<\/p>\n
The Causeway Bridge<\/strong><\/p>\n The fever hit me. Like a freakin\u2019 truck. I jumped into my Caddie and drove all the way to Galveston going 110. Maybe faster. I felt like I was seventeen again. Or nineteen. Or twenty. Whatever age that is where everything seems absolutely urgent and unique and the future is just this tiny dot in the distance you\u2019re plowing toward as fast as you can.<\/p>\n I had a bank check for $117,000 in my coat pocket and another one for $36,500 in the glove box. Along with an outdated insurance certificate, a .38, a completely useless fuzz buster, and a medicine bottle that may or may not have contained a small amount of prescription marijuana. I really should\u2019ve been pulled over. I mean I really<\/em> should have been pulled over. But not getting pulled over just another minor miracle in a long string of minor miracles for me: I\u2019d settled a case for too much money, I\u2019d shaken Willie Nelson\u2019s hand in a Denny\u2019s<\/em> parking lot, and I\u2019d hit the nine horse at the Sam Houston Raceway (36-1) purely because it was named Abogado<\/em> and I was willing to take a flyer. I was on a sick run of luck. Just sick. So it didn\u2019t surprise me that I didn\u2019t get pulled over. It\u2019s what I expected.<\/p>\n The trip went by in a blink. Hobby Airport. Blam. League City. Blam. Dmitri\u2019s<\/em> and The Ocean Cabaret<\/em>. Blam-blam. I mean, I barely even saw the oleander and the palm trees. It was only when I hit the Causeway Bridge that I sort of started to think about what I was doing and where I was headed. Galveston Island was stretched out there before me as I climbed the mainland side of the bridge. It wasn\u2019t bad to look at. The water glinted in the midday sun. Big houses to the right. Ski boats. Piers running out into the bay. And then, on my left, those funny undulating concrete dividers between the southbound and northbound lanes of I45. They were meant to look like waves, I think. The sky above me was screaming bright. I felt like I was shooting up to heaven or something. I felt that perfectly good.<\/p>\n As I crested the Causeway Bridge, I saw the billboard with me and Hagohara on it. Him and me, standing shoulder to shoulder. Him and me, both wearing dark suits. Him and me, both wearing thin red ties. Both smiling grimly. \u201cYou need tough <\/em>lawyers.\u201d That\u2019s what the caption said. It gave the office number.<\/p>\n At the very same moment as I descended onto the island, my former partner, Hagohara, may have been coming to the uncomfortable realization that a large sum of money was missing from the firm\u2019s operating account. $372,372.35. All but $46 even, which I\u2019d left him out of spite because it was his birthday. I could picture Hagohara sitting at his desk with the bank\u2019s web site open on his monitor\u2014gripping his forehead and letting out a wordless scream. Wearing those $3,000 Armani glasses on his moony face. God, I relished the fact that I\u2019d deceived him. I had a deep-down hatred for him that I\u2019d been repressing for years. Because he was an able minder, but he didn\u2019t have the stones to really try a case. He needed me. He followed me like a lamprey, eating the garbage off my teeth.<\/p>\n When I reached the Cruise Pier Terminal, I strolled into the ticketing office, pulled out Jill Jefferson\u2019s shining blue passport and opened it on the Formica counter. Jill was smiling in the picture, her bright, eager-looking smile. She was part Mexican, I think. She had a lot of gums.<\/p>\n I bought two Premier Class tickets for the Carnival Ecstasy. Three thousand seven hundred bucks apiece. Paper tickets bought with cash. The cabin had two shitters and its own Jacuzzi. They had a picture of the twin shitters in the pamphlet. I wanted to say something funny about it to the woman at the counter, but I held my tongue. Better that I not do something memorable just now.<\/p>\n The cashier put the boarding passes in an envelope and smiled as she slid them to me. I detected what? Interest? Envy? I stood there smiling back at her, but I was thinking about Jill: Jill\u2019s skinny arms, Jill\u2019s skinny legs, Jill\u2019s bright white tennis skirt. We were set to leave on Wednesday afternoon. We had to get to Cozumel by Friday. Friday at the latest. Jill and I had to jump ship there and make it the rest of the way to Venezuela on our own. By Friday, I figured they might be looking for me at the customs office. Even in Mexico.