Eye Ahem Da Guvner; Chapter Two

 

     It was time to move into the Governor’s Mansion, but, at his insistence, they were turning a mansion in the small town of Jimmyville into the new Governor’s Mansion. Earle Edgar had refused to move to Montgomery. It was too big and crowded there, and he wanted all his comforts, namely his savings account at The Bank of Jimmyville, as well as The Blind Funnel, close at hand. At first, the others in state government were totally against the move, with one state senator calling the proposed move “Highly irregular”, to which Governor Nekk replied,

     “Tuft sheit!”

     The town of Jimmyville, however, was thrilled. They had never before been an important part of state government; or any part, for that matter. Usually, state officials seemed embarrassed to admit that a town with the name of Jimmyville was in their state, so they never brought the town up. But here was the new governor, proudly and unashamedly claiming Jimmyville as his town; not only claiming it as his town, but moving the Governor’s Mansion here. Yes, the whole town was in an uproar. The very first day he’d moved in, he proclaimed it “Eye Hase Arivd Daye,” and proclaimed a city-wide holiday, and all government employees were given the day off. As for the governor himself, he sat all day at the Blind Funnel, while workers transferred all his vital tools for running the government into the new Governor’s Mansion.

 

     “Barrkep, anutter beir hear!” yelled a bleary-eyed Governor Earle Edgar Nekk. He’d been at The Funnel since it had opened, and was pleasantly buzzing with all the beers he had consumed. The bartender replied,

     “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Governor?”

     Earle Edgar immediately felt a red-hot anger. “Wat ar yew, mi muthar? Iff Eyea wantid yer smaret-as comints, Eye wood hav gon sumware els ta drinke sew Eye woodnt hav ta listan tew dem.”

     “Yes, sir, I only meant that you might have important governmental issues to work on.”

     “Luk, Eye donut wante an friken lecter frum yew, pis-aunt! Eye juss wante annuter beir, oakay?”

     “Yes, sir, right away.”

     Earle Edgar grabbed the new beer set down in front of him, and lifted it to his mouth to drink, and slopped some on the counter and on his shirt. Damn, what a waste!

     Tonight was the first of twice-yearly town hall meetings he had foolishly agreed to during the first days of his campaign. Why had he agreed to this crap? Now he had to pretend to actually give a crap about the concerns of his constituents. Downtown Jimmyville was damn near deserted as he staggered across the street from The Blind Funnel to the hall where the meeting would be held. How he longed to go back to his comfortable barstool, instead of where he was heading, but he’d just have to make the best of it. But the thought of listening to a bunch of whiners depressed him to no end. ‘I can’t find a job!” “I can’t live on my pension!” and “Why won’t the government help me?” It all boiled down to them looking for a hand out. As he shuffled across the road, dreading what was to come, he was thinking about what he could do to make money off the new government highway construction contract, and not paying any attention to traffic, and suddenly a horn sounded and he looked up, alarmed, at the source. A car was sliding in the snow right towards him.

     “Sheit!” he yelled, and dove to his right. Narrowly missing him, the car went up on the curb and came to a halt. Immediately, a woman opened her door and jumped out.

     “Are you okay, mister?”

     “Yeya, Eyma fyn, Eye gess,” he replied, and began dusting himself off.

     “I couldn’t stop with all this snow.”

     “Yaya, butt yer goen to fayast fer da cunditons.”

     “I was going very slowly, but you jumped out into the street with no warning.”

     “Owe sur, blam mi; itts upp ta yew too luk owt fer pidestriyuns, wich inn dis cayse wass mi.”

     “I wasn’t saying it was your fault. I was just trying to say that you caught me by surprise.”

     “Wel, oaka, butt frum kno onn, kepe a I owt fer peepal trine ta cros da stret.”

 

     Damn, he was at the door of the meeting hall. With a longing look back across the street he pulled open the door. “Pleez, giv mi ta strenth ta puwet upp wid dare stoopid, ignarent questions!” he mumbled as he entered. The hall was packed to the rafters with citizens, as well as the media from all around the state. He was immediately approached by a camera crew from station WFTY Television in Montgomery. A bored-looking reporter asked him,

     “Governor Nekk, I’m Blaine Charles, a reporter with WFTY; would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

     Fabulous! “Shur.” The television lights blinded him, and he shot up a hand to shield his eyes. “Sum ov a bich, thats brite!”

     “Governor, this is live!”

     “Wel, Eye culdnt cee sheit�"Eye meen dik!”

     Charles glowered at him and said, “This is Blaine Charles, reporting live for WFTY, and this is my exclusive interview with the new governor, Earle Edgar Nekk. Welcome, Governor.”

     “Awa, itts gud too bee heer, wid da chanc too answar qestons abowt tings.”

     “My first question is concerning the moving of the Governor’s Mansion from the capital of Montgomery, to this rather small town of Jimmyville. Why the move?”

     “Awa, noe coment.”

     “But surely governor, there must be an explanation?”

     “Sheit, Eye shud ov nown. Yew basterds frum da pres ar alwayes trine ta stiyak yer nos inta tings dat ar nun ov yer bizinuss; wat partt ov 'Noe coment' donut yew undirstan?”

     There was a non-believing pause on the part of Blaine Charles, as he thought about what he should say next. “I’m sorry, but due to technical difficulties, we will have to cut our interview with the governor short. This is Blaine Charles saying thank you to Governor Nekk for putting up with our malfunctioning camera, and sending it back to the studio.”

     “Wats wronge wid da friken camra? Eye donut cee----"

     “And we’re clear!” said the camera operator. “Governor Nekk, that was rude; you were warned that this was live, and still you used inappropriate language.”

