Tijuana Donkey Showdown by Adam Howe

Author:Adam Howe [Howe, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781936964031
Publisher: Comet Press
Published: 2016-12-09T05:00:00+00:00

4.

* * *

Shelby disinfected her hands and pulled on latex gloves. She took what she needed to operate from her medicine bag, placing everything neatly on a bar towel she’d unfurled across the pool table. “I need a razor,” she said.

Walt returned moments later with his electric razor. “Best I can do.”

Shelby buzzed Enrique’s belly and then gave him the local. The needle punctured his swollen belly with a sound like punch pliers popping through leather. Feeling queasy already, I turned my head and closed my eyes and sucked deep breaths. “Exactly what am I doing here, Doc?”

“Just stay where you are, Mr. Levine.” She began making the incision, slitting the donkey’s belly along the line of the sutures. The scalpel popped through the stitches, sounding like a carpet knife slicing slowly through a thick rug. “Hold this,” Shelby said, and though my eyes were closed, I could hear the smug smile in her voice.

Then she slapped something squishy and wet in my hand. Warm liquid oozed through my fingers and spattered onto the felt top of the pool table. I shuddered and choked down my gorge. I heard Walt chuckle. “Y’alright there, Reggie? Looking a little green, son.” His voice grew distant, floating away above me like a helium balloon; like Harry Muffet’s giant inflatable effigy breaking free from its moorings and drifting silently across town.

And that’s about all I remember of the operation, because down I went.

I came around about a half-hour later, still lying flat-out on the floor. People were moving around me like I was a piece of furniture. Fucking Walt … I bet he hadn’t even tried to sit me up. I could hear Enrique snoring on the pool table above me. Then Marlene stepped over me, her ass looming into view like a flabby Death Star. She was still wearing nothing but her G-string and pasties, and was holding up an IV-bag that was hooked to the donkey.

Shelby was cleaning her instruments. She glanced down at me and smirked.

“Aren’t you a little squeamish for a boxer?”

“How’s the jackass?” I croaked.

“Stable. Considering what he’s been through, it’s a miracle he survived.”

“A miracle, amen,” Lou agreed enthusiastically. “Praise God!”

Shelby frowned at Enrique. “I’m still concerned about this bruising on his face—”

I clutched the edge of the pool table and hauled myself to my feet. “He fell on his face when he keeled over,” I told Shelby. “Right, guys?”

I shot Walt a shitty look for not rolling me into the recovery position when I passed out, or at least sliding a pillow under my head, but he was staring gravely at something on the edge of the pool table. I figured he was estimating how much it’d cost him to replace the felt tabletop, or if he could get away with leaving it stained with donkey blood.

Then I saw the five plastic-wrapped bricks of white powder.

“That was inside him?”

“Sewn under his hide,” Shelby said.

Walt looked at me and said, “It’s primo yayo, Reggie.”

His eyes were big as saucers, near most bursting from his skull.

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