Plaster City (A Jimmy Veeder Fiasco)
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Jimmy Veeder and Bobby Maves are back at it, two years after the events of Dove Season—they’re not exactly the luckiest guys in the Imperial Valley, but, hey, they win more fights than they lose.
Settled on his own farmland and living like a true family man after years of irresponsible fun, Jimmy’s got a straight life cut out for him. But he’s knocking years off that life thanks to fun-yet-dangerous Bobby’s booze-addled antics—especially now that Bobby is single, volatile, profane as ever, and bored as hell.
When Bobby’s teenage daughter goes missing, he and Jimmy take off on a misadventure that starts out as merely unfortunate and escalates to downright calamitous. Bobby won’t hesitate to kick a hornets’ nest to get the girl to safety, but when the rescue mission goes riotously sideways, the duo’s grit—and loyalty to each other—is put to the test.
coli in it for flavor. All this nutrition nonsense is horseshit. There weren’t such thing as antioxidants, electrolytes, or superfoods ten years ago. Now I’m supposed to be afraid to sit on the shitter at the park toilets, eat an unorganic apple, and not lie down on a hotel bed. Shit, man, I ain’t the kind of guy that dies of old age. And I’m damn sure that someone else’s dry cum or piss or whatever else is on this blanket ain’t going to kill me.” “Okay, you convinced me. Lie down on your
that,” Bobby said. “But even I’ll only slam my head into a brick wall so many times before I give up or pass out or go out to the shed and find my jackhammer. And The Thing That Should Not Be had a big bag of cookies under the seat. Seriously, I haven’t had a Nutter Butter since I was eight.” Big Piwi rose from the tiny chair, leaving its legs sharply bowed, a wonder that it hadn’t collapsed under his weight. He raked all the cookies on the table into his cookie bag with his forearm and
and she’s just old. Worn down by my dad’s shit and life and all the hard that comes with it. Am I different than Rudy? Am I?” When I realized the question wasn’t rhetorical, I answered. “You do your drinking. More than most. But you work. More acres than me. Never saw the booze get in the way. Until recently. With Gris and stuff. You’re heading down a bad path. It ain’t been good, man.” Bobby looked back to the spot he had been staring at. I followed his eyes, but there was nothing but
frightened by the sound. They didn’t exactly run away, but they retreated, doing their best to maintain their dog dignity. I finally dug out my phone and called 911. I gave the too-calm lady our location and told her that my friend had been shot, but kept the details vague. She instructed me to be patient and apply pressure to the wound. Patience. Pressure. I would have repeated it as a mantra, if Bobby and I didn’t have a few things to discuss before he passed out and the ambulance
his life. Bobby looked down at the pistol in his hand, thought about it for a moment, but let it fall to the ground. One of the bikers pulled the gun from my waistband. EIGHTEEN “Is that Julie?” Chucho asked me. I still had her draped over my shoulder. He bent to get a look at her face. “You fuckers don’t give up.” He walked to Bobby and said, “I had dreams about seeing you again. Beating your ass.” Bobby smiled. “That’s the thing about dreams. They’re always about things