by Ron Carpol
“Good thinking. You’re right. Now you want to know who the other Jew is?”
“Yeah.”
“Jason Brimmer.”
I was really surprised. “No shit?”
“Yeah, why?”
“He’s a good guy.”
“You know what, Stafford?” he asked pulling into a parking place in front of the Montgomery Administration Building.
“What?”
“You remind me of the guy on the late-night TV re-runs.”
“Who?”
“Archie Bunker.”
_____
“Get the hell out!” Chesterfield screamed, leaping up so fast from his big chair that he almost knocked it over.
I was silent and stood there innocently.
His normally pasty complexion instantly turned bright pink. “What do you want?” he sputtered, still standing. His breathing was fast and irregular. Faxing him those kiddy porn photos obviously freaked him out.
I glided across his desk a photocopy of the card the Santa Monica Police Detective gave me listing the date and file number of my robbery report. His eyes flickered at the first line: SANTA MONICA POLICE DEPARTMENT.
It seemed like Chesterfield read it half a dozen times with silent, moving lips before he spoke. “What the hell is this?” he finally asked in a flat voice, his eyes flaming with anger.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I got robbed. Reported it to the cops.”
“You saying I robbed you? Of what?”
“My Rolex. I described the robber to the cops as a guy about your size, wearing tire-tread shoes and stinking of Old Spice.”
“Everybody here knows I run a charity in Mexico that makes shoes from worn-out tires! And millions of people wear Old Spice! Now get out you bastard! You already got an F in my class. Now you want me to report you to the police?”
“For what?” I asked, sounding bored.
“Threatening a member of the faculty!”
“Then I’ll tell the cops that you offered to sell me kiddy porn. That you gave me the sample I faxed you.”
Man, now I had his immediate attention! His previously pink complexion suddenly drained of color completely. His lips quivered. “What-what do you want?” he stammered.
“Change my F to an A. Give me my watch back and fuck the term paper.”
“Why should I?”
“My lawyer has the originals of the ones I faxed you. He sent them to a fingerprint expert, an ex-FBI guy, who said he got a bunch of prints that he could match if he had a suspect.”
He flinched. His eyes were black pinpoints; his jaw was clenched and he grinded his teeth. His lips were moving slightly but at first no words, just spit, came out. Finally he sputtered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Without answering, I stood up and shrugged my shoulders innocently.
“Wait.” He quickly wrote something with a black, felt-tip pen on the palm of his right hand and then raised it, facing me like the Nazi salute. The underlined words said FUCK YOU.
20
KIDNAPPED
3:35 P.M.
“UNLESS YOU GUYS FUCK UP JANUS’ REAL ESTATE DEAL TONIGHT, he’s going to make ten grand,” Adams said to us between sips of beer from his can of Bud in the Shelter’s dining room.
“What’re you talking about?” Grossberg asked. “What do you want us to do?”
“I told you. Somehow fuck him up.”
“How?”
“You guys figure it out.”
“What if he blackballs us?”
Adams smiled, and nodded his chin at me. “His hard-on only points to Stafford. Anyway, his blackball is no good if it’s only based on you guys shafting his business deal tonight since I gave you permission to do it.”
After a few dumb suggestions from the other guys, I piped up. “I got an idea.” I quickly outlined it to everybody who seemed to like it too.
Adams had a grin on his face while he shook his head slowly. “How do you think of this shit?”
I tensed before looking directly into Lyman’s slanted eyes. “Making up shit must run in the family.”
_____
Rainey was in the bathroom and I was alone, using a roller to paint another chipped, uneven wall in one of the large upstairs bedrooms when a skinny Mexican girl with orange hair came in.
I looked up and gasped. Most of her face was black and blue. “You lose a race with a train to the crossing?”
She shook her head. “My old man did it.”
“Why?”
“It was my fault. I should’ve kept the kid quiet.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Rosario stuck the baby’s hand in hot water to get her to shut up. I called 911. He beat me until the cops came.”
