Chapter Twenty-Six

Back inside the cell, Ransom pondered his options. Bo had finished his ‘business’ but still sat helplessly on an un-flushed commode. The smell was stuck in the room, seemingly being absorbed one particle at a time by the dingy walls, which appeared to come to life in the thickness of the odor. The walls emitted the stench in waves, and it rocked through Ransom’s nostrils in an open defiance of his personal privacy. He had pulled his shirt up over his nose and moved to the far end of the cell, but that wasn’t helping.

Bo’s overalls still bunched up around his ankles as he sat there pants down, completely passed out. Ransom wondered how he was even able to keep his balance on the toilet, being large, drunk and asleep all at once.

Determined to escape this lingering torture, Ransom called out to Bo.
“Hello? Hello? HELLO! Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!” His cries fell on deaf, inebriated ears.

“Wipe it. Flush it. This is how this thing is supposed to work.”

Bo didn’t budge. For a moment, Ransom thought he saw the man's eyes flutter, but it could have been his imagination. He rose from his position and placed his face as far as he could between the cell bars.

“Matty! Matty, help me!”

Matty emerged from outside with blood on his rubber gloves. He stood there holding the knife out, frustrated to have been disturbed.

“What ya want priwsnor? It's the middle of night?”

“This beast of man has defecated all over the place and fallen asleep. I need you to move me to another cell, please.”

“Beasts? Somebuddy find the gun!” Matty spent most of his life playing catch-up.

“No, that man has used the bathroom and fallen asleep on the toilet. It's god awful in here. He needs to flush it and put some clothes on.” Ransom pointed at Bo as he spoke, although he doubted it was going help matters.

“Dat's my brother Bo. He dook and sleep every night bout this time. We cween it up in the morning.”

“What?”

“You go sweep now and shut you mouth!” Matty wagged the knife at Ransom in disapproval before leaving the room.

My God I'm stuck in a scene from Deliverance. Ransom conjured up that thought before glancing back and Bo and realizing it could be much worse.

After a couple of long, lonely minutes, Ransom decided to make his move. Once again, he placed his shirt over his mouth and nose and very nervously crept his way toward Bo. His steps were slow and steady, creeping over to the drunken man inches at a time. When Ransom was within arm’s reach of the toilet handle, Bo stirred a bit. It was enough to deter the reporter. He took a closer look at the handle and realized it was literally surrounded by Bo’s fat. It was going to take the combined dexterity of an entire NYPD police bomb-squad unit to get to the flusher.
Ransom backed up a bit, and waited for Bo’s breathing pattern to emerge. Feeling confident he had caught the rhythm, he waited for the right moment to reach around the fat and clasp the lever. In an instant, he saw his opportunity.

Ransom slid deftly around Bo's fat with his hand, moving toward the lever and flushed the toilet. The crash of the water swirling down the pipes echoed through the cell, and quite startled, Bo jumped straight up, before losing his balance and fell face first onto the ground.

“Holy crap!” Ransom screamed, as he rushed as fast as he could back the corner of the cell. Bo cocked his head up toward Ransom for just a moment before drifting off to sleep, pants still around his ankles, with his gigantic white butt pointed menacingly toward the ceiling.