Sometimes the biggest adventures
come in suitcases, stashed in ditches, handcuffed to severed arms. I mean
that's how we found this one anyway. Me and Rich Boy Robbie Lamont, driving
his beamer down a gravelly road behind a construction site his dad owned,
on our way to a cocaine pickup. Robbie's deal, I had nothing to do with
it, but he wanted me for backup and he bribed me with an expensive leather
jacket. He's driving along telling me this long story about why the best
leather you can buy smells horrible. I interrupt him as we get close to
the rendezvous point.
"So what are we, uh-- what's
this Fat Anthony dude look like, then?"
"Whattayou think, Vern? He's
a fat guy," Robbie laughed.
"Well, I don't know. How'm I
supposed to know? Some of these nicknames they got these days, you never
know."
"Well Fat Anthony is a fat guy.
Real fat. In fact I don't know how he stays in business, you'd think he'd
have to run from the cops at some point."
Now you may not know this if you haven't
met me, but I am kind of the visionary type of dude. You know, the type
of dude that comes up with a lot of innovative ideas and fresh approaches,
and I am always looking for a chance to propose them. And this was one
of those chances for me.
"You know, I always thought if
a fat dude wants to be selling blow or, you know, whatever, and he's worried
about cops, at least cops on foot, this is what he should do. You get a
pair of rollerskates, right? And do all of your transactions on the top
of a steep hill. 'Cause I mean a guy that size, the momentum-"
And suddenly, a loud ass thump on
the bottom of the car. The type of unexpected noise that scares twice as
much shit out of you when you work in this particular business or associate
with this type of individuals. So a second later it was a relief to realize
it wasn't a gun shot, all it was was this asshole Robbie had driven us
right into a ditch.
Now, I don't know if you remember
this but when you're a kid, you're always hiding stuff in the bushes, or
looking for stuff in the bushes. Burying stuff in the backyard or finding
something buried. When you're a 12 year old you know that there is always
that chance you will find something good somewhere. Maybe a pocket knife
if you're lucky, or of course a big stash of pornos if you're real lucky.
Well in this case, it was the suitcase handcuffed to the, you know, the
arm.
I mean jesus. There's this gnarly
white hand sticking out from under the wheel, wearing a big tacky ring
on the - well, obviously, on the ring finger. And inside the case were
our invitations to embark on the summer vacation of all time. I mean, metaphorically
speaking. They weren't actual invitations.
But hold on bud, let me give you
some context here. Robbie was a lot younger than me, somewheres in his
twenties, and the guy was a total prick. Fat, awkward kid. Maybe not as
fat as Fat Anthony, I'm not sure I never met the dude. But Robbie is one
of these spiky hair and whiney voice type guys, and he's always offering
to buy you shit. "Come on Vern, don't leave. Let me buy you a couple
bottles of wine." "Come on Vern, I got coke." "Come
on Vern, I'll get you a Rolex." It was sad and pathetic and it worked
every time. I knew he was buying my company but hell man, a motherfucker's
gotta eat.
The way I met the kid was I accidentally
impressed him flapping my big yap at a hair salon. Sure taught me to keep
my mouth shut and stay on the down low. Robbie wasn't too good looking
in my opinion but he aspired to be a pretty boy. He came in for a shampoo,
highlights and some hair gel and we ended up side by side in the hairdryer
chairs. Now one thing you gotta understand man, under non-emergency circumstances
I'm strictly a barber shop man. I do not go for the fancy stylings and
the perms nor do I care to be around them. But this one was a definite
emergency type scenario so I start defending myself.
"Yeah I'm strictly a barber shop
man under non-emergency circumstances you know. Yep, wouldn't even be here
but its an emergency yunnerstand. Only do this in an emergency."
Robbie gave me this look like he didn't know what the
fuck I'm talking about. "Can't understand a word you're sayin, mister."
I scan the parlor for anybody that looks like a potential
cop or snitch, then I raise my voice over the hum of the hairdryers. Like
a fucking jackass.
"Well I came for a mustache shave
and a perm, you know, 'cause I need to change my appearance on account
of a job we just pulled."
He's still looking at me funny. Raising his eyebrows
like, "Whatever dude."
"You know, a job? Like a job
job? BANK ROBBERY? YEAH MAN WE ROBBED A… hahem, yeah we robbed a bank."
