Road's Cannon

 

 

The Boom

 

     Located at various positions around Road's cannon were 5 wetbacks from Meh-hee-ko.

     This was Poncho and his pals.

     Poncho was the sharp hombre who'd slow danced so close with Mary the night before.  He had also slept that one cold night in the back room of the gas station in the hills.  With him that night had been Memo, who was taller, and lean and strong.

     Memo, at the moment, stepped back from the cannon's snout, with the ramming stick at rest in his hands.

     A 13 year old boy, Cid, stood at the rear of the cannon, waiting patiently like the man he consistently strained to be, had to be, if he was to survive the hard life cut out for him on the Ramona valley egg ranch above the border where he worked long hours.  Once he had the money Road was going to pay him, he no longer would have to work these long hours ~ not for a few years anyway.  He lived below the border.

     At the moment he had an unlit stick match in his hand that shook slightly and was poised next to the cannon's fuse.  Thus the need for patience.

     This 13 year old wetback was also lean ~ due to hard work and the absence of luxuries like over eating.

     Juan, 23 years old, the oldest of Poncho's pals, stood on the other side of the cannon from Memo.  The cannon was, of course, aimed bold and awesome at the church's front door.

     Juan also worked at the egg ranch ~ and lived in Mexico.  He drove himself and little Cid to Ramona and back 6 days a week, in an old '38 Dodge pick-up truck ~ painted black.  Juan also could take a long boner of a vacation when paid by Road.

     Scattered on the street below the cannon's muzzle were numerous empty rice boxes.  One empty rice box was still in Juan's hand.  This box had been the last one to have its contents spilled down the cannon's barrel.

     On their way to the wedding, Road had stopped at a big grocery store in San Diego on the corner of College Avenue and El Gringo Boulevard, had bought all the boxes of rice on the shelf.  There was a lot of rice in Road's cannon ~ for Tulip's wedding.

     Road had also bought a quart bottle of whiskey and a box of cigars at the liquor store across the boulevard from the grocery store.

     As for the illegal aliens (or wetbacks), Road had picked them up at the end of the dirt road he turned down while traveling Highway 94 ~ a preconceived plan.  Poncho and his pals had hiked a short trail from Mexico to the rendezvous spot.

     Poncho, by the way, had learned some English in Tijuana since he'd last seen Road a few weeks earlier at the Mobil gas station ~ thus piece by piece with a lot missing out he was able to tell Road about the 12 cannons in Pedro Mendez's abandoned garlic mine.

     Pedro Mendez was Poncho's uncle.

     And Poncho, at the moment, was sitting in the driver's seat of Road's truck, which was idling.

     So ~

     Road's cannon had a cannon crew.  And Road's cannon was aimed at the big brick church's opened double front door out of which Tulip and he had exited.  When all the other people came running out after Road and Tulip, Road yelled, "Ole!"

     That was the signal for little half smiling, half sneering Cid to strike his match.  So he struck it across the round top of the cannon and set what flame he had to the cannon's fuse ~ and stepped back with his ears plugged.

     Poncho gunned the truck's engine.

     Road hopped into the cab, dragged Tulip with him.

     The people charged.

     Rice explosively bloomed out of the cannon's mouth ~ a forceful dry splash of wedding cheer!

     The boom was so loud that the windshield in Road's truck cracked.

     Some of the charging wedding goers (or leavers) ducked.  Others fell over.  The rest bravely accepted the stingy wedding cheer in their faces.  One young man fainted.  Many lay on the ground afraid to open their eyes, thinking they might be dead.  Only one person was shot incurably blind by the rice: the mother of the bride, who could now add blindness to her woes and her crippled back.

     Some people have no luck.

     Memo, Juan, and Little Cid jumped into the rear of the truck, thru the rear doors ~ and the 5th crew man, a Mexican whose name was, yes, San Diego, bolted the doors shut from the inside as driver Poncho punched the truck smokey down the street.

     Tulip raised a quizzical glance at Road, as he peered at the rear view mirror.  Tulip had just heard him say softly, maybe even reverently, "Dominus Vobiscum."

     That's Catholic latin for, "The Lord be with you."

 

 

What Kind Of Courage Is This?

