Free Lick Your Neighbor by Chris Genoa Page B

years to the day . Twenty-three, two plus three. What’s that equal?”
    “Five.”
    “Exactly! Five! Strange things always happen in fives, multiples of five, or in some direct or indirect relationship to five. It’s the Law of Fives! Quick, what’s today’s date.
    “The twenty-fifth.”
    Randy slammed his fist on the dash. “Bingo! Don’t you see what’s going on here? It’s obvious!”
    Dale looked at Randy like it wasn’t obvious.
    “Life has a certain order to it, Dale. A certain routine, right? Day in and day out, same shit different day. But every now and then, things get a little wonky. A man is born who says he’s the son of God, a mustached dictator decides to take over the world, a comet slams into the ocean, there are no hashbrowns for breakfast, chaos! How do these things happen? Man created society, with its rules and regulations, to keep chaos out, but chaos is sneaky. It seeps in through the cracks in the wall of order we built up around us. And my pituitary gland tells me that you made a crack!”
    “Your pituitary gland?” Dale asked.
    “Yes. The pituitary is our last remaining link to the chaotic soup that the universe was created with. It can sense when chaos is near. And right now my pituitary is throbbing.”
    “If you don’t start making sense I’m going to jump out the window.”
    “Have you ever heard of the U.S. Poultry & Egg Association?” Randy asked.
    “I work for Ferdue,” Dale said, “I know what the PEA is. They lobby for the poultry industry.”
    “ Sure they do.”
    Randy winked at Dale. Dale held back the urge to punch him in the face.
    “What would you say,” Randy asked, “if I told you that I know a man who used to work for the PEA? A troubled man, haunted by demons, scarred on both the inside and outside. A man who spends most of his days in a pub, drinking away painful memories he refuses to confront. What would you say if I told you this man’s name was Mr. Feathers? And that one night, five years ago, he leaned across the bar, put his head in my lap and said, ‘I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over a decade.’ I asked him why. He replied, ‘Because of the Auwaog. They won’t let me sleep. They wouldn’t let you sleep either, if you knew.’ Then he puked on my shoes and passed out in my crotch.”
    “Are you taking me to see this guy?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Let me out. Stop the car!”
    Dale rolled down the window and started to crawl out. Randy grabbed him by the belt.
    “Are you crazy?”
    “Crazy?” Dale came back in. “You’re blowing through stop signs and red lights like a bat out of Hell and you’re asking me if I’m crazy? Are you out of your friggin HOLY CRAP WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
    Randy turned off the road and onto someone’s driveway, swerved onto their lawn, and proceeded to drive through a string of backyards.
    “We need to stay off the main roads as much as possible. Keeping a low profile is key in these situations. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
    Randy took his eyes off the lawn for a second to send another reassuring wink Dale’s way. It didn’t make Dale feel any better about the situation, especially since the car had just bulldozed through a full clothesline. The wet clothes stuck to the windshield completely blocking the view.
    There was much screaming, some wild turning of the steering wheel this way and that, a three-hundred and sixty degree spin, a jump, a thump, and finally a calm silence as the car sat still in a small above-ground swimming pool.
    Randy turned on the wipers to clear the clothes away as water spilled into the car through the windows.
    “Maybe this was a mistake.”
    “ Maybe ?”
    “This is an above- ground pool, right?” Randy asked.
    “Looks like it.”
    “Thank God for that.”
    “Why?”
    The sides of the pools burst apart, sending the water flooding over the lawn.
    “That’s why.”
    Dale, his clothes completely soaked, got out of the car and slammed the door.
    “Wait!