Finally his eyes lit up. "You're
a bank robber!?" He was in awe. And I'm thinking, what did I just
say, man? You gotta spell everything out for these rich kids. They can't
read between the lines, they can't even read the lines themselves. The
more they don't pick up on it, the more you wanna brag about it.
Wasn't worth blowing my cover for,
though, and to make matters worse he invited me for a beer and appointed
me his official connection to blue collar crime.
So a year or two later, we're stuck
in this ditch with the suitcase. Due to my street smarts and years of experience
in the industry, I was pretty fucking sure the whole handcuffed-to-a-severed-arm
thing signalled valuable contents. Diamonds, money, maybe guns. Definitely
a lot of something, and most likely something we could fence or
stick in a safe. In my opinion.
But I gotta tell ya man my first instinct
was to run like hell. I don't wanna end up getting blamed for this arm
business. Possession of stolen property is one thing, you don't wanna get
stuck with a murder rap especially if you never even met the dude. Even
worse, a one armed dude thinks you stole his diamonds, his luggage and
his arm? This motherfucker catches you he's gonna take it out on your limbs,
100% guaranteed. And I couldn't help but notice that the forearm was pretty
thick. I'm guessing that other arm, the one that for all we knew was still
attached, could do some damage. Well I don't need that type of stress,
so I told Robbie forget it let's get the car out of the ditch and get the
fuck out of here.
Robbie doesn't say anything, gets
in the car and starts spinning his wheels. I'm at the back, giving the
beamer a push. Staring at this muddy suitcase and fucked up ex-arm wedged
beneath the front tire, becoming more and more mussed up the more Robbie
tries to climb out of the ditch.
With a sudden jerk and a roar of the
engine the suitcase shot out from under the tire. The car jumped out of
the hole and hit the case one last time with the back wheels. I looked
at the suitcase, all scraped up and crooked and bent out of shape, wondering
what was inside. I got a little shiver, then put it out of my mind and
hopped in the car.
So, of course, that rich fuck Robbie
puts the car in park and hops out again. "Whattayou think is inside
that thing though, Vern?"
"Ah shit Lamont, let's get the
fuck out of here," I yelled from the passenger seat. Through the rearview
mirror I saw the kid scurrying back to where the suitcase laid.
"Hey Vern, this guy's got a pretty
big ring on," he shouted.
"Yeah, already noticed that,
bud."
"Might be able to fence it. Whattayou
think?"
"I think you should leave it,
but whatever bud, let's get going."
"It has his name engraved in
it, I think. 'The Agonizer.'"
I mean, jesus.
"Better leave it then."
"Hey Vern?"
I didn't answer. I just wanted to
go.
"What the fuck kind of a name
is 'The Agonizer'?"
"I don't know kid. Let's get
going."
In the mirror I could see him fiddling
with the case. Then he squealed with delight. Apparently the car fucked
the case up so bad the lock popped open, because I could make out Robbie
opening it, peeking inside. He drags it across the gravel to the open driver's
side door.
"There's money in here man, it's
completely filled with money. This is a lot of money man."
And the kid had a point. The thing
is, you don't have much time to think these kinds of things through. I
looked around for witnesses, just like I did back in the hair salon. (Old
criminal trick.) I looked at Robbie.
Gave him a nod. Gulp.
"But ferchrissakes get rid of
that arm first!"
He stood on top of the case and started
pulling on the arm with all of his might. You do not want to know
the sound it made when it finally popped out of the cuffs. He threw the
two pieces in the ditch, the case in the backseat, takes the motherfucker
out of park and burns out. Fuck Fat Anthony, he says, something else came
up.
It was a left arm, by the way, not sure if that's important.
So it wasn't until we got to the
parking lot in my apartment building that Robbie mentioned the catch. "You
know, I didn't think there was time to explain back there, but the money's
not American."
"What!?"
"I don't know, I didn't get a
good look at it but it must have been from another country. Don't think
it was green. Looked kinda colorful."
"What? What country? What colors?
Ah shit, Robbie. If you got us some kind of Columbian drug money or some
shit like that--"
"Don't worry, man. Even if it's
Canadian it's, like, hella money."
Inside the apartment, we open the
thing up, and I'll be damned. He was right, it wasn't American, not exactly.
