Wordsmith Holler

Original Pulp Fiction

Tag: Kansas

  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine

    Trash and debris covered the floor leading to the lab. Nurses, guards, and other people covered in blood and gashes poured out of rooms lining the hall. We stumbled passed them and ran toward the center of destruction.

    We turned a corner. I noted a considerable rip running through the center of the lab like a giant claw hammer had torn through the building. Pieces of paper, debris, and insulation floated where the ceiling used to be. I now went to the central area, where all the computers and Dan-clones had been standing.

    On the far end of the room, Colonel Cox slumped against the wall and a smudge of blood showed where his head used to sit on his shoulders. There was no way he wasn’t dead.

    The chest of the clone I once thought was my brother Dan, sat on the floor next to the colonel’s body. Wires, tubes, and fluid dripped out of the bottom. He had no legs. With an outstretched hand he motioned for me to come closer.

    “He wanted me to kill you,” said the clone. “Use our collective mind to alter the weather and destroy you. I couldn’t do it. Our creator never wanted us to do evil. We only were designed…”

     The clone stopped whirling and his mouth froze before he could finish his sentence.

    “Designed to end a drought, time rain storms to optimize the growing season, make it possible to enjoy a snowstorm on Christmas Eve,” said a familiar voice.

    I turned away from the clone and Colonel Cox to face a haggard version of my brother Dan. He had a bandage around his waist and was standing on crutches next to the nurse from earlier. Behind him, a gigantic cube rotated on a wall screen.

    I wondered if it was really my brother.

    “Come here, brother. Let me look at you,” said Dan. I hesitated. “Oh, I’m real,” he said. “I’m not one of these clones.”

    “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you come home?”

    “I wanted to. But I came back less of myself,” he said grabbing my arm. “I wandered around until I could pull it together. By the time I finished college, everyone believed I was dead. I decided it was better that way.”

    “Mom would have taken you back in dead or alive,” I said. “Your death hit her real hard.”

    Dan pulled me closer. My brother was very much alive.

    “I understand none of this. Messing with the weather, tearing up Pretty Prairie, all those people dead. It makes no sense,” I said to my brother.

    “I never wanted that,” said Dan. “Colonel Cox forced me to develop my invention into a weapon. In the lab, I wanted to make it rain,” he said. I stood feeling both happy and confused.

     “It was a fluke. One minute I was tinkering at a university in Wisconsin and the next thing I was heading up an Air Force weapons program here in Kansas.”

    “How did you get to be so smart?” I asked. The Dan I loved was more of a jock than a scientist. “Facing death in the desert changes your perspective,” he said. “And being forced to kill your little brother changes everything back.”

    “We’ll, I’m glad you didn’t kill me,” I laughed. Charlie chimed in. “Me too. I don’t think rotting in a grave would have fit into my life of ignorant bliss.”

    We all laughed.

    I sat at the counter in the diner in Pretty Prairie waiting for Sally to refill my coffee. Farmers overfilled the place and my favorite waitress didn’t seem to notice me as usual. She was too busy handing out plates of eggs, bacon, and toast. I thought about reaching behind and filling my cup myself.

    The bell on the door of the diner rang out and in slipped Dan and Charlie returning from filling the car with gas and stowing our things. Dan slapped me on the back.

    “Best be going brother.”

    “Yeah, after I refill my coffee.” Sally made it to my end of the counter holding the pot of black gold and looking as sassy as ever.

    “Think you can give me a go cup?”

    “Will you finally get the hell out of here?”

    Charlie laughed. “I don’t think she ever liked you.” Sally smiled. “Oh, I like him. About as much as I like liver and onions.”

    She handed me a Styrofoam cup and touched the back of my hand. A soft, flirtatious goodbye.

     Just the way I like it.

    THE END

    Jake Rutledge returns in Jake Rutledge and the Acadiana Gator Treasure

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing

    Looking for a new adventure? Walk around in Jake’s shoes.https://t.co/OOkd9VBHyh pic.twitter.com/FvqK46Ra8w

    — wordsmithholler (@wordsmithholler) July 11, 2018

    If you enjoyed this story, consider reading Cindy’s Sin, the first novelette I wrote after my stroke.


    Other Writings You May Like

    A Genius Savior The Man of Her Dreams Postmeridian Cynosure Reflected in Morning Light Scribble, Feb. 20, 2019
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine
  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Eight

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Eight

    That’s when I recognized it. They dressed Dan in a pure white cloth suit covering up a series of tubes, wires, and circuits. He wasn’t my brother! He was just an android made to resemble him.

