Insane City

by Dave Barry

  “We want you to leave the hotel.”

  “What?”

  “You have to vacate these premises,” said Brewer. “Right now.”

  “You can’t tell us to leave.”

  “Yes I can.”

  “We’re guests.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “OK, but the person who is a guest knows we’re here. He said it’s OK. You can ask him.”

  Brewer made a show of looking around. “Where is he?”

  “He’s not here right now.”

  “Then you’re going to have to leave. Right now.”

  “Wesley, get up and tell these men they can’t do this to us!”

  With a sigh and a grunt, Wesley lifted his massive form from the sofa and stood. Castronovo faced him and unbuttoned his jacket so Wesley could see inside.

  “They got guns,” said Wesley.

  “What are you gonna do, shoot us?” said LaDawne.

  “Like I told you,” said Brewer, “we just want you to leave. Now. You leave now and nobody’s going to get hurt.”

  “There’s people we’re taking care of,” LaDawne said. “In the other room. There’s a mother in there with two kids. We have to stay here with them.”

  “We’ll take care of them.”

  “That woman is sick.”

  “We’ll make sure she gets medical attention.”

  “We’re not going to leave them,” said LaDawne. She started toward the bedroom door. Brewer quickly blocked her path. “Wesley!” she said.

  Wesley was still looking at Castronovo, who now had his hand inside his jacket. “Baby,” Wesley said, “they got guns.”

  Castronovo nodded toward the door and said, “Move.” Wesley started walking.

  Brewer took LaDawne by the arm. “You’re leaving now,” he said.

  “Don’t you touch me,” she said. She tried to yank her arm away, but Brewer held on, his grip hurting her. He pushed her toward the door.

  “You can’t do this,” she said, her tone changing, closer to pleading now. “That poor woman—”

  “We’re done talking,” he said. “You’ll leave quietly. You don’t stop in the lobby. You keep moving, all the way off the hotel grounds. If you stay around the hotel, or you make any trouble, we’ll call the police, and you’ll get arrested for trespassing, and you’ll go to jail.” He opened the door and pushed her into the hallway.

  Wesley, with Castronovo behind him, followed LaDawne. He turned in the doorway and said, “How are we supposed to get back to Miami? My car’s not here.”

  “What are you going to do with that woman and those kids?” said LaDawne.

  Castronovo closed the door in their faces.

  33

  “I think it’s coming from inside the car,” said Cyndi.

  They were in the vast Miami-Dade suburban blob called Kendall, approaching U.S. 1. They had opened all the windows, but the smell in the Escalade was still there. It was a distinct aroma, and although neither had said so out loud, they both found it disturbingly familiar.

  Cyndi turned and looked toward the back of the Escalade. It was dark back there. But she saw movement.

  “I think there’s something back there,” she said.

  “What is it?” said Seth. They were making a left turn onto U.S. 1.

  “I don’t know,” said Cyndi. “Could you turn on the inside light?”

  Seth fumbled around with the controls. “I can’t find the switch.”

  “I’m going to open my door for a second to make the light go on,” she said. She opened the door, looked back.

  “Oh God!” she said, slamming the door. “It’s back there!”

  “What is?”

  “The gorilla!”

  “What?”

  “It’s in the backseat. It must’ve got in when we left the doors open back there.”

  Seth looked in the rearview. He saw a large, round, shaggy head silhouetted in the headlights of the car behind.

  “Jesus,” he said. “What do we do?”

  “Maybe if you stop the car and we open the door, it’ll get out.”

  “Good idea.” Seth saw a parking lot to the right and veered the Escalade into it, screeching to a stop next to the entrance to a low concrete building with no windows and a large neon sign on the roof that said CHUCKLETROUSERS.

  Chuckletrousers was what is sometimes called a gentlemen’s club, although it wasn’t really a club, and none of the patrons could by any definition be considered a gentleman. Late Saturday night was the busiest time, during which management employed six bouncers, all exceptionally large individuals clad in tight black Chuckletrousers T-shirts that emphasized their cartoon biceps.

