The Unwelcome Guest Plus Nin and Nan

by Eckhard Gerdes

  Nin turned on the TV with the remote. The only TV in the room. Obviously... No.

  Fellini's Clowns was on. Ah, the unbearable sadness of the clowns who used to be in the late great European circuses! They'd all been out of work for thirty years and still were sad. What a film!

  Nin pulled a beer out of the microfridge and nuked some popcorn and began watching just in time to see the closing credits' being interrupted by a station promo for a new sitcom featuring an unsuccessful gas attendant who smokes around the pumps. It's not a question of if he'll kill himself, but when. Following Monday Night Football. Then a commercial for vaginal cream. I wonder why the station wants us to link those two messages. Then an Army recruitment ad. What's the LCD? "Have a ball"?

  Nin switched channels and got sucked into the episode of Monk that consisted mostly of flashbacks to middle school, when Adrian was stuffed into his locker by a bully.

  A cognac from Nin's suitcase and a copy of Kenneth Patchen's Sleepers Awake were all Nin needed to begin taking repose.

  Nin lay down and started in on his Durante. He caught a big one but was too lazy to get up, so he buried it in his shirt.

  Nan was snoring in the other bed. Nin realized that Nan was now face-up. Rolling Nan over again was hell— but Hendrix...

  Nan needed a diet. Now!

  Nan stopped snoring. Nin remembered a story on NPR about how each year hundreds of college students at party schools choke to death on their own vomit.

  Nin personally had clung to toilet bowls and "let his face slide down the cool, smooth tile" like Jim Morrison.

  They'd been unable to find out anything at Captain Snagglebeard's.

  In the morning, Nan stumbled to the toilet, hung over, and threw up. Nin quickly exited to the hall and almost collided with a man wearing a pink bandana. He turned around and had a pink beard.

  "Arrr... I'm Pinkbeard the Pirate" does not instill fear. Nin laughed and walked on. This hotel spares no gag.

  "Hurry," said Pinkbeard. "You'll miss him!"

  "Who?"

  "He's speaking in the conference room!"

  "Who?"

  "It's the first time he's ever been here!"

  "Who?"

  "Who? Why, Emperor Pinocchibush, of course!"

  "That guy with the big donkey ears? Why's he here?"

  "Where have you been? This is all newly annexed territory, you landlubber. You are inside the empire."

  "Oh, jeez."

  Nin stopped and let Pinkbeard hurry on. Oh, no—Nin and Nan were not just criminals—they were criminals inside Pinocchibush's empire. Pinocchibush the Ruthless. Pinocchibush the Patsy. Pinocchibush the Wooden Headed. Pinocchibush the Liar. He had a thousand faces and a thousand names.

  The hotel bar was open, so Nin popped in for a shot and beer before facing the Oily One. A greased pig.

  Into the crowd, let's be herded.

  Politicians all herd their constituents.

  There he is, straw hat, barefoot, chewing on dried grass.

  "Yew people of the heartland are the heart of the Empire Pinocchibush," he was saying. Nin could have sworn Pinocchibush's nose had just grown.

  "We have liberated you from yourselves. Now you will fashion yourselves in our image."

  Sounds like the royal "we," thought Nin.

  "Bull crap!" comes a yell from a few feet back in the crowd. "You liberated us from our oil! You eat while we starve!"

  The outburst was quickly subdued by the Emperor's Secret Service, the notorious ESS.

  "That young man is an example of the sort of dissent a free culture cannot tolerate," said the Emperor. "His lies—" at this point his nose grew again "—are anathema to an athematic society." What?

  "Your Highness?" yelled a reporter from the front rows. "Would you tell us about your new nose?"

  "What nose?" He looked cross-eyed at his nose, but stopped abruptly and said, "My nose is as it always is. Are you mocking your Emperor?" And the reporter was removed by ESS.

  People began whispering. His nose! It grows when he lies, like that Italian puppeteer's little masterpiece. Ah, but he can't see it! The Emperor's New Nose!

  The joke spread like free beer, and soon everyone was laughing at the Emperor. He got red as a Texas chili pepper and exploded. No—that wasn't him—that was a gunshot!

