Ridicula Read online

  “Do they?”

  “Yeah, for the kids.”

  “But most of this clothing looks adult-sized.” Hippie was starting to think that Maude was just making this up or setting up an elaborate joke, but he decided to play along for just a bit longer.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Kids come in all shapes and sizes. I’m a kids, you know.” Maude looked completely serious.

  “Huh?”

  “You know, KIDS—Kindred I Deem Spiritual. Not your government agency, for sure. That’s why we’re working at this late hour at this odd location.”

  For the first time since he had left his fellow boaters, he questioned his decision to stay with Maude. He was used to and even tolerated spiritual nutcases (see Bearman), but a whole gang of them might be a different story. “What about your delivery?” he thought to ask to see just how far Maude was involved with this group.

  “Some of this stuff is in my truck. I also have other goods to peddle, too, and other salespeople to sell everything.” Maude jumped out of the truck then and yelled over to a broad hairy man who seemed akin to Bearman, except that he was taller, and one could tell that he was not a bear at first glance. “Frank, bring that sweater over.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Frank said obediently.

  Maude presented Hippie the sweater. “Feel the grainy texture, delicate embroidering, intricate but affordable jewelry, and fine plant cloth. Can’t you feel the volcanic glass, petrified logs, precious minerals consisting mostly of emeralds and rare plants?”

  “As a man of nature, I think I can,” Hippie acknowledged, fingering the coarse plant inner cloth of the sweater. “But how can anyone wear this? It feels like a Navajo blanket laced with opium.”

  “Yes, Mexican opium or peyote, to be more exact,” replied Frank, nodding agreeably, like a two-legged hyena.

  Hippie frowned. What were these KIDS into? Drugs? Nature? The underground market? Some kind of peculiar revolt against society? Weird spiritualism? All or none of the above?

  Eh, Hippie thought. Whatever. Let’s just go with it. And that was Hippie’s entire disposition in a nutshell.

  “We gotta go,” announced Frank as he watched the rest of the hulksters dash off with the loot of sewed clothes made from rare substances. Far off, a black ghetto car zipped down the street. It came to a stop at the construction site just as Frank disappeared around the corner.

  Hippie expected the person who got out of the vehicle to be some sort of hoodlum. After all, the car was still bouncing on its wheels even after the engine was turned off. However, the person who climbed out was a woman in a suit and in vogue sunglasses. Of course, she could still be a hoodlum, just a well-dressed one.

  “You Aspen?” she questioned, walking right up to him. She took off her shades and stared right at him, like Medusa without the snakes or the death.

  “Are you looking for me rather than those men that ran off?” he asked matter-of-factly in return.

  “Yep, I have to ask you something.”

  “Are you a detective? You have the shades for it.”

  “No.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “Carolyn’s the name and info is my game.” She sounded like some juvenile reporter from a middle school newspaper. Or someone from Fox News. Or perhaps from CNN or MSNBC. Did it matter anymore? If she started repeating herself a hundred times and calling everything “Breaking News,” then she would be a bona fide reporter.

  “Is there some breaking news I need to know?” Hippie asked, smirking.

  “Need some answers, that’s all.” She pulled out a picture of a man with a dorky smile and a scraggly beard. “Do you know this man?”

  Upon closer inspection, Hippie knew who it was, although the photo was likely an old one. George looked nothing like that picture, at least as of the last time Hippie had seen him. “Just because I’m a hippy, do you think I know every other hippy in this world? I’m not a typical hippy, either. And anyways, you never disclosed who you work for.”

  “News blog for the Daily Planet. We have a case to break,” she replied in a tone more serious but wabblier in utterance than any of the reporters’ tone on MSNBC or Fox News.

  It figured that she had to break the case. CNN would be proud. Then he thought about the name of the news agency she worked for. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Ya ain’t breakin’ no cases wit me,” he said in the best defiant slang he could muster.

  “You know this man, don’t you?” the woman pleaded more than asked. She spoke almost knowingly but with a trace of shakiness in her voice.