     “Wel, Mistar Blane friken Char, dats wat ya git bye hiten mi wid an 'gotche' qeston owt ov lef fiald.”

     “Left field? Surely you must have been expecting that question?”

 

     Governor Nekk stood up after his introduction by the mayor of Jimmyville and faced the people gathered in the hall. As he was rising to his feet, he glared in the direction of reporter Blaine Charles and the rest of the crew from WFTY Television. 'Leeche basterds!'

     “Tanks, peepal, Eyema lukin forwerd ta here wats owen yer mineds,” he said. In truth, he was thinking about having another beer at The Blind Funnel, and had been gazing longingly at its red, white, and blue neon sign which blazed tantalizingly from across the street.

     “Okaya, noww whoe haz a qeston? Okaya, yer up, laydee.”

     An elderly woman who’d raised her hand got nervously to her feet and asked, “I need Social Security just to survive. I need you to reassure me that you’ll resist any attempt to make changes to it.”

     “Ya kno, dat’s wats rong wit da contrie, tew mani peepal lik yew suspekt da guvermint too bayal owt dar layz beehins. Welfaars juss a exguze fer layz peepal nott ta hav too werk. Whi shud peepal werk wend da kan juss spung offe da guvermint? Da tink, “Wi shud Eye git an job?”

     “Excuse me, but I didn’t ask about Welfare, I asked about Social Sec---”

     “Laydee, Eyema sory yer sew layz, butt com owen; giv sumbody els an shott, huya?”

     The elderly woman sat down with a frown, and Governor Nekk pointed to a teenage boy with his hand raised. The crowd watching all had shocked looks upon their faces. The boy rose and timidly asked,

     “I’ve had no luck finding a job. I want to work, but there’s a shortage of quality jobs out there for younger workers. Do you have a plan to confront this problem?”

     “Problum? Da ownly problim Eye cee iz dat yer juss to layz ta werk. Eye donut beeleeved ya evin lukd. Wi shud da guvermint hep a layz slacer lik yew? Eyema telin yew, yung peepal nowwadaze ar juss abowt a*s layz a*s yew kan git. Y, bak wen Eye wer yor aig, dare wer plenty ov jobbs; Eye juss didnt happen ta bee luken. Insted ov crien an wynin abowt itt, juss git offe yer layz behin, an luk agane.”

     The shell-shocked young man quickly retook his seat, and Earle Edgar looked for another raised hand, but the people were suddenly afraid to keep them raised, and quickly started to lower them. Before they could put their hands down, the governor spotted a gentleman with his hand still in the air.

     “Rite hear, mistar,” and he pointed to the man, who looked startled, wearing a 3-piece suit, who stood and asked in a shaky voice,

     “Lately, there’s been increased competition from overseas corporations for work. Do you think American companies can compete for business?”

     “Yaya, Eye dew beeleev itt kan. Ifn wee git bak too duin wat Amerika duz bess, wich iz bruin da bess beir dat muny kan bye. To mutch consintraten owen computrs an teknoligy hass takin uss awa frum gud ole-fashon blew-coler trayds, suche a*s bruin an da lyke. Wonc wee git bak to duin da tings dat maed Amerika grate, wee wil bee juss fien.”

 

     It was an hour later and Governor Nekk was getting anxious to get back to The Blind Funnel to watch the end of the football game on the big screen. He told the crowd, including those of whom had decided to ask their questions despite the governor’s rude answers, he only had time for one more question. He pointed to an obviously-pregnant teen girl with her hand up, and said, with a look of disgust on his face,

     “Okaya, wat?”

     The girl struggled to her feet and was handed the microphone by the mayor. “I’m single,”

     Whi duz dat nott surpriyes mi? he thought. The girl had a face only a mother could love, and even that was iffy.

     “and I’ll need access to state-funded daycare so I will be able to work. Where do you stand on the issue?”

     “Eye stan abowt a*s farr awaye frum yew as Eye kan git! Wat wuz ya thinken, ya trampe? Bak inn mi dayy, noe sef-reedspektin wuman wood hav carnevel rellatons wid sumown widowt beein marryd too dem. Eye kan cee itts an lital to lait fer yew, butt mabee sum otter cheep trample cee dis, an, unlik yew, staye inn hier briches. Eyema hopein dat sumdayy seewen, wee wil hav noe mor nead fer daykars. Wel peeplal, dats abowt awl da tyme Eye half tewnite, Eye here alot ov wynin an complanen owt dare, butt Eye wood juss lik ta remine yall dat da guvermint aint inn da bizinuss ov printen muny fer yew sew yew kan sitt att hom an nott werk. Stan upp an bee an mann, less yews a chik, inn wich cas, stan upp an bee an chik! Gud nite, an ma a hyer forse bless da Stayet ov Alibama.”

 

     At long last; Earle Edgar didn’t think he’d ever get through. He was done and was hurrying out the front door to the hall; headed back over to The Blind Funnel to watch the end of the game on the big screen. As he walked across the street, the citizens who had attended the town hall meeting watched in disbelief as their new governor staggered through the doors of The Blind Funnel Tavern.

     “Eyem bak; Eye gott dos moor ons offa mi kayes. Wats da scor? Sum ov an bich, Eyea mised dam neer da howel friken gaam!”

 

     The next morning, a Tuesday, Governor Earle Edgar Nekk sat at his desk. Darrel Hobbs was due for a meeting, and he was trying to put the finishing touches on his plan to shake Hobbs down, for he was the president of one of the largest construction companies in Alabama, and wanted to talk to the governor about his plan to help rebuild the state’s crumbling interstate highway system. Before too long, there was a knock on Nekk’s door, and he had to hurriedly switch off the radio and grabbed the half-finished bottle of malt liquor he’d been drinking and put it in a drawer. He then shut the drawer. Then he quickly opened it again, to grab a bunch of important-looking papers and set them in front of him. Unbeknownst to him, the cap to the bottle had been put on incorrectly and the bottle had fallen over, and the papers were soaked. Sum ov an bich He quickly dried them on his shirt, the ink staining his dress shirt.