“Where’s the baby now?”
“County.”
“Where’s wonderful Rosario?”
“Jail. I’m trying to bail him out.”
“Stay away from the guy. He’s a fucking animal.”
“But you don’t know him,” the dumb bitch answered.
I had enough of this stupid conversation. If I wanted to hear any more shit I’d watch Oprah. I left the room and went downstairs.
_____
We were gathered around Adams in the living room. Unfortunately Castle and Dung showed up before we left.
“Sorry, guys,” was the full extent of Castle’s smirking apology.
“Listen up, you guys,” Adams said, grinning sadistically, “here’s the plan for tonight.”
He improved on my idea a little, making it even better.
_____
“Wear a coat over the outfit,” I warned Jackie D. “And don’t put on the mask until we’re at his house. And remember to bring the whip. Get ready as soon as you can.”
“Don’t forget the booze,” she needlessly reminded me.
_____
We were hiding behind some thick bushes on the side of the dark mountain road, ready to grab Janus when he got out of his car to move the branches that we used to block his path on the highway.
In the distance, a faint light slowly got brighter and brighter until about a couple of miles away the broad single light turned into two separate narrow beams of light.
Seconds later, as Janus’ car approached the branches blocking his car, he pulled to the side of the dark, deserted road and stopped. As soon as he got out, Rawlings and Rainey immediately tackled him from behind before the rest of us jumped in, pinning him to the ground.
“Sheriff’s Department!” Janus screamed frantically. “I’m a fucking Sheriff!”
Janus was so hysterical that it didn’t appear that he recognized any of us until last night’s sweetheart—Jackie D—walked over towards him, wearing the full dominatrix outfit, mask and all.
Grossberg reached under Janus’ suit coat and pulled the gun out of the holster.
“You fuckers are all blackballed!” Janus screeched when Grossberg threw the gun down the mountainside. Janus’ eyes got huge and he kept shaking his head like he was trying to clear away a bad dream. He totally panicked. “Please let me go! Just to close the deal! Then I’ll meet you guys back here! I swear to God, I will!”
I got Janus’ car keys out of the ignition and went to the trunk and opened it.
“Get in,” Rawlings snarled at Janus, shoving his head and chest down toward the trunk.
Janus slowly climbed inside the trunk seconds before Rawlings slammed the lid shut, banging Janus’ head on the inside trunk lid. It was like a scene out of Goodfellas.
_____
Our caravan raced onward down the winding road toward Janus’ real estate house. G-Spot was driving Janus’ Olds, perfectly imitating Bones’ truck driving a few nights ago; excessively speeding, braking, and jerking whenever possible, giving Janus the ride of his life.
We arrived in about ten minutes.
G-Spot parked Janus’ car in the garage and closed it shut so Janus’ continual cries for help from the trunk would be us
eless. Then everybody got inside the house and turned on the lights like we were home expecting an important guest. The porch light and the two outdoor floodlights from the garage were also turned on, lighting up the surroundings like daylight.
We waited almost half an hour before the two-note chime on the doorbell rang.
Jackie D might have been a drunk, a drug addict, and a slut, but she was really into this role. We kept rehearsing her lines with her over and over until she had them down perfectly.
“Coming,” she called out sweetly from the brightly-lit hallway behind the front door. “Who is it?” she purred, right on cue.
“Reverend Harcourt,” came the booming oratorical voice from outside the door. “Here to see Mr. Janus.”
“Just a moment please.”
Jackie D, still dressed in that ghastly black dominatrix outfit, held the whip in one hand while she twisted the brass doorknob with the other. For the full effect, she opened the door slowly.
“I’m Mrs. Janus,” Jackie D said casually. “Please come in. My husband should be down here any minute.”
The good Reverend’s mouth dropped and his face flushed. He started to speak but no words came out. It almost looked like he was having a stroke. His body stiffened and his feet seemed riveted to the brick porch step.