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Dmitri’s<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n I hit Dmitri\u2019s<\/em> on the way back to town. They didn\u2019t have a liquor license. You had to bring your own booze and buy ten dollar set-ups from the topless waitresses. The stripper onstage had a big scar from a C-section. Still, she moved better than any other white girl in the room, kind of flowing and drifting across the riser. There was a 20′ chromed pole in the middle of the club and this girl could climb it like an acrobat\u2014upside down, rightside up, sideways, even something that looked like a vertical cartwheel. It must\u2019ve taken a lot of strength to do what she was doing. Lots of practice. Training. So there was this curious tension. On the one hand, the girl could really get down. She’d studied somewhere. You could see it in the hardness of her muscles. But, on the other hand, she wasn’t what I\u2019d call a pretty face. She had a pig nose and thick legs and of course the scar. The emcee said we should give it up for Dawn. Most of the crowd ignored him, but not me.<\/p>\n After Dawn got off the stage, she circled the room, looking for some lap dances. I actually raised my hand up and held it there for her to see, like a kid in grammar school. I called out, “Hey, Dawn,” and smiled at her.<\/p>\n The woman wore a lot of blue mascara. Maybe it was tattooed on her eyelids. Her eyes flicked at me. Flicked closed. Flicked open again. She gave me one of those dead looks that say, “Fuck you, Mack. Just fuck you through and through.” And then, just as quickly as she\u2019d blinked, she sprang to life and walked toward me, smiling enthusiastically, her true feelings erased or buried.<\/p>\n Dawn made her money, though. She was polite to me. She told me I looked like what\u2019s-his-name from Rockford Files. And she sure put her ass right up in my face. On my cheeks. On the bridge of my nose. Her ass crack smelled like pussy and vanilla extract. I mean like really really <\/em>good. I tried to revel in it. I really tried to. But I couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n The lights were down and I was feeling shot, you know. Just gassed. I sat back in my chair and watched Dawn wriggle. There was some rap on. All base. Tooth-rattling bass. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. \u201cAin’t nothin’ but tooty-fruity, get on the floor if you got that booty.\u201d The same words, over and over again while Dawn pounded it out on my lap. The noise gave me a headache. No matter what I thought of I couldn\u2019t get it up.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Kelley’s<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n I woke up at a rest stop on I45 with a horrible taste in my mouth. Stale whiskey mixed with chicken grease. I was in the back seat of the Caddie. There was a Popeye’s<\/em> bag on the floor with a big wad of dirty napkins stuffed in the top. I reached over and crammed the mouth of the bag closed to see if that would stop the smell from leaking out.<\/p>\n When I picked myself up, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the rear view mirror. Heavy-lidded. Red-eyed. Big-lipped. Ten years older than I really was. The seams from the car seat were imprinted on my cheek, two rows of perfect stiches. My eyes listed toward the dash. The clock read 8:55.<\/p>\n Jesus Christ. Oh shit.<\/em><\/p>\n I felt my pockets. No keys. I turned my jacket inside out looking for them. I patted down the length of my pants. Nothing. I looked under the seats and between the seats and under all the floormats and then in the pockets on the back of the seats and in the center console and finally the glove box. Nothing. Fucking nothing. Zip.<\/p>\n I was supposed to meet Netni at this greasy spoon called Kelley\u2019s<\/em>. Kelley\u2019s<\/em> in LaMarque at nine. We had agreed. Because Netni was bringing the rest of the settlement money. And Netni wouldn’t wait. He\u2019d miss the meeting if he could. Because Netni was an insufferable prick who rejoiced in the suffering of others and the deliberate complication of their lives. I hated all defense attorneys, but most of all I hated Netni, who was good in court and also crooked. Netni would be overjoyed to miss me. I imagined the smile creeping across his face when he realized that I was running late.<\/p>\n I crawled over the console and into front seat, fishing around between the cushions for a second time. All I came up with was wadded up gum wrapper and some pennies. But no keys. They were fucking gone. Evaporated. They\u2019d been abducted by aliens. I groped around with a sort of nauseous panic. I bent down and looked underneath the driver\u2019s seat again. The blood ran to my head. The pressure throbbed. I was close, really really close to puking.