Page 129 of Wicked Pickle

DIESEL

Merrick and I stand in the middle of the craziest mess the Leaky Skull has ever seen.

The side wall has been knocked out to accommodate the new bathrooms plus a bigger stage for bands. Heavy duty plastic flaps cover the opening as workers stack two-by-fours on the ground to frame out the addition.

“This is going to be a mess for a while,” Merrick says.

“At least it’s happening.”

Two-Shit shoves aside a flap to peer in. “You got any beer in there?”

Merrick shakes his head. “Won’t be reopening for a couple of months at least.”

Two-Shit slaps a hard hat on with a grin. “I guess I better get to it, then.”

“Hey!” I say. “You’re on the crew?”

“Hell yeah. You think I got nothin’ to do but drink beer and bang my ol’ lady?” He straps on a tool belt. “I been a crew leader longer than you two have been pissin’ in a toilet.”

“Nice,” Merrick says. “Then we’re in good hands.”

“I reckon,” Two-Shit says. “Boss man wants your schematic, though. You got it?”

“It’s on my desk,” I say. “I can get it.”

Two-Shit steps inside the flap. “I’ll come with you.”

“I’ll stay out here,” Merrick says. “It’s fun to watch.”

Two-Shit smacks him on the shoulder. “Learn a real trade, kid. Get your hands dirty.”

“I got them dirty enough in the desert,” he says.

Two-Shit nods at that. “I believe it. Glad you two didn’t re-enlist. The beer at Spanky’s is overpriced pisswater. Everybody’s ready to come back.”

“Good to know,” Merrick says.

I lead Two-Shit through the swinging doors. He looks around the kitchen. “Didn’t even know you had a grill back here.”

“We’ve made burgers since we opened,” I say.

“Well, fuck me sideways. Maybe you ought to have a goddamn menu.”

I grin at him. “It’s in the works.”

When we step into the office, I spot a patch on his vest that reads, “Arnold.”

“That your name? Arnold?” I ask.

“What my mama gave me, God rest her soul. But don’t call me that off the clock, or I’ll box your ears.”

I laugh. “Understood.” I rummage around the papers strewn on the desk.

When I pick up the binder with the building plans, the corner of my sketchbook peeks out.

Two-Shit spots it right off and pulls it out. “You a drawing man?”

“Used to be.”

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