Wasn't Canadian either, or Mexican. There wasn't a president on these bills,
or a queen - not even a monument. Just a cartoon mouse.
We threw packet after packet on the
floor, digging to the bottom of the case, looking for the real money.
"What the fuck is this Robbie!?
We're risking a murder rap for funny money!?"
"No no no," he said. "It's
okay, man. It's not funny money. We can use this. This is--" and he
went on to explain what it was, a special currency printed up expressly
for use at a certain amusement park. Which was actually written on the
money itself, if I had looked closer, so him explaining it to me was no
big accomplishment. Anyway I don't wanna step on any toes here so I'm not
gonna say what the name of the park is. But let's just say it rhymes with
Pisneyland. I think you know what I'm talkin about man.
So Robbie continues: "It's no
use to us out here, but inside the park it's as good as cash. I mean if
we go down there we can buy all kinds of shit. Hats, posters, stuffed animals,
change purses, you name it. We could live like fucking-well, not like kings,
but you know. I mean, it would be fun."
Better than nothing, I guess.
One painful two-day drive later
we checked into a hotel basically right across the street from the park.
It was late Thursday night and man was I glad to get there. If I had to
hear any one of Robbie's god damned mix tapes again (volumes 1-4, all with
their own titles and unique covers he made himself and printed off on his
Commodore) I would've strangled some motherfucker, preferably him. And
if I strangled him I'd make damn sure I strangled him all the way because
that boy can complain, I'm telling you. If I didn't finish the job it would
be, "Man, my neck hurts. I'm sore, we need to pull over. I need some
aspirin. My skin is burned. Ooooooooh, my fucking neck." All the way
home. I hated that fucking kid.
But the tension eased up as we turned
in for the night. I mean it was Christmas Eve for us. We knew the next
morning it was Pisney time.
We got up early, loaded a backpack
full of funny money and got there as the park opened. "Lines are shorter
that way," Rob said. We ran straight for the pirate ride and some
other ride that was new. He was right about the lines, we had
the run of the place. But I thought we should be careful. "Don't be
using the money at first," I said. That lefty in the ditch back there
meant this was serious, and I was all about caution. "We don't wanna
raise any eyebrows with this and if we do, we need crowds to disappear
into."
"Oh totally man, we'll be smooth
on this one," he said. He even used American money when he bought
his first churro. I bought me some mouse ears with my name on it, and pretended
like I didn't have enough Pisney dollars to cover it. "Oh damn, is
it okay if I pay part of this in quarters?"
"No problem Vern."
"Hey, how did yo-ahhhhhhh, ha
ha, you stitched it in my hat there, that's how you knew my name. Pretty
slick there jack." His name wasn't Jack, though. I don't know what
the fuck his name was.
"He didn't suspect a thing,"
Robbie laughed as we walked away. Like I says we were real careful about
the whole thing, real subtle.
But you know how these things go
man. Two hours later we're flashing our rolls at kids, tossing loose bills
off the flying elephant ride, slipping packets in Snow White's dress. We
went on the baby rides and screamed our lungs out-"It's too scary!
Let us off!" Then we paid kids to do the same thing. We had lunch
at the Golden Horse Shoe restaurant and we overtipped this gal every time
she filled our water. She kept coming back and I know you could say it
was the money but I think she was into me to be frankly honest. I mean
if you were there you would have seen what I'm talking about and this gal
was pretty good looking too in my opinion. I guess I'd have to go back
there to prove it but I doubt she still works there I mean this was a while
ago.
Anyway it was a big park, even back
then and I doubt we saw all the rides, but in the areas we explored we
were becoming a little too familiar. Even the customers started catching
on that we were the guys with the funny money. Kids were coming up to us
asking if they could borrow a few dollars to buy popsicles. Robbie especially
was going buck wild with the stuff, because rich kids are into the whole
power trip thing. I knew we were pushing it around the time he was flashing
packets in the face of the gal in the Minnie costume.
"Look at that, you see that?"
Robbie was saying, flipping through a couple wads to show how many bills
he had. "You see that mouse? Who is that, your boyfriend? Your husband?
Your husband is on the bills, but do you have this many? I don't
think so. I don't think so lady. This is mine. I have the money. I have
all the money. You make me sick."
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Come
on kid, let's go. It's not worth it."