<\/p>\n Finally, I just sat myself behind the steering wheel, grimacing and seething, pounding the wheel with the palms of my hands. The car was hotter than shit, even with the door open. Ninety, easy. There was a stabbing pain behind my eyes. It came and went with every heartbeat. I smacked my hands against the wheel some more. Whap. Whap. Whap. And somehow or other my smashing on the wheel made the visor drop down. The keys! They slid right off the visor right into my lap! I looked at them in the folds of my slacks. As a child looks on a Christmas present. With thankfulness. With greed.<\/p>\n But when I screeched into Kelley’s<\/em>, Netni\u2019s beemer was nowhere to be found. I circled the building just to make sure, trying to suck the bad taste off my teeth. There was nothing in the lot that Netni would have even considered driving. Just pick-up trucks and big go-to-church cars. Still, I went inside and stood by the hostess\u2019s stand, looking over her shoulder for him. Scanning the greyish, freshly-scrubbed inhabitants.<\/p>\n I smelled. I smelled like booze and B.O. and cigarettes. Maybe a little bit like piss. And I knew that. I was a little scared the lady wouldn\u2019t seat me. But, when I held up two fingers, she just smiled robotically, picked up a couple of plastic-coated menus and signaled that I should follow.<\/p>\n It was godawful bright in Kelley\u2019s.<\/em> Brighter even than outside because of all the fluorescents and the chrome. Every knife and fork and spoon and even the salt shakers gave back the shining light. Everywhere I turned I could see my distorted reflection in polished metal. I watched myself slide by in the backside of a napkin dispenser, an almost liquid form. That too made me sick.<\/p>\n I ordered coffee and put a big one down in less than a minute, then signaled to the passing waitress for another. She had decaf in one hand and the real stuff in the other. She smiled and poured from the carafe with the orange lid. Somewhere along the way, I found a plastic flask in my breast pocket. Thank God. I said. Aloud. Thank you, God. I pulled the coffee mug down in my lap and mixed the whiskey with it, fifty-fifty. Just that act made me feel better. I knew the pain would be over soon. All I had to do was wait.<\/p>\n By the time I finished my second cup of coffee, I\u2019d determined the stuff in the flask was Evan Williams. I was pretty sure about it. Even though I still wasn\u2019t sure where it had come from. It left a warm glow in my stomach. I could feel the swelling in my eyelids starting to go down.<\/p>\n Netni walked into Kelley’s Diner<\/em> in LaMarque at nine-thirty on Wednesday morning in an impeccably pressed black suit, buffed Ferragamos and a grey silk tie. His hair was slicked back. He hadn\u2019t shaved his jaw for a week but his throat and his cheeks were clean as a whistle. He could not have looked more out of place in LaMarque if he\u2019d walked in wearing a trench coat and fedora.<\/p>\n I dipped my chin and watched the skin of the coffee in my third cup while he walked over.<\/p>\n \u201cYou’re late,\u201d I said, barely even looking at him.<\/p>\n Netni skeptically examined his Rolex, ticking his head back and forth as if to jog a memory loose. To him, it didn\u2019t seem to add up. It must\u2019ve been my mistake. He leaned closer to me. He spoke in a lowered voice. \u201cWhat did you do, Frank? Did you sleep in your car?\u201d<\/p>\n I squenched up my cheek, but didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n Netni looked down brushed something off the seat. A crumb he had found there.<\/p>\n \u201cDid you order?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCoffee.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you eating?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s not drag this out, Judd,\u201d I said. \u201cI gotta be someplace.\u201d<\/p>\n Netni sat down opposite me. He looked at me awhile. \u201cAh yes,\u201d he said, \u201cyour vacation. What’s Hagohara going to do without you while you\u2019re gone?\u201d<\/p>\n I shrugged. I couldn\u2019t remember what I\u2019d told him about the vacation and what I hadn\u2019t. I didn\u2019t want to give any more away.<\/p>\n \u201cChoke on his chopsticks,\u201d I said. \u201cFuck if I care.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI mean what’s he going to do with the practice? With the firm? With all the fucking billboards?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked down at my fingertips, which were shaking just a bit. \u201cHe can\u2019t try a case himself. Never could. He\u2019ll have to bring somebody in.