  Nan woke up again later. Nin? Where was Nin? Obviously, there'd been a struggle—furniture was overturned, and the bathroom smelled like the scene of a crime [Nan, of course, did not remember tripping over the furniture in the mad rush to the toilet].

  Nan came to the inexorable conclusion that Nin had been forcibly removed. The lack of blood suggested kidnapping.

  Nan took the Mauser from the suitcase. Loaded it. Put it in a shoulder holster, strapped the shoulder holster on, put a windbreaker over it—the windbreaker was blue and cotton-lined and had a red C in a blue circle, signifying the Chicago Cubs.

  When Nan found Nin carrying on in the company of the enemy, thoughts of betrayal took over.

  No—the room was not overturned in a struggle! Nin had arranged it to look that way. Nin was selling them out for thirty pieces of silver. To save Nin's own ass, Nin had betrayed them. Nin would get off easy for collaborating. Nan would fry. Oh, that's how it's going to be, is it? No way. I can't permit that.

  Nan rushed towards Nin, pulled out the Mauser, pointed it at Nin and fired while tripping over some idiot's stupid feet.

  The bullet lodged itself in the Emperor's ample behind. Before Nan could think, an insanely motivated Nin leapt up from the orchestra seats and landed at Nan's side, spun Nan around and pushed Nan through an exit into a waiting cab at a speed too fast for even to ESS to react to.

  "For the border," said Nin. The cabbie turned around. For a second Nin thought the cabbie was Brother Sam— from behind the hair was similar. Thank goodness it wasn't. Or, rather, curses that it hadn't been!

  Nan said, "This is great, just great! Now they're probably after us for attempted ass—"

  "Shh!" Nin said, clapping a hand over Nan's mouth. "Taximeter cabriolets have auditory capabilities."

  "And you! You were about to betray us!"

  "No—not in a million years."

  "But you were up there."

  "Just an innocent spectator. I was carried there by the throng of the crowd."

  "I thought—I was going to—"

  "Shoot me? Ha ha! You've never been able to hit the side of a farm."

  "A barn."

  "That, too," laughs Nin. "You'd never have hurt me. It was all an accident."

  "But—"

  "It was all an accident. Now, drop it. We have to find Brother Uncle Sam."

  "Excuse me!" the cabbie interjected. "You're lookin' for Uncle Sam the musician?"

  "Yep."

  "You're in luck. Look over there." The marquee at the Dune Beetle Lounge announced "One Night Only—In His Last Officially Permitted Concert—Uncle Sam Slammassasoit!" Apparently, the Emperor was not going to tolerate American propaganda.

  "Quick!" yelled Nin, throwing a couple of bills at the cabbie. "Here we are!"

  The thick, putrid aroma of thick, putrid people came pummeling all who approached, compounded by a pounding that could loosen fire hydrants from their moorings.

  On stage, Uncle Sam, solo acoustic again, was caterwauling some inhuman sex song. The audience was grunting in unison.

  Nan didn't want another explosion, but Nin pushed. When the god-awful noise ended, Nin rushed up to Sam, pulled his hair down towards his shoulders for attention, and said in his ear, "You will not play that song."

  "What? What song?"

  "Don't give me that. The Nin and Nan Song, you perv."

  "No—not a perv. Just an opportunist. But Pinocchibush is shutting me down anyway."

  "Have you done the song?"

  Nan came up, too. "Yeah, have you done the song yet?"

  "Sure—a couple of places before I visited you."

  "Here?"

  "No."

&n
bsp; "You're lucky."

  "Hey, I hate that pig Pinocchibush as much as you do. I'll tell you what—I'll lose that song forever if you can help me get artists' rights reestablished in this country. The media's been bought out by the Emperor, and the artists dominating all the charts are plants."

  "What?" asked Nan. "Venus Flytraps?"

  "No, goofball," said Nin. "Like government spies."

  "Like revenuers?"

  "Exactly like revenuers."

  "Then Old Brother Sam here isn't a revenuer?"

  Sam started laughing. "Me? A revenuer? That'd be the day. I spit on revenuers."

  Nan looked confused. "But the song..."

  "A tribute, man," replied Sam. "I heard about what you two were doing from some old sheep herder, and I thought it was cool. So I wrote the song. It's sarcastic."

  That shook Nan's head. "Oh, boy," was all Nan could say.