 

     Tulip sat like a stone on the wooden stool tied into the corner of the truck's cab.  She sat facing Road with the back of her head against the boom cracked windshield.  Road stood in front of her, directing Poncho where to turn, and telling him to go fast.

     Road's arm was braced across the passenger side's door-less entrance.  He was standing like an ancient Roman general might have, very straight back, very in control but for a twitch of his left cheek.  He didn't want Tulip to jump out, so his arm on an instant's notice was ready to swoop down to catch her, just in case.

     As he directed Poncho left or right or straight or fast or "watch out for that little kid," who was chasing a ball across the street, Road's voice got rockier and rockier.  Soon enough he couldn't talk at all.

     "What's 'de matter?" asked Poncho.

     Road shook his head with a tight jaw, started shaking on his legs uncontrollably.

     "Are you dancing?" snidely asked Tulip.

     Road couldn't answer anybody just now.

     Juan, sitting cross legged in the rear, opened the whiskey bottle, passed it forward.  Little Cid grabbed Road's arm, stuck the bottle in his shaking hand.  Spilling some of it, Road jammed the bottle neck into his mouth, gulped hugely.  The fiery medicine burnt a trail down his throat, warmed the core of his being, set things just about right.

     Finally, like a cement mixer full of dry sand, he managed to say to Poncho, "It's just that some times I get so God damned scared."

     Poncho didn't understand all the gringo words, but he knew what Road meant.

     He motioned for the bottle.  Road handed it to him.  Sometimes Poncho got scared too.

 

 

On Strike

 

     They all had a pull at the whiskey bottle ~ except Tulip.  Her life and love and pride were wounded ~ like a torn rose.  But still, she was dry eyed and aloft ~ hard ~ like a rock.  She was not going to share booze with these ~ these grub worms.

     As they clanged huskily by a fire station, and as Road was lifting the bottle to his lips for another hot contribution to what courage he had, he saw in front of the fire station a flashy uniformed police man standing idly on the sidewalk holding a sign.  The sign read:

 

ON STRIKE

San Diego City Police Department

(harassed by low wages,

petty rules, and no love)

 

     Road, and then Poncho, waved to the police man.  He waved back ~ with no smile.

     Road grinned to himself ~ screwed the lid onto the whiskey bottle.

     Tulip watched Road grin ~ and hated him.

 

 

Two Minute Husband

 

     Back at the church, inside on an altar step, stood Tulip's two minute husband ~ alone, sad eyed, and wearing an expensive rented tuxedo, gold lace on the collar of a baby blue coat and down the sides of the satin fine black slacks.

     He was married now.  He had boat tickets in his pocket for the honeymoon.  He and Tulip were going to go to Catalina Island ~ with its lusty clean beaches ~ and make lusty leg twisting love all night long in a wide bed fit for royalty, in an out of sight and too expensive hotel ~ also fit for royalty.  It was his own money ~ and he was eager to spend it on the most beautiful damsel, his love, this universe had ever forged.  And she was kidnapped.

     Some how, he'd equaled her dreams.  Some how, she had, in turn, equaled his dreams.  Some how, he and her had been ripped away from each other ~ on their wedding day!

     "My name's Rip Lincoln," he mumbled to himself and to what ever was left of God.  "And my ship's sinkin'."

     His eyes grew red.  He blinked.  His arms hung motionless at his side.  He had not expected to be a two minute husband.

     As if suddenly waking from a dream, he looked around himself.  He was fearfully alone.  People were dashing about, even talking to him.  The priest was a real fool, trying to take his arm.  But he, Rip Lincoln, was alone.

     "Don't touch me," he said to the flabby cheeked priest ~ almost deadly.

     People ~ some even his good friends ~ were staring at him.  He hardly cared.  He turned around, gazed up at the replica of crucified Jesus Christ and His shot off toe.  Half the toe was still there, more than half.  He stepped up closer to the altar, examined the toe closer, found that the bullet had really only trimmed the toe nail ~ some what sloppily.  On the altar was the chalice ~ and there was red wine in it.  Rip Lincoln picked up the chalice, examined its engravings, and drank all the wine.  It was tasteless.  He set the empty chalice down gently ~ walked behind stage.