     “Comm inn!” he managed to yell. Now, not only were the papers ruined, but he smelled like a brewery; oh well, there wasn’t much he could do about it now. The door swung open and Darrel Hobbs strode in, saying,

     “Hello Governor, it’s so kind of you to set up this meeting.”

     “Nott attawl. Beeleeve mi, itt wuz noe problem.”

     Hobbs gave a suspicious glance at his shirt, but said only, “Well, I can see you’re a busy man, so I’ll waste as little of your time as possible.”

     Earle Edgar had been listening to the horse racing report on the radio, and drinking his malt liquor, so having something to do was kind of a relief,

     “Owe, Eyema alwyes gladd ta heer frum mi cunstichuants; Eye here yew wuud lik ya talke abowt yer idya fer uppgraden ar hiwayys?”

     “Yes, Governor, I would like to propose a massive repair and repaving project, and I know you’d have to take bids on that, so hopefully my company’s bid will be high enough so we can get a part of the contract.”

     “Eye tel yew wat. Howw wud yer compeny lik to dew awl ov itt?”

     “Pardon me? I thought I just heard you say we’d be doing the whole thing.”

     “Yew herd mi corecly; Ifn yew wur too giv mi, sa, 7 milon dolers, Eye culd mak sur yor cumpeny gott awln da bidds.”

     “Hold on there governor, that would be a bribe!”

     “Shee! Donut evar saye dat wurd. Letts juss cal itt 'frenship muny'; yew dew wante mi ta bee yer frend, donut yew?”

     “But that would be illegal.”

     Suddenly Earle Edgar was wary. “Maybee wee shud juss forgit itt; ifn yew accuews mi ov dis, Eyel deni evreting.”

     “Now I never said we should just forget it; I was just caught by surprise, that’s all. Now tell me exactly how this would work. My company’s not nearly large enough to repair and repave every interstate highway”

 

     A year had passed since the bribe from Hobbs, and the citizenry was beginning to complain that the highways were worse now, after the repairs and repaving, than they had been before, and Governor Red Nekk was trying to explain this to an angry citizen.

     “Laiydee, Eyea undarstan abowt yer complaynt, butt wat kan Eye dew abowt itt? Thayat partikuler compani wowen da riets fare an sqare. Ifn da ar duin shody werk, Eye shuldnt bee blamd fer dat.”

     “Well, I’m not happy; with all the taxes I pay, I expected better!”

     Suddenly, Red saw red. “Ifn yer nott hapy, Eyla telya wat yew shuld dew. Yew shuld juss ben ovor, and blo itt owet yer ayas!”

     “Excuse me?”

     “Eyma sik an tird ov lisnen too wyners lik yew, woo ar nevur satesfiyed wid aniting. Git owat, an donut lett da dor hyt yew onn da ayas owen yer wa owet!”

     “Well, I never!”

     “Obviusly!”

 

     Governor Red Nekk was just sitting at his mahogany desk in his office, trying to decide if it was too early to leave work and head for The Funnel, when his phone rang. He answered,

     “Yaeya, Eye tol yew, Nancee, Eye nevur wante too bee inturuptid dis tyme owaf da dayy. Eyema mutch to bizzy ta bee bothured. Eye ame trine ta git importent werk dun!”

     “Yes, sir, but I think you’ll want to take this call. It’s from Bob Inscriber of the Jimmyville Times, and he claims to have written a story that makes you look bad, and he would like your comment.”

     “Sum ov a bich! Noww wat? Dis iz suked! Okaya, wat lyne?”

     “Line 2, Governor.”

     “Tanks fer nutten, Nancee, Eye donut wante ta talke ta Bobbin Scribor!”

     He quickly slammed the receiver down, pressed line 2’s flashing button, and said as pleasantly as he could manage, “Helo Bobb, mi secritery sayes yew wishe too speek ta mie?”

     “Yes, Governor, I just talked to a woman who claims to have talked to you this morning, and she claims you cussed at her, then told her to leave. Would you care to comment?”

     “Yeya, Eye wood endeed. Eye nevur tawled tew da womin, sew howw culd Eyehave kurst awat herr?”

     “So you’re denying the incident?”

     “Yeya, Eyem denien itt. Iwet nevur awkured.”

     “Thank you for the statement, Governor Nekk.”

     “Sur Bobb, Eyema awelways hapi ta tawlk two yew guis.”

     Red slammed the receiver down and yelled, “Sheit, sheit, an dubal sheit!”  Why, the nosy witch; Eyel sho herr wat itt meens two caus trubal fer mi! Eyel amembor herr nam, an, beecoz itts awelmoss wintar, Eyel hav herr lectricety turened owef! he thought.

 

     Earle Edgar Nekk had been living life high on the hog since he’d 'won' the election for governor. He hadn’t really won anything, because he’d rigged the voting machines to vote for him. Most of the people didn’t know anyone who had voted for him, but figured somebody else must have, because he’d won. After the absentee ballots had been counted, because he had received no votes in them, he had squeaked by and had won by just enough votes not to trigger an automatic recount; as a closer examination might have uncovered the fraud. He had spent most of the last 4 years slumped over a table reserved for him in the back room of The Blind Funnel Tavern in downtown Jimmyville, raking in big money on various criminal ventures, and trying to keep the press from knowing about it. In that, he had so far been successful, but now he was faced with having to run for reelection. He figured to repeat what he had done to win his last election; he’d cheat. He dialed up Merle Slaw, the computer technician who had rigged all the voting machines the first time.