"No no, I got a proposition for
this bitch. I'll give you $1,000 to take off your mask in front of these
kids. Come on."
Minnie shook her giant head. I'm sure
it was tempting for the girl inside. But the illusion of the cartoon kingdom
was important to this gal, so she stood strong. She didn't sell out. She
knew that all that money would be fun, but it wouldn't be worth the guilt
she would feel looking in the mirror every morning for the rest of her
life knowing that she had betrayed the children, ruined their fun, disgraced
the park. She had a strong heart, so she knew something that Robbie didn't:
you can't put a price on the dreams of children. Either that or employees
just get all the shit for free anyway so what the fuck good is a wad of
funny money to her.
For dinner Robbie took us to an
exclusive rich people club called Club 33. It's in a secret location in
the park, most visitors don't even know it's there, and you gotta be some
kind of corporate fat cat to get a membership. Robbie's dad had a membership
and he managed to get us in on it.
It wasn't all that hot though in my
opinion. Rich dudes aren't like children, they don't like imagination,
and although the place was pretty swank and all it didn't have that Pisney
magic and attention to detail. I mean okay there's a talking moosehead
but it wasn't as cool as the pirate ride or anything. I mean you can get
that kind of thing at Chuck E. Cheese. Fuck Club 33 in my opinion.
But Robbie had heard this rumor from
his dad, one of those legends that only a small percentage of the elite
few whisper nervously in the shadows. He heard there was another club inside
Club 33, that only a lucky few are allowed to enter or even know about.
A secret within a secret. Robbie believed in it and he thought we could
get in.
"Excuse me jack," he said
to the waiter (jack being a term of endearment the kid learned from hanging
around me.) "How many of these do you think it would take us to get
a good seat around here, if you know what I mean," and he gestured
to several packets of bills fanned out on the tablecloth. The waiter just
frowned. We were out of there in two shakes of a walkie talkie.
The sky was getting dark, the scene
was getting old and the authorities were catching on to us. But we wanted
some souvenirs before heading back to the hotel. There are a lot of stores
to choose from in that place, and they all have different fancy names and
themes, but they mostly sell the same type of shit. And you can only see
so many Mickey and Minnie nightgowns before you get sick of them.
"Who likes Mickey Mouse anyway?"
I asked Robbie. "I always liked the Bugs Bunnies better in my opinion.
I mean, who even watches Mickey cartoons anymore? You only like Mickey
'cause you're supposed to like Mickey. But what is there to like about
him anyway? Nobody knows."
We were at the cash register buying
Robbie's Goofy slippers when we were apprehended by a large security guard.
"Robert Lamont, Jr. and guest?"
"Y-yeah," Robbie gulped.
(Fucker shoulda let me do the talking.)
"Come with me gentlemen."
We looked at each other, then followed
him to a hidden employees-only door. I don't know what Robbie was thinking,
but I wasn't scared. I figured, what does Pisneyland security know about
The Agonizer's missing left arm? Worst they're gonna do is throw us out
for attempted waiter bribery. And we were leaving anyway. Might even be
convenient for us, maybe we could get a ride out on a little security guard
go-cart.
The back room was dirty and dank like
a janitor's closet, and smelled like piss. (Urine.) Not very magical in
my opinion. The guard sat us down on a concrete bench. He always maintained
eye contact, but wouldn't say anything.
"Is this about what I said about
Mickey?" I asked. "'Cause it's a free country you know asshole."
The guard just stared at me. "Ever heard of a little constitutional
amendment called the first amendment? Well in my opinion free speech is
one of the most important articles in that particular amendment. So if
I like Bugs Bunny better I can damn well say I like Bugs Bunny better.
Even on Walt's turf."
"If you know what's good for
you you'll shut your damn mouth, Vern," the guard said. Holy shit!
He knows my name? He got Robbie's name from the waiter, but how the fuck
does he-oh yeah.
"You think you can scare me with
that? I'm not a retard, jack, I know I'm still wearing the mouse ears."
Apparently some higher up was supposed
to come have a word with us, and we'd find out what this was all about.
The guard was so tight-lipped and solemn I was starting to get nervous.
Half expecting an angry one armed bastard named The Agonizer to storm in
there at any minute. I eyed my surroundings, getting a handle on the available
resources in case there was trouble. The most promising item was a fire
alarm switch behind glass.