“Hurry!” Grossberg snapped at No-Wood. “Take the goddamn picture.”
Two quick flash shots went off, temporarily blinding this morals protector.
As soon as Harcourt regained his composure, still without saying one goddamn word, he turned around and ran to his black Lincoln Navigator in the driveway like he was scared Jackie D was the Devil. A second later, the hum of his engine revved up like a jet plane before Harcourt’s tires screeched in reverse until he hit the street where he slammed the gearshift lever into drive and peeled rubber down the winding road.
This dope gave us the biggest laugh of the day.
“What’re we going to do to Janus?” Dung asked.
“Something shitty,” Castle answered. “He deserves it.”
“I know,” Grossberg said smiling before he lit a Marlboro. “Let’s take him back up the mountain.”
_____
“Let’s dunk him like in the Pilgrim days,” Grossberg suggested to the approving mob as we gathered around an Andy Gump shithouse.
Everybody loved the idea.
Rawlings and Rainey dragged Janus out of the car trunk and held him next to the Andy Gump. Then in one continuous motion, they lifted Janus high up by his ankles until his head was directly over the toilet hole that reeked with the stench of shit.
“No!” Grossberg screamed. “He might drown! Drop him feet first!”
Reluctantly, both guys turned Janus right-side-up. Then they both let go at the same time, dropping Janus directly down into the toilet’s holding tank with shit rising almost to his knees.
“Great Kodak Moment,” No-Wood said, quickly snapping two Polaroid flash photos.
Janus was still standing up in there, gagging and choking when I walked over and spit in his face.
“Stafford! You’re out of the pledge class!” he thundered.
“Fuck you, asshole.”
“So many actives want you out that Bookie’s not taking any more bets against you. You’re a dead man.”
I cleared my throat and spit at him again, this time landing a thick gob on his left jacket lapel.
“Stafford, no matter what I got to do, I guarantee you’ll never be an active!”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, well every time I’m with the actives and your name comes up, everybody laughs about stringing you along to the end before dumping you while you think you’re so fucking smart.”
“Let him up,” Grossberg ordered.
Janus slowly climbed out of the Andy Gump. He quickly took of his shoes and socks and threw them down the mountainside. Then he emptied his pants pockets before kicking off his pants and leaving them on the ground.
“Here,” Rawlings said, tossing Janus the car keys.
Half-dressed, Janus raced to the Olds, started the engine and tore-ass down the mountain road, forgetting to turn on the headlights.
We were standing around, shivering in the park when I noticed a bunch of the guys nodding to each other. Silently Rawlings slowly crept behind Castle. Rainey moved around a little so that he wound up directly behind Dung. Then they struck!
Rawlings grabbed Castle in a bear hug and Rainey had Dung in a headlock!
“What’s this?” Castle screamed.
“Let me go!” Dung yelled.
We circled them.
“Both you guys, with that phony telegram,” Grossberg growled, “double-crossed the rest of the pledge class.”
“You weren’t here to work or take the shit that we had to,” Holmes said bitterly.
“And you lowered the odds when I got the ace and had to eat Jackie D,” Lyman angrily piped up to my surprise.
“So now we’re getting even with you two,” I said bravely.
“Castle, you’re first,” Rawlings said, picking up that skinny bastard and turning him so he was parallel to the ground.
I held the door open. Then in one graceful swoop, Rawlings lifted Castle straight up, head first, before letting go, dropping Castle about two feet down inside the shit-filled toilet bowl.
We started counting slowly: “One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten.”
“Let him up,” Grossberg ordered.
Castle’s squirming body crawled out of the toilet like some kind of sea monster. Blackish-brown crap, the color of Jagermeister, dripped down Castle’s jeans a little below the knees onto his calves and finally into the dirt like melting chocolate.
No-Wood was there with the ever-present Polaroid to capture the prized moment.
“I’m freezing,” Jackie D said, pulling her coat around her scrawny body.
“Give her Dung’s clothes,” I suggested.
