Grundish & Askew Read Free Page A

the program. He didn’t have the ability to convince them that he had a drug problem. He didn’t and he wasn’t going to play their game. He could do some short time in juvee and be out, an all-around better deal than spending two years in a warehouse having people yell at him, call him names and accuse him of every sexual perversion imaginable. Grundish didn’t even know what docking [4] was, but he was accused of doing it.
    “All right,” Grundish said. “I am getting out of here but I’m not running away. I just want to go to juvee to do my time. But, I’ll help you, Buddy. I like you. Fuck it.” Grundish leaned up over the driver’s seat and grabbed Flannigan by the neck. With one hard tug he tore Flannigan away from the steering wheel and dragged him into the back seat. Buddy jumped up over the front seat and yanked the steering wheel, cutting the car out of the way of the oncoming traffic. In the backseat Flannigan struggled against the half-nelson Grundish had locked on him. With the car pulled over on the side of the road, Buddy jumped out, opened the back door and helped drag the flailing Flannigan out of the family cruiser.
    “Dump him on the ground and let’s split in his car,” Buddy yelled at Grundish.
    “No,” grunted Grundish, holding a headlock tight on Flannigan. “Take the keys to the car, lock the doors, and get out of here on foot. I’m not going to be a part of a grand theft auto. I’ll hold him long enough for you to get out of here.”
    Buddy snatched the keys out of the car, locked the doors, and ran off into the woods while Flannigan continued to struggle against the pure muscle clamped around his neck. When Buddy was out of sight, Grundish released Flannigan, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Sorry, man. Now go get the pigs so that they can help you with your car and take me back to juvee.” Grundish lay down on the hood of the station wagon and waited for Flannigan to return with the cops.
    When he got back to juvee, Grundish got another tattoo, a heart with
Mom
written across it. Nothing original, but it was sincere. Squid was still there and had updated his equipment. Instead of the needle and ink, he now had a contraption made out of a cassette player motor, a guitar string, and various other random parts. The new equipment allowed Squid to put more detail into his work.
    Midway through the piece, Squid stopped the makeshift tattoo gun and asked, “you know that shit I told you about fucking a horse?”
    “Yeah.”
    “It ain’t true,” Squid said, grinning sheepishly. “I was just kind of fucking with your head.”
    Grundish shrugged his shoulders and sat still so Squid could finish the heart.
    •  •  •
     
    His first time in prison, Grundish didn’t know what to expect. Despite all of his talk, he was scared. Despite his size, he didn’t want to have to have to fight. Grundish could trade blows on the street if he had to and usually came out better than the other guy. Still, there is something about being the new fish that can scare the shit out of the toughest guys. Grundish had an instinct for surviving, though. Somehow he knew to stay away from the screws that caused people trouble. He knew when to stand his ground and when to walk away from other inmates. He didn’t run his mouth or talk shit. Mostly he was quiet.
    Grundish wasn’t thieving, violent, mean, or evil. He didn’t rape babies or beat up elderly people. That’s not how he ended up in prison. He didn’t rob people. He didn’t hurt people who didn’t deserve hurting. He just liked stuff. More specifically, he liked other people’s stuff. He liked to borrow their stuff. He liked to use their stuff.
    Grundish liked stuff. And there were several ways to get stuff. Grundish could have gotten a job, worked hard, saved money, and bought some stuff. That was for suckers. As with most of his life decisions, Grundish took the easy way. With a keen instinct for determining a luxury-laden house