The guard kept looking at his watch.
He seemed kind of embarrassed that it was taking so long. He looked at
me and kind of shrugged.
"Make a fist," I said.
"Wha-at?" He laughed nervously.
But he did as I said. I grabbed his wrist and smashed his hand through
the glass, used my own hand to pull the alarm.
"Thanks bud."
Young Robbie jumped to his feet, beaming."You
see that, bitch? You don't fuck with a couple of old vets like me and Vern.
In two minutes time this place will be swarming with firemen. And prob'ly
cops too to keep the guests calm. Oh, you've done it now. It's over. You
might as well let us go now."
"Do you think you could drop
us off by our car?" I added. "You got those little go carts,
right?"
The guard was unimpressed. "We're
not letting you go. You forget this is Pisneyland. Do you think they'd
let a fire truck or an ambulance come tearing down Main Street every time
something goes wrong? Of course not, it destroys the atmosphere. Any emergency
calls here are discreet. All we need to do is explain it was a false alarm
and they'll be out of our hair. And besides if we had to we could just
pay them off."
A few minutes later there was a
knock. The guard gave us a threatening look and then walked over to unbolt
the door. In walked four lanky park employees in their late teens and early
twenties, flanking a man in a mouse costume. Can you believe that? Trying
to pay for college playing bodyguard to a fucking mouseman.
There he was, the big man, the mouse
with the big head, wearing some kind of mouse tuxedo like a cartoon mouse
would wear in the cartoons. He looked back and forth between me and Robbie,
and then he pointed at me. The college kids came up behind me and grabbed
my arms to hold me in place.
The mouse stood staring at me with
his unchanging smile. I couldn't figure out where the eyeholes were on
the thing, but I could hear the guy heavy-breathing inside. And then the
fucker punched me in the nose with his three fingered cartoon glove.
"Ouch, man. Knock it off."
He punched me in the gut.
"Lay off him, man!" Robbie
said. He sounded genuinely worried, like he thought I might not make it.
Like I was too old to take this kind of abuse, even from a mouse. I yanked
my arms away from the college kids and gave the mouse a good shove. His
fiberglass head was too heavy for him to maintain balance. He fell on his
ass and he couldn't get up.
The kids leapt at me. I grabbed a
guy with an earring, put him in a headlock and took a, you know, a bite
out of his cheek. Nothing too bad, just a little nibble, but enough to
spray blood and make a scene. Show business. When I let go of the guy,
all four of them ran for the door. But Robbie, for once in charge of things,
stood in their way. Not sure of his cheek biting abilities but not willing
to risk it, they backed into a corner and cowered like cowards.
By this time the mouse had wiggled
his way out of the mask. Not to sound gay but he was kind of a handsome
kid I gotta admit, his hair all moussed up like Robbie's. But I mean the
mouse tuxedo looked pretty ridiculous.
"Oh you've really done it now,"
he yelled. "Don't you know I can snap my fingers and get as many cast
members in here as I need? Don't you know who you're dealing with here?
You don't cross the Pisneyland Mafia!" But he didn't say Pisneyland,
though. It was something else, but I'm not gonna reveal exactly what. Anyway
he pulled a walkie talkie off of one of the other kid's belt. "Donnie,
this is Trey. We've got our perps in the shack, we're gonna take 'em to
the mountain. We need backup. And bring…" He looked at me, all
wide-eyed and crazy. "…the gun." He smiled, pleased
with himself.
"The gun!" I said. They only had one
gun. These kids cracked me up.
Four or five minutes, and another
lanky kid arrived with the gun. A tiny little thing but they were
proud of it. They had us put our hands on our heads, which I think upset
Robbie but mainly because he didn't want to mess up the hair. They led
us, at the-gunpoint, out of the room and out in the open, right
through the park. It was dark now and nearly empty, apparently closed.
There were a few straggling employees here and there cleaning up food stands
or sweeping sidewalks. They looked at us curiously but didn't seem to want
to get involved. Some of them said, "Hey Trey," and he'd say,
"It's Friday night. Better hurry up and get dressed."
They led us to the Matterhorn ride
and into an employees-only door and we began the long descent up the artificial
mountain. The stairway smelled like oil and a recording of a female voice
on an endless loop echoed throughout - Remain seated please. Something
something seintados, por favor.