  "Cabbie!" yelled Nin once they were outside, pointing at one.

  "Don't do that—I have a van. Here—help me load my equipment and I'll drive."

  "Drive where?" asked Nan.

  "I'm assuming you want me to help you find the shepherd."

  "Excellent. Let's go, Brother!" said Nin.

  Chapter Seven: The Way of the Shepherd

  Shall not the way of the shepherd be but a tree in the ocean? A lone shepherd, flock before him, stands on a hillside and sees something interesting.

  Who's he going to tell? The sheep? His dog?

  Oh, I see—a well-placed rocket grenade and even his dog won't be able to tell anyone anything.

  Maybe he can be reasoned with. Unlikely, but I should never overlook that possibility.

  They stopped at a diner for dinner.

  Sam lifted his knife from his Salisbury steak and gestured with it. "The shepherd could be anywhere in a twenty-mile radius, I figure," he said.

  "Oh, spare me," said Nin at the same instant that Sam's grand gesture signifying a twenty-mile square led his hand into contact with Nan's nose. The knife scratched Nan's cheek.

  "Ow!" said Nan. "I said, 'spare me,' not 'spear me,' you clod!"

  "Well, at least you get my point," said Sam."

  "Let me look at that," said Nin, examining the cut. "Oh, that's not even deep enough to rub salt into for a good fencing scar. Now, come one. Listen to Brother Sam."

  "Well, when I met him," said Sam, "he said he'd just come from the eastern edge of his sheep's run, where the large pond over by you is."

  "It's a small lake," said Nin, "and it only touches on the edge of our area."

  "Whatever. That's where he saw you. And he's old, so he's not going to graze his sheep over an endless expanse."

  "Okay."

  "And everyone knows that shepherds graze the sheep between a water hole at one end and a salt lick at the other—"

  "So all we have to do," interrupted Nin, "is find where the nearest salt lick is, and we can define the grazing grounds!"

  "I think that's how that works."

  "I hope you're right," said Nan.

  "Oh, ye of little faith," said Nin. "Trust me. We'll find him."

  Nan looked out the window at the parking lot. A salmon Stingray was at one end and a white Pathfinder at the other. The street signs identified the restaurant as located on Morton Street between Pickles and Lam. A blue Barracuda was cruising the lot. Abruptly, the driver switched the Barracuda into reverse and backed into a stall without ever looking behind. Unfortunately a refried-bean-colored Pinto was already in that stall and exploded when the Barracuda slammed into its infamous and exposed rearmounted gas tank. Refried-bean-colored crap blew all over the place. Someone with overalls and firefighter boots showed up with a shovel to clean up the mess.

  "Nan!" Nan became conscious of the fact that Nin had been saying 'Nan!' for a few minutes. Seconds?

  "What?" snapped Nan, not wanting to lose the reverie.

  "Nothing. The waiter wants to know if you want another beer. Duh."

  Nan looked up. Sure enough, the waiter was standing there expectantly.

  "Bring me a Colt 45," snarled Nan, remembering a movie title: They Shoot Horses, Don't They?They Shoot Horses, Don't They? ounce can arrived at the table, Nan asked to borrow the waiter's pen.

  Nan turned the beer upside down and slammed the pen tip through the bottom of the can, puncturing a neat round hole in it. Nan began sucking the beer out of the hole while turning the can rightside up and popping the top. The entire contents of the 24-ounce beer flew down Nan's gullet so fast that a bunch of it came out through Nan's nose. Nan's eyes watered, but, shaking it off, Nan snorted and said, "Now, what were you saying, Nin?"

  "Sam was saying that the old shepherd's a crook," said Nin, which was enough for Nan, whose instant guffaw brought all the beer back up over the table.

  Nin got up and got some bar rags and threw them at Nan. "Here, pig. Clean up your mess." And Nin and Sam changed tables.

  The Emperor came on the television and began to speak:

  "I'd like to respond to the recent outbursts that occurred at my appearance at the Stampeded Antelope resort. Those responsible will be brought to justice and, I swear, will not be misapprehended. Those who resort thus are declared enemies of the state, and their deeds will not go unattended. They will be tried, true, and convicted upon sentencing to corporal punishment of the worst kind when we find them. Let this be a lesson to those who would defrock their Emperor! Thus have I spaken!"