    “Why does he look like Dan?” I roared at the colonel.

    “He was a good as anyone,” Colonel Cox answered. “We needed a face of a person already dead. It didn’t matter who. Your brother popped up.”

    In fact, all the scientists in white coats looked like Dan. There must have been six or seven.

    “Why so many?”

    “The whole thing is a secret experiment,” said the colonel. “Your presence puts a crimp in the plan. We will have to figure out what to do with you.”

    Colonel Cox stared at me and in our locked eyes I realized he would not let me go back to Pretty Prairie.

    “What have you done with Charlie?” I realized I hadn’t seen my friend since the fight outside our cell. Even if he was with me, I didn’t expect he was going to just walk out of here either.

    “He’s entertaining my guys,” said the colonel. “He’ll be along soon.”

    Dan rose from his chair and walked over to the colonel. He looked calm, and I wondered if his protest with the flag had been an act.

    “I feel much better now,” Dan told the colonel. “I remain in your service.”

    “What is he, a slave?” I shouted at Cox. “The only reason I’m in this mess is because I believed him when he said you were trying to turn the weather into a weapon. Plus, he looked like my brother.”

    “Amazing what a little tuneup and a computer wipe can do to make you more than willing to press on,” said the colonel. “Are you seeing what’s going on here?”

    Actually, I did, and it made me mad.

    “We will keep testing this weapon and no one will be the wiser,” said the colonel. “Guards. Take him and clean him up. I don’t want to see him again.”

    The guards pushed me all the way down the hall, passed the weight room, around the corner through another narrow hallway, until we arrived at an infirmary where I found Charlie. He was sitting on a raised gurney with a nurse swabbing blood off his right eyebrow.

    “It looks like you took it harder than the other guy,” I said. Charlie winced as the nurse dabbed on some iodine. His left arm was in a sling, and he resembled a torn raggedy doll.

    “I don’t know why they are fixing you up,” I said. Charlie frowned, and I was honest with him. “I get the distinct impression they plan to kill us.”

    “No, we will not kill you,” said a blue-shirted sergeant. “We will let a tornado do that.” He laughed. Charlie and I did not join him. In fact, it was the first time I recognized fear in Charlie’s eyes. “Tornado?”

    “Yeah, we’re testing the weather machine on you next.”

    “We’ve already had it tested on us, so we’re good,” I retorted. The sergeant just looked at me failing to laugh. He did not see the irony of my previous experience in Pretty Prairie. He turned away to talk to the other guards.

    “Well, we should look at you too,” said the nurse in a pleasant tone like she was stitching up two farmers rather than sending a couple guys to their doom.

     “I’ll need you to show me your arm, hon.” I waited and hesitated. She smiled. I did as she told me and watched the airmen in blue.

    The biggest guard bummed a cigarette off the littlest, and they stood in front of a door talking. They reminded me of that cartoon where the alpha dog prances around with the little dog yapping and jumping after him. The little guy was trying too hard to laugh at the big guy’s jokes.

    The nurse placed an electrode on my left temple, my neck, my arm, and my chest. She had also dressed Charlie with wires coming out of his shirt. I suppose she was prepping me for the science project they planned to conduct on Charlie and me.

     When she had finished dabbing my cuts, the nurse took the gauze and iodine and danced around the guards. She smiled, pretended to laugh at the airman’s joke, and hurried out the door.

    That left me and Charlie alone. I felt rotten and Charlie appeared worse.

    “So what’s the plan? Drive us out into the prairie, tie us up, and wait for the tornado to pound us without a weather warning?” Both guards looked through me and went back to laughing.

    “Seriously. You don’t think we’re going with you without a fight?” I taunted them with the hope they would come closer.

    The airman weighed in. “Yeah, we will strap you down like guinea pigs and wait for the storm. Now sit over there and be quiet.”

    “I hardly think you can hold me down, let alone the little guy.” The small guard bristled at my taunt and started toward us. “Look dude, I’m the one with the gun.”

    He had a point. Charlie and me only had our fists and each other. Still, I thought I could take him. I inched toward the guards. Charlie stood with me. Both of the guards reached for their holsters and told us to stop.

    “Come one step closer, and we’ll shoot,” said the big guy. It appeared he hoped we would rush them.