  Maude broke into the conversation. “Get outta here, you dirty reporter!” she yelled, pushing her considerable bulk into the petite woman’s body. Although Maude barely touched her, the reporter fell backwards, landing on her skinny butt and needing to balance herself with her hands, like a baby first learning to sit up.

  “How dare you?” Carolyn screamed, not attempting to get up. She knew not to face Maude with anything other than words. At least she had that sense, but otherwise, Carolyn seemed totally unhinged, recoiling like a cat trapped in a corner.

  “How dare you?” Maude repeated back loudly, as many people do when they argue.

  “You’ve ruined my pants. Now I’ll just have to report your numbskulls that just ran off,” Carolyn replied and then hesitated. “Are you sure you’re not going to tell me where this guy is?”

  Maude interfered again. “You know who he is, I think. You’re just trying to find him.”

  “Why?” asked Hippie.

  “He’s the leader of a cult, and he’s got to be exposed.” Carolyn found the courage to look up at Maude, but her eyes immediately lowered back down with a whimper.

  “Cult? Yeah, right.” George would more likely jump off the Brooklyn Bridge than be the leader of a cult.

  “Ah, I knew you knew him,” Carolyn avowed. “Where is he?”

  “Don’t know. Guess your trip here was for naught after all.” Hippie chuckled. This woman wasn’t going to find out shit — just a matter of principle for Hippie. “How did you find me here anyway?”

  “Those numbskulls, that’s how,” the so-called reporter alleged. Her reporter’s story wasn’t adding up. How could she have spoken with one of those hulksters? They had all run off before she had gotten here.

  Angered at the name-calling, Maude was about to wring Carolyn’s neck with her foot, probably because of the name-calling, but Hippie stopped her via a goofy unvoiced plea. Decapitating Carolyn wasn’t the way to silence someone or the way to discover the truth. At least that was never Hippie’s method.

  Carolyn rose to her feet then, for Maude had backed up a few steps to give her some breathing room, a much more considerate notion than stepping on her windpipe so that she couldn’t breathe. The reporter began to speak but then stopped, preferring to back away toward her car instead. Evidently, she had finally realized that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with them.

  Hippie called to her, not quite finished with the conversation. “Where are you going? For that matter, where are you from?”

  Carolyn kept walking toward her car, off balance, as if possessed by a drunk demon. And she didn’t answer his questions. What all this nonsense meant remained a mystery. Except Hippie felt a sudden sense of dread in the air. He couldn’t explain it, but it was there nevertheless.

  “You know what, Maude? She probably has been following us a long time. Let’s turn the tables and follow her.” To Hippie this logic made sense, as long as a peaceful resolution could be achieved.

  They left the construction site moments after Carolyn, making sure to keep a safe distance behind her. They made it to the main road where Carolyn made a left at a gas station, followed by two more lefts. Maude followed but lost track of her after the third left. “Where is she?”

  Hippie was about to shrug but instinctively looked behind instead. Not one hundred feet away, the distinctive black ghetto car was now following them. “I was right. She
has been following us and is now doing it again.”

  Maude sped up and made a bunch of left turns, either rolling through stop signs or going through yellow lights, causing Carolyn to slow down or stop. Eventually, the truck ended up behind the ghetto car. “That will show her,” Maude muttered.

  But it was now Carolyn’s turn to try the left-hand turns. Obviously, she was on to the game and wanted to continue. Why? The jig was obviously up. Was she all there in the brain, or did she just like odd car chases?

  Maude pulled into a gas station, the same one they had passed at least once before. That was just fine with Hippie, for he was beginning to feel nauseous and dizzy. It felt nothing like when experiencing niacin, so he wanted the symptoms to end.

  The black ghetto car pulled in soon afterward, tires bouncing to a stop and the engine clunking off a moment later. Carolyn stepped out of the vehicle, walking unsteadily as if she had just got off a speeding carousel ride. Hippie felt her dizziness even as his was dissipating.

