“SO WHAT DO WE do with the governor for 12 hours?” Larry asked.
“We get him a bite to eat, pick up a few more supplies and take a nap,” Reuben said.
“Can I have a beer yet?” Buster whined.
“Sorry, big guy,” Reuben said. “Gotta hold on for a few more hours. Your work has just begun.”
“If all goes as planned,” Larry added, “we’ll have you back here before closing time.”
“Good. There’s a keg in the back with my name it.”
“I’m sure it’ll need rescuing, just after you rescue the little missus,” Reuben said.
“Boy, I bet she is gonna be pissed off,” Buster said, shuddering a bit.
“She’s always pissed off,” Larry added. “This time she finally has a reason.”
“Speaking of that,” Reuben said. “Let’s go check on the governor, get him something to drink and I’m sure he needs a bathroom break. Hate for him to foul my trunk.”
“I just hate the thought of a governor fouling himself, period!” Buster said.
“This is definitely a conversation I never thought I’d be having,” Larry concluded. “Where is this endeavor going to take place?”
“Let’s go to the Quick Mart,” Reuben said. “We’ll get him a big cup of iced tea and a straw. I don’t think we dare feed him. He’ll get hungry but he won’t starve. Then we’ll stop out in the woods for him to drink and whiz.”
Reuben laid a twenty dollar bill on the table and after a two-fingered wave to Shorty they strolled out the way they had come in. Larry rapped on the trunk of the car. The governor responded with a: “Hmphhhh grrrr gaaaak” which they interpreted to mean: “I’m still here.”
They picked up some junk food, all eight packages of the gauze bandage wrap they had on hand, and a couple Super Gulps at the Quick Mart and Reuben steered the car toward the interstate.
“Thought we were going into the backwoods?” Buster said.
“We will,” Reuben said, “but I want to get one errand out of the way. We need a wheelchair.”
“Where the hell we gonna get one of those?” Larry asked.
“Been considering that,” Reuben said. “Thinking the hospital in Spearfish always has a couple sitting outside their emergency room entrance. We’ll do a quick snatch and grab and then take a potty break.”
Fifteen minutes later they were in Spearfish and parked half a block from the hospital. After waiting to make sure of no passers-by Larry hopped out and moseyed along the sidewalk to the emergency room entrance. The bill of Buster’s baseball cap tilted over his eyes and with the car out of sight of any potential video cameras, he kept his head down and nonchalantly nabbed a wheelchair sitting near the handicap ramp, just like Reuben had predicted.
But the ring-leader had not predicted the white Dodge minivan squealing around the corner and screeching to a stop just as Larry stepped off the curb.
A twenty-something string-bean of a man in running shorts and tank top jumped out of the van. His face was flushed and he was awfully excited. “My wife’s having a baby! My wife’s having a baby! Can I have that wheelchair!?”
Larry kept his head down. “Sorry Bud. My mom’s having a heart attack. Get the one up there!” He pointed to another wheelchair up near the dock where they unloaded ambulances.
The man looked even more confused, but thankfully followed orders and hurdled up to the dock.
Larry didn’t look back and picked up the pace, finally reaching the awaiting Cadillac. He folded up the chair, tossed it in the backseat and hopped in the back.
“Jeesh! Nothing ever goes as planned!” he grumped to the twosome in front.
“Tell me about it,” Reuben said, gunning the engine.
Chapter 35
OUTSIDE OF SPEARFISH Reuben found a gravel road into the forest and pulled off to the side once the trees blocked them from view of the highway.
“Remember, no names, and let’s get him out of the trunk,” Reuben said.
“Alright Zeke!” Buster said obnoxiously loud.
The governor didn’t put up much of a struggle exiting the trunk. He knew now his hero act had backfired, was soaked with sweat from a combination of heat and fear and wondered what they had in store for him now.
“Gotta pee?” Buster asked.
He nodded in the affirmative. With bandanas over his eyes and mouth and hands tied behind his back, the three teachers stared at each other, all wondering the same thing: “How we going to do this?”
Reuben pointed at Larry: “Unzip him.”
“Why me?”
