Brush Creek Charlie - D. B. Reynolds (best pdf reader for ebooks TXT) 📗

“Then, what’s wrong, Sandy?”
“I can’t stop thinking about Bolo. I can’t stop thinking about what that motherfucker did to him. Unfortunately, I can’t get that pitted face and those rotted teeth out of my mind.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Just hold me.”
Carol scooted across the moist sheets and locked her arms around Sandy. The pair held one another with such gratitude. Sandy couldn’t hold back the tears. She had an attachment to Bolo more profound than Carol.
“Sometimes, it’s amazing how we as people latch on to animals like they’re human beings.”
“Bolo wasn’t just your average canine.”
“Babe, no other dog will ever take his place.”
Carol moved her hands over to Sandy’s more responsive body parts. “Oh Sandy, we’ll find another dog to replace Bolo.”
“Bolo’s unreplaceable.”
“Like they say, in time, all wounds heal.”
“To me, it’s like losing a lover and having to start all over again. I’ve never been the one who likes starting over when it comes to having a true love in your life.”
“Aren’t I the one and only true love in your life?”
“Certainly.”
“The more you think about it, the more it’s going to worry the hell out of you.”
“Guess you’re right.”
The full bright moonlight casted a soft light into their bedroom. Sandy and Carol rolled to their respective sides of the bed and fell asleep.