     “Yeya, helo iz Meral Slalaww dare?”

     “This is Merle Slaw; who’s calling please?”

     “Helo Meral, dis iz Red Knekk calen. Eyeya wuz hopein yew wood dew annutter lital jobb fer mi. Eyema upp fer relecton, an Eye ned yew ta rigg awl da voten machens ta ensur dat Eyema da winer.”

     “Sure, Mr. Governor, I’ll do it for the same price as last time, 3 million dollars.”

     He didn’t have it, but could get more counterfeit money made. “Fyen, den wee half a agreenmint. Eyela dropp of da nuny at yer hous an den yew cann staret rigun da machenes. Eyela ned too kno yer adres.”

     “It’s 555 S. Wacker Blv. here in Jimmyville.”

     “Fiyen, Eyel git ovar dare bi tumorow mornen.”

 

     Merle Slaw hung up the phone and looked at Detective Ralph Chance, saying, “Did you get enough?”

     Detective Chance replied, “Yeah, perfect; we have enough to hang that crooked b*****d with his own greed!” Then he remarked, “I was right about him calling here to arrange payment for a bribe, after The Jimmyville Times investigation uncovered the evidence that he had used the same technique to win the election last time, and had used you to rig the machines. When he shows up here with the bribe money tomorrow morning, he’ll have a little surprise waiting for him! When’s the story going to break, Bob?”

     Bob Inscriber looked up from his typing on his laptop and answered, “Just as soon Nekk is arrested, my article will be printed in our paper.”

     All three of them were gathered together at Slaw’s residence to wait for the phone call from Nekk that that Detective Chance was sure would come. They’d been waiting for over two weeks, ever since Nekk had announced his intent to stand for reelection. The Jimmyville Times had uncovered the evidence of the rigging of the last election from acquaintances of the governor, who had heard things while they were drinking at The Blind Funnel Tavern. It seemed that Governor Nekk just couldn’t keep his mouth shut after a few beers. That had eventually led them to the name Merle Slaw. When faced with arrest for his part in the voting scam, it didn’t take much convincing from Detective Chance, that in exchange for his cooperation, no charges would be filed against him. He sang like a canary. He’d told him them everything, and Chance was eager to nail this crooked governor’s nuts to the wall, and had set up this sting after hearing of Nekk’s intention to seek a 2nd term. It saved him from having to uncover proof of past misdeeds. He’d be waiting for Nekk, and once he handed over the money, he’d have all the proof he needed to send Nekk away for a long time.

 

     Earle Edgar mounted the steps of Merle Slaw’s house with confidence, the confidence of ensuring his reelection to the post which had lined his pockets with gold. He knocked on the door, and after a few seconds Slaw answered the door. He looked to Earle Edgar to be extremely nervous about something, as he kept glancing over his shoulder.

     “Helo Meral, Eyev gott yer muny rite heer.” It was all he’d had printed up. He wished he’d of had more made. Oh well, he had plenty of time to get some more made up.

     “Oh, what money is that?”

     Red was taken aback. “Da payemint muny. An iz der sumthin rong wit yer shurt poket? Whi doo yew yew keap fidlin wid it?”

     “Nothing is wrong; I’ll take the money right here in my hand,” and he held out his hand.

     Earle Edgar thought Slaw was acting a little weird, but then, how well did he really know him? He maybe was a little different, but he got the job done. He handed him the envelope full of cash; cash that had taken his counterfeiter a long night to make more of, and said,

     “Dare yew goe, 3 milyun dolars, juss lik wee agred.”

     “Now, what’s this 3 million dollars for again?” Slaw asked, and he touched his shirt pocket again.

     “Owe, fer Krists sake; fer the payemint Eye owa yew so yew kan fixed da voten machens too caste an vot fer mi, noe mator whoem daye votid fer.”

     Immediately, a guy jumped from behind the door and threw Red to the ground.

     “Wats dis awl abowet?” he asked the detective, whose badge glinted in the morning sun, from where it was pinned to his shirt, and who had caused Earle Edgar to land painfully on his back.

     “You’re under arrest for payment to rig an election.”

     What? “Oficer, yewl nevar pruve dat Eye dide aniting rong. Cee, Eye new Meral Slaww wuz upp ta noe guud, sew Eye wuz runin mi owen stringe. Ifn yul tayek an gud luk att dat muny, yul see dat itts countarfit!”

 

     Earle Edgar Nekk gazed around him at the bleak gray walls of his prison cell. He felt cold despair wash over him. Today he was going on trial for conspiracy to commit voter fraud and counterfeiting. He thought back over the last four years with sadness. The years as Governor of the State of Alabama had been very good to him. The State of Alabama might be a s***-hole, but his bank account was bursting with the profits he’d made from various illegal schemes.

 

     Judge Ned Crocker had never seen a criminal as moronic as this guy. It was truly amazing that a guy this idiotic had even made it 4 minutes, let alone 4 years, as Governor of Alabama.

     “The prosecution will now present its case.”

     State Prosecutor Dan Fieldstone rose and said, “Thank you, your Honor. The state calls Mr. Merle Slaw to the stand.”

     Several curse words sounded from the defense bench, where Earle Edgar Nekk was unwisely acting as his own attorney.

     “Does defense have a problem with this witness?” asked Judge Crocker.

     “Aya, noo, yer Honur.”

     “Then Merle Slaw, please take the stand.”

     Owe kno plese leev itt rite ware itt iz! he thought. It would sure be a crime against humanity to lock up a mind as quick as his.

     Merle Slaw took the stand and was sworn in, and then was approached by Prosecuter Dan Fieldstone.

