Squid Pulp Blues Read Online Free PDF Page A

for two weeks straight. He had told her, “No showers, don’t wash your feet at all, understand?”
    The girl, Deborah, had nodded her head and said, “Yeah, yeah, I got it but what’s that mean? I gotta smell like shit for two weeks?”
    “Wash up in the sink or something, your armpits, your pussy, whatever but just not your feet. Keep the shoes on.”
    Much to Robert’s pleasure, she had complied and at the end of the two weeks, he spent a whole day worshiping the shoes as well as her feet while he played a record on his vintage 1966 suitcase turntable. He spent hours sniffing to the sounds of Robert Mitchum’s LP Calypso is Like So .
    Deborah sat there reading a magazine while the whole thing was going on. Occasionally she’d say, “Yeah, smell those stinky shoes,” but mostly she read the latest Hollywood gossip. When he was done, Robert kissed her on the knee and left the room saying he had to see to some business. Deborah knew what that meant.
    Now as he stood in his closet reminiscing about Deborah and the shoes, Robert felt good, felt alive. Though he didn’t live extravagantly, he was close to being a millionaire. People who drove past his home would never know it because Robert lived in a two-story house on a side-street of Thompson which was not a town known for its wealth. The house itself was close to eighty years old and was in dire need of new aluminum siding. Robert didn’t care much about how his house looked from the outside. He wanted only to live comfortably, taking care of his business and indulging himself in his quiet, innocent obsessions.
    The phone rang again. Robert left the closet and answered it saying, “Yeah, Billy, what is it?”
    “Billy? No, Robert, it’s Rick, Rick Scanlon, down at Scooter’s.”
    “Oh, what can I do for you?”
    Rick said, “Need more of that new shit, man.”
    “What? Squid? I thought my boys hooked you up with that like three days ago. What the hell happened, you snorting it yourself?”
    Rick laughed nervously. “Nah, Robert, you know how it is. I got five different girls a night dancing for me and I want them all on the shit when they’re up there. Then I try to sell as much of it as I can to the jerk-offs who come in here to get a lap dance. The shit runs out fast, man.”
    “You better make sure your girls chill out on that stuff or you’ll be having corpses dancing up there and I don’t imagine many guys want a lap dance from a fucking zombie.”
    “I got it under control but thanks for the concern,” Rick said, sweating profusely and appreciating the fact Robert couldn’t see that.
    “Well, I’ll send one of my boys around but the earliest is tomorrow morning.”
    Rick wanted the stuff tonight but knew enough not to push the issue with Robert or he’d find himself making a home at the bottom of the Raritan River along with the squid. Robert came off as a nice guy but Rick had heard stories about what happens when you piss him off.
    Rick said, “Fine, that’s fine, I’ll be here by eight.”
    “Okay then,” Robert said. “Bye.”
    He hung up the phone and sighed. Son of a bitch handing out the shit to his strippers like it was candy. Motherfucker’s probably snorting it himself. Keeps doing that, he’s gonna be more fucked up than that barmaid of his, the one that fucking spits all the time.
    Not wanting to hear the phone ring again, Robert quickly finished getting ready. He put on one of his best evening suits and left the house. Parked in his driveway was one of his guilty pleasures, a green 1969 Dodge Super Bee in near impeccable shape. Nowadays people didn’t appreciate style when it came to cars; they wanted bulky gas guzzlers that did nothing but supplement the driver’s lack of self-confidence or dick-size. This fact made Robert appreciate his automobile even more.
    Once he started the car, he dug around for a cassette he had made. Robert found it underneath the passenger seat. He popped it in the tape player (that he had