Six

Rich did not heed Billy’s advice. Shortly before they reached the junction with State Highway 79, he pulled the Cherokee on to the shoulder and fucked with Dave’s nod. He got out of the jeep and walked around to the right rear passenger door. Rich lifted the latch and opened the door. Dave’s limp body started to fall out of the seat. Rich had to catch him before he made it all the way to the ground.

“Wake up, asshole.”

“What are you… whoa… hey man, what’s up?” Dave’s voice was distant and lazy. His body was like a big noodle. Rich pushed him back into the passenger’s seat and reached for the tackle box.

“What’s inside here that will wake him up?”

“Why do you wanna fuck with his nod, man?” Billy protested.

“No self control,” Rich complained. “You guys have no self control. That’s why nobody wants either of you in their band. This is going to turn into another Amsterdam!”

“Amsterdam,” Billy repeated and chuckled to himself. “Remember that luche libre mask I brought? Remember that whore in the window down by the canal? Oh man, the look on her face when she saw me coming back again with that mask on!”

“Where’s that cocaine?” Rich had the tackle box open on Dave’s lap and was sorting through various baggies of pills, powder and marijuana.

“Leave it, leave it alone.” Dave made a feeble attempt to shove Rich’s hands out of the tackle box. “I’m fine, dude. I’ll totally make us dinner when we get to Show Low.

Rich looked up from the tackle box. A bit of color had come back into his friend’s face. Dave weakly patted him on the shoulder.

“Stop fucking with my nod and get on with the driving. You do your job and I’ll do mine.”