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWill he call the police?\u201d<\/p>\n I shook my head. I smiled. Of this much I was certain.<\/p>\n \u201cNo way in hell he will ever call the police. I think I can safely say that the last thing he wants is someone looking through his precious books.\u201d<\/p>\n Netni waited for more from me, but I gave none.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere are my checks, Judd?\u201d<\/p>\n Netni patted his breast pocket. \u201cYou have Mrs. Johnson’s signature?\u201d<\/p>\n I took the settlement and release out of my jacket and slid it across the table. It was folded in thirds and stapled in the corner. Netni flipped it open to the last page. The old lady\u2019d signed in violet ink. There she was by the notary block, clear as day. Delores Johnson. Recently of the Beaumont Pain Management Clinic. A graduate of Golden Triangle Neurological Institute. Her injuries were lifelong and debilitating. A certain neurologist I knew had averred that she would never work again.<\/p>\n \u201cAlright,\u201d I said. \u201cGimmee gimmee.\u201d<\/p>\n Netni took an envelope out of his pocket. He held it midway across the table. Like the prick he was. He wanted me to reach.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s something I\u2019ve always wanted to know, Frank. Before you go. Did you really have a thing going with Judge Carmen? People always said you had something going with Judge Carmen.\u201d<\/p>\n I pushed out my lower lip. I shook my head. \u201cNot like you think.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt means Al never asked me for anything. We took some vacations together. Family vacations. That was it. We let people think what they wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho paid?\u201d<\/p>\n I let the question sit.<\/p>\n \u201cHave you talked to him since they sent him to the pen?\u201d<\/p>\n I shook my head and pursed my lips. \u201cHis wife called me a couple of times. That\u2019s it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor money?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, Judd, for money. The feds took everything. They took his house. They took his ranch. They took his fucking horses.\u201d<\/p>\n Netni pushed the envelope across the table. I took out the checks and held each one up to the window. The sun shone through and backlit the ink. $1,250,000 and no cents. $47,500 and no cents.<\/p>\n \u201cGoodbye, I guess,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n I got up to leave him with the bill.<\/p>\n Netni was smiling at me, that apelike smile of his.<\/p>\n \u201cBon voyage<\/em>,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I45<\/strong><\/p>\n I\u2019d promised my girlfriend Susan I\u2019d take her to her parents\u2019 house that morning and I had to keep up the pretense since I didn\u2019t want to let on that I was leaving her. I\u2019d had a shower to help get my mind straight, but still I wasn\u2019t feeling quite 100%. The two of us were in the front of the Caddie. Her spaniels were in the back seat. Dottie and Don. Donnie and Dot. Something like that. A male and a bitch. And Susan was blabbering away about how her analyst had encouraged her to paint the scenes from her dreams. I don\u2019t exactly remember how we got there in the conversation. Really, I was just thinking about Jill and about how soon I\u2019d be rid of Susan and all her crazy New Age bullshit. How I was going to leave her at her parents\u2019 house and never have to listen to her talk about her therapists again. She wouldn\u2019t even know I was gone \u2018til I was five hundred miles out to sea. I\u2019d just disappear and then she\u2019d have to wonder. Maybe someone from one of the newspapers would try to call her up for answers.<\/p>\n That\u2019s when I came up on this old yellow Cavalier chugging along in the fast lane. We were ten miles past the beltway on the north side of town. There was no way anyone should be going less than 75 in the fast lane out there. That may even have been the limit. So I eased over to the right and went by, right? No biggie. An easy pass. No problem. But when I glanced back to check the clearance, the Cavalier took a hard left turn. It swerved into the concrete divider in the middle of the Interstate. Cranked into it full bore. The left-front hood folded up like an accordion. The windows blew out, all six of them at once. To me, it looked almost like the driver\u2019d run it into the wall on purpose. And then things got really bad. The car tipped over and started rolling. I remember specifically seeing the doors fly open while it tumbled. It kind of reminded me of a tree roach spreading its wings. Nothing came out, but the doors were wide open.