Page 28 of Road Refugees

Chapter Ten

Town

“In nature, magical mushrooms of the psilocybe cubensis variety grow naturally in cowshit,” said Dick Passwater. “After a rainy day, you can find hippies out there in farms, rooting around.”

“Yeah,” agreed Lytton Driving Hawk. We were all gathered around the dining table at the Leaves of Grass pot farmhouse to listen to their mycologist friend, Passwater, lecture us on shrooms. So far, I’d discovered you’re not supposed to call them shrooms. Could’ve fooled me. “Up at our hangar on Mescal Mesa, we’re just asses to elbows with hippies looking in cow patties. Wolf has been working with them for years.”

Wolf Glaser harrumphed. He was a strange one. Goofy patches emblazoned his cut, like “Biker Boys Make Good Toys.” I figured he must’ve had some other value to them. He wore a belt loaded with things like flashlights, knives, and actual M67 frag grenades. “They keep ripping off my tomatoes from my grow up there behind the Citadel.”

Tobiah added, “The hippies think it’s got some great kundalini up there.” He turned to me to explain. “Vortices. There are vortices all over Pure and Easy.”

Wolf snorted, maybe just because Tobiah had said something. There seemed to be a rivalry between the two dweebs. I didn’t even know why Tobiah was there, other than he lived in the house. He was their office manager. “Vortexes my ass. Those Shirley MacLaine lovers are nothing but lazy thieves. They keep messing up my compost pile, ruining the microbial balance it’s taken me years to reach.”

“Shut up, you goobers,” said Pippa, a fierce, black-haired old lady. I learned that lambs and sweetbutts became old ladies when they married a patched member. She normally ran the bud and breakfast where I’d been staying. But when I’d told her about my interest in shrooms—sorry, mushrooms—she became intrigued. Apparently, she had a plant biology degree. I didn’t want a shit ton of folks pushing up on my private grow, taking buyers away from me, but I was a green outsider, and I had to be grateful for the smallest crumbs. That, and she had an adorable Great Pyrenees and Leonberger mutt named Monstro who had taken Linus under her wing. I’d even kissed Monstro on the head, discovering that Linus had a jealous streak. He lifted his upper lip at us, so I didn’t try to pet Monstro again. Now they lay under the table. Wolf’s giant mutt Beetle was down there as well, not leaving much room for our boots. “Let Passwater talk.”

Crybaby was rapt with attention, a good soldier as always. It would be a blast if he could become my partner again, this time in a semi-legal operation.

His buddy Passwater had a plastic tub filled with beautiful spores about to burst with magic, long-stemmed with rubbery hats of various sizes. He said, “But most people grow inside because you need a controlled, sterile environment. See here, Townshend. You start with these spore prints from the under veil of a mushroom, sort of the uterus and balls. You can make spore syringes for future grows.”

“I can help with that,” said Pippa. I nodded.

Passwater said, “Cubensis mushrooms colonize the best between 75 and 80 degrees.”

“Oh, fucknuts,” I mumbled. There went the idea of doing it inside my own apartment. Even 75 was way too steamy for me.

But Lytton seemed to know what I thought. “I’ve been thinking of that, Town. I’ve got an unoccupied log cabin about five miles before Happy Jack up Lake Mary Road. You guys could use that for your business. There’s a greenhouse out back with a separate thermostat. I could add a burglar alarm.”

Crybaby clapped his hands. “Awesome! Then I could move out of my brother’s house. He keeps barbecuing in the front yard, smoking up my bedroom.”

“Wait!” shouted Tobiah, rising up from his turtleneck shirt. Slamming his skinny arms to the table, his jaw hung low. “The one with the ping-pong table and mounts on the wall?”

“That’s the one,” said Lytton with authority. I liked him. He reminded me of myself, an alpha in control.

“But the renters just moved out! I can get two grand a month rent for that place.”

Lytton jammed his fist onto his hip. He was standing, like Passwater, to show his power. It was funny how Tobiah visibly shriveled back like a crushed snail before Lytton even said a word. “Crybaby has vouched for Townshend. They’re going to be setting up a business.”

I called out, “I’m sure we’ll give you a piece of it in exchange for all you’ve done.”

“Right, right,” echoed Crybaby. “And Town here is a decorated war vet. Two Bronze Star medals, the Purple Heart, the Army Commendation Medal for Valor, the Combat Action Badge—”

“Pshaw,” I said. It was par for the course for vets to downplay their accomplishments. Not like a Purple Heart was a huge milestone to brag about, because you were supposed to be doing it for your country, with no light shone upon individual exploits. One weird thing about hanging with Crybaby again. A lot of apprehension in me evaporated, being with him. I recognized him, you know? I’d see vets missing arms or legs, vets in braces, and suddenly I’d be Captain Spiro again. But the good parts. Not the fanatic workaholic Captain Spiro. A new Captain Spiro. I wasn’t sure who he was yet.

“Well, it’s true!” cried Crybaby. “We expect our vets to serve and protect us, then do nothing to help them when they discharge! Well, the Bare Bones are stars and stripes forever, true blue, and we support our vets.”

“Amen, buddy,” said Lytton.

“Right on, right on,” said Wolf.

Tobiah must’ve felt like a heel then. He propped his chin in his palm and listened to Passwater while rolling his eyes.

“Can your thermostat keep them between 75 and 80?” Passwater asked Lytton.

“Hell, yeah.”

“Good. You can make your own mushroom substrate or order it prefab.”

Wolf asked, “Could they use my compost?”