“Because he can’t,” Reuben answered.
“No way,” Larry beckoned the courage to say.
“Oh jeez,” Reuben said. “I’ll do it.”
Both hands on his shoulders, Reuben steered the governor next to the ditch. He reached around, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his Wranglers and pulled down his shorts and boxers.
“Go here,” Reuben ordered.
Everybody turned away in embarrassment.
“Did you see his underwear?” Buster whispered to Larry.
“No. Tried not to look.”
“He’s got Mickey Mouse underwear.”
“And you’re surprised?” Larry said.
When the whizzing stopped, Reuben turned back around, pulled up the shorts and walked the governor back to the car, where Larry waited with the iced tea. He pulled up the bandana enough to slip a straw in and the governor took the opportunity to let out a wimpy squeal: “Help.”
Larry shoved the rag back in and asked: “Do you want a drink or not?”
The governor nodded affirmatively and they tried one more time. This time the governor took several long draws on the straw before Larry pulled it away and shoved the rag back in.
“That was the toughest part of the entire day,” Larry said after getting the governor back in the trunk and slamming the hood.
“Then we’ll be okay,” Reuben opined.
Chapter 36
THE DAY DRAGGED ON but with a long nap under their belts and nightfall having finally arrived, the teachers headed back to unfriendly territory and followed the slow snaking of cars into a pasture turned make-shift parking lot east of Sturgis. The Buffalo Chip was an infamous campground in a nearby pasture whose nightly concerts were legendary for debauchery, beer and rock and roll – all the things that make life worth living.
The teachers had transferred the governor into the back seat, and with the aroma of Mary Jane wafting through the open windows, they wrapped his head and hands in white bandages, leaving a small slit for his eyes and nose. He might get mistaken for the Governor of Transylvania, but never of South Dakota.
With the opening act of .38 Special playing in the background, they set him in the wheelchair and bound his feet with more gauze, making certain to tie them to the chair itself just in case he got a sudden urge to make another hero’s dash, though it would most likely be to a food stand than toward a policeman.
Reuben, who had locked the cash in the car trunk, set the briefcase beneath the governor’s seat behind his ankles. It was now filled with newspapers and a piece of white paper marked in large black print with: “Run behind stage!”
Approaching the gate, they flashed their passes they had purchased during their meanders of the day and were safely inside the venue. As they stopped to survey the surroundings, Buster was enthralled with a spectacle nearby. A gaggle of fifteen tough biker dudes were hooting and hollering and hoisting cameras as they encouraged every woman coming through the gate to lift their shirts in a show of solidarity to Eros, the Greek god of lust, love and intercourse. Most ladies obliged, much to Buster’s delight, but a few refused and were showered with boos, beer and other less mature derogatory comments.
Larry, steering the wheelchair for now, was careful to keep out of the way of wandering camera lenses as all three teachers kept the heads down and caps low – though Buster couldn’t help an occasional peek.
With the crowd cheering for an encore, they began making their way through the cigarette-lighter waving throngs of people toward the stage. Hitting a roadblock every once in a while, Reuben would holler: “Excuse us. We need to get him to the handicapped section!”
Then the crowd would part and take a couple seconds to ogle the burn victim in the chair while Larry muttered: “Thank you. Thank you. God bless you.”
The rock group returned for a rousing rendition of “Wild-eyed Southern Boys” and the teachers managed to move toward the front with nary a notice from others more enamored with beer and boobs than three dopes pushing a wheelchair.
By the time the music ended and roadies were busy rearranging the stage, the mummified governor was front and center. Reuben looked at Buster and Larry and motioned for them to huddle up behind the chair. Reuben said to Buster: “You know what to do. Play it cool. When Candy opens the briefcase and reads the paper, be back there watching, grab her and scram. We’ll have the car waiting at the employee gate.”
“Gotchas,” Buster said.
“And, don’t take this wrong, but Candy CAN read can’t she?”
“Of course,” Buster said, offended, but only for a second as the girl to his right lifted her bikini top and shook her goods.
“Then good luck,” Reuben said, grabbing Larry by the elbow and retreating to where they’d come.
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