Wednesday, September 25, 2019

Spelk

Oh, come on, you know Spelk. The transmission guy. Looks like a carrot.

Right. The skinny part of the carrot pointing down. So you know who I’m talking about. That’s why nobody took him seriously at first. Best mechanic in town though.

That’s right, he’s Scottish. So what? This is what happened. Spelk is sitting in the chair next to Albin Piekarski at Omni Cut and mentions he buried fifty grand in cash for safe keeping, that he doesn’t trust banks. Tells Piekarski this.

Exactly. You don’t tell Albin fucking Piekarski shit let alone that you buried money. And Spelk knows Piekarski. Spelk worked on Peikarski’s Vette.

How? Angela was cutting Spelk’s hair is how. So I heard the shit first.

You know something. Fuck off. But yeah, as a matter fact it did make me feel special. For fucking once I heard something first. Ange said Piekarski looked at Spelk in the mirror and said, “Oh, yeah.” Just like that. “Oh Yeah,” as if he wasn’t impressed. I don’t even know if she even told the cops that.

One week later, Piekarski’s body washes up under Boswell Marina’s gas pump, head looking like a pomegranate turned inside out. And not just strangled but strangled with fucking concertina. Sandy Kole was working EMS and said Peikarski’s head looked like somebody used a nut cracker.

Yeah, you dick, it would have to be a pretty big fucking nutcracker. Stop busting my chops. What? Well exactly, everybody was thinking that. More likely Spelk to have washed up than Piekarski. But carrot top is a suspect because everybody fucking heard what he said at Omni Cut.

Who do you think? Angela. Angie’s got a big fucking mouth. She’s my sister, right?

Tommy brings Spelk in but lets him go the next morning. Nobody believes Spelk did it. Albin fucking Piekarski? Fucking war criminal. We all know he slit that Halsey kids’ throat. Evil asshole.

That’s right, carrot top is Scottish. You already said that. He’s got that accent. Says to me, ‘Yer bum’s oot the windae,’ instead of, ‘You’re full of shit.’ Cracks me up. So ok. Spelk waltzes into Omni Cut a week later wanting a shave. Bernice gets him. Bernice is about to put on the Barbasol when Spelk says he fucked Piekarski up good. Tells her he got the whole thing on surveillance tape.

Exactly my thought: Fuck me. Spelk recorded it, from the time Piekarski knocks on his door, sticks a gun in his face to the point Spelk is slamming Piekarski’s head in that same door then wrapping his neck with fucking bob wire. Even has him dragging Piekarski’s dead ass across his front lawn down to the lake. Tells Bernice there was no buried money. He just said that. Tells her Piekarski never paid him for replacing his transmission. That was the whole goddamn issue. Piekarski stiffed Spelk.

Well, I didn’t know that Scottish people were cheap. Now I do ok? So fuck off and listen. Tommy brings Spelk back in and carrot top has his bail hearing, right? Half the town is there. We’re all glad what he did.

Spelk had to borrow a jacket and a pair of pants from Reggie. No, I’d say even smaller. Reggie is about half Spelk’s size so Spelk is looking like fucking Alfalfa. And he obviously couldn’t give a fuck. Spelk stood up when the judge comes in and says, ‘Guilty, yer majesty.’ Judge didn’t even ask people to be seated yet. He has to bang his gavel, so many people are cracking up.

“Piekarski wiz a fuckin scrote, yer Majesty. D’ye think ahm buttoned up the back, yer Majesty?”

The judge is looking at Spelk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“No boggin eejit stiffs meh on work well doon thane stakes a goon in m’geggy, fookin; walloper.”

Judge sets bail at twenty grand. We all pitch in. Spelk is out the same day.

No. He’s pleading self-defense.

I know, right, self-defense with his barb wire noose. I still hope he gets the fuck off. Spelk, man. Fucking Scottish. But Piekarski had it coming. That’s what everybody thinks.

~FIN~