     “Mr. Slaw, did you fix the voting machines 4 years ago to vote for Earle Edgar Nekk only, and were you approached before the upcoming election to perform the same thing?”

     “Objection!”

     “What is your objection, Mr. Nekk?”

     Oh s***; now he had to think of one. “Ayeh, Eye objekt too, too, da fakt dat dis iz heersa, yer Honur.”

     “Ah, Mr. Nekk, hearsay is when an outside party tells the jury what a winess or the defendant supposedly said. This man was the main person to whom the conversation was directed. Objection overruled.”

     “Sheit!”

     Slam! went the gavel, as Judge Crocker slammed it down on his desk. “Mr. Nekk, I will not stand for foul language in my courtroom.”

     “Wel den, whi donut ya juss sitt dowen den?”

     Slam! “This court holds you in contempt, Mr. Nekk, and fines you $250.00.”

     He couldn’t pay anyway, so he didn’t care. “Whi nott mak itt twety fiv tousend?” he replied, and angrily flipped the on/off button on his microphone, so that what he really wanted to reply couldn’t be heard.

     “Dropp ded, yew lital sum ov an bich!” he said quietly to himself. He was shocked when his words were picked up by his still-open microphone and ampified throughout the courtroom.

     Slam! “With comments like that; okay, $25,000 it is.”

     “Whi, yew peker!” said Earle Edgar, whose flare of anger made him forget about the microphone.

     Slam! "You just bought yourself $50,000 dollars!”

     He was broke, so this was adding up in a hurry! He had to put a stop to this. “Eye apoligyes, yer Honur.”

     “It’s a little too late for an apology, Mr. Nekk.”

     “Yew sum ov an bich!” he mumbled under his breath.

     “Okay, counselor, you may proceed,” said the judge.

     “Thank you, your Honor."

     "Tank yew yer Honur," Earle Edgar mimicked quietly to himself.

     Fieldstone asked the witness to continue his testimony from the events after Slaw had been approached to rig the voting machines, much the same way he’d done 4 years previously.

     “I was approached by a Detective Ralph Chance and asked to take part in an undercover sting operation against Governor Earle Edgar Nekk.”

     “Donut yew meen yew werr too hep intrayp Guvner Earal Edger Nekk, yew to-fased muther-fu---”

     Slam! “Bailiff, take Mr. Nekk to his cell, until which time as he can apologize to this court for his outrageous and extremely offensive language; and Mister Nekk, might I suggest you retain a real lawyer?”

 

     Earle Edgar Nekk sat brooding in his jail cell. He had been royally chastised by the judge, and he was angry. He wanted to get out of jail, but an acquittal seemed far-fetched.

     Dat bayasterd sum ofa biyatch juge expekes mi too apolagyse fer fowal langwege; wel Eyema nott goen too puwt onn mi kne padds sew Eye kan kis hise baksid! he thought.

     No way was he even willing to do something like that. Why, if he ever got out of here, he’d change his name and move to another state to avoid persecution and harassment, like was happening here. The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded.

 

     He had made his decision. He would go into court after saying he was ready, apologize to Judge Crocker, and, once court took it’s break for lunch, skip the state. The hell with this place! Prison wasn’t the place for a man as brilliant as he.

 

     Judge Ned Crocker was just entering his courtroom, after Prisoner Nekk had agreed to apologize for his offensive language. He really could care less about the language; it was the man’s whole demeanor. He was ignorant beyond belief; he was rude, and he was on trial in his courtroom. He just wanted to get rid of the b*****d. Then the courtroom door opened, and he was staring at Mr. Idiot, up close and personal.

     “Hello, Mr. Nekk. Are you ready to apologize?”

     Earle Edgar cringed at the word 'apologize'. “Yeya, yer Honur, Eyem truelly sory fore wat Eye sayed. Eye shud hav hadd mor respect fer yew an dis cort.”  Screww yew, yew judgin basterd!, he added, but only to himself.

     “Very well, Mr.Nekk, I’ll rescind the remainder of your contempt charges, and, because it’s almost lunch time, your trial will resume this afternoon.”

Owe kno iyat wonet! he thought.  “Vari gud, yer Honur, an tanks fer azeptin mi hartfelt apulugy.”

     By the time the court resumed after lunch, he would be out of here. The court’s lunch break was from 11.30am to 1.00 pm. He knew that a load of laundry was taken from the prison every day around 12.30 pm, and he was going to go with it.

 

     He heard the laundry truck backing up to the laundry room door, and knew it was time. He called the guard down to his cell, and said,

     “Exguss mi, butt da toylit inn mii sell iz bayked upp, an eye reyaly hav ta goe. Kan Eye plese ewes da won ovar dare?”

     The guard glanced where he was pointing and replied, “That one is for visitors only. I have to call the janitor and he’ll fix yours.”

     “Mayan, Eyeva gott to goe noww; dis iz a emergancy!”

     He could see the guard look across at the bathroom door with uncertainty.

     “I’m not supposed to let any prisoner out.”

     “Plese?” he said, with urgency in his voice.

     “Oh, okay, but you’ve got to promise me that you won’t try to escape.”

     “Eye promus; noww plese hury,” he answered, and jumped back and forth like he really had to go.

     The guard took out his keys and unlocked his cell.

 

     Dave Tart knew he was taking an awful risk, but knew what torture not having access to a bathroom could be, and prisoner or no prisoner, this guy was suffering. He’d only been hired as a guard 2 days ago, and was afraid of what the other prisoners might do if they found out he had ignored the prisoner’s request.

