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

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 257 Assuming that was done as a pity ploy, and probably to get me mad enough to kick the shit out of it, I ignored the whole thing. Instead, I had an idea. “You wait right here. I‟ll be back in a minute.” I went upstairs and got my .12 gauge shotgun and one shell, #6 birdshot, then came back down. I handed that David thing the shotgun and held out the shell. “Go out behind the barn,” I instructed, “and be sure you‟re facing the barn when you do it. I don‟t want all that shit on the back wall where I‟ll have to scrub it off. Blow your fuckin‟ brains out by putting this end in your mouth and pulling the trigger. I‟ll use the backhoe to bury your sorry ass, and I‟ll tell Mom you decided to move to California and start over.” I again foisted the shell at it. “You really want me to kill myself, don‟t you?” “It‟d be one goddamned good way to make you stop all that fuckin‟ whining I‟ve listened to since you were born. C‟mon, asshole, don‟t just talk about it, do it! You have a shotgun and one shell, which is all you‟ll need. If you want to commit suicide, I say go for it.” That David thing just looked at me for a while, incomprehensive. Unable to fathom what I‟d said. That I meant it. Finally, setting the shotgun aside, “I can‟t.” “Wow! There‟s a big fuckin‟ surprise.” “You‟d let me do it, wouldn‟t you?” “In a fuckin‟ heartbeat. Yup, I would.” I pointed to the gun. “There it is. Go out behind the barn and all your troubles will soon be over.” “You‟d probably like that, wouldn‟t you?” “Doesn‟t sound like all that bad an idea to me.” Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 258 “I can‟t stay here. Not with you bein‟ like that, and all these fuckin‟ rules.” “Awwwwwwww, poor little shit. Too bad. Where should I take you, then?” “Take me to Slick‟s.” “Not a problem.” We got in my car and I dropped it off at the house of a fellow doper out near Logan and Jolly. When it got out, I said, “Don‟t ever call me again.” “I won‟t, you motherfucker.” It shut my door. The only other times I heard from it over the next twenty-five years were when Mom had a medical emergency, which was every few weeks starting in the early 90s, just after I moved to California. It‟d keep me up to date in a civil conversation about how she was doing, always per Mom‟s request, then we‟d hang up. That David thing seemed to almost like it that way, calling on my 800 number with the freedom to hang up on me if it heard anything it didn‟t like. People have a tendency to draw extra courage on the phone. They‟ll say things to you they‟d never dare say to your face. I drove my Z-28 to Ontario, Canada in September, 1996, to collect an adult Irish wolfhound, Siobhan. Realizing it would be the last time I might ever see Mom, I came through Michigan on the way back. For my own safety, uncertain if I still had any outstanding warrants, I called Mom a couple hours out and told her I was on my way. I cautioned her not to tell anyone I was coming, but asked if she could have my uncle Hewitt, her younger brother, be there, too. He was really the closest thing to a father I‟d ever known. He was there, along with Grandma Thurston, who looked as if she had about a week to live. I believe she said she was ninety-six, and she sure as hell looked it. I also Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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