A promo card for Mordecai of Monterey, 1985

Excerpt from Mordecai of Monterey by Keith Kumasen Abbott:

An hour later Mordecai was standing at the foot of Rita’s stairs. He did not want to be standing there. Mordecai was having his first crisis with his mental disease. He could not believe that his melanoia had led him to Rita.  Ping!

Mordecai walked to the corner of the house. Maybe, he thought, my good luck is waiting somewhere behind the house. In the backyard there was nothing but an overgrown lawn and no sign of a back apartment.  He turned around and walked back to the front stairs. Ping! 

Mordecai went up the stairs and stood at Rita’s front door. He knocked on the door and the steady sounds of the pings! inside his head sequenced into a smooth purr. Rita opened the door wearing a bathrobe. “Mordecai!” She was only wearing a bathrobe and nothing else. Mordecai noticed that straight away. But he also saw that Loser Rred was sitting at the kitchen table. Mordecai was relieved to see Loser Rred sitting at Rita’s kitchen table. 

As Mordecai passed through the living room he saw Rred’s Swiss hiking boots on the floor beside the coffee table. Two cans of Coors were on the coffee table. And halfway between the couch and the bedroom door lay both of Rred’s socks.

“Hi Mordecai,” Rred said. “We were just talking about you. You’ll never guess what happened.”

Mordecai glanced at the socks on the floor and avoided looking at Rita’s pleased expression.

“You know Jesus John?” Rred said. “He’s going to New York.”

“Oh Mordecai!” Rita said, standing next to Mordecai and taking his arm and pressing it into her side, right under her breasts, “I’m so excited!”

“About Jesus John going to New York?” Mordecai asked, pulling his arm away from her and sitting down.

“No,” Rita replied, “about him giving you his truck.” 

“Jesus John gave me his truck?” Mordecai visualized the dilapidated ’48 Dodge. “Is this official? It might be better to leave it to rust alone a while more.” 

“No, that’s not the whole story,” Rred said. “See, last night after Jesus John left Beer Springs, he wrote a play. It’s about a guy who’s in jail and there are two other thieves in the cell with him. Then the guy finds out he’s Jesus.”

“That sounds like Jesus John’s life story,” Mordecai said. He accepted a cup of coffee from Rita. “Was it the Salinas jail?”

“Yeah, well, I think Jesus John forgot about his own cover story right then. Him being a sort of professional amnesiac,” Rred said. “He got kinda excited listening to you talk about your disease, so he went home and wrote the play, but of course he didn’t remember that the only story he could remember was his same old story.  But he thought he had a whole new story, and so he wrote that one down.” Rred laughed. “Anyway, he dropped the keys and the pink slip for the truck by this morning on his way to catch the Greyhound to New York to give his play to the Broadway producers.” Rred leaned back in his chair. “So we’re partners.”

“In what?” 

“A hauling business,” Rita said. “You can use my phone in the hauling ad, and I can be your secretary.”

Mordecai considered this arrangement. He had the feeling that Rred had sandwiched himself in the deal somehow, but Rred explained that Jesus John thought Mordecai would die from the melanoia soon, so he gave Mordecai the truck to help defray future medical expenses. Rred was a mechanic and said that Jesus John made Rred a half-partner to keep the truck running. To Mordecai’s knowledge, Jesus John didn’t usually think things out so thoroughly.

“Does that truck run?” Mordecai asked. 

“Sort of.” Rred went into the living room and put on his socks. “Jesus John ran it down pretty hard after he got it from Buck which is hard to do after Buck gets done with a truck but,” Rred continued, “Jesus John managed to do it. I gotta to put some points in, plus new brake linings, and then I’ll head down to the Monterey Herald and take out our first hauling ad in the classifieds.” 

“You can come by every day to pick up the messages,” Rita said, sticking her toe up Mordecai’s pant leg and jerking the fabric. 

“Only thing is,” Rred said, putting on his Swiss hiking boots, “what are we going to call ourselves?”

“How about International Trash?” Mordecai suggested.

“That’s good. There’s a lot of foreigners on the peninsula,” Reed said. “The international part makes it sound cosmic, too.” 

Rita put her hand on Mordecai’s shoulder as Rred started for the front door. Mordecai looked up at Rita. “Isn’t it funny, Mordecai,” she said sweetly, “that your disease really does work? I wonder what you’ll get next.” 

Mordecai stood up, trying to leave with Rred. Rita slipped her arm through his. “Why don’t you come in here with me and help me get my psych dictionary down?  I want to look up your disease,” she said.

“Bye,” Rred said, walking out the door. Mordecai looked at the bedroom door. Rita began to tow him towards it. “My dictionary is on the top shelf,” she said. 

Mordecai hoped that Rred had tired her out a little, but there wasn’t much chance of that. It occurred to him that he and Rred might be sharing more than just a truck.