     Earle Edgar went across the corridor to the visitor’s bathroom, and immediately his eyes sought out the laundry hamper that would be his ticket out of here. He had been thinking of a way to escape for after his trial, for he now fully expected to be convicted, but today was the day if he was going to do it. He hollowed out a space in the middle of the dirty towels, and climbed in, spilling some of the towels that were drying on the sides of the cart onto the floor in the process, and pulling some of rest of the towels on top of him. Now all he had to do was wait.

 

      Dave Tart glanced at his watch. The prisoner had been in there for 6 or 7 minutes. How long did it take to go to the bathroom? He walked to the bathroom door and shouted,

     “Everything all right in there?”

     He heard a rustling, then a loud noise, followed by,

     “Ahya, yeya, Eyeva gott an badd cays ov explowsiv diereeya!”

     Then he heard another loud bang and a groan. Man, thought an embarrassed Dave Tart, and he walked away from the door to give the guy some privacy.

 

 

     Earle Edgar sat surrounded by towels, and waited to be wheeled away by the laundry guy. He better make it quick! It was pitch-dark and smelly in here, but it was well worth putting up with anything to regain his freedom. Suddenly the silence was shattered by the guard’s voice. “Everything all right in there?”

     S***; now what was he going to do? His mind raced for the solution; he was in a panic. He hadn’t thought of what he would do if he was still inside the bathroom. He quickly burrowed his head free, punched the batheroom stall, and answered,

     “Ayha, yeya, Eyeva gott an badd cays ov explowsiv diereeya!” then he groaned and hit the stall wall again. It was the only thing he could think of in his haste. With a sinking feeling he thought, dats sur a*s hel aint gowen two werk!  He fully expecting the guard to come charging through the door, but he heard only silence from outside the door.

     “Heya, Eyel bee owet inn an minut.”

     He heard no reply, so he burrowed down and pulled the towels over his head again as best as he could, and resumed his wait to be wheeled to freedom.

     Dave Tart started back down the hallway towards the bathroom. This was ridiculous!  As he approached the bathroom door, it suddenly swung outwards and he had to jump out of the way to keep from being run over by the laundry cart the laundry guy was wheeling out to his truck.

     “Oh, sorry,” said the laundry guy.

     “Oh, that’s all right.”

     “Well, you have a nice day.”

     “Yeah, you too.”

     Just then there came a cry of, “Guard!” from down the cellblock. Great, he thought, and going into the bathroom to check on the prisoner was forgotten as he hurried down to find out what the problem was.

 

     Earle Edgar heard the bathroom door open, then a voice said,

     “Well, son of a b***h, someone threw a bunch of towels on the floor; slobs!”

     Then he felt the vibration of more towels being thrown on top of the ones he was under, and then movement, as the cart was wheeled out on its way to the laundry truck. Suddenly he heard the laundry guy voice as the two carried on a conversation. He recognized the voice of the prison guard. He tensed up, ready to be discovered, but then he heard more conversation between the two,then the cry of “Guard!” from somewhere down the cell block, and he was wheeled away. He had just started to think it couldn’t be this simple, when he heard another door open, then,

     “Just go on to your truck,” and the laundry guy’s reply of,

     “Thanks Mac, I’ll see you tomorrow,” and felt the rough pavement turn smoother as the cart hit the blacktop of the parking lot. Then the lifting sensation as the cart was raised by the lift on the rear of the laundry truck, then the sensation of sliding, as the cart was slid into the truck. With a jolting 'boom!' the cart hit the rear wall, and then sound of the rear door being closed. He was out!

 

     Prison guard Mac Tucker knew he was supposed to thoroughly check the laundry cart, but it was damn near lunch time, and he was thinking about that leftover meatloaf sandwich his wife had made him. He carried on a coversation with the laundry guy, then he returned to thinking about his lunch. 'I wonder what else Eunice packed for me? he thought.

 

     Earle Edgar had not heard a sound for a long time, other than his own pounding heart, after it sounded to him like the laundry truck had pulled down into the underground parking garage which housed the laundry trucks. Luck had been with him, if that was the case. All he would have to do is listen for any noises, and when he didn’t hear any, climb out of the truck, open the door of the parking lot, and just walk away to freedom.

 

     After he’d been listening intently for roughly the last hour, and had heard nothing, he threw aside the towels that had been covering him, and jumped out into the black of the back of the laundry truck. He stumbled his way to the rear door, and threw it open. Immediately, his ears were bombarded with noise, as everywhere he looked, laundry workers scurried about. How was it even possible? He had heard nothing! No one seemed to take notice of him, and he knew he had to get out of there. So he jumped to the ground, ran behind the nearest building, and kept on going.

 

 

     And so he was out, now what? He racked his brain, and then it hit him; the answer, he’d steal a car. He hid in the bushes that surrounded the parking lot, and scoped out possible cars to steal. Then he saw a bright red 2-door with orange flames painted on the doors, a chrome-colored hood scoop sticking so far out of the hood, it must damn near block the driver’s vision, and huge mag wheels. He knew he shouldn’t steal something that would stand out, but on the other hand, this baby looked like it could really move! If a cop attempted to pull him over, he’d need the extra speed to outrun him. He decided that if he was going to steal a car anyway, he may as well swipe one that looked cool.

 

      After trying to remember how to hotwire a car from his wild teenage years, he managed to pick the lock on the driver's door, pulled the hood release, and got out to walk up to the hood. As he walked away, the door shut behind him. He quickly hotwired the car, and went to get in; it was locked. Damn! He grabbed a rock and smashed the window. Immediately, a loud, piercing siren sounded. The b***h had a security alarm. He’d forgotten to look on the dash to see if a red light was blinking, indicating the presence of an alarm. Quickly, he got inside and pulled the hood release. Then he ran to the front and opened it, located the shrieking alarm, and with the same rock with which he’d smashed the window, smashed the alarm. Silence once again descended on the parking lot. He looked around for any suspicious activity, saw none, and climbed back into the car.

