BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 123 car to the other. He was also snoring, which caused me to entertain thoughts of homicide for about a hundred miles. However, Pete had something more noxious and offensive to foist on us, and did it repeatedly. For those not in the know, an SBD is what‟s known as a “silent, but deadly” fart. You can‟t hear a thing. I suppose, if either of us dared watch Pete as he slept, we might‟ve seen greenish-yellow fumes rising from him, but there‟d be no other advance warning. Pete launched his first salvo only a few miles out of Milwaukee. It crept up on us, and I noticed it first. Since I smoked and Bob didn‟t, I kept my window ajar an eighth of an inch to draw the smoke out. It also summoned Pete‟s residue. When it hit me, I turned to Bob, looking at him as if it he, not Charles Manson, did the Sharon Tate murders. “You fuckin‟ prick, did you do that?” He glared back at me. “Did I do wh oh, fuck me! What the hell is that?” We eyeballed each other a second, then accepted our penalty. We knew what we had to do, even if it was a gruesome idea. <strong>At</strong> eighty miles per hour, with a chill index around twenty degrees below zero, we opened our windows. Rolled „em all the way down. Bob spun and gave Pete a look of loathing. “Wake up, you fat motherfucker! Wake up and stop that shit!” Pete never once interrupted his snoring. Not even when Bob shook him. Every mile, all the way back to Lansing, three-hundred miles or more, he farted. It seemed we‟d just get the air cleared enough to remove our noses from our coats, put the windows up, and we‟d smell another stink bomb. I‟m not sure I can recall an uglier trip in my life. So, here‟s to you, Pete. You earned the title of World Champion Farter, at least, as far as Bob and I were concerned, that weekend. Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 124 CHAPTER NINE One of the guys in our crowd was an enigma in every respect. His name was Buddy Frahm. I‟ve only known one other person in my life much like Buddy, a guy named Rick Taranto. Rick was an Italian-Jew I met while I sold cars. He was a little guy, maybe five-four, with a big guy complex. He was every bit as sarcastic as Don Rickles. A complete wiseass in every respect. Most of the guys I knew couldn‟t stand Rick. Almost all his customers were women. They liked him, for some reason, but men seemed averse to Rick moments after they met him. I could take Rick in small doses. Maybe an hour at a time, and not every day of the week. We‟d get along, then he‟d say or do something to piss me off, and I‟d have to walk away before I killed him. When he found his ex-wife was having sex with most of the officers in a small town outside of Lansing, the Williamston, Michigan police department, he didn‟t take it Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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