<\/p>\n The first thing that popped into my head was, \u201cDid I do that?\u201d<\/p>\n I mean, it seemed like a completely clean pass to me. I didn\u2019t think I\u2019d cut the other driver off or anything. A few car lengths on a pass is all anyone is entitled to in this world. But I\u2019d taken a couple of Percocet at a gas station about a half hour before. The truth was, until I saw the wreck, I hadn\u2019t really been paying very much attention to anything. So I cut Susan off in the middle of her dream, which apparently had something to do with how inconsiderate I was. \u201cHey Honey, was there an accident back there?\u201d I asked. All nonchalant. All cool. Sometimes I amaze myself.<\/p>\n Susan craned her neck around. And as soon as she did, she screamed right into my ear. \u201cAaaaaaahhhhh! Oh Christ, Frank! Jesus Christ! Stop the car! Stop the car! Oh Jesus Christ!\u201d Because, just when she turned around, a huge black dually\u2014a Dodge Ram, I think\u2014ran right into the passenger side of the Cavalier, which hadn\u2019t even come to a stop yet. The truck plowed into the car and smashed it into the divider all over again. And I\u2019m watching this all in the rear view mirror, slow-mo, going Oh Shit. Oh fucking SHIT.<\/em> Because if the people in the car had made it past the rollover, I doubted anyone could survive the T-bone.<\/p>\n Susan whacked her hands on the dash. She scrunched up her orangey face. \u201cAaaaaahhh! Pull over, Frank!\u201d she screamed again.<\/p>\n Now, I was pretty sure I was innocent. Nothing I\u2019d done should have made the Chevy\u2019s driver cut the wheel. Maybe it had blown a tire or hit something on the road. And the Ram clearly hadn\u2019t kept an adequate following distance. But, when I looked at myself in the rear view mirror, the guy looking back at me had eyes that were as glassy as marbles. If I\u2019d been a slot machine, I would\u2019ve just hit the lemons.<\/p>\n Susan started pulling on my arm. \u201cWe have<\/em> to go back! We have<\/em> to help!\u201d she cried.<\/p>\n \u201cLook, Honey,\u201d I said, and I was still serene with Percocet. \u201cWe\u2019re on a divided highway. I can\u2019t just turn this car around. I\u2019d have to loop around at the next overpass. And God knows where that\u2019ll be. It\u2019s probably not for another ten miles. And we\u2019re already a half hour late getting to your folks\u2019 house. Plus, there\u2019s plenty of people back there to help. There\u2019s going to be way too many people there for us to do any good. We\u2019d just get in the way.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJesus, Frank! I can\u2019t believe you!\u201d<\/p>\n Her eyes were bugling out. She turned all the way around in her seat, sitting on he knees, looking back at the wreck. The dogs were looking back there, too. I could see them in the rear view mirror with their paws up on the head rests.<\/p>\n Her voice was shaking. \u201cI think somebody got killed back there!\u201d Susan cried. \u201cI heard a shriek!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou hear a what?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n As soon as I asked, I knew I shouldn\u2019t have.<\/p>\n Susan wheeled on me. She hated being doubted. \u201cA heard a shriek. A psychic shriek. It\u2019s the sound people let out as they die.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re fucking kidding me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n In my own defense, opiates will loosen up your tongue.<\/p>\n Susan held up her palm to stave off my disbelief. \u201cFrank,\u201d she said, \u201cI don\u2019t want to have an argument about it with you right now. Just turn the car around.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLook, Suz, I mean, there wasn\u2019t any shrieking, psychic or otherwise.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEverything screams before it dies. It\u2019s scientifically proven.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBy who?!\u201d I asked. \u201cBy L. Ron Hubbard?!\u201d<\/p>\n I already knew this wasn\u2019t going to end well. My mouth was dry. There was this chalky film gathering on my tongue. I was feeling white and pasty. In my mind\u2019s eye, I was kind of picturing all these mangled bodies back there in the Chevy. Grandma driving. Mama beside. The kids in back in their car seats all bloody and bashed together. I\u2019d seen pictures of it a time or two.