  The bouncers’ main function was to ensure that the patrons did not touch the performers unless they had paid for this privilege up front. When necessary, the bouncers escorted unruly patrons off the premises, a chore that the bouncers had turned into a sport, the object being to see who could throw a patron the farthest through the air before any part of the patron’s body made contact with the parking lot. The current Patron Toss record, marked by a discreet white line spray-painted on the parking lot asphalt, was eight feet, four inches. It was set by a veteran bouncer named Juan “Fig” Figueras, a former Florida State University offensive tackle with approximately the same physical dimensions as a three-bedroom condominium.

  On this particular night Fig had been assigned to door duty, which meant his job was to refuse admission to underage males, puking drunks, psychopaths and hardcore sexual deviants, unless, of course, they were politicians or judges. The bouncer on door duty was also supposed to keep an eye on the parking lot, which was why Fig witnessed the high-speed arrival of the Escalade, which skidded to a halt directly in front of the entrance only a few feet from the door. It had barely stopped when the front doors flew open and Seth and Cyndi jumped out.

  Fig opened the door and stepped outside.

  “You can’t park here,” he said.

  “We’re not parking,” said Seth. “We’re just trying to get something out of our car.”

  “Well, get it out someplace else. You can’t put your car here.”

  “This is kind of an emergency,” said Seth. “There’s a gorilla in there.”

  “A gorilla,” said Fig.

  “We don’t actually know if it’s a gorilla,” said Cyndi.

  “OK, but it’s definitely big,” said Seth.

  Fig, who was not new to the bouncing profession, assumed that this was simply another case of two idiots with too much money who had consumed too much of some illegal substance—Fig was guessing Ecstasy, but he wasn’t ruling out ketamine. He decided to try reason first.

  “I don’t see a gorilla,” he said.

  “It’s in the way backseat,” said Cyndi. “The third row.”

  Fig peered into the rear window. He saw something, but the dark tinting on the Escalade’s window kept him from seeing exactly what. So he opened the rear door and leaned inside. He saw a strange-looking, head-like shape in the backseat and leaned in closer to get a better look. He got close enough to see a large raggedy mass beneath the head, but before he could make out what it was a long furry arm shot out and a powerful hand grabbed him by the hair, slammed his head sideways into the doorframe and flung him out of the Escalade. He landed on his back in the parking lot, out cold.

  “Ohmigod!” said Cyndi, running over to where Fig lay. “He’s hurt! He’s bleeding! Seth, get some help!”

  Seth opened the door to Chuckletrousers and went inside, where he was assaulted by flashing lights and thunderous bass pumped from nuclear Death Star speakers. In the distance he saw naked women dancing on a bar, clumps of men watching them. He took a few steps forward.

  Seth felt a hand on his arm. “Hi!” said a perky voice. He turned and saw that he was attached to an extremely redheaded woman who was wearing only a G-string and sporting a pair of breasts that were far too large and high up to be human. Nevertheless, they were breasts, and so
Seth, being a male, had no choice, despite the urgency of his mission, but to stare at them.

  “Wanna have a drink with me?” she said.

  Seth, fighting off the hooter-induced brain paralysis, said, “I need help. There’s a guy hurt outside.”

  The redhead rolled her eyes; there was always some asshole getting beat up in the Chuckletrousers parking lot. She dropped Seth’s arm and went off in search of better prospects. Seth looked around and spotted an extremely large man in a Chuckletrousers T-shirt. This man was a bouncer, Paul “The Planet” Pino, who currently held second place in the Chuckletrousers Patron Toss competition with an effort of seven feet, four inches.

  Seth trotted over and tapped The Planet on the shoulder. It was like tapping on a Dumpster. The Planet did not like being tapped. It’s a fact about strip clubs: The bouncers don’t like to be touched any more than the performers do. The Planet turned slowly, the way a cruise ship turns, and looked down at Seth in an unwelcoming manner.

  “What,” he said.

  “There’s a guy hurt outside,” said Seth, shouting to be heard over the bass. “He needs help.”

  “Tell the bouncer at the door,” said The Planet.

  “That’s the guy who’s hurt.”

  “Who is?”

