Part 1 of 1
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Tonight, Mulligan recounts a tale told to him by an estranged father.
The Skinner Co. Network
186 - Mulligan Smith and The Bitter End, Part 1 of 1
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 186. Tonight, we present Mulligan Smith and the Bitter End, part one of one. [music] This week's episodes are brought to you by "Treat." "Treat." It is the power of numbers. "Treat." It is a journey to other worlds. "Treat." It is the wisdom of the beloved. "Treat." It is media, communication, news, social network, Chuck Norris. "It is all these things." "Treat." It is! A bit strip. What now? A bit strip. It's a type of comic strip that you can create online at a site called bitstrips.com and share with the whole world. This is one of them. Oh, well, that stuff you said before. All true and all contained within the bit strip created by Thomas Reed called "Treat." He's a math teacher, podcast enthusiast, and bit stripper from San Antonio, Texas, and has some pretty sharp observations about things like social media into personal relationships. The strange, secret lives of podcasters. Breaking news. Chuck Norris. And of course, math. So, what is it called? "Treat." Thomas Reed. "Treat." "Treat." "Treat." Okay, I got it. Geez, are we going to read it or not? Well, you've got my undivided attention, so I guess I'll give it a whirl. We're going to find it. Glad you asked. Just go to bitstrips.com/user/122. I think I can remember that. And if you can't, just go to bitstrips.com. Click on the search window and type in "Treat." Is that T-R-E-E-D? That's the one. Now that my work here is done, I must return to my own world. Do I'm going to call you a cab? If you would, please. Mulligan Smith and the Bitter End, part one of one. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opoponax, an audio produced by Jessica May. Mulligan Smith recounts a tale told to him by an estranged father. Mulligan Smith and the Bitter End, part one of one. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opoponax, an audio produced by Jessica May. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. The Bitter End, part one of two. Mulligan and his friend Billy Winnipeg were making their way home from a long night of waiting. Smith had been hoping for more quiet over the course of the evening, but his companions wagging tongue and the drive still ahead of them had left the P.I.'s mind churning at a tale of his own. As they accelerated onto the highway that cut across the heart of capital city, he began. The story goes like this. One day, Rodney is sitting in the front seat of a borrowed car. He's got a letter written in pencil crayon tucked into the breast pocket of his coveralls, grease on his knees, and a twenty-two pistol in his lap. He's crying. The letter is from his son, who's eight, and it basically says, Edwin is a bastard, save me, love Jay. Billy wiped Mayo from the corner of his mouth. Edwin, he asked. The boy stepped at. The whole thing is eating Rodney up, and he's in front of the house that he shares with the kid and his mom, Maggie. Rodney is sick inside because he's broke, Maggie in interest in reconciliation, and he's done begging to get her back. There's no way he's getting custody of Jay, but he's thinking starting over in Mexico would be a great opportunity, anyhow. If he figures, if he fixes cars he can't afford here, we're not there. Wiping away the tears, Rodney finally takes a deep breath, gets out of the car, and kicks in the door. Now, what he doesn't know is that Edwin ain't exactly a slouch. While his visitors busy trying to avoid the door swinging back at him, Eddie has managed to clear the couch he was watching go from, and before Rodney can bring the gun around, he manages to grab it. He described it to me as a magic trick. One second he was holding the piece. The next he wasn't. Well, suddenly unarmed, Rodney makes a break for it. He runs out, hops in the faux wood paneled station wagon, and putters away the highest speed his ride can manage. He got home okay, but, afraid the cops were going to come down on him, he skips town, and heads south for three years. He gets a job, life settles a bit for him, but he can't stop thinking about Jay. He starts drinking, always, he told me, to toast his son. Five months into his exodus, he gets worried that no one is looking for him, or is asked after him. As far as Rodney's few friends could tell, it weren't even certain that Edwin reported the incident. It's not too surprising that he wasn't a suspect, given that he and Maggie hadn't spoken in half a decade at that point. Hell, the letter was the first word he'd received from Jay in 12 months. But Rodney was reluctant to climb from the comfortable whiskey route he'd found himself in. Much later, on a July night, while drinking alone in a bar named Long Tom's, Rodney stares through his beer goggles at the wreckage of his life, and suddenly sees a ridiculous plan. The next day, he heads back to the shop and chops a length of piping. After work, he packs it full of black powder and starts driving. He's got it in his head that if he just kills Edwin and Maggie, then Jay is his. His optimism might have been related to how much his friend, Jim Beam, was whispering to him. Anyhow, he gets a quarter of the way here and stops at a McDonald's to make room for more bourbon. Well, getting back in the car, he figures he'll check the trunk to ensure that Jim Bag was still holding together. Now, it's a pretty basic device, and it's hard to say how he managed to accidentally light the fuse. My guess, although he didn't admit to it, was that he was smoking with the shaky hands of the drunk. Whatever the case, it pops, right in the bag, blows through the wall of the trunk, and removes his kneecap. It wasn't long before someone ran over to check what happened and found him lying there on the pavement, muttering to himself and missing a sizable portion of his leg. Uniforms patched him up, but they wanted an explanation for the situation, and he didn't have a good one. Lended him to him again. Smith rolled his window open, breathing in a lung full of damp night air before continuing. Some time after that, back in capital city, Maggie is wondering, "Whatever happened to Jay's deadbeat dad?" She hires me to go looking for him, and I managed to track him to a place named O'Neill's. He spent on parole for a few months, and had quickly fallen back in love with hard liquor. It cost me a six-pack to get all that information from him. He was too quick to tell it, though, and I knew something was on his mind. Instead of reporting my unfortunate findings and collecting my fees, I decided to keep an eye on Rodney for a short while longer. Edwin wasn't hurting for cash to cover the bill. It happened the next afternoon. The booze hounded slept in, but when he got up and hopped some public transportation, I followed along. I recognized the neighborhood as we entered it, largely because it was my clients. I had no bloody idea where he found the sword cane, or how I didn't figure what it was that he was off the bus. Maligan knows the tercel into his apartment building's parking structure. He was quick for a cripple. As soon as he saw Edwin getting out of his Cadillac, he had that steel flashing and was bolting down the drive. I tried to stop him, yelled at him as I ran. I knew I wasn't going to make it in time. Smith cleared his throat as he nudged the tercel towards its resting spot. We were lucky though, Edwin and I. From the rear passenger seat, steps a teen. Lamp jawed and curly-haired. He had his mom's genetics. It's Jay. He's just back from stomping the Delmore Devils and nine innings, all under Edwin's coaching. And he doesn't seem happy to see some shambling maniac wielding cold steel against the man he now calls Pa. It had been many moons since he'd last encountered his biological father. And you could tell there was no recognition in his eyes. Boy had away with a baseball bat. The first hit folded the wannabe samurai in half. The second, bought Rodney's right hand a few extended surgeries. Maligan cut the engine and stepped from the car, stretching his legs. Took a few years of healing, but I hear they write each other now. Rodney supposedly hangs him all up in his cell. ♪♪ Flashpulp is presented by flashpulp.com and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skier@skinner.fm or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792. But be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast. We'd also like to thank the free sound project found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. ♪♪ ♪ Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled ♪ ♪♪