The zoot-suits keep looking around, pointing at some place then going there. Then the cameraman shakes his head.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
They’re getting closer to Roger. The point is in his direction this time.
Here they come.
They stop once they see Roger staring at them. That’s right, get the hell out of here. No way you’re coming over here. They’re at least forty feet away yet, and there’s a stench of lonely cologne in the air. Older than Old Spice.
They talk a bit amongst themselves. One of them says something then they laugh like you see on television. Finally the fanciest looking one starts walking toward Roger, strutting his big stuff, though trying to hide it with a smile and a bit of a bounce in his step. He has his right hand in his suit pocket., jingling some god damn change, no doubt.
Must be a politician.
“Hello there, citizen of this great city!” This douche has white hair, a red tie and a blue suit.
Red, white and blue. That’s just great.
“Say, my name is Robert Goldsmith, Robert F. Goldsmith. You can call me Bob, though, if ya like.” He sticks out his hand to shake. A gold linked bracelet slips out of his sleeve, coming to rest just above beyond his wrist. That’s a good use of funding.
Roger looks back up into the eyes of this man and just keeps glaring. Roger’s facial expression hasn’t changed this whole time, except maybe that it’s gotten harder.
“Eh, well, what’s your name, fella?”
Shitfur wakes up.
Roger doesn’t say anything.
There’s a pause.
Red, White and Blue fidgets for a second, his eye seems to twitch ever so slightly. “That’s a nice cat you have there, where did you find him?”
Shitfur glares at the Flag and hisses. This is the first time Roger and Shitfur have ever agreed on something.
“Well, uh, say, we’ve been looking around this here park for the best place to shoot an ad for my campaign. And well, it’s been awful tough to find the perfect shot, but my artistic cameraman friend says this here is the best spot. And, well,-”
Roger gets up and starts walking away. Shitfur hisses some more then catches up to Roger.
“We were wondering if we could use it for a short while. It wouldn’t be much more…” Whitey Goldsmith keeps talking and talking and talking and talking even though Roger is already far enough away to hear what he’s saying.
A just in case kind of thing, probably.
Bastard politicians.
“Let’s get some food.” Roger says.
Shitfur prances along next to Roger.
What a joke. Bob? Mr. Goldsmith? Corrupt? A thief? A killer? A whack job psycho? Brain traded for fame? Selfish gain? Less than human?
A politician. Prey on the hopes of people. Sounds like the devil.
There’s politics in hell for sure.
Chapter 75
Roger gets back to the park just before the sun sets.
Those hoosier-loser-Uncle-Sam’s-Ass-hair-don’t-care-about-anyone’s are gone now. Oh but good old Robert ‘Bob’ Goldsmith couldn’t resist leaving some of his filth behind. A campaign flier with his face fucked all over the front of it.
That’ll make some good toilet paper. Oh that’s right, Roger doesn’t even use toilet paper.
And look, a campaign button stabbed through the flier and into the ground just so it wouldn’t blow away. The pin goes through his suit right where you would normally put it. A nice touch.
Christ. It’s like that guy doesn’t think Roger, this idiotic bum, knows how to and where a button goes.
The slogan on the button goes, ‘Make a Golden Decision! Vote for Bob Goldsmith and see this city change for the Best!’
That man has no idea what’s good for this city. He’s too full of himself to see beyond getting elected. There’s nothing worse than a crooked politician. And these days, which of them isn’t?
Roger can feel the taint that these men have brought to this, to his place. The ground feels colder, harder, even hostile. The air seems to fight against going inside Roger’s lungs. The water of the river moves faster, almost like it’s running away. It’s nature’s rebellion to the vile vibrations yet reverberating here.
Shitfur walks up to the button, sniffs it and hisses.
This isn’t the place to sleep tonight. Not here, not tonight. There’s no way, not with that grimy, soulless feel strangling anything beautiful. Not only this spot, but the whole park.
It’s too late for Hermit Bridge. Roger wouldn’t go there, anyway, he’s spent way too much time out there. If he went out there now, he’d be setting it up for disaster; filthiness like this would easily engulf Hermit Bridge in a hideous darkness.
Roger needs someplace close, someplace where he can get a quiet night’s sleep.
Think.
There’s always one of his old spots in the old area. There’s a band shelter in one of the parks around there. They keep the bathrooms open twenty-four/seven. That’s where Roger used to take huge bags of hand soap from. They put whole plastic bags of this pink hand wash in these dispensaries near the sinks. It’s pretty simple to open them after messing around for a little while and figuring it out. It’s just a little plastic lever that needs to be unlocked. Sometimes they don’t want to budge, but they’re plastic and break easily.
Roger could use some soap. Each bag is at least seven washes, if it’s full. It’ll be at least a month before he’ll bathe again, but he does have that backpack now, where he can store some things, including that soap.
Just one night. A quick night.
Nobody’ll recognize him since he’s been gone for so long now. And he won’t be getting there until after dark.
And he’ll leave before the sun rises.
That should be fine.
