The
Continuing Saga of:
”ICICLE BILL and Tommy Two-Head”
Chapter Five: The Awakening
Coming out of that hazy dream I began to regain my senses and my strength. Not so easily, I had to come to grips with the stark possibility I had killed my psycho-abusive foster father all those years ago. Was that really how it happened? Had I erased that from my conscience all these years? What else had I repressed? They say the lives of all men are dark with many sins, but how much darker is mine going to get? What kind of monster am I? How could I so callously dig a grave in the desert and bury a guy as if it was the thing to do? What were my choices though. While I’m at it, what the Daisy Duck did that gypsy witch put in that tea? More important, where’s that mutant looking dude with my car and my money?
Now my mind’s clearing, now I remember...that Tommy Two-Head guy took off with my car! Some things in life are for sure, others are for certain, and for sure certain I’ll never see the car, the money or the dude again. The trailer door bursts open letting in the desert heat.
”Hey Chief, how you feelin?” What the....well, at least my instincts are consistent. I looked over at the gypsy, she’s giving me this, ”The tea leaves never lie” look. Tom’s loaded down with bags of supplies and tosses me a cold one like we’re old buds getting ready to watch the game. Who are these people? Yeah, I’m apparently an amnesiac icicle killer with repressed memories of who knows what...but these people...these people got issues.
We loaded up the Lincoln and I asked the gypsy about thinking of going with us. She just gave me an enigmatic smile and said no, that she belonged here. I looked around at the tiny trailer sitting out in the middle of sand and cactus and nothing else and thought maybe she was on to something. As I hugged her goodbye I stashed a bundle of hundreds in her skirt pocket. My throat got tight and my head was still dizzy. She said everything with her eyes and it seared into my brain like sun on crystal glass. Some memories can never be erased.
As we headed across the desert, a dusty sand cloud trailed behind. In the rising heat everything appeared like a mirage in the rearview mirror. I was thinking, ”Did all that really just happen?” I turned to Tom and asked him, ”How you know that gypsy?” He garbled something about working in a traveling carnival awhile back. I didn’t press.
Another question arose, ”Tom, why didn’t you take off with the money?” He didn’t blink or even look my way and answered as clear as a bell, ”I ain’t no thief Chief.” We drifted into our own thoughts for awhile. Mine were about a lifetime of running and wrong-doing that would probably take another lifetime to square. I wondered if it was too late to return the money. How many days had it been? They might not have even noticed. Maybe clear my conscience a bit, or be arrested on sight. What about G’s sister? She might be in danger. Was that my problem? I’ve got a full plate trying to deal with my own life, taking on the load of the world ain’t my responsibility. People should look out for themselves.
As we neared the freeway I noted that we were about exactly halfway between L.A. and Vegas, the sun was slipping over the horizon. Tom broke the silence, ”Where we headed Chief?” I don’t think I said it out loud but I was thinking, ”Why the hell I gotta be the frickin’ Chief?” His question hung in the air like circling buzzards over fresh death...which it turns out, was appropriate.
As we pulled onto the freeway, the pale, menacing shadow of a lone turkey buzzard darkened the car hood as it drifted past as silent and ominous as blood drops on sand. I don’t know if Tom noticed it, but I thought I sensed him shiver.
The wind kicked up as the sun set. The vulture joined up with a flock headed over the barren landscape to the only tree for miles, a lone Mesquite. The sickly sweet stench of the dead lightly traced the breeze and the vultures alit en masse to what appeared to be a fresh, shallow grave. As they positioned to dig and dine, the drone of approaching motorcycles disturbed their feast and the flock soon scattered, except for the big-headed one.
Bumperjack Joe examined the buzzard as he and his gang road up to the Mesquite. Momentarily, the two scavengers locked eyes in recognition and mutual respect. Seeing he was outnumbered, the buzzard reluctantly gave ground and loped off. Only then did Joe notice something was amiss. Tommy Two-Head was gone! Now how did he get untied from that tree?
Joe
got the idea of tying Tom to the tree because as a kid, his folks used to chain
him up to a tree in the backyard. His only babysitter was a half-wild bulldog
puppy. The neighbors found him that way after his dopefiend mom didn’t
return from a drug run and his dad turned out to be missing in action and long
gone. When they finally noticed him there in the backyard he was drinking from
the dog bowl, the half-eaten remains of the pup carcass next to him. He never
was what you’d call right.
They took him in and hauled whatever property there was to their garage. The only thing of value was an old Indian motorcycle that Joe eventually taught himself to ride. By the time he got big enough to balance the thing without tipping over much he took off on his own. Years later he still had that old bike, the one thing he had affection for, of course, other than Molly. Something about that girl from the moment he laid eyes. He even forgave her when he caught her with that pencil-neck Tommy Two-Head. He didn’t even kill the dude right off cos of her… But that was then. Bumperjack Joe wasn’t by nature the forgiving type. He figured he’d given Tom enough of a chance by leaving him for the buzzards. He also figured by the time they got back here he’d be at least as half-eaten as his old pet bulldog, old Brownie, that was his best friend back then; too bad Joe’d got hungry. Burnperjack brushed a tear from his eye and scanned the horizon. Damn nuisance that Two-Head. He affectionately eyed Molly who was sitting on the ground under the Mesquite, she seemed bored. He pondered on the big headed turkey vulture who was keeping an eye on him as well from a safe distance. Then he once again looked off to the horizon and wondered aloud, ”Now where the hell is that two-peckered freak?”
* * * *
End Part One
