Plaster City (A Jimmy Veeder Fiasco)
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Jimmy Veeder and Bobby Maves are back at it, two years after the events of Dove Season—they’re not exactly the luckiest guys in the Imperial Valley, but, hey, they win more fights than they lose.
Settled on his own farmland and living like a true family man after years of irresponsible fun, Jimmy’s got a straight life cut out for him. But he’s knocking years off that life thanks to fun-yet-dangerous Bobby’s booze-addled antics—especially now that Bobby is single, volatile, profane as ever, and bored as hell.
When Bobby’s teenage daughter goes missing, he and Jimmy take off on a misadventure that starts out as merely unfortunate and escalates to downright calamitous. Bobby won’t hesitate to kick a hornets’ nest to get the girl to safety, but when the rescue mission goes riotously sideways, the duo’s grit—and loyalty to each other—is put to the test.
little wave, making sure we were behind her. The house needed some repairs, but it was impeccably clean. Cracks in the walls and some water stains on the ceiling, but no visible dust and a lemony smell. The home of someone who was doing their best despite what they had to work with. We walked through the living room where Miguel played a video game and down a short hall. The woman stopped in front of a closed door. “Aquí,” she said. I reached for the knob, but the woman put a hand on my
people. Things that are a crime for an average person—a barber or a carpenter—aren’t illegal for me. The Mexican system works on a sliding scale. Crime is relative. Money is atonement.” “That’s messed up. Just because you have money doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be accountable for the things you do.” “Am I to blame for working and benefiting within a broken system? You can’t play chess on a Monopoly board. And I hate to burst your childlike bubble, but it isn’t any different on this side of
delicious. Ice cream is delicious. Both are sweet. Ergo, sweet and delicious. Maybe it’s because dates are brown and if you close your eyes, they have the texture of cockroach. But still, it’s not marmite. I dug my phone out of my pocket and tried Bobby’s cell. It went to voice mail. “Bobby, if you get this, stop what you’re doing. I don’t know what you’re doing, but whatever it is, stop. Sit on the ground, call me, we’ll go from there. Don’t move, don’t shoot anyone, and if you do, for
blazing, I could picture him losing his temper and beating someone bad. If he had found out something else about Julie, something even more fucked up than the fighting, who knew what he was capable of. It wasn’t like there were a whole slew of better suspects than the guy who had gone to the dead guy’s house to assault him. What had happened in that room? And where the fuck was Bobby? Friendships start in strange ways. Single moments bond two people together. Or does it happen
just a few days before. “He hates that fucking gate,” Bobby said. Bobby and I turned to each other and said something at the same time, and then we both stopped, started again, and then shut up. I held up my hand. “You first,” I said. “What were you going to say?” “It’s stupid. I was going to say, ‘Daddy’s coming home.’ What were you going to say?” “ ‘Father knows best—the best way to kick your ass.’ ” I put in the call to Buck Buck and Snout. They knew what they had to