    “Look. We’re tired, we want to go home, and we’re done with today,” I said. “If you want to shoot us, do it. Shooting us would be a relief.”

    The larger guard laughed and the little guy joined in. I didn’t care at this point. The whole mess wore me out.

    “Sorry, I got you into this.” Charlie shrugged his shoulders and stood taller.

    Before we could start a fight, the room shook, and we fell to the floor. Dust and smoke rolled into the room and a massive explosion took out the lab.

    I jumped up, and reaching through the dust, grabbed Charlie by the arm. Together we leaped over the guards and ran toward the lab.

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing

    Looking for a new adventure? Walk around in Jake’s shoes.https://t.co/OOkd9VBHyh pic.twitter.com/FvqK46Ra8w

    — wordsmithholler (@wordsmithholler) July 11, 2018

    I you liked this story, check out Cindy’s Sin, the first novelette I wrote about a girl traveling to Las Vegas to get revenge.


    Other Writings You May Like

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Six Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Seven Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Five
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Eight
  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three

    Before I could register what he was saying, Dan passed out.

    He had a huge bloody gash on his forehead. And that would have been bad enough, but an IV stand stuck out of his stomach.

    The wound gushed blood no matter what I did and the pipe sticking out his gut would need a miracle.

    I tore my t-shirt into a bandage and tied it over the gash. Dan lay crumpled with his hands behind him. I found my knife and cut the restraints. That took care of his arms but there was no way he could stretch out with the IV stand sticking out of him. At that point, I thought he might as well be dead.

    Yellow sparks from the overhead light sparked no color in his face, and it remained gray like the storm clouds circling the torn roof. Pieces of ceiling tile and sheet rock covered the floor. I huddled by Dan next to torn insulation, ceiling tiles, bricks, and broken glass.

    Dan moaned.

    “What’s that?” I jumped to him.

    He whispered gibberish, which I couldn’t understand except for a few pieces. He plainly said “cube” and “weapon protocol.”

    The second phrase scared me, but “cube” piqued my curiosity. Where was this cube and could it be a key to the weather machine?

    “The cube is the key,” he moaned.

    “Key to what?” I wanted to know, yet he was moaning, talking gibberish, and passing out. I doubted he could tell me.

    “The weapon protocol!” Dan raised straight up and shouted. I decided he hoped they could hear him through the hole in the ceiling. It was important to him. But for all I knew, Dan was having a bad dream. It reminded me of watching a movie with no sound: you can see the action and still not know what is going on.

    Scuffing sounds came from the front of the clinic and Earnest tossed the wall away to find us. The short-order cook wiped a dirty hand on his apron.

    “We heard a roar and followed a huge funnel,” said Ernest, reaching out his hand. “It came out of the sky, set down, and wiped you out.” The way Earnest described it, the funnel targeted us before ripping up the clinic.

    “Nothing else in town is destroyed. The funnel only set down on the clinic and tore it up.”

    Earnest reviewed the room.

    “Where’s Doc Martin and the sheriff?”

    I had forgotten about them. They were here and then they weren’t.

    “Likely half-way to Iowa by now,” I mumbled. Earnest gave me a confused frown.

    “It sucked them out of the building.” I pointed at the hole and the gray sky.

    We were interrupted by the lights of a black 4X4, which lit us up in a yellow wash as the driver raced to a stop. “You hurt?” the driver asked. “What can we do?” He sounded like a pent-up Boy Scout. I shrugged my shoulders.

    I recognized the driver and his passenger as a couple linebackers from the high school football team. They always wore their Letterman jackets and pranced around the diner after school.

    “The sheriff’s gone,” Earnest called out.

    “Where did he go?” the driver peered through the broken window.

    “He went that way.” I pointed north in the direction the tornado carrying the sheriff, the deputy, and the doctor went.

    “We’ll go get him.” And before I could tell them about how the funnel cloud had sucked all three men from the clinic, the driver punched it into reverse and tore away.

    “I suppose somebody should fetch them,” I stuttered.

    Thinking about all that happened, I realized we had bigger problems to deal with. My brother Dan was dying, again, and I didn’t really know what to do about it.

    “The flag burner is bleeding good,” announced Sally, who sneaked by when I looked away. She had lost the gum, so I had no way of knowing she was near. She had a worried frown and touched Dan’s face. “We need to do something.”