 

 

     As he revved up the car to warm it up, he noticed that the engine didn’t sound all that powerful. Oh well, it probably just needed to be warmed up. He’d been so intent on silencing the alarm that he hadn’t noticed the engine size, but with a car that looked this hot, it must be a monster! He put it in drive, and the car shuddered and shook out onto the roadway. He put the pedal to the floor and it at least stopped lugging.

     “Cowem onn, yew gutlis muthar�"fuyc...”

 

     He’d been driving for hours, when suddenly he realized the heater was rapidly steaming up his windows, and with a start, he realized he couldn’t see. Then he noticed a 70’s-era 4-cylinder beater in his rearview mirror that had pulled into the other lane, and was passing him. Out of his side window, which was the only one he could still see out of, he saw the passing car, horn shrieking, and the driver’s middle finger waving back and forth in his direction.

     “Yaya, yaya, yew sum ov an bich!” Earle Edgar screamed at him.

     Eyeyad betor pul dis ting ovar, he thought. He slammed on the brakes. Immediately, a screech was heard behind him, and then he was jolted backwards in his seat. The car that had plowed into him seemed to become stuck to his, and with the squeal of both their tires, they slowed and came at last to a stop. Earle Edgar knew he had to get out of there, and jumped from the car and ran for the trees. Behind him he heard a teenage voice exclaim,

     “Wait a minute, shouldn’t we exchange licenses?”

 

     Once he felt he was far enough away, Earle Edgar stopped running. He needed a new plan. At last, it came to him; he would somehow sneak onboard a bus. He needed to think on how he was going to accomplish the bus deal, but first he needed to find some food. He hadn’t eaten at all that morning, due to nerves, and it was beginning to hit him just how hungry he was. He judged it to be around dinner time, and just before the wreck, the smell of food had been wafting through the car window from the small town ahead had been driving him crazy! He knew he should just stay out of the town, but hunger was overriding his common sense. He couldn’t help himself. As he entered the town, the first place he saw was a doughnut shop. The wonderful smells were coming from there. He knew he shouldn’t, but as it was getting dark this fall day, he snuck up to the window and watched open-mouthed as the woman behind the counter was putting fresh doughnuts, just out of the deep-fat fryer, onto a plate, and then she put the plate in the window with a for-sale sign attached. They looked so damn good! Before he realized what he was doing, his feet led him up to the door, and then his hands were pulling it open. He heard the jingle of the bell announcing his presence, smelled the wonderful aroma of the doughnuts, saw the middle-aged woman look up at him, and then she said,

     “Hello, sir, may I help you?”

     Then he heard his voice reply, “Yeya, Eyema neww inn towen, an Eye wuz wundrin ifn yew mite half ani od jobbs Eye culd dew inn exchaing fer an feww ov dem doenuts?”

     She stared at him for a second, then yelled towards the back room, “Herb, it’s that escaped convict we saw on the T.V., call the police!”

     Earle Edgar yelled back, “Laydee, keap yer voyas dowen; Eyeah wuud not bee duin dat, ore Eyel nott bee resposabl fer wat happens!”

     “Hurry Herb, he’s threatening me; do something!”

     A voice from the room behind the counter answered, “I’ll be there after I watch these last couple of plays on the T.V. And could you please keep it down to a dull roar out there?”

     “Herb!”

     “Okay, keep your pants on, woman, I’m coming!”

     Desperately, Earle Edgar fled into the night. Behind him he heard,

     “Stop, thief!” from her, and,

     “Now what are you yammering about?” from him.

 

     He decided to forget the food, and concentrate on finding different clothes to wear, and then he would head back into nearby Mobile, and somehow get on board a bus. He had stolen some jeans and a tee shirt off of a clothesline he’d spotted as he walked towards Mobile. Luckily, the stolen clothes fit him reasonably well, except for the fact the jeans were so tight, they were cutting off his oxygen supply. Once he had unbuttoned the top couple of buttons, and pulled the tee shirt down over them, he was fairly comfortable.

 

 

     Earle Edgar found a bus, which happened to be headed for Seattle, and noticed the people waiting to board. It didn’t look to him like there’d be very many riders, so he snuck on board by waiting until the driver had his back turned to take another guy’s ticket. He found a seat next to what looked to him to be a traveling salesman.

     “Parden mi ser, iz dis seet takin?”

     “Why no, sit yourself down and take a load off. My name is Bobby-Bob Cecil Johnson, and what might yours be?”

     “Aya, Payal Smithington.”

     “Well, it’s nice to meet you Paul, Where you headed? I myself am headed to the big hub cap convention. That’s what I do, sell hub-caps.”

     “Aya, Eyma heden fer Ceattl to aya, aya, visut mi sistar.”

     “Oh yeah? I’m originally from Seattle. If you don’t mind me asking, what does your sister do?”

     S***; “Aya, shee aya, aya, werks ferr de, aya, hospitel dare.” Whew, that had been a close one!

     “Oh yeah? Harborview?”

     S***! “Aya, yeya, dats da plac.”

     “Oh yeah? Before I moved here 6 months ago, I used to work there. Maybe I know her? What’s her name?”

     Crap; “Aya, Daysee Whurlitzer.”

     “I don’t think I know her. Was she just hired recently?”

     Now why didn’t he think to say that? “Aya, yeya, resentaly.”

 

     The bus moved northwestward, and with every mile he put behind him, Red Nekk breathed a little easier. He was going to make it. The kid across the aisle from him kept looking at him, pointing to the newspaper on his lap, and whispering to his father. Earle Edgar didn’t like the way this was looking. Suddenly, the boy’s father said,

     “Excuse me, sir, but what’s your name?”

