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“So?”
“It’s a hell of a lot more complicated than ‘ASAP.’”
“I’m what you might call an idiot savant in that regard,” he said in his country drawl. “But I still don’t use fuckin’ ‘ASAP.’”
“Maybe you got one of those ‘word of the day’ calendars.”
“Do I look like a guy who’s got a ‘word of the day’ calendar? Hell, do I look like a guy who’s got a fuckin’ calendar?”
With his greasy hair, unkempt beard, and sweat-stained t-shirt, he had a point.
“And why the fuck did you make ‘em go to Lee’s, if all you wanna do is get ‘em over here?” Tex complained.
“I want them all to show up at the same time.”
“Why, may I ask?”
“Because I don’t want to have to repeat myself four times.”
“Well hell, Jack, it may help, since I still got no fuckin’ clue why you’re here.”
“Shut up and have some hair of the dog. Your hangover’s making you cranky.”
Three of the four made it; Bucky was the only no-show. They arrived about an hour later, proving nobody either knew or cared about the meaning of ‘ASAP.’
First I heard the motorcycles pull up. Once the engines cut off, I heard them cursing out in the front yard at Bowser.
“Tex, get this goddamn dog the fuck outta my face ‘fore I have to shoot it!”
“BOWSER! GO ON, NOW!” Tex yelled, and the Rottweiler stopped barking.
The front door opened and Fishbone, Lee, and Indiana ambled into the tiny front hallway. I heard them before I saw them, their boot heels clunking on the decades-old, warped hardwood floors.
“Tex, what the fuck’re you doin’ textin’ at the ass-crack of dawn?” Lee yawned.
“And what the fuck’s with all this ‘ASAP’ shit?” Fishbone called out.
Tex looked at me like, See?
Indiana was the first to walk into the room. As soon as he saw me he stopped cold, and the other two basically plowed into him.
“What the fuck, Indiana – ”
Then they all saw me, and the room went quiet.
“Jesus Christ,” Lee whispered.
“Hey guys,” I said neutrally.
They all looked back and forth between me and Tex, like they were trying to figure out if this was a set-up or not.
“Why is it that every time one of you fuckers see me, I feel like I’m at my own funeral?” I asked.
“Maybe ‘cause Lou’s fixin’ to throw you one,” Tex said.
“Jack,” Indiana said, “let me just be the first to say, I’m real fuckin’ sorry about how all that went down at the Roadhouse – ”
“Thank you, Indiana, but that’s not why I’m here. Where’s Bucky?”
