Chapter 7 "Throwing Missles"

"My aunt is stuck in Blackhawk, she can't pick up Cloe." Dade said.

"Uhhhh, boy, I...I dunno, dude." I sighed.

"Please, dude. You gotta do it." When Dade said "gotta" it sounded like "goffa".

"Why can't she do it?"

"Somefing about cars and cows on highway 119," he said.

"Why can't you do it?"

Dade erupted, "Ohhh yeah! Doped up, Ffffiankenstein, daddy?! Are you ffffucking high?!" That's like years of therapy! Ffffucking years!" I heard some hospital personel in the background telling him to calm down. The phone rustled and became muffled. "Why don't you piss off, Nurse Ratchet?" I heard him say. I laughed. "They let me check my messages, and I got Auntie Laura's message, she wha ... 00000h, more drugs, eh?" The phone muffled again, "I'm una taking back everything bad I ever said to you, Ms. Ratchet."

"Dade, where's the daycare?"

"Leetsdale and Florida-ish."

"What do you mean 'ish'?"

"Whoa."

"Dade?"

"Duuuuuuude. That last one was a d00000sey."

"Dade, you owe me for this you fucker."

"You're the man, man!" With that, he hung up.

I leaned against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. This shouldn't make me late with Jaime, but it might be close depending on how long it takes me to find the stupid daycare. I had about two hours, I should be okay, right?

I quickly threw on my favorite pair of jeans (sans underwear) and the shirt I was wearing from last night. It's kind of this flashy silver looking thing with black piping. I ran my hands through my hair with some hair wax and sprayed on a little cologne. I grabbed my wallet, keys and cigarettes and went bounding out the door.

It was a warm spring evening, almost stuffy. The air wasn't moving at all. By the time I got to my car, about a block and a half away, my upper lip was beaded with a little perspiration. I hopped into my car and turned the key. The huge V-8 roared to life, and slowly moved into idle RPMs. I pulled slowly away from the curb, and on to Josephine St. I hung a right on Colfax and started towards Leetsdale Blvd. Dade had been slightly cracked out when he told me Leetsdale and Florida. I knew these streets didn't intersect, but I knew the area well enough to fake it. I thought that Dade had taken me there one time after work, when we had just started working together.

I rolled down the windows and lit a cig with the car lighter. I turned up the radio. I like the classic rock stations. For some reason they seem to play the most songs, without all the sadistic DJ babble. They were playing a Doobie Brothers song. It was "Long Train Runnin." I like this song quite a bit. I love the chorus: "Without love, where would you be now? Without LAAHHOOOOHUUUUHHHVE! " Those words put together thusly have weight to me. They sing to my soul. You have to admit it's a pretty good question.

If a human child didn't have the love of it's parents or guardians, it would most certainly die. If you didn't follow that one girl away from college, and so on and so forth.

The decisions and actions and definitions and feelings that swirl around that simple little word are amazing to me. It's fun to ponder where I would be if I hadn't ever met my ex, Tara. Maybe I'd be hopping freight trains from town to town with a needle in my arm. Who knows, right?

I drove along listening, hung a right on Adams when I passed the Goosetown Tavern, and took a left on 14th, which was a one-way that would take me up to Quebec, I was tired of Colfax Avenue. 14th Street, is definately more chill.

I wonder if people hop freight trains anymore. The romance of that kind of "Boxcar Willy" lifestyle was somewhat fascinating. Imagine being so poor, or so fed up, or so in trouble in a certain town that your only choice is to pull up stakes and stow away for a new hope in the next town. I think I'll try hopping a freight train someday.

I pulled up to 14th and Colorado Blvd. There was a homeless guy standing on the corner with a sign. "Anything would help," proclaimed his sign. "Indeed," I said to myself. Normally, I wouldn't bother, but the whole thought process of hopping trains, and the like inspired me to look in my cupholder for some change. There was a golden dollar in there. I guess the bum got lucky. I leaned out the window as best I could. The bum blinked and looked at me and held out his hand. I was a good ten feet away, but he wasn't moving towards me, so I rolled the golden dollar over on to my thumb and flicked it over to him with a high arcing pass. He was watching the coin flip through the air until it bounced uncermoniously off of his forehead, hit the sidewalk and rolled in to the grass. He yelped and grabbed his forhead and staggered about. He dropped his sign.

"What'd you do that for, ya prick?" He had a voice like Chong's, from Cheech and Chong.

"What? You didn't see it, or what?"

"Asshole! I don't want your change, you prick! You nearly killed me with that thing! I got a hard enough time with assholes like you, man!"

I sighed, then shrugged, "Sorry, I thought you saw it coming."

"Prick! Next time try a dollar!"

"There won't be a next time, and it was a dollar. Ass."

I screeched off and drove across Colorado Blvd. There was a guy in a small green hatchback to my right. As I was driving up 14th, I sensed him staring at me. I looked over. He yelled out his open window.

"Did you just peg that homeless man with a quarter?!!"

"It was a dollar! !"

"A dollar?!! Riiiighht!! You're a PRICK!!" With that, he spit on my car..twice.

"What do you think you're FUCKING doing?!" I couldn't believe it.

"It's little boys like you that make this place a shithole to live in!!" The guy couldn't have been much older than me, but he was balder and had probably eaten more granola.

"Thanks for your two cents, Donahue!!" I bellowed. He spit on my car AGAIN! I grabbed a half full McDonalds cup and tossed through my open window into his window. The top broke off against the window edge and his left rearview mirror, so he must of caught the full brunt of my half of a super size. His car's wheels shreiked and he pulled sharply to the right.

About this time I was passing the Institute of Krishna Conciousness on my left. I smirked at the irony. Just then I was lit up by a police cruiser. My heart skipped a beat. Of all the rotten, fucked up luck ... Shit. I pulled to the left immediately and flipped on the hazards. I waited.

Why the hell can't they just get out of their cars? They just sit there and make you sweat. Five minutes go by and the green hatchback goes flying by at about sixty miles an hour with his middle finger out the window. Two more minutes, and finally officer Road Warrior gets out of his squad car, all body armor, mirrored "face sheild" Oakleys circa 1991, crew cut, hand on the holster, glory boy. Cautiously, he approached my window.

"Yes sir?" I asked.

"I witnessed you throw a missile from your vehicle while it was in motion. I sighed, "The green car, you also witnessed, am I correct?"

"Can you step out of the car please?"

"That guy was spitting on my car, he was suffering from road rage!"

"Can you step out of the car please? Turn the engine off." I complied. I shut the door and he spun me and put me up against my car and kicked my legs out wide. "Do you have any weapons, or needles on you?"

"No."

"Any drugs, anything like that?"

"No." He started to pat me down.

"This is only for my protection. You're not under arrest, yet. I am detaining you for throwing a missile at another vehicle."

"A missile, huh?"

"Affirmative."

"I don't suppose I could talk you out of using those cuffs?"

"That's a negative."