12

Chapter 12

Results expectation.

10:12 a.m.

It was a Thursday. Ethyl was at my house a little after 10 in the morning. This time, I didn't find her under the porch. No, she was insistently banging on the screen door and yelling in her best apocalyptic 'fire siren' voice.
"The crazy idiot's in deep monkey poo, now! You've got to do something! Come quick!  Brody! Wake up!"
Her insistence put me all the way over to alarmed. I grabbed my terrycloth bathrobe and slippers and hurried to the front door to receive her, feeling it was too early for emergencies, and we've already had our quota of those recently anyway.
"Sell crazy somewhere else; we're all stocked up here," I recalled my best Jack Nicholson impression as I lumbered through the living room.
Upon reaching the door, I was immediately grabbed by Ethyl and pulled out onto the porch. Regaining my balance, I said, "What in the world is the problem, Ethyl? And where's your water can?"
"Oh, he's gone and done it now!  Opportunity does NOT mean practicality!  You've got to come with me before more police arrive and shoot that boy to the moon. Edgar's with him, too, wrapped up in this insanely insane plot and I don't have any underwear on!"
And off she went like a bloodhound on a hot trail, in her paisley dress, Easter bonnet, ancient Whole Foods canvas shopping bag, and scuffy black patin heels, fully expecting me to follow her. So I did.