Maybe Shitfur will find a different bum to cling to, or maybe Shitfur’ll find a lady cat and just want to screw for the rest of his life. It’s the way of life, isn’t it? Find a mate and procreate. All of this so called sophisticated shit is really just a complexity of this basic instinct. Any way you look at it, it’s what it is.
Shitfur better find a lady cat.
Hopefully.
Probably not.
Chapter 76
The band shell is quiet and dark.
No sign of any ignorant idiots.
The bathroom is open and the lights are on. Good.
Roger opens the door and closes it on Shitfur before he can get in. He squeaks a little when the door closes on his belly, then backs out guided by Roger’s foot. The first and closest soap dispenser Roger sees he opens.
Nearly a full bag of pink hand soap. He takes it. It’s a good thing they haven’t changed how these things work, otherwise, that might have proven to be more difficult.
Roger glances at the mirror and past his reflection. One of the stalls is occupied.
Just be quiet and get the hell out of here before whoever is done with their business comes out of the stall with something to say. It better not be a god damn security guard or some nit-wit-shit like that. Whoever it is has shiny black shoes like a security guard would and black pants like a security guard would.
Roger ducks out and trips right over Shitfur who’s waiting just outside the door.
“God damn it, cat.” Roger mumbles.
“Meow.”
The sheltered part of the band shell is around on the other side. That’s where it’s dark, that’s where it’s quiet, that’s where Roger’s going to sleep tonight.
Chapter 77
Roger wakes up the next morning. Something is wrong. Roger doesn’t wake up to Shitfur licking his face. That sounds like a good thing, but it’s not. That’s how it always goes. Roger knows that’s how his day starts.
Something is wrong.
“Meow.”
Roger opens his eyes. The sun is bright and piercing through a metal cage. Small metal squares cut the light into cubes.
N
o, not a cage, something else. Something…
A shopping cart.
Roger sits up and tries to looke around, but his eyes won’t open because of the brightness of the sun.
This is wrong. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen. This is wrong like a brother and sister making out.
“Meow.”
That’s Shitfur. Roger looks in the direction of where the sound came from. His eyes are still adjusting to the brightness. There’s someone sitting there.
Damn it.
God fucking shit damn it.
It’s Maynard. Fucking cock shit Maynard. And there’s Shitfur sitting on his lap. He’s purring while Maynard pets him ceaselessly.
Roger looks back at the hell forsaken shopping cart.
There’s silence.
The light peers through the space between the thin metal bars. You can see bits of pollen passing through the beams of light.
Silence.
“I got a new wheel. It doesn’t squeak anymore.” Maynard stops petting Shitfur just for the few seconds that he says this. It’s like he’s incapable of doing more than one thing at a time.
That’s just great.
Silence.
“Is this your cat?” Maynard peeks down at the ever-enjoying-himself Shitfur.
“No, Maynard.”
“Whose is it?”
“Yours.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Silence. Roger still cannot fathom enough of what’s going on to make any sort of move. His mouth is open slightly as he stares at the cart. The voice of Maynard is enragingly echoic in Roger’s mind. It brings him back to every little annoying thing Maynard has done in the past. It’s hard enough having any sort of memory of this son of a bitch, so why does he have to be here? And now?
“I haven’t seen you for a while. I was kind of scared you died or something.”
“I didn’t.”
This is just stupid. Why the hell did he come back here? For some soap? To get away for a night? Jesus. Why? Why couldn’t he just deal with the politician?
“I got new shoes. Do you like them?” Maynard peeks over Shitfur at his new shoes.
Roger looks over at them not to find out if he likes them, but to find out about one thing.
They’re black. Shiny black.
God damn it. And Maynard also has a pair of nice black slacks on. It’s surprising he hasn’t said anything about his new pants.
“I thought I heard you last night in the bathroom. I heard a muffled voice and it reminded me of you.”
Stupid Shitfur. If he hadn’t been in the way, Roger wouldn’t have said anything.
This all could have been avoided if it wasn’t for that walking waste of a cat. At this point it’s hard to decide who’s more to blame; Shitfur or Maynard; Shitfur for getting in the way which led to Maynard thinking it was Roger, or Maynard for evening existing.
“So where were you?”
“Away.”
“Where?”
“Does it matter?”
“Well I guess not. I was just wondering.” Maynard gets a little childishly defensive, squeezing Shitfur like a stuffed animal.
Purr, purr.
“Meow.”
“Meow.” That’s Maynard speaking cat. “What’s his name?” he asks, looking down at Shitfur.
“Call him whatever you want.” Roger gets up to leave.
“Hey, are you leaving?”
“No.” Roger says as he walks away.
“Well hang on just a second, okay? I have to show you something.” Maynard gently (because of Shitfur) but excitedly gets up and goes over to his shopping cart. He puts Shitfur in the kid section of the cart.
“Not now.”
“But it’s here now. Do you have to be somewhere?”
“Yes.” Roger stops.
“Where?”
“Not here.”
“I can walk with you, then.”
Again Roger starts walking away. Shitfur hops out of the cart, rubs up against Maynard’s leg then chases after Roger.
