Hardcase McDougal and the Huge Fucking Mystery by Blackwater Keith

Author:Blackwater, Keith [Blackwater, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: mobi

2-6

BLACK AND EVIL

LaTyrone Davis was one of the good guys. He was also a bad motherfucker.

He was something of a local legend, as so many dark-skinned fellows unwittingly become in sheltered, upper-Midwest towns. He never had a job, but he was always working. He owned a beat-up flatbed truck, and they say a man with a truck is never unemployed. Neither is a man with a thirteen-inch cock.

He did okay for himself, and could have been better off still if not for his sweet tooth—a sweet tooth for heroin and top-shelf gin.

Between delivering bales of hay, running an illegal half-price garbage pickup service, and laying his inky mega-rod to restless housewives, he tried his hand at many other money-making schemes.

He stole diamonds. He produced several moderately unsuccessful R&B albums. He could be called upon to do a little fry cooking, a little car repair, or a little murder-for-hire. He sometimes cooked meth, then called it “supah dupah meth” and charged double, selling it exclusively to naive junior high kids. In reality, it was no more supah or dupah than any other meth, but that was the genius of the system.

He had even filled in at number three wide receiver for the local arena football team at one point. No matter what formation or play was called, he would always line up in the left slot and run a deep post route to the end zone. Nobody had the balls to correct this behavior. He gained two hundred and thirteen yards on eleven receptions, including four touchdowns and a two-point conversion over the course of his career, which was only one game. When he was named player of the week and subsequently interviewed, he humbly told the sportswriter, “I'm just thankful to god for giving me the 'portunity to play football and try to make an impact for my teammates.”

He knew all the moves and danced them well—when he felt like it.

One summer, he had set up a shoe-shine stand for local businessmen. After he finished with the shoes, he would berate the businessmen for participating in “racist bullshit.” He made great tips that year, and spent them on a huge labor day party, which, in reality, just amounted to him and McDougal shooting heroin in the dumpster behind Chodeez.

Despite all these remarkable pursuits, people in town mostly identified LaTyrone Davis as a man who was quick with a smile and a helping hand. That, or “the black guy with the truck.”

Now, jammed into the front seat of that same truck with LaTyrone, the District Attorney, and a robot (Byron rode on the truck bed at LaTyrone's request) McDougal wondered if he even knew his friend at all.

“Thanks for getting us out of that pickle,” McDougal began, trying to keep his tone light and friendly, “but what the fuck are you doing fucking around with robots, you insane motherfucker?”

LaTyrone shrugged. “Some man come up to me and told me he'd sell me a real, live robot for ten dolla. Seemed like a good deal.

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