Lake Elsinore, California, 1989, 10:00 AM.
I'm bored. I'm outside my uncle's house staring up at an extension cord running from the corner of my uncle's roof, across the back yard, over the fence and into a vacant lot. Bruce (my uncle and notorious pothead) sidles up beside me and asks what I'm looking at.
"I'm wondering where this extension cord goes?"
"Over the fence," he replies while trying to choke back a cloud of bong smoke.
"That much I can tell. I was just curious what is on the other end."
"Well, it goes to Bill's. He needed to plug in his fridge and stuff. They cut off the power to the old "Fat Farm" and I told him this would be cool. Peek over the fence."
It's a brick wall more than a fence. I'm short, it's tall, so, I stack a couple of random things in the yard, step up and peek over this six foot cinder block behemoth and see the cord (It's actually many cords spliced together) running through a vacant lot of about 50 yards and over the roof of a large rectangular single-story building on the other side.
"Is that the Fat Farm?"
"It was. Fat chicks would stay there until they got skinny or some shit like that. Bill was the caretaker. Now he just lives there."
"But, you said it is closed, right?"
"Yep, its just Bill and Stacy there now."
I'm about to turn and ask a few follow up questions when a pale skinny face pops up in front of me on the other side of the fence. Its a worn and twitchy face from hard living and bad decisions. Messy hair and a white trash goatee lead me to correctly assume this is Bill.
Eyes glazed, Bill looks me up and down and says, "Where's Bruce?"
I point a thumb over my shoulder as Bruce answers, "right here, dummy."
"Hey Bruce, man, I found the main breaker boxes that must be the problem. They fucked with the wiring or something. You can fix that right? Right? I mean you're an electrician or something right?"
Looking completely confident for no reason Bruce says, "Yep. Be there in a few. Jason, you wanna help?"
Bill interrupts quickly, "Whoa, Bruce, man, is that a good idea? I don't know how legal this is and we have Tuffy to worry about."
It's no problem, Bill." Bruce replies, "We'll be in and out before Tuffy can fuck with us or anybody knows we are there."
Bill agrees, "Alright, man. Let's do this before Stacy gets back."
Now, a few things before we move forward. Bruce is NOT an electrician. He thinks he is, but he is not. Bill was asked to keep the property clean and well kept until the owner of the building could sell it. It has been six months since Bill was given that assignment and they recently turned off all power to the building and asked Bill to vacate the premises. He did not. Now we are going to try and restore power before Stacy gets back and/or we get killed by whatever Tuffy is (I assume it is a large guard dog of some sort).
Bill scurries off like a tweaked out rat and I follow Bruce back to the garage. He gathers some tools, takes a couple rips off the pipe, and off we go to do some good.
Bruce double checks the various tools in his ridiculously large tool belt while he mumbles to himself and I try to hold back my laughter. After his mental inventory is complete he looks at me and asks if I'm ready. I nod, he takes a drag, and we set out around the fence and across the vacant lot next door. The side of the "Fat Farm" looks like a motel. Exterior doors for individual rooms line the entire side of the building, totaling about 20 rooms in all. Its bigger than I thought it would be and I'm anxious to see the rest of the property. Overgrown trees and tall weeds line the perimeter and it's obvious that Bill doesn't do much to keep the place looking like anything other than an old run down building.
We come around to the front and I walk up to peer through the glass double doors. I can see a reception counter to the right and a few offices to the left, but the large glass wall straight ahead catches my eye. Turns out the building is a large rectangle with interior glass walls revealing what used to be an open air courtyard right in the middle. Living quarters line both sides with various weight loss facilities on both ends. Everything is dark, dusty, and dirty. Bruce taps me on the shoulder and motions around the other side. He puts a single finger to his pursed lips in a silent "shh" then points towards the inside and mouths the word "Tuffy." I consider the warning, nod, then follow him around the corner.
I immediately stop for a double take when we get to a full view of Bill's side of the building.
Fred Sanford would be envious of this nightmare of scattered crap. I see old lawnmowers with various engine parts thrown around them, 2 old refrigerators, a rusty dryer laid on its side, bicycles in various stages of disrepair, trash, junk, shit all over the place, and Bill sitting on a milk crate with a not so bright look on his face staring at an old TV.
He looks up from his TV repair, "Hey, Bruce, man. You made it!"
"I said I'd be here and here I am. You remember Jason."
"Who?"
"Jason. My nephew. You met a little while ago."
"Jason?"
"Yes, Jason, I told you he was gonna help."
Trying to jog his memory by scratching his wiry chin hair he replies, "Oh yeah, Jason, man, how you doing? You know anything about fixin' TVs?"
"Nope. I'm just here to help Bruce."
"Right, right... too bad, huh? Well, this TV used to work, but now the picture is all fucked up. Ah, fuck it. You guys hungry? I got stuff to eat in the apartment."
He heads toward the only open door. I come up behind him and see that his apartment is about as clean as the parking lot. I also notice a single red extension cord coming in from outside that is spliced into at least 6 others and powering various appliances.
Bill circles around the kitchen and says, "Well, maybe I don't have shit to eat. You guys want me to go get something?"
Bruce replies, "I think we are short on time, right? We can eat later."
"Right, right, Bruce, man, good call. Stacy will be back soon and the Boss Man will be here tomorrow to check things out."
I'm thinking to myself there is no way this place will look any better by tomorrow when we hear a woman's voice yelling outside.
"Bill? Where the fuck are you?"
Bill leads the way back outside and I see the infamous Stacy, yelling, with one hand on her hip and the other flicking the ash off her cigarette. Her friend Rhonda is next to her and they look like low rent prostitutes. Lots of denim and big hair capped off with painted on make-up and 6-inch stilettos. It's like a bad Madonna video. She's ranting and raving at Bill when she stops and stares at me.
She points her twitchy cigarette hand at me and asks, "Who the fuck is that?
Bill replies, "That's Bruce, man. You know Bruce."
"No, retard. Who is that?' she's still pointing at me.
"Oh, that's, uh, Jeff. He's Bruce's cousin or something."
I break in, "I'm Jason, I'm Bruce's nephew."
She continues, "Well, I don't know why you need more people to help you do nothin'. You need to clean this shit up before tomorrow and you haven't done a damn thing by the look of it. Now get your lazy ass over here and help me with these bags."
Bill stands there. No movement. Its an awkward few seconds before Bill looks around the group, looks at Stacy, then asks, "Me?"
"Yes, dumb ass! You! I'm not asking Jeff to get my bags for me."
I break in again, "Actually, my name is Jason."
"Jeff, Jason, whatever your damn name is."
Bill looked stunned. Stacy starts mumbling something to Rhonda. Bill turns to Bruce and I and asks us to give him a little time to calm Stacy down. Bruce just looks high and unfazed, but agrees to come back after the situation has calmed down. I'm following Bruce back the way we came and I ask what the plan is. Bruce says this is normal and will resolve itself in an hour or so.
I'm disappointed over the quick exit, but excited about the return trip. As we pass the front of the building, Bruce again gives me the silent warning not to disturb Tuffy. I spend the next hour or so lounging around Bruce's den with visions of a monster dog attacking us in my head. Eventually, Bruce strolls into the room and says it time to try this again. I give a little smile and pry myself off the couch, "Let's go."
Submitted March 14, 2016 at 11:25PM by ducky4223 http://ift.tt/1RikgnD shortstories
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