     In the priest's little dressing room, on a dresser, were two carefully rolled marijuana joints, gifts from a friend, for him and Tulip after the wedding.  He sniffed back his tears, picked up one joint, lit it with his lighter, another wedding gift.  With the joint 'tween his lips, he inhaled deeply ~ his eyes closed.  It was good pot.  The heavy load in his head lost a few anchors, floated a little ~ which provided a better view.

     He thought about how four years earlier Tulip had dropped Road, chosen him instead.  Obviously Road had never accepted her choice ~ or her free will.

     I've got to get her back, thought blond-haired Rip Lincoln, no longer misty, as he inhaled deeply upon the joint 'tween his lips.

     And I'm going to get her back!

 

 

"U-Haul Does Not Sell Their Trailers"

 

     At the U-Haul Trailer Rental on University Avenue and Bean Street, Road wanted to buy a U-Haul trailer, told the young man behind the counter he'd never be able to return it.

     "U-Haul does not sell their trailers," said the young man behind the counter, cringing slightly because this could be the beginning of an unwanted argument.

     "Why not?" said Road.

     Yeap, an unwanted argument.  The young man shrugged, twirled a pencil in the air and let it fall to the floor.  "I don't know," he said, "I only work here."

     "Okay, I'll rent it," said Road, scratching the back of his head with a finger nail that was too long.  "But it will be a while before I return it ~ maybe never."

     "Okay with me.  It's your hide."  The young counter man reached under the counter for a form sheet.  "Let's see your driver's license."

     Road gulped.

 

 

The Department Of Motor Vehicles Puts Road

In A Bad Mood

 

     The 5 wetbacks ~

     Poncho

     Memo

     Juan

     Little Cid

     San Diego ~

     And unhappy Tulip and shrewd calculating Road ~ and the rustic old Civil War Howitzer Cannon ~ went via Road's truck to the Department of Motor Vehicles ~ so Road could get a new driver's license.  His old driver's license had expired while he'd been in prison.  He'd forgotten all about it.  He was glad it wasn't a cop who reminded him.

     Lady Luck and I consistently are making love to each other, thought Road.  I don't know what I'd do without her.  Her and Lady Gutter.

     Once Road got his driver's license they all went back to the U-Haul Trailer Rental.  Now Road was flustered furious, because of the long lines he had to wait in at various Department of Motor Vehicles windows ~ not to mention the written test (he barely passed) and the photograph (without his cap).

     So finally ~

     Road and the cannon crew (minus San Diego) clomped into the U-Haul Trailer Rental office.

     "There are U-Haul Rentals all over San Diego, aren't there?" asked Road at the same young man behind the counter.

     "Yes," said the young man, not liking the look in Road's eye,  "We also have them throughout the entire nation."

     "Good.  Then it won't matter if we take the trailer free.  You can spare it."

     The young U-Haul man's mouth fell open, and Memo and Juan tied him up.

 

 

Tulip's Beauty

 

     San Diego, with bandito cells floatin' in his blood, sat in the back of Road's truck with Tulip of the same Latin race but "Americanized."  He was guarding her ~ and was 18-years old.  Tulip was 22-years old ~ and her beauty had the Grand Canyon beat by miles.

     And San Diego had seen post cards of the Grand Canyon.

     He cooed to Tulip in his native tongue.

     Tulip didn't understand ~ turned her head.

     She sure did have the Grand Canyon beat ~ especially dressed so pretty and delicate in her wedding gown.

     San Diego gulped at it ~ her beauty.

     "Oh senorita," cooed San Diego.

     Tulip fixed him with a hard stare.

     San Diego raised his eye brows, clucked his tongue suggestively.

     Tulip turned away.

     San Diego's knee fell and touched her knee ~  and of course rubbed suggestively against it.

     Tulip pulled her knee away.

     "Ohhhhhhhhhh senorita," cooed San Diego in a tormenting way.  His heart pounded ~ full of lust.

     Tulip's heart pounded also ~ but not with lust.  She pulled a book from behind one of the 1 by 2 sticks that ran along each shelf to hold the books in.  "Here, read a book," she said in English ~ and thru it hard at San Diego's head.  It hit him in the nose.

     He yelped ~ grabbed the back of her neck with his hand and powered her lips to his own.