  “Enough of these shenanigans. Where are you off to next?” the reporter asked as she began to walk straighter.

  “Don’t know,” Hippie replied, truly unsure.

  “Well, I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you ain’t,” answered Maude.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Un-huh.”

  “A-huh.” Hippie could tell that the dizziness was wearing off, for Carolyn stood totally upright now and her voice was steady.

  “Nope,” said Maude.

  “Yep,” replied Carolyn.

  Hippie realized that this could go on for a while, so he interceded. “We have no room in the front for a third person.”

  “Well, you can make room.”

  “What about your car?”

  “That piece of crap can stay here. I’ll even leave the keys for some drifter to take it.” Carolyn was adamant about coming. Why? Hippie was not sure.

  “You’re not traveling with us,” Maude continued, but she didn’t sound convincing. Perhaps the other woman’s stubbornness was winning her over.

  “Yes, I am coming.”

  Hippie knew where this would eventually lead. It looked like their little party would grow to three.

  Chapter 11

  The Send Button

  How did we get smack dab in the middle of a cornfield near Youngstown, Ohio, in the middle of the night? Maria asked herself. She never dreamed that she would ever ever ever ask that question.

  George. That was the simple answer that Jade would give — that it was all George’s fault. But that was not quite fair. Only Jade would see it in such black and white terms, because Jade had a lot to do with it, too. The fact that Jade did not have any shoes and thus had refused to go on the dirty train had been a reason why Maria wasn’t sleeping in the comfort of her apartment right now. Why the train was so much dirtier to Jade than all the places she had walked since throwing her sandals onto the highway was beyond Maria’s comprehension. Possibly, the real reason for her refusal to go on the train was because she was afraid of it. Jade possessed many phobias, including common ones such as the fear of heights and spiders, but also strange ones, such as the fear of flies and the color orange. Maria would not be surprised if trains were on the phobia list.

  In any case, Faulkner had already dropped them off at the Newark station when Jade announced her refusal to get on the train. Instead, she had stayed put in the waiting area while George set off to buy her shoes, insisting that he knew exactly what Jade wanted. Maria had stayed with Jade while Kenny and Bobarino went to get something to eat.

  Why they had all stayed behind instead of some of them taking the train was another mystery to Maria until Bobarino returned. “Why are you still here?” she simply asked, eying his and Kenny’s burgers and fries while Maria ate a yogurt. Jade did not wish to eat until George came back with her new shoes.

  “It’s an adventure. I love adventures,” he replied. “And also, I’m being paid as if I were on shift until I return the cab. Guess that’s not going to happen, but the principle is still the same.”

  “What am I going back to? I’m not working today and haven’t stepped outside the city or its suburbs my whole life,” added Kenny. “This is my chance to explore….”

  “Even if it is in Jersey,” he finished.

  Of course, in retrospect, they should have left when they had the chance. But how could they know what would happen?

  What did not happen next was George’s return. He had said that he would be back in a deadpan Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, but unlike Arnold, George was not true to his words. After about an hour of waiting, the rest of the group became fidgety. When he didn’t pick up his phone, they became testy. Finally, Kenny raised his hands and renounced his friend. “Fuck him. Let’s just go. If Jade wants to stay behind and wait for him to return with new shoes, she can.”

  “Screw this,” Jade said, somehow daintily. She immediately ran to find a seat on the next train, which had just arrived. Without questioning, they all got on it. Ditching George seemed to be the cure for her fear of going on a train barefoot.

  But the cure didn’t take. Jade stepped on the train and immediately jumped to the closest empty seat. On the next seat over, an elderly Latin man stared at her like she was a demoness on Earth. “Diablesa pierna desnuda! (Translation: The bare leg of a she-devil!)” he screamed. Maria’s description had immediately proved apropos.

  The man pulled his necklace from underneath his shirt. Naturally, a cross rested at its base. He held it up and said, “Vete! (Translation: Go away!)”

