Herbert Moleville - 3. Found a Buddy

Dear Back of the Hotel Owner's Button Up Shirt,

They was a lot more excitement today than I'm accustomed to, but I made it through okay. Looks like you got a little bit ripped, but that ain't nothing we can't set right with a little bit of twine or balin' wire. When a fella's been on the street as long as I have, he learns how to make his possessions last. Keep 'em durable and whatnot.

Masking tape. Masking tape's good for a lot of things. Like broken bones or a sandwich if sometimes a body's particular hungry.

It turns out that hotel with the light on in the window weren't empty. I suppose I could have ciphered that sooner if I'd a set my mind to it, but I figured the answers would come on they own soon enough. And they did. No sense in makin' more work for yourself.

I'd just gotten to my favorite part in my pancake dream; the part where I'm hollerin' and slidin' down a stack of pancakes big as tarps on a giant pat of butter, when alla sudden I felt this powerful pain in my head. It felt like someone'd given me a crack on the dome with a broomstick.

'Course, that brought me to pretty quick, and I opened my eyes. Standin' over me was this fella holding a broomstick. It were pretty dark in that lobby, and kinda dusty too, but I could make out that he was wearin' glasses and a pretty fancy shirt without no ketchup marks on it. I figured this fella was the owner of this establishment, and I'd better come over all contrite and sorrowful if I didn't want to get chucked in the clink.

Then I thought that bein in jail wouldn't be so bad. I hear they gots beds in there with actual springs. So then I thought that maybe I oughta maybe make a lunge at this fancy man. You know, jump at him and holler "oogitty boogitty boo!" to put a little scare in him and make him phone up the sheriff.

But you know how it is. A body just been waked up ain't a body good at mullin' things over quick like that. All I managed to get out was some garglin'. Something like "Gimme back my pancake stickies!" or similar. Ain't real sure, on accounta the sleepiness and that crack on the head.

The feller drops back a little and hugs his broomstick like it were his last friend on Earth, or it were filled with Skittles. "What're you doing here?" he said. Demanded, really, and that's when I knew he had to be the owner of this place.

I told him I didn't mean no harm, and was about to go on and tell him I'd be on my way, when he interrupted. Just said "any" and stopped. I didn't really know what to make of that, since it ain't every day a fella interrupts you to just say the one word. I knew a fella what did, though. Burt. Burt liked to argue with telephone poles. He eventually got hit by a bus, I think.

We was gettin' on fairly well, what with the owner not tryin to throw me out, and talking about his Connecticut grandma and tellin' me he ain't mean no harm neither, when alla sudden the big window up front of the lobby goes kablooey. Glass all over the floor. And you know what? All because some fella just walked right through it! Busted right through. Tore his face up pretty good, by the look of him. He's standin' there groanin' up a storm, glass all in his hair, and damned if I don't recognize him!

"Burt!"

Burt turned his head slow and looked at me. His eyes weren't how I remember 'em. They was all clouded over, like ol' Blind Floyd's eyes, and his nose weren't there no more either. He probably lost it when he smashed in the window.

Also, he smelled like he been sleepin' in a gas tank, which was about the only thing about Burt that seemed familiar.

Well, the hotel owner just loses it right about now. He screams and shouts and starts swingin' his broomstick. He's got his eyes closed, and he's not movin' or nothin'. Got his back in a corner and he's shrieking and flailin', so Burt starts over to take a look. Burt also ain't got no left foot, I see, which is one fewer than I remember him havin'.

I figure I'd best step in about now. The owner looked pretty upset, and I thought Burt and I would do best to be on our way. I'd gather up Burt's missin' appendages and we'd get some masking tape somewhere and set him right.

I went to turn on the light so I could see.

There was a lamp what was missing its shade on a table next to Burt. When I flipped the switch, the bulb popped and there was a big ol' spark.

And wouldn't you know it? That spark set Burt on fire. Lit him up real good, on account'a all the gasoline on him.

I seen folks on fire before, and none of 'em was quiet about it. Burt didn't even act like he noticed. Just stumped another couple steps before fallin' over, and that was it. It was pretty sorrowful and all, and when I see sorrowful things, I wanna do the sensible thing and sleep it off. I was gonna head back over to the sofa and brush some of the glass off and have a nap when the owner grabs me by the arm.

"Thank heavens I was able to think fast," he shouts, all red-faced and sweaty. "That creature would have done considerable harm to us I am certain. It appears that structural weaknesses in this establishment will be our undoing if left unrectified. We must create a sizeable barricade!"

He starts tryin' to push a book case, but it ain't budging.

"You there, apply your storied hobo strength to this. If I provide the direction and you provide the unskilled kinetics, we may yet survive. Hop to it!"

Well, I pushed and shoved 'til I was totally wore out, and we got a whole mess of furniture stacked in front of the windows and the door. It didn't seem normal for a hotel owner to pile up his nice chairs and tables in such a manner, but this fellow must be able to afford new ones if these get broke.

"Whew! That ought to prove sturdy enough for now," he said. "I shall retire to my room, where I believe a relaxing shower is in order."

Then he took off his fancy shirt and handed it to me.

"See that this is laundered, and keep a watchful eye out for intruders," he said.