     Crap; “Aya, tha nams…aya…” S***, what name had he used before? “Aya, Pawal Smaderton, wi?”

     Then the lady sitting across the aisle from him cut in, “Mister, that’s not the same last name you gave before.”

     “My boy’s right, this is Governor Nekk from Alabama!”

     Then a man sitting close by said, “Governor Nekk? Sir, you should be ashamed, rigging the voting machines so you’d win, when the people voted for someone else. You took away the voice of the people!”

     Earle Edgar suddenly found himself surrounded by angry people. “You cheating b*****d!”, “Scum!”, and, “Election thief!” were just some of the comments hurled his direction. He quickly sprang up the aisle and yelled to the bus driver,

     “Eyev gott an gunn, an ulese yew pul ovar an lett mi owet, Eyel blowe yer hed offe!”

     The driver took one look at Earle Edgar’s hand in his pocket, with something that very well could be a gun sticking up at him, and pulled the bus to the side of the road and let him out.

 

     Now he was back on foot, and he figured to steal another outfit from someone’s clothesline. He had scoped out the house, and had watched as the owner’s car pulled out of the driveway and sped away. He had no time to lose; he sprinted into the yard and stopped at the clothesline. There was nothing but football uniforms hanging there. Oh well, anything was better than what he was wearing.

 

     Inttidoosen, att lefte owet, number 22, Redd Nek! he thought.

 

     He resumed walking along the road. His embarrassing attire now consisted of a red football jersey, white football pants that must have been made for a 5th-grader because they were way too tight, and his same logging boots. He would have changed shoes, but this was all he had. He had spotted no other footwear around the clothesline. How would he explain his outfit if stopped by the police?

     Ofiser, Eyema playar inn da Lumbarjack Futball Leeyeg.  No way; but still he had had to change his clothes, so he started walking, resigned to the fact he was in for a long walk.

 

 

     A car slowed from behind him, and as the car pulled even, a guy rolled down the passenger-side window and asked, “Hey, man, do you want a ride?”

     Earle Edgar was just about to tell the guy to blow off, but then he thought about trudging for hours, and knew he could make it to the state line much faster on wheels, and replied,

     “Surr mistar,” and the guy opened the passenger door and exclaimed,

     “Good, because it would be a darn shame for someone who looks as good as you do to have to walk. Just sit your pretty little rear right here!”

     S***; “Aya, kno tanks!”

     “Fine, p****tease!” the guy yelled, and his car threw gravel behind it as he gunned the engine and sped away.

     Earle Edgar thought, noe wayy Eyema goen ta ware dis sheit fer de reste ov da daye, and he noticed it was growing dark again, so he decided to wait for it.

 

     He had spotted another house with a clothesline earlier but had waited until it was dark before sneaking past the house and into the back yard. It was pitch-black once he left the illumination thrown off from the street light. He couldn’t see dick, and stumbled his way towards where he thought the clothesline ought to be. Suddenly, he was doing the elusive neon donkey dance across the yard because he’d tripped over a sprinkler head, staggered around and almost fell, until the clothesline damn near took his head off. It dropped him onto the grass, and he lay there on his back, then finally he rose to his feet and started grabbing clothes. He had no idea what he was grabbing, because it was so dark, but it had to be better than the damn football uniform. Just then, he was blinded by the back porch light as its beams pierced the darkness. Then a voice yelled,

     “Whoever’s out there, my husband’s a cop, and he’s due home any minute, so you’d better just get out of here!”

     Earle Edgar panicked and took off running in the dark. He could see the streetlight, an---suddenly, he was flying face-first towards the ground. He had tripped over the same sprinkler head, and crashed into the ground, hurting his shoulder. He somehow managed to regain his feet, picked up the stolen clothes he had dropped, and with his shoulder killing him, made it to the road and kept on running until he was away from the town; and into the shadows once more.

 

     He kept walking along the road until his shoulder at last became less painful. Then he started to think about changing into the clothes he’d just swiped from the clothesline. At last he looked at what he’d stolen. It was all women’s clothes.

     “Sum ov a bich, chiks clowes!” he grumbled to himself. Why, why, why? As he stared at them with disgust under the glare of the streetlight, he had an idea suddenly: the police were looking for a man, but if he looked like a woman, their suspicions wouldn’t be aroused. As distasteful as the idea of becoming a cross-dresser was, it would be the perfect disguise.

 

     He looked pathetic; Earle Edgar glanced down at the women’s slacks and tube-top he wore from the woman’s clothes he had stolen off the clothesline, and had changed into. Luckily, once again, the clothes somewhat fit. With nothing to wear on his feet but his logging boots, he looked ridiculous. He wished again that he had more appropriate footwear, but he didn’t. Oh well, he would just have to make the best of it.

 

     He stomped through the forest in the morning light, towards the smokestack he’d seen through the trees. He had decided to stay off the road as much as possible, just to be on the safe side. As he got closer to it, the smokestack proved to be connected to a lumber mill, which was just outside of a small town. There was no way he could avoid walking straight through it, because one side of the town was bordered by a river, and the other edge backed up to a sheer cliff face, so Earle Edgar had no other choice. He walked right through it on the one and only road.

 

     Gillian Rochelle glanced out her kitchen window and saw the ugliest woman she’d ever seen walking by on the road. She was dressed like a tramp, with tight slacks and a skin-tight tube top, which gave no clue to the fact she was a woman, and knee-high logging boots. Her hair was cut almost like a man’s, and she staggered down the street more like a drunken dock worker than a woman.

     “George,” she said to her husband, “you’ve just got to see this!”

     He came to the window and said, “What? I don’t see---oh my god, would you look at her; pure trailer trash!”