“Jailbirds don’t fly, and they don’t get high, and they don’t drink icy cold Budweiser on a hot summer day.”
“Fuck you John. This shit sucks. Getting up at the crack of dawn to drive way the hell out here is bullshit,” chuckled JoJo, his back sweating through his soaked white t-shirt onto the old cracked red leather tuck rolled seat of “The Beast” as the pearly white monster rumbled across the desert floor bouncing and swaying over the rolling hills bringing last night’s swill up into his throat.
“Why aren’t you sick? You were more fucked up than I was last night,” he laughed.
John put his suntanned arm, the demon tattoo covering his forearm facing him, on the window ledge, threw his head back making his curly brown hair shimmer in the bright sun, and snickered. “I’m not a lightweight dude.”
But, John’s face was flush and he was sweating too, big time. The wife-beater he was wearing was completely saturated. He really needed a little hair of the dog.
JoJo’s long blonde hair was flying around in the hot wind. He kept swatting it out of his face, but it was pasted to the sweat. He finally took off his dark blue t-shirt to wipe his face and neck. He hoped that if his community service was outside, he could go shirtless.
The dead brown rolling hills were dotted far as the eye could see with greasy looking tanks and black praying mantises pumping oil day and night, leaking and oozing all over the fucking place, and making the air reek of tar. The stench was making JoJo’s breath gurgle and whistle and his eyes watered profusely.
“Jail birds don’t fly, and they”
“John,” shouted JoJo over the wind noise. “You’ve been irritating me with that song for the past 40 miles. We’re only 10 miles from Taft. Give it a rest.”
“Just giving you a hard time man. Don’t be so sensitive.” But John couldn’t help himself. “You know I love ya man.” And he really did. “But still; Jail birds don’t”
“Dude. Seriously,” pleaded JoJo.
“they don’t get high”
“Damn it, John!”
“Ok. Ok. But I am gonna be drinking an ice-cold Bud and smokin’ a big fat J out on the river while you do, uh, whatever it is they make you do. This is like riding a blow torch through a fucking blast furnace. I think I’ll change into my swim suit when we get there. Be ready for the river ya know,” John said with a shit-eating grin.
“Maybe if you fixed your AC, we wouldn’t have to drive through the god damn desert with the windows rolled down,” said JoJo.
“How about grabbing me a cold one from the cooler in back JoJo?”
“At least wait till you drop me off. Jesus Christ, we are going to a jail ya know.”
“Whatever. Just get me one.”
JoJo reached into the back seat, retrieved a dripping can of Bud from the ice-cold water, and pulled the tab. At this point, a geyser of Budweiser gushed out of the top of the can and all over JoJo’s lap. His blue jeans were soaked.
Cracking up, John bellowed, “Nothing like a frosty brew to cool off.”
“Great. Now I’m gonna show up to the jail reeking of beer. Why don’t you just put the cuffs on me now,” said JoJo.
“Calm down dude. I’ve got another pair of jeans in the trunk,” said John as he pulled over to the dusty roadside. They both got out of “The Beast”. John retrieved his spare jeans from the trunk and handed them to JoJo. They were filthy, covered in who knows what.
“I can’t wear this, John. Look at them. What the hell did you get into? It smells like you took a shit in them.” JoJo gagged.
“I might have,” said John laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath.
John was wearing clean Levi’s. “Trade me these for the ones you’re wearing.”
“No can-do, bud. It’s up to you. Shitty jeans or jail.”
“Ass hole.” JoJo took off his beer-soaked jeans and threw them in the trunk then reluctantly put on the shitty jeans.
“Ya know, it’s going to be me driving you way the fuck out here if you get busted drinking in the car, John.”
“I’m not a crappy driver like you JoJo.” By now, John was in hysterics. “You’re the DUI king.”
Approaching Taft’s main street, John slowed down and JoJo exclaimed “I hate this shit-hole.”
“Oh yeah? What do you hate the most,” teased John.
“At this moment I’d say I hate the ever-present stench of tar from those wells. It’s like driving down a never-ending freshly paved road.” Recognizing the smell, a wave of nausea from last night’s soiree washed over him. “But basically, I hate everything about Taft.” JoJo cracked a smile.
A few blocks later, John pulled “The Beast” into the county jail’s small parking lot and stopped in the shade next to the freshly watered lawn in front of the jail. JoJo opened the car door and got out. Looking back through the passenger side window, JoJo pleaded, “Be here at 5. Please, be on time John. I don’t want to be in this shitty town any longer than I have to be.” JoJo’s shoulders tensed slightly feeling John’s chuckle on the back of his head as he walked toward the entrance to the jail. That fucker better not get too drunk to pick me up.
John was speeding away in a rush to meet his connection at the river to score some acid for himself and his girlfriend that evening when a portly sheriff’s deputy came out to greet JoJo. The clean shaven deputy in a kaki uniform with a big silver star on his chest pulled down his mirrored aviators, smiled, and said, “Hi. I’m Deputy Bill Ransom. You can call me Bill.”
