Another in the ongoing saga of Melvin The Mormon. If you missed the first two, you know how to find them.
I was highly displeased with Melvin’s presence as constant as the steady drip, drip, drip of gonorrhea but I couldn’t convince Amethyst to let me throw the bastard (or any of the others) out of our lives. I took it upon myself to send Melvin packing once, and just swallowed the ration of shit that came with it, but after a few weeks the son of a bitch was back and Amethyst forbade me to run him off again.
One evening… well, shucks, I don’t recall how it came about. I wasn’t with Amethyst, which was very unusual, and things were extraordinarily unpleasant at the house so I didn’t want to go back there. If you’re new to these parts, “the house” is the dwelling my parents purchased in 1963 and in which I lived with them. It was not a home, so I didn’t call it that.
So, going back to the house was out of the question, and I had Melvin The Mormon riding shotgun. Time to go cruising, maybe pick up a race or two for fun or money. But first, feed. It was Melvin’s idea, and I reiterated for the forty-eleventh time that I was not going to feed him. He had a few bucks, he said, and wanted to eat at Burger King. Off we went to see who made the best darn burgers in the whole wide world, as their jingle of the time went. We placed our orders, picked them up, and parked at a table in the dining room. A few minutes later who should show up but the criminal piece of shit who’d coerced Melvin into setting up the gas station. I suggested that we’d both have better digestion if he went somewhere else, but he protested that I was being a dick and Melvin joined in. It was a lark, he said, setting up the gas station, and besides he didn’t go through with it so no harm, no foul, right? No, not right, but WTF.
I used to have a habit of giving in too easily in the name of keeping the peace, so Mister Criminal ended up going cruising with us. After a while I said I was going back to the house, but it was just an excuse to get rid of my passengers. One or the other of them suggested a route I hadn’t intended, but it was a few hundred feet shorter so I just whatevered it rather than continuing to be the low level jerk I’d been throughout the evening. Then Mister Criminal had to “piss like a Russian race horse”, whatever that means. I’ve spent a lot of time around race horses and never noticed them pissing any more than any other horse, but then I don’t know that any of them were Russian. It being a common enough thing for young males to do, I pulled into a parking lot so he could find an out of the way place to relieve himself. We just happened to be across the street from the Burger King at which the evening’s adventure had begun, and there being no concealment in the parking lot of the tire store where we were Melvin The Mormon and Mister Criminal ran across the street. I turned up the radio and rocked out while waiting for them to finish.
But it seemed to be taking a long time, and I didn’t figure Melvin for a pole smoker. Mister Criminal, yeah, he was probably happy going either way, but Melvin, nah, likely not. Shit, man, how long has it been? I looked at my watch, despite the fact that I hadn’t looked at it when we stopped so the current time would give no indication of the duration. It’s just something we do when time is on our minds. Holy shit, a few minutes after 3AM. A moment later, Melvin appeared at the passenger door but didn’t get in right away. It made sense, since Mister Criminal was back seating it. “Hey, man, where’s Mister Criminal and what’s taking so long?”. Melvin squatted to look into the car, and said, “He’s still inside Burger King”. Huh? At 3AM? Oh fuck no. “Look, man, you can stand out there or you can get in the car, but I’m heading for the house. I did not sign on for this shit”. “I’m with ya”, he said, and hopped in. Mister Criminal would figure it out when he heard my car start — everyone within half a mile would hear it.
The five cops who were lying in wait heard it, and surrounded us before I even got the thing into gear. Thinking on my feet, I quickly told Melvin The Mormon what our lie was, and to make it plausible I quickly slid off my watch and pushed it between the seats onto the floor behind the seats. We knew a girl who worked there, so our story was that we’d dropped by to see her after work not knowing that we were too late, and Melvin had had to pee so ran behind the place for concealment. It could easily enough be confirmed that the girl worked there, and it didn’t matter that she wasn’t expecting us because our story was that she wasn’t. Melvin had a secret crush on her, in our fiction, and was hoping to make his first move.
It worked well enough, and after all kinds of fun and games the pigs cut us loose.
Ya know, it’s never that easy. Stay tuned.