At this point, the rich boy starts
to crack. Robbie started blabbering about his dad was rich and he could
get them money, or goods, or whatever they wanted. They just kept telling
him to shut his mouth, this isn't about money. I never once heard them
call him rich boy though so I'm thinking they were of upper middle class
backgrounds or higher in my opinion.
Now I was in pretty good shape for
my age at that point, I am not lying, but still walking up that many stairs
is a chore. Especially since I'd been on my feet since the a.m., I mean
Jesus, gimme a fuckin break. I was getting short of breath but these kids
wouldn't stop and even fat boy Robbie was doing better than me. I was looking
for a way out of this but more than that I just needed some rest, and then
I saw there was a little nook on the side of the stairway, an indentation
on the inside of the artificial rock. It was about my size so I decided
to give it a shot, wedging myself into it and refusing to leave. "What
are ya gonna do now son, shoot me? Yeah, how about it kid. Why don't you
shoot me with the gun. That is if you remembered to bring the
bullet."
"Man, knock it off," Trey
said. "Get out of there." Waving the little gun at me.
"Come on Vern," Robbie said.
"I think these fairies are serious."
Trey turned to his four zit-faced
goons. "Well? Do something!" he yelled. They each grabbed onto
a limb and started yanking on me. But I gave them a struggle, hunching
my shoulders and flexing my ass muscles, expanding my body to fill the
space. They were pulling and grunting, and Robbie kept laughing nervously.
They tried slapping me but they couldn't muster enough strength to do any
damage. I wiggled my arms around and they couldn't keep a grip. They were
falling all over themselves.
One of them gave up, let go, turned
to Trey. "What are we supposed to do?" The other three followed
suit. They were all looking at each other, angry that somebody couldn't
come up with a solution. They looked like they were about ready to cry
and go home.
"Whatever," I said. "Jesus."
And I pulled myself out of the cranny. Damn, it felt so good to sit down
in that thing. But they had all given up and as every good Badass, or at
least every good Badass from my particular school knows, making someone
give up and then immediately conceding to their demands for no apparent
reason is a great way to fuck with them. I had asserted my dominance by
flexing my ass muscles.
Every time it seemed like we were
almost there, we would find a whole new set of stairs waiting for us. "Where
are you taking us anyway?" Robbie asked, but they didn't answer. "Where
are they taking us, Vern?"
"I think we have an appointment
with the Wicker Man."
Finally, there were no more stairs
to climb and they unlocked a door and shoved us into a small room set up
for playing half court basketball.
"Well gentlemen," Trey said,
trying his best to muster up the voice of a sarcastically laidback villain.
"It's Friday night. We've got social obligations to attend to. So
you'll just have to have a seat. When we come back, we'll discuss why you
thought it was okay for you to STEAL MY FUCKING MONEY!" He turned
around to make his melodramatic exit, moving with complete confidence,
totally in charge of the situation.
"I want to see your supervisor,"
I said.
He stopped in his place, then jerked his head around
and snapped "Shut up!" like a mom at the end of her leash. They
all went back out the door, Trey taking up the rear this time. We followed
and tried to make it through the door with them. Trey grabbed the door
knob and tried to slam it shut, but we kept yanking on it.
"Come on man!" Robbie whined.
"We didn't do anything!"
"You can't make us stay here,"
I said.
"I can make you stay here,"
Trey said. "And I will."
"Cannot," said Robbie.
"You show me some respect! Show
me some god damned respect! I am in charge here, I am in charge! You, you're
a couple of thieves! And I've got you!"
"Don't get your panties in a
wad, kid," I reasoned. Trey just snapped.
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" He started
jabbing the gun through the door, waving it like a damn sparkler.
"Hold your gun straight, son,"
I said. Which, in my opinion, he didn't take in the spirit it was intended.
"LOOK YOU FUCKERS, IT'S MY WAY
OR THE SKYWAY!" His face turning red, he fired the gun into
the room but apparently wasn't a good shot, since we were right in front
of his nose and neither of us got hit. I couldn't help but laugh. I mean
buckled over laughter, the guy looked ridiculous. I lost grip of the door
and it slammed shut. I jiggled the door knob, but we were locked in. I
kept laughing.
"Jesus Vern, what are you ticklish?
Why'd you have to laugh like that?"
"It's okay bud," I said.
