Butts (Part 29)
Somewhere between Columbus and Smithville Turner came down. The clear moonlit night rushed into and was thrust away from the windshield as the big motor pushed the Chevy effortlessly along …
Turner
Fire! (Part 28)
Rather than take the ferry back, they left the beach and continued up the peninsula, cut over at High Island, and went north to I-10. “Aren’t there going to be …
Pickin’ and a’ grinnin’ (Part 27)
The harbormen grabbed the big hawsers and made them fast as the front of the ship opened and made a gangplank for the cars to exit onto the Bolivar Peninsula. …
Pelicans and pistols (Part 26)
By the time the big Chevy nosed its way onto the Bolivar Ferry, it was well past 8:00 on a Sunday night. The ferry only had a handful of other …
Junior mints (Part 24)
A moment after Turner had gotten into the grim, murderous rhythm of the front group, the road went up slightly. They were ending the first 17-mile lap, which terminated on …
Sweet dreams (Part 23)
Clem and Turner sat in the 1972 green Chevy Impala that she had “borrowed” from a “friend.” “I’m not even gonna ask where you stole this car from,” he said. …
Schlemiel, schlimazel (Part 22)
“It’s a what?” Clem asked as Turner sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the thick wool tights up over his legs. “A time trial.” “What the fuck is …
Snot on the stem (Part 21)
“So this is how it is,” Turner said to himself, burning and hurting worse than any beating he’d ever gotten from Pops or Cason or that sorry fucker Raffy Santiago …
Tangled up in rue (Part 20)
The plate would have had a lot of spaghetti on it even if Turner hadn’t been stuffed to the gills, but as things stood it was the Mt. Everest of …
Reckoning (Part 19)
As he walked through the living room to the kitchen he passed the TV, which was set in a heavy wooden cabinet and had a set of rabbit ears perched …