“Great idea,” Rainey said, pulling Dung’s short, squat body toward Jackie D while still holding him in a chokehold. “Undress him.”
In less than a minute Jackie D had Dung naked when she screamed out laughing, “Look at this?”
She held Dung’s red plaid boxers that were big enough to use for a VW car cover and put them on over her black outfit.
“No!” Dung screamed as Rainey forced him forward toward the Andy Gump. “No!” he pleaded again before tears flooded down his fat cheeks. “Please, no!”
“Get the door, Stafford!” Rainey yelled.
I pushed the spring door open and Rainey somehow lifted Dung’s toad-like body over the toilet and dumped him it, sinking him above the knees.
We counted again. “One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten.”
“Enough,” Grossberg ordered. “Let him up.”
Dung, like Castle, was choking and gagging as he climbed out of the toilet. But he added puking and crying to the routine.
Again No-Wood snapped away at Dung’s slimy, gnome-like naked body with the flashbulbs bursting the darkness like lightning bolts.
“I’m freezing!” Dung cried out, walking toward Jackie D. “Give me my clothes, you fucking bitch!”
“Fuck you,” I said. “She’s better for this fraternity than you.”
“Yeah Stafford? Everybody says you’re out of here!” that bloated pig snarled. “I heard two actives today, Graham and Thierman, say they were going to blackball you. So you’re out of here, asshole!”
“Mount up!” came Grossberg’s battle cry.
I grabbed Jackie D’s hand and ran with her to my truck. Except for Castle and Dung, the rest of the guys piled in their cars and vans, leaving Castle’s always-detailed, black Vet alone next to the dusty road. Castle, dressed in his shit-stained clothes and with a face of gloom, stood next to the Vet, with Dung’s fat, shit-dripping naked body pouting next to him.
21
THAT’S NOT BEER
“WHERE YOU GUYS BEEN FOR THE LAST THREE HOURS?”
Christianson yelled. “I told you when you were finished with Janus to get the photos developed and then get the hell back here.”
“We had car trouble,” Grossberg lied, hardly wanting to tell Christianson that Jackie D gave everybody, including me, a blowjob in G-Spot’s van before we headed back down the mountain road.
“Get upstairs,” Christianson grumbled.
The place was deserted downstairs but there was a lot of noise coming from upstairs. As we started up the stairs, the loud, laughing voices of about two dozen actives came from the pledge dorm.
Castle and Dung were lying there naked, face-up on the linoleum floor, completely covered with the sugary, sweet stink of molasses. Stuck to the molasses on their bodies were hundreds of Corn Flakes, making them look like an ad for cannibals to buy Colonel Sanders’ new down-home recipe.
Christianson stood in the doorway behind me. “Where’s Buckskin’s pictures?” he demanded. “And the negatives.”
I turned around and faced him. “Don’t have them.”
“What do you mean? Where are they?”
“Still at the drugstore,” I lied. “They weren’t ready. Their photo machine broke. Left them there. The guy said they’ll be ready in the morning.”
“What drug store?”
“In the Valley, near Janus’ house. I don’t remember the name of it but I know where it is.”
He didn’t seem too convinced of my story but he didn’t make an issue out of it. Hell, less than twenty-four hours ago, without me, he’d be history.
“Get them first thing in the morning and bring them to me personally. You understand?”
“Sure,” I answered casually.
Adams pointed to Castle and Dung before looking around at us. “They betrayed the pledge class,” he said a little too melodramatically. “And now they’re paying for it.”
None of us dared laugh for fear of joining them.
“Let’s see the Polaroids,” Christianson said to No-Wood.
When Christianson got to the one with Jackie D and the Reverend, Christianson howled with laughter until I thought he was going to wet his pants.
“Where the hell did she come from?” he asked between choking fits of laughter.
“Stafford thought she’d add the Martha Stewart homemaker touch by greeting the Reverend as Janus’ wife,” Grossberg answered, smiling.