"I'm laughing at 'im. Not with 'im."
It took us about 30 seconds to
confirm that there was no way were were getting out of this place. Only
one door, thick and metal and deadbolted. All there was left to do was
sit and wait, or find something to do to kill time. Both at the same time,
we spotted the basketball in the corner.
Just then the door opened and Trey
speedwalked through pointing the gun at us. "I almost forgot. No playing
for the fuckers who stole my money." He snatched up the ball and left
again.
Robbie looked more scared than ever. "I think they
know about the money, Vern."
I'm not sure how long we were stuck
in there. Maybe two hours? At first it was boring as shit, worse than the
car ride although at least I didn't have Robbie's mix tapes to deal with.
But then he started telling me stories about his dad. Real funny shit about
hookers, cocaine, employees caught masturbating on security cameras. I
started telling him my philosophy about the Universe, and stories he hadn't
heard about some of my previous capers, things I hadn't thought about in
years. It was like when you're living in an apartment building and the
power goes out, suddenly you really value conversation and you get a much
stronger sense of community and friendship. You end up sitting in the hallway
with a couple candles, shooting the shit with all the other people on your
floor. I mean really shooting the shit, shooting it harder then you ever
shot it before, because you've never really sat down with them like this,
you've been too wrapped up in your record collection and cable TV and electric
heating.
But then all the sudden the lights
go back on. You stop mid-story, blow out the candles, give a little sigh
and stretch out your legs. "Good talking to you man." And you
go back inside and watch Three's Company or Mama's Family or some stupid
shit like that and you never talk to your neighbors again.
So I'm right in the middle of this
great story, and Robbie interrupts.
"Wait a minute wait a minute
wait a minute. You're telling me that's the worst threesome you ever had?"
"Hey, cool it now Robbie. Please
hold all questions til the end. The experience itself wasn't the worst,
I mean Jesus it was fucking great. But in order to understand what I'm
talking about here you have to understand what happened the next day, when
I ran into an old acquaintance, guy by the name of Pie-in-the-Sky Murphy.
I hadn't seen or spoke to or even thought about this dude in like five
years. But he sees me, I swear to god, just looks at my face and first
thing out of his mouth, he says, 'You fucked her, didn't you?'"
"No! No way! How did he know?"
"I don't know man, he just knew,
that's what's so fucking weird about it. So I says, 'I don't know bud,
was she a blond or a brunette? 'Cause I did one of each last night.' And
of course he says, 'That's my fucking wife you're fucking!' So I said I
was sorry and he said, and I swear to you this is word for word what the
man said, 'It was her ass, wasn't it? You just like her ass. You prob'ly
don't even know her name, assman.' And he pulled out a gun and pointed
it at my head. 'Tell me her name, bitch' or whatever."
Robbie laughed, so I laughed. It didn't seem so funny
when it happened though. Because of, you know, I wasn't sure I could get
the question right.
"See, I didn't know for sure
which girl he was talking about. I mean, they both had good asses in my
opinion. So I'm thinking damn, which one would marry a guy like this? Where
do I know Murphy from anyway? I think I met him at some bar - yeah, but
I met both of these chicks at a bar too. That doesn't help. Did they have
rings on? Which one of them had a wedding ring on? I couldn't remember."
Robbie's eyes lit up. I thought I
had him in suspense here. Then he interrupts.
"Holy shit Vern you wanna see
something awesome?"
"Uh… okay."
He reaches into his collar and pulls
out a thin gold necklace. On the end of the necklace is a familiar ring.
The one with the engraving 'THE AGONIZER.'
I punched him in the gut. "You
piece of shit! You took that off the body? You have it with you? Get rid
of that fucking thing!"
"Jesus Vern, I thought you of
all people would appreciate it."
I paced back and forth across the
basketball court, then sat down and buried my head in my arms, thinking.
"Jesus christ kid, I can't
believe you. Carrying something like that with you. Gonna get us killed."
"Come on Vern, it's cool. I'm
being cool about it."
"Yeah, that's what you say, but
you know what they say about actions speak louder than words."
He shook his head.
"No, what do they say about it?"
"I don't know man, it's a saying."
