape being scratched or suffering worse injuries. He was caught in such a way that his paws could not reach the ground. Perhaps he had been a little too quick to jump into the fir tree, but he had saved the chipmunk. That made him grin.

  As he wiggled his torso and stepped gingerly through the limbs with each paw, he saw that the strange animal was glaring at him, scrutinizing his every move and remembering exactly what he looked like. Freckles made a note to find out what this creature was so that he could deal with it better if he were to see it again.

  Then Freckles stepped on a branch and gave off the most innocent of yelps. The yelp was not much of anything, but the rodent, or whatever it was, heard him. It grinned with its undersized mouth and snickered. Was it laughing it him? This creature had nerve!

  In any case, the unrestricted animal took that moment to disappear in the brush, and Freckles could not chase it because of his current predicament. He hoped this was not the only time he met this snickering, ears-like-a-fox, multi-brown-colored, bushy-tailed creature, for he now had a score to settle.

  Back to the problem at hand, Freckles attempted to reach down with his paw in an attempt to touch ground. He stretched but not quite far enough. The limbs seemed to have him like a rope or a strangulated snake, so he wiggled some more—

  And saw the tail of a real snake on him! Was this where the snake always lay in wait for prey? Was the snake attempting to strangle his body? Is that why Freckles found so many bones here? He wiggled violently this time, and the snake flew off him like a bird without wings.

  Then he saw what type of snake it was and grinned again. A Rubber Boa, the smallest snake in the boa family. At a wimpy two feet long, that snake couldn’t wrap itself around Freckle’s torso. A boa constrictor it wasn’t. The rubber boa hadn’t bitten him either. Maybe it had just come onto the scene to see what all the hubbub was about? Freckles gave the snake the benefit of the doubt.

  But now what to do? He was still no closer to escaping the tree. He tried to bite at the branches without success. He attempted to wiggle and worm his way free, but something still would not release him. Finally, thinking of nothing else, he barked. He was not a fan of barking, unlike many of his breed, but sometimes you just had to bring attention to yourself. Barking was also fun while on a chase.

  No one came for him, of course. He was too far from anyone who could help. A hummingbird heard his bark but just hummed by him; it couldn’t help.

  Freckles continued to wiggle and worm and bite and claw, and yes, bark, but all that got him was more stuck. It seemed that he had landed between branches that entangled him more when he struggled. Worse, night was almost here now. Well, at least he wasn’t hurt or even that uncomfortable. Perhaps he could just rest a little before trying to escape again.

  He must have drifted off because he dreamed of many hummingbirds coming to his rescue. They flew through the branches, opening some space between the branches as others pecked at them. Then they hummed off, back to their own pursuits. But in the dream, he was free.

  And he fell to the ground, waking. He was freed, but there were no hummingbirds nearby. How’d he escape? Had he freed himself in his sleep? Or had he not really been asleep, and his dream had not been a dream at all? Had hummingbirds actually freed him? He might never know for sure.

  What Freckles did realize was that he was making friends and enemies. He raced home, thinking of ways to thank the hummingbirds, no matter if they had really helped or not. But also, he relished the chance to get back at the dastardly creature whose species’ name he did not yet know.

  Chapter 7

  Waterskiing 101

  According to Hippie and many others of his persuasion, niacin is the most pleasurable of vitamins. Sure, it may make you turn red for a while and you may itch, but it flushes out the system. Hippie took the pain so that he could be healthy. Whenever he felt anxious or out of sorts he just popped a B-3 pill, and in a half hour or so he was feeling good. That’s if he hadn’t drunk any alcohol in a while, for niacin and alcohol didn’t mix well for him. This ain’t no detox; it’s a cleansing. Let’s put those capillaries to work so that the blood rids itself of toxins!

  So after falling asleep in Maude’s truck for the night and not feeling any ill effects of Milwaukee’s Best, he popped a pill of Niacin. He would take two if necessary but no more. Too much was not good. He’d found out the hard way one time after taking a third pill, which had made him feel itchy for hours and red for what seemed like days.

  Hippie stepped out and began his ritualistic walk around the truck stop. After a dozen or so steps, he began his dance, as if he were calling the sky to rain. Instead, though, his face turned bright red, and the dancing became more of an itching frenzy. Maude returned from the outhouse and saw him in motion. “Hey, look, Raggedy Ann is dancing like it’s 1999! Let’s Go Crazy and bring the Raspberry Beret!” Hippie was aware of Maude’s obsession with Prince’s music. She played his music constantly throughout their trip together, although she never played anything from his “Symbol” period of music. That was sacrilegious! Especially after his death. RIP, Prince.

  Hippie did not reply. He was too busy dancing out the itches as quickly as he could. While he rather liked feeling hot and itchy, he enjoyed the aftereffects much more. Thus, he danced chaotically, not caring about any embarrassment. Why should he care what other people thought of him or his actions? People tended to think fondly of him anyway.

  He danced on.

  “Are you doing the chicken dance?” Maude continued, “Or is the red beak you’re sporting for sheer entertainment?”

  Hippie couldn’t help but scratch his blush nose, for the niacin itched him silly. He continued to dance because it was helping the discomfort move along or at least stopped him from thinking about it too much.

  Maude began to slap her knee and kick her legs as if she were at some hoedown, but she had a completely different rhythm than he did. He just moved any which way that felt good. “Let’s play some redneck country music now, ‘cause you’re redder than anyone I’ve seen, and the sun isn’t even out strong this morn.”

  She must have temporarily run out of material because she left then. Hippie guessed she was done ragging on him for the moment. He was glad of it since he had to concentrate on nothing but flushing out his system. He felt his blood course throu
gh him as clean as untouched arctic water, and he was beginning to cool off. A hematic chill seeped through him, and he felt healed of mind and body.

  Maude’s truck pulled up. Blaring from the speakers was a country song that could have been played at a square-dance shindig. “Yep, this seems like a good accompaniment to your chicken dance.”

  He slowed his dance because the itching and redness were subsiding. Soon, only his natural cleanse would remain.

  “Are you done there yet? I want to be in Lake Tahoe by the end of the morn. Have friends there waiting for me after I deliver my packages. Got you a sesame seed bagel with some egg whites. That’s the kind of shit you like when you’re not eating jerky, right?”

  He stopped dancing then. “Not really. Bagels aren’t any good for you, and eating a real egg would be just fine with me,” Hippie said. “But thank you for thinking of me.”

  All the way to Lake Tahoe, the niacin felt pure coursing through his system. The goodness flowed through his capillaries, reaching every nook and cranny of his body, from his ears all the way to his pinky toe. He enjoyed the feeling but knew it wouldn’t last. He would have to eat and drink something other than pure water soon. The food would then release toxins into his body, ending his healthy ecstasy. After a bit more reveling in his wholesome state, he grabbed the bagel and egg whites and chomped into them. The bagel was a bit hard because of the hours it had sat, but it did sate his hunger.

  He felt fine, though. He would take more niacin only when he believed the time to be right, if only to revel in it more. He knew that it was better to take it in moderation.

  “There’s Lake Tahoe,” Maude said as if he were a dolt who could not see the lake right in front of him. “What’s your plan now?”

  “I thought I might take in some waterskiing,” he said.

  Maude laughed, not realizing that Hippie was serious. “Here, you might need these.” She handed him a pair of plastic gloves. “Might protect you from your hands getting chapped.”