Stress Test Ch. 32

Billey and Otis put their weight into the two-by-fours that poked out from beneath the tank. Elwood stood behind them and shouted, "One . . . two . . . THREE! Come on, you muthahs. Roll it on down there."

Billey looked over and saw sweat pouring down Otis's nose just like he had a faucet in his head.

"One . . . two . . . threeeee!" Elwood took a running jump and landed a solid kick on the side of the tank just as the other two gained some leverage. The tank began to move in slow motion like a big old bug egg on the side of an ant hill.

"Don't let it get away," Elwood cried, as if he'd suddenly realized that gravity mighty defy his orders. "You gotta get it in there straight. Otis, you stop that thing 'fore we have us a royal mess."

Otis lumbered around and pushed against the tank with his shoulder. When he'd steadied it, he walked over to the short end. He spread his arms over the surface and leaned back, thrusting his pelvis forward as if the enormous tank had sprouted from his crotch.

"Hey, Billey," he shouted. "Know what this looks like?"

"Looks like a hot dog takin' a crap," said Elwood, beating the tank with a two-by-four like a giant drum. "Lordy, Otis, most folks gotta live to be a hundred to get as dumb as you."

It hadn't taken Billey long to clear the loose dirt from the bottom of the hole, but then the project stalled. Like most of Elwood's plans, the idea of burying the tank had been engineered by whiskey. Some of the details, like how to drop the tank into the hole without cracking it, or how to get it down there with its mouth pointing up, had been left to take care of themselves.

The thing didn't weigh all that much, but it was big and awkward. When the men strained against it, the smooth surface became slippery with their sweat.

"Gahdam, I wish I had me a hel'copter." Elwood circled the tank for the hundredth time. "Just lift that bastard up and slip it in smoother than a fivebuck horse on Sunday morning."

Otis offered plenty of other suggestions until Elwood threatened to stop passing him the flask.

Billey began sleeping late while the two men went down each morning to knock off a bottle while studying the puzzle of the tank and the hole. They drew pictures in the dirt. They hauled ropes, chains, pulleys and posts from the shack to the hole and back. They plotted the kidnapping of ten Billeys who could finish the job with brute strength.

Finally one morning, Billey heard Otis rattling the latch on the camper door. "Come on now, Billey," Otis yelled as if Billey were encased in three feet of concrete instead of a flimsy metal skin, pocked by years of Elwood's wakeup calls. "We got it all worked out now."

Billey expected them to drive back down to the tank, but the pickup and the bugmobile were both gone. Walking from down there to the shack must have been the most work Otis had done in his life. The big man had to light a cigarette before they headed off.

As they walked back together, Otis motioned Billey to wait every time he took a drag on the cigarette. Otis stood still and inhaled. He pretended to be interested in the rusty engine blocks or hubcaps or tangles of barb wire or whatever pile of crap they were closest to. He exhaled forcefully through his nose. Then they walked a few more strides before he stopped again.

"We gonna get there by night, Otis?" Billey asked.

Otis didn't say anything, but he sucked double and threw the last half of the smoke down like it was a cockroach that had sneaked into his hand.

They found Elwood sitting on the pickup's hood, sucking the juice out of a cigarette butt. He got up, straightened the cricks out of his knees and said, "See what we done. It's complicated for a shitbrain kid like yourself, but you gotta try to understand the situation."

The pickup stood next to the tank, but they'd parked Otis' bugmobile on the far side of the hole. They'd lashed the tank to each of the vehicles with heavy ropes.

"See, first we's gonna drive apart to stretch them ropes good and tight." Elwood showed Billey a crude diagram he'd drawn in the dirt. "Next, we's both gonna drive this a'way until we're holding the tank right where we want it over the center of the hole."

Billey glanced at Otis who nodded and moved his lips. Elwood punched Billey's shoulder. "Pay attention," he barked. "This is gonna take 'bout all the brain energy you can come up with, Billey.

"Now, you're gonna take this pole and climb on top of the tank. Otis and me are gonna go in reverse to slack up those ropes so the tank goes down into the hole." Elwood waved at the next drawing in the dirt.

"What's that?" Billey pointed to a broad smudge that had erased half the pickup.

"Aw, hell, Otis." Elwood spat. "You walked all over the plans. Don't you got no sense at all?

"Don't pay no mind to that part, Billey. See, now you're on the tank with the pole, and we're drivin' closer together to put some slack in them ropes. As the tank goes down there, you gotta push the pole against this side or that side to keep it from gettin' all smashed up. Understand?"

"I guess so," Billey nodded. "But I think I ought to drive Otis' car and Otis can get on the tank with the pole."

Elwood looked at Otis. "I dunno, Billey. You ain't never done much drivin' in reverse. There's a lot of stuff to it."

"Yeah, but Otis knows a lot more about handling a big pole than I do. Ain't that right, Otis?"

The doubt cleared from the big man's face. "That's right," he declared. "He's right about that for sure."

Billey revved the pickup as Elwood climbed into the bugmobile. They drove away from each other until the ropes grew taut. Elwood poked his head out the window and shouted things Billey couldn't hear over the pickup's rough idle. Both vehicles moved slowly eastward with the tank jerking and scraping along between them. Otis stood by, grimacing each time the tank bounced off the gravel.

The tank finally hopped off the edge and swayed over the hole. Otis inched his way along the rope, then flattened himself against the round surface, trying to find his balance.

Billey feathered the clutch just enough to make Otis nervous. Maybe if Billey made him sweat a little more, he'd slip off by himself. Otis swatted the pole around, trying to keep from crashing into the sides of the hole, but not having any more luck than a beetle on its back.

Elwood climbed halfway out of the bugmobile to shout and wave, but Billey still couldn't make out a word of it.

"I dunno," Billey said under his breath. "What do you think, Otis?" He played with the pedals a little more.

When he saw Elwood get in the car, he let the truck back up slowly. Otis swore and threw the pole down. He held on for his life as the earth swallowed up the tank.

Billey couldn't tell if Elwood had the same idea, but together they gave Otis a good work out until the tank hit bottom. Elwood climbed out and put his hands on his hips.

"Look at the angle on the mouth," he said. "You put it in crooked, Otis. That's a hundred gallons less we'll be able to get in there."

Otis looked a little green beneath the sweat and mud. He wobbled to his feet and jumped from the top of the tank back to solid ground. "Looks straight as my peter on Saturday night," Otis said. "Not as big though."

The two men strutted around while Billey began shoveling dirt back in to fill the space around the tank.

"Now we're gonna do some business," Elwood said. "Now we're gonna get us some respect."

He paced around the perimeter of the hole, but stopped when he got down wind. He sniffed, tentatively at first, and then deeply. "Otis!" Elwood snapped. "You been peein' in my tank?"

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