  “The bouncer. That’s who’s hurt.”

  The Planet looked toward the front entrance, did not see Fig at his usual post. He started walking quickly in that direction, Seth hurrying in his wake. The Planet shoved the front door open and saw Fig, who was now sitting up, bleeding from the side of his head, looking dazed. Cyndi was standing next to him.

  “What the hell happened?” said The Planet, crouching next to Fig. “You OK? Who did this?”

  “I don’t know,” said Fig, his voice weak.

  “There’s a thing in the car,” said Cyndi, pointing toward the Escalade. “In the back.”

  The Planet rose and looked at the dark Escalade windows. “What kind of thing?”

  “It’s like a gorilla.”

  The Planet looked at Cyndi. “You’re saying you have a gorilla in your car.”

  “We’re not sure it’s a gorilla,” said Cyndi. “But it’s a gorilla type of animal.”

  “I know that sounds weird,” said Seth.

  “It sounds very weird,” agreed The Planet. “And you’re saying the gorilla knocked this man out.” He pointed at Fig.

  “Yes,” said Seth. “We’re very sorry. It’s not our gorilla.”

  The Planet frowned, pondering. On the one hand, he did not believe there was really a gorilla in the Escalade. Like Fig, he assumed he was dealing with idiots on drugs. On the other hand, there was Fig, on the ground, bleeding. The Planet did not believe that a guy like Seth was capable of putting Fig on the ground. But somebody had, and The Planet figured that whoever it was might be in the back of the car.

  He approached the rear door, which was still open. It opened on to the second row of seats; to see back into the third row, he would have to lean his head inside.

  “Be careful,” said Cyndi.

  The Planet did not like being told to be careful by a woman, especially an idiot woman on drugs. He gave Cyndi a look that said I can take care of myself, then stuck his head into the rear doorway of the Escalade to see what was what.

  Two seconds later, he was lying on the ground next to Fig, moaning and bleeding from the head.

  Seth and Cyndi stared at the fallen bouncers, then at each other. Cyndi said, “I’ll go get help.” Before Seth could answer, she had opened the front door and plunged into the thumping darkness of the club. Seth stood awkwardly near the two fallen bouncers, keeping his distance from the Escalade. As he waited, a pickup truck pulled off of U.S. 1 into the Chuckletrousers lot. Two men got out.

  The club door opened and Cyndi emerged with a third Chuckletrousers bouncer, a short but wide and very muscular man with dark curly hair. This was Eddie Friedman, who held the title of head bouncer, and who, in recognition of his Jewish heritage, was sometimes called, but only by his friends, The Big Bagel.

  Eddie saw Fig and The Planet on the ground. He said, “What happened here?”

  Cyndi said, “There’s a gor—”

  “Wait,” said Seth, cutting her off. “Let me try to explain it.” He had decided that the problem was the word gorilla and wanted to try another term. “There’s a wild animal in the back of the car,” he said.

  “What kind of wild animal?” said Eddie.

  “We don’t know,” said Seth. “But when these guys tried to grab it, it knocked them down.”

  The two men from the pickup truck were approaching the entrance. They saw Fig and The Planet lying on the ground. They turned around and went back to their truck.

  Eddie looked at Fig and The Planet, then the Escalade, then Seth. He said, “Why did you bring a wild animal to a strip club?”

  Cyndi started to speak, but Seth cut her off.

  “It was a mistake,” he said. “We’re very sorry.”

  Eddie started toward the open Escalade door.

  “Don’t look in there,” said Cyndi. “That’s what happened to the other two guys.”

  Eddie stopped, looked down at Fig and The Planet again. They were both sitting up now, still looking shaky. Eddie moved to the rear of the Escalade and put his face to the window, but couldn’t make out anything clearly.

  “Wait here,” he said. He went back into the club. Thirty seconds later he came out again, holding a flashlight. He went to the rear window of the Escalade, pressed the flashlight lens against the glass, then pressed his face against it to peer inside. Immediately he jumped back.

