“We haven’t even had dessert,” Grandma said. “Hold your shirt on.”
Elmer scraped his chair back. “I might have to use your restroom.”
“It’s at the top of the stairs,” Grandma told him. “I’ll get the coffee started.”
Elmer climbed the stairs, and moments later . . . BAROOOOM!
“What was that?” my mother asked. “It sounded like an explosion.”
Diesel pressed his lips together, and his face turned red.
“I appreciate the effort you’re making not to laugh,” I said to him, “but you’re going to burst all the blood vessels in your head if you keep holding it in.”
“I can’t believe you brought the fire farter home,” he said. “Couldn’t you have gotten a ride from the Easter Bunny or Sasquatch?”
“You should have been taking better care of me. It’s all your fault. I got kidnapped by your cousin. I’m lucky Martin Munch doesn’t have me pinned to a board like a frog in biology class.”
“You’re right,” Diesel said. “I should have done a better job of protecting you. But that said, I would have thought twice about getting in a truck with the fire farter.”
“I wasn’t thinking. I forgot about the fire farter. I was stressed.”
Elmer came back to the table, and Grandma trotted in with coffee and half an apple pie. She served the coffee and pie, and Elmer reached for the cream and farted.
Broomph!
Flames shot out of Elmer’s ass, set his pants on fire, and ignited the upholstered seat on the cherrywood side chair. Elmer jumped up and dropped his pants, drawers and all.
“Holy crap,” my father said. “That smells like the slaughter house burned down.”
My mother downed a glass of wine and poured herself another. And my grandmother leaned forward to get a better view.
“Don’t get to see this every day,” Grandma said.
Diesel dumped a pitcher of water on the chair and stomped on Elmer’s pants.
“Excuse me,” Elmer said. “The sausage was spicy.”
“That was a pip of a fart,” Grandma said. “I’ve seen people fart fire on YouTube, but I never saw anyone do it that good.”
We got Elmer outfitted in one of my father’s old work pants, Diesel gave him fifty dollars, and we sent him back to the Barrens.
“GOT MY MONEY’S worth out of that fifty dollars,” Diesel said, loading the laundry basket into the back of the Subaru. “I got to see a guy fart fire.”
I cut my eyes to him. “You were impressed with that?”
“Hell, yeah. I can’t do it. At least, not without a Zippo lighter.”
“Maybe Elmer had a Zippo lighter.”
“I don’t care how he did it. It was an excellent fart.”
We got in the car, and Morelli called just before we reached my building.
“I’ve had the strangest feeling all day,” he said. “Like something awful was happening. Are you okay?”
“Yes. How about you?”
“I’m better than okay. Anthony gets his stitches out tomorrow, and then he’s going home. His wif