I looked up. He was pouting. Then
he says, "So how did you know which girl was the guy's--"
Suddenly the door swung open and we
hopped to our feet. It wasn't Trey or any of the people we'd seen before,
and it wasn't The Agonizer judging from the two arms on this one. It was
a woman, a pretty young gal with deep black hair, smooth white skin and
luminous blue eyes. In that first second looking at her she seemed so concerned,
so warm, so caring. She was there to help us, but I knew in my heart that
there was a danger in trusting her. The park had to be closed by now, we
had no choice but to be suspicious of anyone still allowed inside. And
it was obvious to me, just by looking at her, that she was one of them,
that she worked at the park. I mean I guess I should probaly mention she
was dressed as Snow White.
Robbie jumped and gave a little gasp,
then tried to act casual as he tucked the ring back under his shirt.
"Please," said Snow White.
"Come with me, before it's too late. I'll get you out of here."
Robbie started to follow her. I wasn't so quick.
"Hey, how do we know you're not
one of them?"
"Please, sir, you'll just have
to trust me. Come with me."
"You hear that, she called me
sir," I said.
"Okay then, come with me, Varn.
Is that right?" She squinted as she stared at my head. I took off
the mouse ears… sure enough there was a hole right through the beanie,
obscuring the letter e, a few strings of thread splayed haphazardly around
it. It was a pretty shocking sight and I gotta be honest with you I was
really taken a fuckin' back. That bullet must have missed my head by a
few molecules.
"Fuckin' kids," I said.
"Used some of my own money to buy them ears."
And that's when I started to appreciate
the fact that, professionals or hobbyists, these motherfuckers could have
easily taken my life. I had been pushing my luck no matter how you looked
at it and this was most certainly not the most glorious way for an outlaw
like myself to bite it. I mean you know the ways - hail of gunfire, blaze
of glory, hell, even a fiery plane crash and/or car wreck. Executed by
theme park employees is not high on the list.
I mean for all anybody would know
my death was totally clean. I'd just be one of those statistics you hear
about every once in a while, how many dudes were killed by rollercoaster
malfunction or drowned 'cause they hid on some island after the park closed
and tried to swim their way out. And hell man Pisneyland tries to keep
those incidents under wraps, chances are people wouldn't even hear lies
about my death. And who would really miss me, anyway? I'd made a few friends,
had a lot of sex, but I'd lost my family and had no old ladies or little
kids to bring on the teacups. I mean how much more pathetic can you be
than to die at an amusement park with no kids other than your 24 year old
coke buddy?
We followed Snow White through the
door and back down the stairs we came up.
"What you stumbled on is the
Pisneyland Mafia," she explained. "Secret organization of employees
here at the park, most of them males, and young, like in their twenties.
Started out as a social clique, employees sneaking around, bribing security
to set up after hours parties, dressing up like gangsters, swing dancing,
gambling. After a while they got addicted to the lifestyle, one thing led
to another, eventually they had people running scams on the concessions
or the souvenir shops, skimming the pot during the day to fund what goes
on at night. These guys are amateurs--"
"Yeah thanks lady," I said.
"We're not retards. We figured that much out."
"-but they are dangerous. You
caught them on a Friday, that's the night of the ball. Everyone's here.
So you better take off. I don't know what you did to piss off Trey, but
trust me, you just want to leave it alone. These guys are deep into the
role playing. They want to be gangsters so bad, they'll hurt you just to
feel authentic."
It felt good to get out of that
fucking Matterhorn. But we stepped out into a whole different world, like
cartoon mardi gras. Laughing and live music drifted through the air and
everywhere you looked there was some type of debauchery or what not. The
train went by and there were about a dozen naked gals on it, cheering.
The guys all cheered back and sprayed beer on them and then gave each other
high fives. There were young guys in tailored suits and fedoras, dancing,
some of them even wearing zoot suits. They had obviously gone great lengths
to get all the period details right. Their shoes were all polished up.
They had pocket watches and fancy cigaratte holders and the little stirrups
that hold your socks up. They looked like a bunch of retards.
As we got closer to the exit, there
was some kind of orgy going on in the garden where the flowers are shaped
like a giant Mickey head. A guy wearing a Goofy mask and nothing else,
humping a gal. Another gal completely wrapped in cotton candy, and two
or three girls licking it off. I never seen anything like it before or
since. Although, I suppose I've done a few things similar but not exactly.
When I turned to Robbie to compliment
the scenery, Trey was holding a gun to his head.