“Wait up.” Maynard is sort of jogging while pushing his cart. The wheel isn’t squeaking, which actually pisses Roger off more than if it was because he probably would have heard Maynard long before Maynard found him, giving Roger enough time to escape.
He catches up in less than a minute. “You’re really going to think this is cool. I found it outside of Goodwill. Ya know? There in the back, in the dumpster.” Maynard digs around in his shopping cart until he pulls out a coffee mug.
Roger stops, not because he is in total awe of how cool it is, but because he can’t believe he is looking at this piece of good-for-nothing shit. The simple fact that Maynard thinks this thing is somehow worth showing annoys Roger all the more.
“It’s a coffee mug.” Roger sneers.
“Yep, look what it says though. Look.” Maynard points to the side of the mug where there’s some lettering in a dirty white color which is against a green background.
It says;
Coffee?
Need some?
Have some! Drink up!
Don’t be a bum!
It has a picture of a bum on it, the stereotypical bum with a stick holding a little red sack at the end of it. He’s taking a nap with his hat pulled over his eyes. ZZZ’s float up from his tooth picked mouth.
Roger stares at the mug.
“That’s it?”
“It’s neat, huh? It’s just like you and me! We’re bums, huh?” Maynard tries to nudge Roger with his elbow in a ‘we’re buds’ kind of way.
Roger doesn’t respond and starts walking away.
“Wait! That’s not everything! I’ve got one more thing yet!”
“No, Maynard.”
“It’ll take just a sec, okay? It’s better than the other one.” Maynard runs while pushing to catch up.
Roger stops again. “If I look at this other thing will you stop following me?”
“Okay.” Maynard whines and drags out.
Roger looks him dead in the eye.
“I will! I promise!”
“Fine.”
“Cool!” Maynard digs through his cart and pulls out another coffee mug. It’s black with red and white lettering on the side.
Another mug? That’s it? That’s what absolutely needed to be shown? How is this one any fucking better than the last?
“Eh? What do you think?”
Don’t say anything.
“It’s pretty ironic actually. I always think it’s neat when stuff like this happens.” Maynard says.
Roger looks closer at what it says;
I Love Cats.
It fucking says ‘I Love Cats’. Except the word love is actually a bright red heart.
“Do you like it?”
Roger just stares at the mug.
“I really love cats. My favorite cat I ever had was when I was really young. My parents got it for me when I was six. His name was Francis. He was black and white and was always getting into trouble.”
“Good for you.” Roger starts walking again. “Now leave me alone, Maynard.”
“Wait! Hang on!”
Roger stops and turns. “Maynard…”
“I just wanted to give you this because I think you like cats too.” Maynard offers the mug.
“I don’t.” And Roger walks away.
For good this time.
Chapter 78
Every few minutes, Roger looks back, not because he feels bad but because he doesn’t want that bum-kid-can’t-get-rid-of-childish-attachment-issues Maynard following him anymore. Roger definitely doesn’t want Maynard finding out about his new spot.
That’s one thing that isn’t missed; dealing with that ignorant-innocent-brain-fart-frumpy-lump-on-a-shit-brick.
Ugh, Maynard.
Roger looks over his shoulder.
No one.
Just to be sure, Roger takes several detours. It takes him at least twice as long just to get back.
&nbs
p; The sun shines when he arrives at the park, but it’s late in the day.
No time for a break. Straight on to the pizza buffet spot. Roger hasn’t eaten in something around a day and a half.
He sips some water from the river and goes on.
Shitfur follows, like always.
“Why didn’t you stay with Maynard? Huh?”
“Meow.”
“You two have so much in common. For one, you both have the same brain capacity.”
Shitfur prances along.
“Two, neither of you understand what the hell I’m talking about.”
Purr prancing.
As Roger and Shitfur walk down the sidewalk, people seem to part like the Red Sea when Moses needed God to save his ass and his people’s asses.
It must be the smell that’s getting them. And maybe the fact that, in their eyes, all they are seeing is some crazy burnout bum talking to a crazy-bum-burnout cat. Too much catnip will fry a brain like scrambled eggs in a pan.
Walk over here, honey.
Why mommy?
Because, honey, just because. Hurry up.
“Three, both of you are so strongly addicted to company that it makes you weak and pathetic.”
Shitfur stops. His eyes seem focused. They’re following something like a bug or a bird or something.
Roger stops and looks at Shitfur.
“I’m talking to you, cat.”
Shitfur creeps stealthily for a few steps, stops, eyes growing wide. He pounces.
“God damn it, cat.”
He comes trotting back to Roger with a cricket in his mouth.
“Four, you both have the attention span of a fish.”
Shitfur looks up at Roger.
“No damn it, I don’t have any fucking fish for you. Do you remember what the hell I said about you not having a clue about what I’m talking about?”
The legs of the cricket kick as Shitfur tilts his head and stares at Roger.
“Of course you don’t. Jesus.” Roger sighs angrily. “The last thing you and Maynard have in common is-”
Shitfur crunches down the cricket, zealous licking his chops afterward.
“I fucking hate both of you.”
Guttersnipe Page 10