CHAPTER—4

The colossal sized kettles inside the warehouse of Gomez Foods shot big clouds of steam into the air. The mid-Fall temperatures outside reached the high forties. Charlie and the large number of Mexican men were sweating like workers on a cargo vessel. Three huge kettles of the hottest sauce imaginable cooked from the left side of the food plant. Three more kettles of cheesecake cooked from the right side. Charlie and four co-workers wore protective goggles and gloves along with surgical masks to find refuge from the fumes of the vicious sauce. The dark red sauce bubbled inside the kettles like lava from a volcano.
A dedicated worker named Jose Fernandez led the first food line. Jose was short, thin in body size, but rather handsome and articulate. Coming from a town in Mexico where hard work was no joke, he showed up to Gomez Foods on time and was always eager to do a good job. Manuel Ortiz and Daniel Villareal were his two soliders who also displayed fierce work ethics. Both were imports from Juarez who took advantage of the perks America had to offer.
The adrenalin inside of Jose was fired up. He looked at Charlie and asked, “Hey Charlie, are the hoses hooked up tightly?”
Charlie checked the hoses to make sure they were secured to the kettles and the operating machine to the food line. “The hoses are clamped on real tight.”
“And the temperature to the kettles?”
Charlie went over to the wall on the other side of the kettles. He checked the digital temperature gauges. “The temperatures are perfect for the sauce.”
“Enough glass to run through the line?”
“The counter is full of jars.”
“The palates stacked at the end of the line?”
“Stacked with the empty boxes and ready to go out to the warehouse.”
“Ready, Charlie?”
“Ready, Jose.”
Jose fixed his eyes on the nasty scar at the edge of Charlie’s neck. The scar resembled one of street warfare. Between Jose, Manuel, and Daniel, a mixture of Spanish and English dialect got tossed around like a ping pong ball. Manuel and Daniel couldn’t help but notice the deep gash on the neck of Charlie. Jose pushed a few buttons and the food line shifted into operating mode.
Small jars swung around the platform and went right down the line. Each jar was filled with the fresh hotsauce from the kettle. Manuel grabbed the warm bottles and dropped them inside of small boxes. Daniel grabbed the boxes and stacked them neatly across the thick wooden palate. The palates were filled with the boxes and taken out to the warehouse for inspection and shipment.
“Jose, I have to use the restroom,” Charlie told Jose, having worked up a sweat.
Jose ached his brain to figure out where the deep gash on Charlie’s neck came from.
“Charlie, my friend, I would like to ask you something,” Jose said, a heavy accent pouring from his voice.
“Ask me what?” Charlie said, his suspicions stirred up.
“Where’d you get that nasty scar on the side of your neck?”
“Had a bad accident this past weekend.”
“Did you get into a fight with somebody?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“The cut on your neck, it looks like somebody cut you with a sharp knife.”
“Got this cut from doing some housework.”
Jose shot off a loud giggle. “You sure you didn’t get into a scuffle with your girlfriend?”
“Very funny, Jose.”
Manuel burst into a more robust giggle. “Did you get that scar from eating pussy?”
“Eating pussy!” Charlie rattled, thrown way off guard.
“Remember in the movie ‘Scarface’?”
“Scarface? What’s that movie got to do with me having a scar on the side of my neck?”
Daniel cut into the humorous discussion. “Remember in the movie when the customs detective asked Tony Montana whether or not he got that scar on his face from eating pussy?”
“You guys are more than a handful.”
“Hey, essay, we’re only kidding around with you,” Jose said.
“Can I go to the restroom?”
“Sure, homes, you can go.”
“Thank you.”
Jose pressed a few buttons and stopped the food line operation. Charlie galloped across the food plant floor and straight to the men’s restroom. Not having the tool men usually possessed, he cautiously went over to the stool and emptied the colostomy bag. Dark yellow urine flowed into the stool. The color indicated he hadn’t drank enough water. Beer and soda were the only liquids he consumed everyday.
Charlie fastened the caps to the bag and went over to the mirror. A slight tilting of his head gave him the perfect view of his neck. The severe gash his co-workers joked about might’ve been more serious than he realized. The price for trying to attack an aggressive lesbian, especially after killing her dog, could’ve been more than he bargained for.
Tiny spurts of blood leaked from the slightly open wound. Medical attention should’ve been tops on his list of priorities. Infection was the last thing he needed crawling into his skin. Co-workers knew he’d gotten into a scuffle with somebody. Charlie washed his hands and tucked in his colostomy bag. He sprinted out of the restroom and ran straight into the owner of Gomez Foods.
The boss, Nick Di Lombardo, jumped to the side in order to keep from bumping bodies with Charlie. Nick displayed a tall and lean body frame which complimented the essence of his captivating Italian features. The brains behind Gomez Foods took one strong look at Charlie as he scoped in on the gash.
“Charlie, how’re things going inside the plant?” Nick asked, the noise inside the warehouse toppling his voice.
“They’re fine, Nick,” Charlie replied, his voice paranoid.
“Kettles running good for the Capital Punishment Hotsauce?”
“Running smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
“We’ve got a ten-thousand dollar order that needs to be shipped out before tomorrow.”
“We should be finished with those three kettles before lunchtime.”
“Great,” Nick smiled. “Things going okay with you and the other guys?”
“Better than expected.”
Nick stepped closer to Charlie. He closed in tighter on the ugly gash. “Charlie, what happened to your neck?”
“My neck?” Charlie answered nervously. He placed his hand across the nasty wound.
“Your neck, it looks like someone sliced you with a sharp object.”
“Like I told Jose and the other guys, had a bad accident doing some housework this weekend.”
Nick didn’t buy such a boldface lie. He could tell Charlie had been sliced by an opponent.
“You might wanna let a doctor take a look at it.”
“A few days from now, it’ll heal on it’s own.”
“I’m no doctor, Charlie, but you might need stitches.”
“Aw, just a little alcohol and Neosporin will take care of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Nick, I suffered worse wounds in Vietnam,” Charlie disclosed, touching himself at the mid-section. “I’ve seen guys get body parts blown off all the time. I’ve been hit a couple of times by heavy artillery. This cut on my neck is just some secondary kindergarten stuff.”
Nick observed the wound with tighter scrutiny. “Infection gets inside that wound, it could make you real sick. I’d hate to lose you, Charlie, because of negligence on your part. Gomez Foods has always been happy to have you as a valued employee.”
“Since you insist, I’ll go and see doctor in the morning.”
“Just let Jose and the others know you’ll be late tomorrow.”
“Will do, Nick.”
Both hands on the clock inside the food plant gave the time 4:00 o’clock p.m. Charlie jolted with excitement since he’d been grilled all day about the ugly wound inflicted by a gay woman. He clocked out and raced towards his Honda Accord. Workers from nearby warehouse plants and restaurants peeled apart the pavement along Southwest Boulevard.
Charlie cruised along the busy boulevard until he ventured off onto Pershing Avenue. There stood a woman on Pershing with dense smoke shooting from her engine and radiator. Frustratingly, she waited on the passenger’s side of her sky blue Ford Mustang. She wasn’t bad looking, retaining a lean and toned figure to go along with