  “Holy fucking shit,” he said. Cautiously, he brought the flashlight to the glass again and leaned in for another look. Seth and Cyndi leaned in next to him. Cyndi gasped. Looking back at them, from six inches away on the other side of the glass, was the huge, weird, pie-shaped face of Trevor. He seemed to be looking at Cyndi. He raised his left hand and pressed it against the glass next to her face, displaying a thumb and four impossibly long, strong fingers designed for sure-handed swinging from limb to limb.

  “That’s a gorilla,” said The Big Bagel. “You people have a fucking gorilla in your car.”

  “We’re not sure it’s a gorilla,” said Cyndi.

  “Well, whatever the fuck it is,” said Eddie, straightening up, “it injured these two men.”

  “We’re very sorry about that,” said Seth.

  “I’m sure you are,” said Eddie. “But I’m still calling the police.”

  “Wait, no,” said Seth. “You can’t do that.”

  “Yes I can,” said Eddie, pulling a phone out of his pocket.

  “Please,” said Seth. “Listen. I can’t get involved with the police now. I’m getting married tomorrow morning.” He looked at his watch. “Today, actually.”

  “You two are getting married today?” said Eddie.

  “Not both of us,” said Cyndi. “Just him. To a different woman.”

  “But the wedding is today,” said Seth.

  Eddie stared at him for a moment. “OK,” he said. “Just so I have this straight, for my own personal understanding. You came to a strip club with a woman who is not your fiancée, and a gorilla on your wedding day.”

  Seth took a breath, raised his hands, dropped them at his sides. “I know it sounds crazy,” he said.

  “It does,” said Eddie.

  “But if you give me a minute, I can explain it,” said Seth.

  “You can explain it to the police,” said Eddie. He started tapping the screen on his phone

  “Please don’t do that,” said Seth. He reached out and grabbed Eddie by his massive forearm.

  Big mistake. You did not grab The Big Bagel. In a lightning-quick, well-practiced move, Eddie shot out an elbow, putting some weight behind it, driving it deep into Seth’s solar plexus. With a high-pitched Unhh, Seth folded like a cheap lawn chair and staggered backward, trying desperately to breathe.

  Cyndi was on Eddie in
stantly, inches away, right in his face. “Don’t you hit him!” she said, stabbing her forefinger into his chest.

  “I won’t hit him if he stays away from me,” said Eddie. “You better keep back, too.” Eddie grabbed her by the arm and shoved her hard sideways.

  Big mistake.

  Trevor shot from the Escalade, teeth bared. He slammed into Eddie, a furry red, 250-pound muscle missile, knocking Eddie backward a good six feet and onto his back, his cell phone clattering across the parking lot. All three bouncers were on the ground now. Trevor stood over them, showing his teeth and making a range of scary noises that a male orangutan makes to let other males know he is prepared to bite their faces off to defend his female. None of the bouncers spoke orangutan, but they knew they did not want to mess with this hairy fanged banshee. All three scrambled backward toward the door to Chuckletrousers.

  Cyndi saw her chance. She ran to Seth, who was on his hands and knees, gasping and retching.

  “Get up!” she said, putting her arms around him, pulling him to his feet. She dragged him to the Escalade, pushed him in through the driver’s-side door, shoved him across the seat and jumped in behind him. She felt for the keys—Thank God, he left the keys in the ignition—started the engine, slammed the gearshift into drive and hit the gas. The Escalade lurched forward, the motion causing all the open doors to slam shut. She glanced sideways, saw the bouncers on their feet now, shouting. She glanced into the rearview mirror.

  And screamed.

  Trevor was in the backseat.

  She almost slammed on the brakes, but another sideways glance told her that the bouncers were now running after the car. She looked into the rearview again. Trevor had not moved. She was on U.S. 1 now, gaining speed. From somewhere behind her came the sound of a siren. She kept driving, her eyes darting at the rearview every second or two. Trevor was looking at her, but he had not moved. Beside her, Seth was still bent over but was breathing more normally and could finally speak.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “I think we’re in trouble,” she said. “I think they called the police.”

  “That’s all we need,” said Seth, slowly sitting up. “Maybe we can . . . HOLY SHIT THAT THING IS IN THE BACKSEAT.”