Free CRUDDY by Lynda Barry Page A

I’d swallowed gulps of sand.
    “Give up?” asked the father. “You owe me fifty bucks. Them are pronghorns. Some people are wild about them, but I never could stand the flavor. You know what they mean by gamey? I’ve dressed a few. They say the sausage ain’t bad. Never tried it.”
    We rolled on through the plucked world. He huffed his last cig down to the filter and his lips made a little popping sound when he threw it out the window.
    He yawned and then I yawned, and he said, “It’s catching.”
    He said, “Talk to me, Clyde, ask me some questions. Ask me anything. I’ll always give you a straight answer.”
    I said, “Where are we going?”
    He said, “Oh, that’s a surprise.”
    He said, “Clyde, we are knife people and have always been knife people and people who use guns are pismires. But I want you to know there is a rifle in the car with us. We’re knife people but there’s always exceptions. There could come a situation where we are glad we have it, understand me?”
    I nodded even though I didn’t and he smiled and showed his curved yellow-gray teeth. Did I mention I loved the father? At the beginning of the journey I loved him a lot. They say love for a father is natural and nothing can change it. I don’t know about that.
    “Shit,” he said. “Out of gas and out of smokes. Better start saying your prayers, Clyde.”
    The time ticktocked undisturbed for a few miles and then across the horizon I saw the silhouette of telephone poles and a square shack up on cinder-block legs. The father said, “We’re saved.”
    It was painted a faded-out pink. Shaky circles were drawn on in tan and brown. On the door it said,
    POKY DOT LOUNGE
    NO MINOR
    NO LOITER
    NO INDIAN
    Someone had added an “A” to the end of INDIAN and then wrote “Fuck ALL people of INDIANA. INDIANA people sucks SHIT!!!”
    The Turtle was laughing again. He was curling and uncurling himself like a shrimp and laughing hard.
    “That’s IT?” said Vicky. “I’m starting to hate you guys.”
    “Tell it again,” said the Turtle.
    “No,” said Vicky. “The money. Tell me it’s real.”
    “It’s real,” I said. “And I want you all to keep acting very normal. Turtle, you need to pick up your stash because it fell out of your pocket and then we should get up very normally and walk very normally away from here because there is a cop watching us.”
    The Turtle took off running. He tore across the street and cut down an alley. He was amazingly fast considering his shoes. The cop was in an unmarked car and he wasn’t wearing a uniform but I knew he was a cop, I’m a trained cop spotter, I know their ways. He pulled out rolling slow, keeping his eyes on the Turtle and turning down the same alley.
    “Where?” said Vicky. “Where’s a cop?” She was looking in every direction.
    I said, “He just left. He just went down the alley after the Turtle. The car that just left. That was a cop.”
    “What car?” said Vicky. “I can’t believe how you lie.” She picked up the Turtle’s stash box and wiggled it. “We got it.” She dropped it into her purse and then pulled out a mirror to check her face.
    “Roberta, I have a question I really want to ask you but it’s personal to me, OK? But you have to tell me the truth, because I really want a truthful answer. Swear to god, OK? Swear to Jesus?”
    “OK,” I said.
    She pointed to her missing eyebrow. She said, “Roberta, is this noticeable?”
    The first lie I ever told her was right then.



Chapter 14
    ND BEHIND the Poky Dot Lounge a train came roaring, coal cars filled and packed down into rooftop shapes that can survive the wind. A Northern Pacific, at least a mile long. And I was standing by the car watching it and the father was around the other side taking a pee and then he came up very quiet behind me and he put his arms around me and squeezed me to him and said, “You like trains, little girl?”
    And then he screamed, “SON OF A BITCH!” and tried to grab