  Jade had no choice but to obey. She stood up, feet on dirty train floor, but immediately fell back when the train moved. She landed directly into the elderly man’s arms. Strangely enough, the man didn’t say or do anything. Instead he just stared at Jade’s feet, possibly in fear, possibly with something else in mind.

  Maria helped Jade stand up. “Well, at least we’re heading back home,” she said.

  At that moment, an attendant came on the loudspeaker. “Next stop, Trenton!” They had caught the train going in the wrong direction and had no choice but to wait till Trenton to get off.

  Maria sighed at the announcement. She should have figured something like this would happen. What she couldn’t figure out was what she saw next, for she recognized the man sitting only three rows in front of her. “What the hell…?”

  George turned his head back after hearing her soft Latina voice. “Maria, what a delight! What are you doing on this train?” he inquired.

  “I should ask you the same question. Weren’t you supposed to be back at the station with Jade’s new shoes in hand an hour ago?”

  “Couldn’t find the right pair. Store said their Trenton warehouse has it in the right size and color and that they could ship it tomorrow.”

  “So, you are going down to get it?” she asked, flabbergasted. Did this fool always have to do things the hard way?

  “Didn’t any of you get my text message?”

  “No!” exclaimed Jade, who had just now realized who Maria was speaking with.

  “That’s strange,” George replied, dumfounded. He looked at his phone, touched a few screens, and blurted out, “Oh, I forgot to press the send button!”

  Jade and Maria both shook their heads vehemently at the same time. They were about to let him have it when Kenny and Bobarino cut in.

  “And who do we have here?” said Kenny.

  “When are we going to replace that cab?” Bobarino asked as if nothing else mattered.

  “I’ll send you the text now,” George said, still looking at his screen, and ignoring the others even though Jade looked like she was about to slug him.

  “You’re an idiot.” Jade stated the obvious, but at least she relaxed her fist and chuckled a bit. Maria had thought George had been serious but perhaps he had been joking.

  Maria received a beep on her phone. George’s text message read:

  No shoes here. Will get them, though. But don’t be af
raid, Jade. Take the next train home. It won’t kill u.

  “You’re indeed an idiot,” Maria said more jovially than she had intended.

  In response, a flash of red, yellow, and green light flashed within Bobarino’s pocket, as if a tiny alien was trying to escape from his private parts. Then the muzak version of “Greased Lightning” played there, a car exhibition in his pocket.

  “At least the car keyrings still work,” George said, laughing.

  The rest of the train ride went smoothly, if traveling in the wrong direction could be considered smooth. For much of the ride, Jade constantly complained about her bare feet, driving Maria to yell, “Stop with the shoes already!”

  Jade took her scream as the warning it was, so in response she created make-do shoes using US Weekly magazine pages and invisible tape. Meanwhile, Bobarino complained about his poor cab being dismantled, and Kenny complained about Bobarino’s whining. George seemed content, as if everything was as should be. Maria said hardly another word, for her thoughts centered on what could possibly happen next.

  They got off in Trenton, and George insisted on taking a taxi to the shoe warehouse outlet that held Jade’s new shoes. At first Bobarino refused to squeeze into the taxi, stating his reason to be that it was too soon; he was still in mourning. He finally gave in when George announced that a free slice of pizza awaited him at the end of the trip.

  Bobarino would wait a long time for that slice. As a matter of fact, he still is waiting.

  When they got to the shoe warehouse outlet, the manager politely decreed that Jade was not allowed onto the premises because she was wearing magazine shoes, so George went in without her, and Kenny and Bobarino tagged along.

  “We’ll be back in a moment,” George had said, but Maria had instinctively doubted it.

  After only a few minutes, Jade could not take waiting any longer and came running into the shoe outlet, tearing off her makeshift shoes in the process. After all, she was in a shoe store where people had to try new shoes on. Maria didn’t dare stop her, mainly because she agreed with her friend.

  “You said you had the sandals in the right size and color. Now you’re saying you can’t find them?” George said, exasperated.