<\/p>\n \u201cC\u2019mon, Frank. Turn the car around! It won\u2019t take fifteen minutes. Please, Honey. Please<\/em>! You\u2019ve got to go back!\u201d<\/p>\n I pretended like I was weighing my options. Like I was really considering turning around. But I wasn\u2019t. I drove right past the next exit without even touching the brakes. I was never turning around. Not for that.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Pier 4B<\/strong><\/p>\n I dropped Susan off at her parents\u2019 place in Conroe and immediately turned back toward Houston. She was still shouting at me to go back to the car wreck as I backed out of her parents\u2019 driveway. When I looked at her in the rear view mirror, she was standing at their idiotic wrought iron gate with all the curlicues. She had a handful of gravel in her hand. She threw it after me. It rattled on the Caddie\u2019s paint. I couldn\u2019t hear what she was yelling, but I could almost read her lips. \u201cI hope you get some help!\u201d is what I think she was saying.<\/p>\n I shot down I45 and across The Causeway Bridge and only slowed down when I hit the exit ramp for the Cruise Ship Terminal. Harborside Drive. I was waiting to experience the bliss of the day before, but somehow I couldn\u2019t quite recapture it. The scene was the same, but it was not the same. There were deep water rigs in dry dock along the roadside, wrecked skeletons of them, and oil tanks too\u2014painted green and rusting. And then there were the sulfur piles. Mountains of the stuff. Some of them must\u2019ve been seventy or eighty feet high. Then finally the vast plain of the terminal\u2019s asphalt parking lot.<\/p>\n I found a spot for the Caddie pretty close to the ship and waited for Jill there, watching for her station wagon. It was hot as hell out there on the pavement. There were deep black mirages every way you looked. But there was nothing I could do but wait there in the heat. There was no way to make time run faster. Everything was slow. I could not control it.<\/p>\n I sat behind the wheel of my car with the windows up and a\/c running full blast. It didn\u2019t matter to me if the gas ran out. That\u2019s what I thought. I was leaving the Caddie there anyway. Someone else could have her if they filled her up. After all, she\u2019d been faithful. She deserved a new home.<\/p>\n I turned the radio off and just sat there watching the ship, the passengers trundling up the gangway in twos and fours, fat and dressed like day beds. Some of them had already started arguing.<\/p>\n Finally, an announcer came on the scratchy P.A. to say the ship was leaving. \u201cAll aboard,\u201d he bellowed and it sounded like he meant it. So I got out of the Caddie into the blazing afternoon. The sun burned straight through my shirt and into my back. I could feel the heat of the parking lot cooking the soles of my shoes.<\/p>\n My shit was in the trunk in my little brown shoulder bag. Two swimsuits, four pairs of underwear, two shirts and some flip-flops. Jill\u2019s stuff was beside mine in her enormous purple roller. I took her passport out and started flipping through the pages. Every one of them was blank. There wasn\u2019t a single stamp. She\u2019d gotten it just for this trip. The photo looked brand new.<\/p>\n I thought about putting her passport in the mail and sending it back to her. I could have done that if I\u2019d wanted to. If there\u2019d been a postbox nearby. If I\u2019d had and envelope and half a dozen stamps. But she could just have another made, couldn\u2019t she? So what would be the point in sending it? To remind her that I\u2019d loved her once? That I\u2019d thought of her as I got on board? To show her what a considerate, earnest guy she\u2019d ditched? I was never going to do that. What would\u2019ve been the point?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" “Everything screams before it dies.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13198","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","writer-anthony-spaeth"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13198","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13198"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13198\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13199,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13198\/revisions\/13199"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13198"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13198"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13198"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}