Earl paced the cell like a caged animal, finally waiting for the sheriff to show up with lunch or two ply, or news that his uncle had called back. If he had started playing it cool, two days holed up in a cell with Terrence had finally put him over the top, and he was getting agitated.
“Look, bro, it’s not a big deal, alright?”
“It is a big deal!” Earl snapped back. “I mean, we’re professionals, okay? There are just some things we don’t need to know about each other, alright?” He paced back to his bunk, tossing the crumpled, grease-stained bags off to the side so that he could sit down, but even sitting, his knee bounced uncontrollably.
“How long is the longest you’ve ever gone without shitting?” Terrence asked.
Earl wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He had begun sweating uncontrollably. “Like, three days,” Earl said.
“Three fuckin’ days? Bro, that’s not good for your intestines.”
Earl shrugged. “First time in, alright? I was stuck with a bunch of bikers with swastikas and Aryan nation tattoos. I just couldn’t go, ya know?”
“Fuck, bro. That sounds uncomfortable.”
Earl chuckled. “It was, okay. Like literally, I was afraid they were all gonna jump me and I’d end up shitting my pants or something, like, literally.” He eyed the steel toilet in the corner and the roll of single-ply. “And there they weren’t feedin’ me no sack lunches full of fried food, ya know?”
“Three fucking days.” Terrence shook his head and laid back again. “You ever seen ‘The Great Escape’?”
Earl’s leg stopped bouncing for a moment as he thought about it. “Is that the one with Paul Newman in it?”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Nah, bro. That’s ‘Cool Hand Luke’.” Terrence laughed. “Shakin’ a branch boss, shakin’ a branch.”
Earl sat forward on his bunk but realized it was a bad position with his guts tied up, so he stood up to pace again. “What’s the other one?”
Terrence smiled. “It’s like Steve McQueen, I think. It’s a WWII movie, bro.” He sat up and watched Earl try to avoid the inevitable. “He’s like, always in solitary confinement, and he’s got this baseball and a glove. He just sits there bouncing the ball off the wall the whole time.”
Earl nodded and rubbed his chin. “Yeah, yeah. He like, jumps a fence on his motorcycle or some shit.”
Terrence nodded and laid his forearm over his face, thinking he might fake a nap for a minute so that Earl could go about his business. “If I end up in prison, you gotta bring me a baseball and glove, bro.”
Earl let slip a tremulous fart, hoping that’s all it was.
A moment later, Terrence grimaced. “Fuck, bro. Just fuckin’ do it so I ain’t gotta smell that all the time.”
The door to the front offices opened, and the aces listened to footsteps coming down the hall. Earl sat down, not wanting to spook the deputy.
“You better hope the sheriff didn’t decide to bring us something healthy like a big Cobb salad or some shit.”
“Fuck, man. Like, literally.”
They watched as the deputy peered in at them. He turned the key and opened the door to find Terrence and Earl both sitting perfectly still and hopeful, but he didn’t have a meal for them, or even a roll of real toilet paper. “Alright, boys. Roll ‘em up. You guys made bail.”
“The fuck!?” Terrence hopped up. “Did George call?”
The deputy shook his head, looking slightly bewildered. “Not that I know of.” He watched them both hop to, tossing their trash into the basket and dumping their possessions back into the gallon Ziplock bags.
“Who bailed us out?” Earl asked.
“Don’t know. You guys got a guardian angel of some sort.” The deputy shrugged. “A cash bond was posted for you two through Western Union. No return information.”
Terrence and Earl glanced at each other, as confused as the deputy.
“Bro,” Terrence said.
“Maybe Uncle Icky didn’t want anybody to know?”
“Can you wire money from a fuckin’ cruise ship?” Terrence asked.
“Sweet Jesus,” the deputy scowled. “What the hell is that smell?”
Terrence laughed.
Earl pushed his way past the deputy and out into the hall. “Where’s my fuckin’ two-ply, alright?”