    “We’ve got ice and a first-aid kit at the diner,” Ernest disclosed. “You will find a bunch of civil defense stuff in our storm shelter.”

    Charlie crawled over the debris and shook my hand.

    “Did you have a good nap?”

    “Well, I was doing good until all this ruckus.”

    My brother, who I was now thought of as the weatherman, moaned again. He tried to rise but the IV stand kept him pinned to the floor. He groaned and placed a hand on the bleeding cut, pulled back a red hand, and fainted.

    “We need to move him inside and find a doctor.” I gestured forCharlie to help me carry him out of the clinic and over to the diner. A crowd shuffled around us and some men offered to help carry Dan.

    Four men carried Dan like he was in a coffin while two others struggled to keep the IV stand from hitting the ground. They failed, and each time the stand struck the ground, my brother wiggled out of the hands of the four carrying him. And did he scream. This went on a few times until the weatherman passed out again.

    Ernest and I looked at the rubble of the clinic.

    “We will need a new clinic,” he contemplated. I stared at the rubble and the storm clouds floating away. “And a new doctor,” I added.

    Inside the diner, the men dropped my brother on a table. He still had the IV stand sticking out of him and it was bleeding even more. They propped the stand beside him and a group of ladies stood around whispering. Sally found a pair of scissors, a pile of cloth linens, a tablecloth, and some tape from the first-aid kit.

    “Go on. I found the first-aid supplies.” Sally turned to the other women in the room. “You do something.” The women stared at Sally like she was asking them to strip off their clothes. Finally, one of them picked up the gauze.

    I thought Dan was nearly dead, and before he passed out again or died, I needed to figure this out. With the women doctoring him, I grabbed two mugs, filled them with coffee, and found a corner booth to talk with Charlie.

    “I was trying to talk to him when the storm hit.” I poured enough sugar in the mug to make syrup.

    “I caught it all from the alley,” added Charlie. “A fierce, dark funnel cloud pounced on the medical clinic. Tore it up in pieces. Then it vanished and left a pile of rocks.”

    “After the storm, he told me the Air Force wants him dead.”

    “Why?”

    “Because he knows how they turn weather into a weapon.” I could tell Charlie was trying not to laugh. He smiled at me with skepticism and I barely believed what I was saying.

    A weather radio warned us of another impending tornado. “The National Weather Service in Springfield has issued a Tornado Warning for Reno County in central Kansas until 10 pm central time.”

    “A tornado warning means we need to take cover,” urged Charlie.

    “There is your shelter?” Sally pointed to the floor in the center of the diner.

    Men and women rushed out of the diner and I guess they had better shelters to hide in. This left me, Charlie, Ernest, Sally, Dan, and two grandmas who I thought needed me to carry them down.

    “Can you two manage?” I reached out to help.

    “Don’t worry about us,” one of the grandma’s said. “We can move when we need to.”

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing


    Other Writings You May Like

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Four Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Six Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Five control the weatherJake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Two
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three
  • Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part One

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part One

    I like my steak well-done, my eggs runny, and my toast black.

    My waitress, who always wears a blouse with just enough cleavage showing, popped my toast in again to make sure she charred it. I appreciate the little touches provided by this dive of a cafe on the main drive of Pretty Prairie in southern Kansas. A regular three-calendar restaurant where the farmers arrive early to drink coffee and fight over who has the tallest sweet corn. Ever since my car overheated on the outskirts of town, I have sipped Irish coffee, listened to the squawking farmers, and dabbed my runny eggs with black toast.

    As far as engine trouble, I might have done worse and ended up in Nebraska. Besides, this town needs me. A small place always favors a guy willing to do the stuff no one else will do, and well, I am that guy: Jake Rutledge, handyman. I am that roustabout people call when they need something fixed, thrown away, or made better.

    Early this morning, I eyeballed a fortunate sign on the western horizon as storm clouds formed at daybreak. The chance of a windstorm always meant someone would need a fence repaired, a tree cut, or a something found. I had no worries of the threat of a tornado. The fight over nature is something I can handle.

    I waved at Sally and pointed at my coffee.

    “You want to fill my mug?” I gave an expectant glance with a hint of sarcasm.

    Sally rested on a hip and stared through me. Like everyone else in this town, I got the impression she took joy in taking time to ponder if she wanted to help. Sure, a small puddle of coffee had dried in the bottom of my mug, and I wanted more. Nevertheless, I had to give Sally time to decide if I needed another cup. She took her time to reach for the pot and shuffle over to my end of the counter.

