Chapter 3: Shit...
What was supposed to be an easy job turned into a shit show. Literally at first.
About ten minutes into our drive, just as I hit the exit onto the expressway into the city where there are no turnoffs for a few miles in between, Lil' Al decide to shit in my passenger seat. I didn't even know what he had done. First, the smell hit me. I gagged and looked all around trying to figure out what the hell it was. I rolled the window down and was immediately soaked from the rain. I looked around and then I saw his smug little face staring at me, daring me to do something. In the seat next to him, a small wet pile of orange shit. What did they feed him?
I mumbled a few words, called him some choice names, and practically hung my head out of the window. I saw the sign. The next exit was two miles ahead but when I got closer, there was a wreck, and traffic was being directed to pass. Shit. I stared at Lil' Al and wished harm on him and his ilk and kept on driving. Finally, what seemed like an eternity, I got to an exit.
Wheeling into a gas station just off the exit, I jumped out and ran to the passenger side. Opening the door and I grabbed the nearest pile of trash paper I had in the floorboard and tried to carefully but quickly remove the offending dookie. In just a few seconds, I was successful. It was gone! The poo was gone... and so was the dog. I'd been so focused on the shit in the seat that the lil' shit with legs had moved to the driver's seat and jumped out of my still-open door.
Running back to the driver's side, I got there just in time to see him start across four lanes of traffic. Into the midst of the vehicles, he ran. Horns honking, brakes squealing. Lots of foul language, and not just from me. I took off after him. Traffic was just starting to move as I headed into it. I slid across the hood of a red car, pretty sure the metal studs on my belt scratched the hell out of the paint. Back on my feet, I narrowly missed a motorcycle that had weaved into traffic unawares of a punk chasing a hell hound. But who would have thought of that, eh? Then it was past a truck, over another small car, and into the ditch on the other side. Running up the opposite bank, I stop at the edge of a large parking lot full of semis and trailers. A strip club sign flashes in the distance. And Lil' Al is nowhere to be seen.
+++
I spend the next ten or fifteen minutes walking amongst the trucks and trailers looking under and around. No dog. A few lot lizards and some dealers, but no dog. I even ask a few people if they've seen a small dog and just get vacant stares. I stop and think under the flashing "girls, girls, girls" sign. I pull a joint and a lighter from my pocket and take a toke under the neon light. What now? I have an idea, but I don't like it. Not even a little bit. I mull it over. Nope, don't want to do it. I take another toke. Deep. Burns. I let it out.
"Fine!" I yell at no one but myself. I'll do it. I stomp my way back to the van.
+++
No one should ever have to dig in the trash. Especially at a gas station. Especially for a wad of paper with dog shit in it. Only takes a couple of minutes, what little pride I have left, and a few looks from judgemental assholes who have never had to dig in the trash. I take it back to the van and throw open the rear doors. Carefully placing the turd-paper on the bumper, open a black toolbox and pull out a few things. It's magic time, motherfuckers.
Item number one is a crystal. Yeah, I know. How new-age-woo-woo of me, but crystals have a place in this. They can act as a battery of sorts. If you don't want to constantly focus on keeping the spell "on," they can save you some time. Laying it out on a relatively clean towel, I grab item number two. It's a compass. Nothing fancy. The old magnetic kind you get at from an Army-Navy surplus store. Time to get to work.
I take the crystal and focus on it, willing a bit of power into it. It took on a subtle glow to me. If you didn't know how to do it or what to look for, you'd never know it. Taking the crystal, put a bit of super glue on it, and stick it to the bottom of the compass. Yeah, I use superglue. Deal with it.
Next, I remove the glass from the top of the compass. Taking a screwdriver from the toolbox, I scoop a bit of the poo into the compass housing. Setting if down, I take out my knife and prick my finger. A single drop of blood onto the dog doo and voila, one super-duper pooper tracker. Or in this case, the owner of the poop. Now to explain how this shit works.
I'm trying to track Lil' Al. For some reason I can't explain, but many other people who say they are smart have tried to explain, like attracts like. I don't necessarily think it's that simple, but it works. So, the shit was from Lil' Al, the crystal provides the bit of power needed to power the spell. The compass is a device used for pointing the way to something. As literal as the compass seems, it's probably the most symbolic piece here. It doesn't really do what I'm making it do, only what I think it will do. It's magic. Don't think too hard. The drop of blood from me represents the sacrifice one makes to learn the "art," or so they say. It also binds me to the spell. This little tracker will only work for me. Now, time to find a dog.
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