     Her fists beat his back, but to no avail.  She pulled his hair.

     He took a breather ~ slapped her around a little bit.  He hungrily plunged his bad breath into her again ~ a happy reunion for San Diego, but not for Tulip.

     She tried to scream ~ but the sound was lost down the murky cavern of San Diego's throat.

 

 

Road Rescues Tulip From San Diego

 

     Road stepped quietly into the cab of the truck ~ peered into the rear where San Diego had Tulip's wedding gown torn completely off.

     San Diego also had his cock out of his pants ~ and pressed hard against Tulip's naked summer sun tanned thigh.  It was lucky for Tulip that San Diego had not got around to ripping her panties off also ~ or he might have drilled the jungle hidden cave of bliss 'tween her undeniably scrumptious legs ~ with that floppy undisciplined boner he had.

     Road studied the situation longer than he had too.  He almost lost himself completely ~ like in a movie theater ~ watching the spectacle of San Diego's tongue slipping between Tulip's fine bra and finer breast, one of his hands ripping the bra off, the other holding her mouth quiet, his mouth drooling, scooping up the brown nipple and white breast ~ as if his mouth was a toilet plunger feasting on a yummy apple.

     Road, unnoticed, reached over San Diego and Tulip 'til his hand was under the lowest book shelf to his right.  He pulled out a screw driver about 3 feet long.  He held the giant tool by its screw driving end, and walloped San Diego's kidney with the hard plastic handle.

     San Diego screamed like an atomic bomb ~ curled up his body in pain, next to Tulip.

     Tulip lay still, breathing hard, too exhausted and too full of cum scared shock to move.

     Road twirled the screw driver in the air, caught it by the handle, meanly slapped the steel end of it against San Diego's shoulder.

     "Zip up and get out of this truck," said Road.  His voice quivered slightly.

     San Diego didn't move.

     "Now, San Diego."

     "He no comprendee English," said Poncho, who had been standing outside the truck quietly observing the adventure.

     With one hand Road picked up San Diego by the collar.  When San Diego's fist plowed into the side of Road's face, he let go, stumbled back, and commenced in beating San Diego with the screw driver in his other hand.  He beat him out of the truck until San Diego was walking down the side walk of Bean Street, due south.

     Leaning against a traffic light, weary Road, with the screw driver in one hand, rubbed his numb cheek with the other.  He watched the lonesome beaten figure stumble away and zip up his zipper.  Road looked up at the traffic light, which was red, and whispered to it, "I should have known.  Any one with a name like San Diego has got to be bad."

     The traffic light blinked its red eye, glared forth green ~

     With agreement.

 

 

Honeymoon Panties

 

     Inside the rear of the truck Tulip was sitting up ~ when Road returned.  He momentarily explored her physical being with squinted eyes.  It was a trial trying to keep his eyes from bulging like two full moons.  The Grand Canyon was certainly just a post card compared to her.  And Road had once seen the Grand Canyon ~ in person.

     Tulip with her brown electric eyes!

     Without a tear in them, they melted Road's soul down to a puddle of mud.

     Road pulled keys out of his pocket, crouched low in the cab, opened a locker, pulled out a pair of black jeans and a long sleeved gray work shirt.  He shut the locker and stood up.  He tossed the clothes in next to Tulip.

     "Might as well get dressed, Tulip," he said.

     All she had on were her thin white panties ~ scanty as hell.  Honeymoon panties.  And high heels.

     Her bra and wedding gown were ruined by that culprit Mexican, San Diego.  Yet she didn't cry!

     She silently slipped into the shirt ~ much too big ~ buttoned a few buttons ~ rolled up the sleeves.  She stretched her naked legs out before her ~ slightly spread ~ and leaned back on her arms.

     Like a pretty rose's thorn, she stuck into Road's eye a resentful stare.

     "I hate your guts, Ralph."

     Road stared back ~ but not so resentful.  The crotch of her panties was very narrow, and fine shiny curled hairs poked out at him from either side of it.  Road imagined every fine pubic hair supercharged with electricity.  Tulip folded up one leg and rested her elbow on its knee.  More pubic hairs poked out ~ electricuted Road's imagination.

     Nope.  Road did not stare back with resentment. 

 

(Copyright 1974, 2010)