    As Sally lifted the pot over my cup, she teased, “So, do you still love me?” She had a sweet smile.

    “Pour the coffee and we’ll talk.”

    “Oh, the man doesn’t approve when I refuse to jump at his beck and call.” She returned the coffee to her hip.

    “I don’t care if you jump, as long as you’re quick about it.”

    The coffee filled to the brim and a steam cloud rose from the mug. Sally curtsied. Then she blew a bubble, snapped the gum with a pop, and winked before turning away. I admire Sally’s sass, but she should spit out the gum.

    I took a sip of the coffee and realized it needed a refresher. In my coat, I reached for my flask of whiskey, poured a finger into my mug, and took a sip. Overall, a fine version of a leprechaun’s kiss.

    “The car is still dead?” This line of questioning was rote. The person sitting next to me always started the morning by asking me when we were leaving.

    “I have my priorities. I would love to leave but I couldn’t hang out with you.”

    My neighbor laughed a deep hoarse rattle that became a cough.

    “You know Charlie, you ought to visit a doctor.”

    “Well, I ain’t got the money,” Charlie stated.

    We made a pair; two drifters stuck in Pretty Prairie, Kansas. Charlie Wadmeyer, landed here by riding with me in my junk of a car. He has always been tailing me and helps me when I need it. We go back to kindergarten, and he is my best friend. When he’s not following me around, he sits outside Honeyman’s Hardware down the street and watches the traffic. Once he counted two cars at once. You know how slow it can get in a small town.

    The noise from the farmer’s corner reminded me of hens in a chicken barn. I sipped my coffee and eavesdropped.

    “And so the guy shows up and plugs in a doodad and tells me the alternator is bad.” The old farmer nudged his glasses above his nose.

    “In the old days, you could diagnose it yourself.” I thought he might shout. His friends stirred their coffee mugs and waiting for him to continue.

    “Well, now a guy with a computer needs to tell you what’s wrong.”

    “Computers run everything nowadays,” another farmer waxed philosophical wearing a John Deere hat.

    “Yeah, unless I need a refill,” the old farmer remembered. “Hey, Sally. I need more coffee.” I held in a laugh. Darn if she didn’t glaze through him too.

    Sally eventually shuffled over to the farmers snapping her gum and balancing the coffee pot in her left hand. I could never call her one of those quick diner waitresses. It didn’t matter. Before she made it to the table, the whole booth of faded blue overalls stood to peer out the window.

    It had to be exciting for these guys to jump out of the seat, so when the farmers craned their necks to take it in, I decided I had better watch too.

    I had to push through the farmers to spy what was happening, and from what I could tell, nothing good would come of the spontaneous outrage in the parking lot. Surrounded by two cowboys, a pregnant mom, her kids, and a deputy sheriff, a lanky blonde stranger was dragging Stars and Stripes on the ground. He was shouting at the crowd.

    The deputy sheriff pulled the mom and her boys away from the protest. The two cowboys flanked the man who wore a black riding boots and full leather motorcycle gear. He pulled out a lighter setting the national emblem ablaze. This only enraged the cowboys. As flames touched the stars, both of them tackled the stranger to the ground. He let out a scream as the deputy stomped out the burning flag. Those cowboys might as well had hog-tied the man. He struggled to push away a boot on his back and squirmed around toward the cafe.

    By now we were all outside, me, Charlie, the farmers, Sally and everyone else. The guy rolled away from the cowboys and stood with one cowboy holding his leg. Charlie and I ran over to stop the guy from leaving. He threw a punch that landed right on my chin. I stumbled back while Charlie ducked another punch. I shook off the shock of the upper cut and tackled the guy to the ground. He landed hard enough to knock the wind out of me, and he appeared winded too. I rolled off the stranger as Charlie ran up.

    “Hey Jake,” Charlie noted. “That guy could be you.”

    Charlie was right. The man resembled me and how my face might appear if I was trying to fight off my attackers in a parking lot in Kansas.

    I took a second glance and then it hit me. The guy reminded me more of my brother Dan who died fighting in Afghanistan.

    Part One – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Two – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Three – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Four – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Five – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Six – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Seven – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Eight – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing
    Part Nine – Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing


    Other Writings You May Like

    Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Four Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Six Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing – Part Nine Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Three
    Read more: Jake Rutledge and the Guy With Bad Timing: Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part One