Cruddy - Lynda Barry [89]
In the kitchen was a huge bouquet of rotted flowers tied with a black bow. Wesley said, “My father and mother. How sad for me.”
I said, “What happened?”
“They have gone the way of all parents, I’m afraid.”
“Dead?”
“Switzerland. I counted on them remaining in Lausanne for at least a month. Unfortunately the news of my escape and unexpected homecoming has somehow reached them. They are due back tomorrow.”
“DEATH TO THE SULTAN OF THE ASS-HEADS!” said the Turtle. “They won’t take us back alive, my dear Wesley. This I swear.”
In the kitchen a plastic bag of apples lay on the counter with a stretched hole ripped into the side. The Great Wesley took one apple and began opening the drawers. “I am in need of a small cleaving instrument.”
“A knife?” I asked.
“Exactly.”
I produced Little Debbie. The Great Wesley admired her. “It has been a long time since I have seen anything so sharp. At the home we were not permitted such things. And yet we managed, did we not my dear, dear Turtle? Barbara V. Hermann could not dampen our love for adventure.”
“Down with Barbara!” said the Turtle.
I said, “The home?”
Wesley carved a careful hollow into the apple. “The Barbara V. Hermann Home for Adolescent Rest. Yes. This is a fine knife. Quite a fine knife.”
With some careful cutting and boring and a bit of foil and a few pinpricks the Great Wesley transformed the apple into quite a pipe.
“Oh my dear Wesley. How I long for sensational smoky-smoky.”
“To hear is to obey, my dear Turtle.” Wesley drew a metal canister from his robe pocket.
“My dear Wesley! You old fox!”
We smoked.
I said, “Tell me about the home.”
The Great Wesley exhaled a great apple-scented cloud. “The Barbara V. Hermann Home for Adolescent Rest is quite exclusive and the membership requirements are stringent. For suicidal and psychotic youth from distinguished families, it is top tier. International. Discreet beyond words. Nestled in an obscured location adjacent to the Lolo National Forest. Triple-fenced and gated. But still the Turtle and I managed to escape with quite a valuable bundle of medications. Great quantities stolen from the Barbara V. Hermann drug treasury. We left in search of sensational smoky-smoky. Most of us preferred the combination of smoky-smoky and ample television to the antipsychotic pharmaceuticals we were given. A majority of the residents at the home were in agreement on this and we petitioned Barbara V. Hermann to include smoky-smoky on her vast roster of drugs but she refused. It was a simple concept,” said the Great Wesley. “But you know Barbara.”
“Death to Barbara,” said the Turtle.
“Yes,” said the Great Wesley. “Perhaps I overreacted when I killed her.” He inhaled another cloud.
“My dear, dear Wesley,” said the Turtle. “It was I who killed Barbara. Let the truth be known.”
Wesley said, “My dear, dear Turtle. There is no need to confess to a crime you did not commit. It was I who strangled her.”
“My dear, dear, Wesley. You are kind in your wish to protect me, but I alone am guilty of this crime. As proof I offer you her last words. She said, ‘Turtle, no.’ I said, ‘Barbara, yes.’ She said, ‘Turtle, you strange psychotic fucker.’ ”
The Great Wesley shook his head. “My dear Turtle! But those were not her last words at all!”
“My dear Wesley, but they were.”
“No, as I choked the life out of her body her last words were, ‘Make my skin into drumheads for the Bohemian cause.’ ”
They gently argued for a while and then the Great Wesley turned to me. “Hillbilly princess, it is rumored you can drive. Is this so?”
And when I told him it was, he stood and carefully straightened his bathrobe around himself. From his pocket he produced two keys on a golden ring.
Chapter 46
HE FATHER actually did have a destination. actually did have a destination. He did have a location objective. It was off the beaten track. It was about fifty miles down a rock-filled road barricaded by a sign that said DANGER! ROAD OUT! The father drove around it without even touching the brakes.