“Hi Deputy Bill. Fancy badge you got there.”
Deputy Bill smiled. “No need to call me Deputy. Just Bill will be fine. And, you must be JoJo. I’ll be supervising you today. Do you have the court slip for me to sign?”
JoJo dug in his pants pocket to retrieve a mashed-up piece of paper he’d received from the court clerk when he was sentenced.
“Here you go,” said JoJo shakily handing Deputy Bill the wad, bile rising in his throat.
“Nice JoJo,” said Deputy Bill sarcastically but friendly taking the ball of paper from JoJo and straightening it out. He signed it, wadded it up, and, grinning, handed it back to JoJo.
JoJo took the ball of paper, smiled at Deputy Bill, and shoved it back into his pocket. While still nauseous, JoJo’s anxiety began to subside. I guess this guy’s ok.
“Damn kid. What’s that stench? Did you shit your breeches son,” asked Deputy Bill with a grimace.
“Maybe.”
Sherriff Bill laughed. “Are you anxious to hear what you’ll be doing today?”
“Not really,” said JoJo with a sigh.
“Well, you’re in for a special treat.”
JoJo tried not to smirk or laugh. Oh yeah? No matter what it is, it’s gonna suck.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but today is our Founders’ Day Parade. There’s going to be marching bands, floats, and members of our equestrian society will be bringing up the rear, so to speak.”
“You’ll be involved with the equestrian society,” said Deputy Bill. “You’ll be walking at the end of the parade with a shovel and a bucket.”
This didn’t sound good. “What is an equestrian?” JoJo asked.
“Horses JoJo. Horses. You’ll be walking behind the parade, scooping up horse shit and throwing it in the bucket.” Another wave of queasiness rolled over JoJo just imagining the pungent fetid aroma of horse shit.
“The parade will be starting soon. It comes right by here so you can just hang out and have a smoke while you wait for the parade to pass. But first, come with me,” directed Deputy Bill.
Deputy Bill led JoJo to the back of the jail where there was an assortment of tools. “Grab that shovel over there and get that bucket,” said Deputy Bill. JoJo obliged and they returned to the front of the jail where JoJo sat in the grass with his shovel and bucket and lit up a Marlboro to wait for the parade.
The plume of sweet but acrid smoke rising above him reminded JoJo of the bonfire and beer he’d had too much of the night before. JoJo and John left the river, where they’d been tubing all day and partying by a bonfire all night, in “The Beast”. They were both hammered, but John could barely walk, so JoJo, with much cajoling, poured John into the passenger seat then slipped into the driver’s seat himself.
JoJo didn’t realize that his driving was fucked up until he saw the flashing red lights in the rearview mirror. His stomach jumped into his throat and his heart began to pound. He pulled to the side of the road and watched the cop approach the driver’s side window as he rolled it down.
JoJo anxiously produced his license and registration. His hands were shaking; he was certain the officer would know he was wasted. This thought was shortly reinforced by the handcuffs around his wrists. “Your buddy screwed you pal. He wouldn’t cooperate so now I’m taking you to jail for DUI,” said the officer.
“What about John,” asked JoJo.
“I don’t know why you would care. But we called his mother and she’s on her way to pick him up. Otherwise, he’d be going to the drunk tank with you.”
That mother fucker, murmured JoJo as the cop shoved him into the back of his squad car and slammeshut the door with no inside handle.
The clomp, clomp, clomp of horse hooves brought JoJo back to the lawn in front of the jail. He got up slowly, picked up his shovel and bucket, walked to the street, and watched the parade stream by.
His cheeks turned bright red as JoJo walked into the street. Both sides were packed with parade goers. JoJo plodded forward, about 10 feet behind the ass end of the Equestrian Society, picking up horse shit and throwing it into the bucket every few feet. The people in the crowd were snickering at him. JoJo moved along. Clomp, clomp, clomp.
The hot pavement cooked the horse shit throwing off a pungent sweet putrid smell that, invading his nostrils, made JoJo’s stomach churn. He was about to hurl. Clomp, clomp, clomp.
Slogging along in front of the crowd, the familiar water filled his mouth and he struggled to keep down the bile rising in his throat again. JoJo continued his march through the blazing hot gauntlet. Then it happened. He tripped, spilled the bucket of horse shit in the road in front of him, and landed in the mess as his face hit the pavement. The crowd burst into hilarity.
JoJo got up off the ground. Covered in smelly brown horse shit with bright red blood streaming from his nose, JoJo first bowed to the crowd on the right side of the street then flipped them the bird. Then he did the same to the opposite side of the street. JoJo’s cheeks were burning as he scooped up all the horse shit he’d spilled and threw it back into the bucket all the while being subjected to raucous laughter and pointing from the crowd.
A short time later, JoJo came to the end of the parade and the crowd started dispersing. With bright red cheeks, JoJo walked back to the jail, disposed of his horse shit, and put away the tools. He walked back to the lawn, sat down in the shade. He pulled out a Marlboro, lit it, and, covered in horse shit, sat there to wait for John. That fucker better be here on time. I can really use a cold one.