  "Holy crap. Did he just declare tourist resorts illegal?" asked Sam. Nan wiped up the beer at the next table.

  "I don't know what the hell he said," replied Nin, shrugging. "Does he even know?"

  "No—he just tried to read those cue cards."

  "Well, I hope he gives his son some acting lessons. We can't have an Emperor acting like this."

  "No," chuckled Sam. "We can't. Maybe, after we find the shepherd, we could do something to help." He winked at Nin.

  "Yeah. Maybe."

  While wiping the next table, Nin noticed a fellow at the table on the other side of Nin and Sam paying undue attention to the conversation. "Nin. Sam. Shh! Taximeter cabriolets have auditory capabilities," Nan said.

  Sam and Nin turned and looked at the man, who immediately hid behind a menu.

  "All I know," said Sam, "is that anyone eavesdropping will be sorry."

  "That's for sure," rejoindered Nin. The man buried himself even deeper in the menu. "An eavesdropper is like a peeping Tom. And you know what happens to them."

  "The Emperor's dungeon, if he's lucky. But I heard they're usually beaten to death on the way." The waiter went to the man's table.

  "They're stoned by the crowd lining the streets to the dungeon." The man asked if the restaurant served squab.

  "Unless they're maimed for life by those they've wronged, who, of course, get the first shot." The waiter shook his head. The man, feigning indignation, stood up, turned and hurried out of the restaurant.

  "I guess the restaurant doesn't serve stool pigeons," said Sam, laughing.

  "Or any other kind," said Nin, laughing along. Nan, finished with the wiping, tossed the rag onto the table and rejoined the two.

  "Now, that wasn't necessary," said Nan, grinning.

  "Au contraire," said Nin. "Au contraire."

  "Well, we'd better move along," said Sam, "in case that was someone." They dropped a tip onto the table and went out into the parking lot just in time to see their neighbor speed off in a cream-colored Dodge Ram.

  "After him?" asked Nan.

  "No. We don't have the time," said Nin.

  "Guys," said Sam. "I just remembered where I'd seen that guy. He seemed so familiar. And younger. But I'm pretty sure, without his wild white hair and long beard, that was our shepherd. He's gone incognito. He knows we're onto him! Quick! Into the Batmobile!"

  "I thought it was a three-quarter ton Bonaventure."

  "Okay. The Samobile!"

  "Yeah."

  By the time they were all settled into their seatbelts
, the Ram was long gone.

  "Nin?"

  "Yes, Nan?"

  "Did you see the direction he left in?"

  "No. We were busy buckling up."

  "No problem, gang," said Sam. "It's all one-ways from here. He could have only gone one way." Nin noticed the construction detour signs ahead.

  "Too bad we don't have something that corners," said Nan.

  "Hold on," said Sam, flooring the accelerator. The afterburners kicked in as the van switched to turbo. It lifted up onto its two hind wheels and took off.

  "If he's hungry, he's going to be stopping at a restaurant soon," said Nan. "Did he stop to eat, or to spy on us?" asked Nin.

  "I think that must have been a coincidence," said Sam. "And when he saw me with you, he must have assumed that the song was my using him for a chump."

  "So he's figuring you gave him the song to distract him while you collected us for the bounty," said Nan.

  "Otherwise he would have known the bounty is on all our heads and would have tried to collect us himself," said Sam.

  "He's too little to get all three of us," said Sam.

  "Not if he had his pals Smith and Wesson with him, replied Sam.

  "So we can assume he's not out to collect us," said Nin.

  "True," replied Sam. But he might sell us out to the highest bidder."

  "Crud! How did we get into this in the first place? Nin, it's all your fault. Opening doors to strangers. What were you thinking?"

  "Actually, I did us a favor. The shepherd had already seen us, remember? He could have gone to turn us in and we'd never have known until the ATF showed up." "True."

  "You can kiss my feet now in gratitude."

  "Not until you've been defeated," said Nan.

  "Then you're going to have a long wait," replied Nin, "because we're not going to lose."

  "Up here is another restaurant. Cruise the parking lot. Look for the Ram," ordered Sam.

  They came upon the Crow Bar cautiously. The parking lot and an automobile wrecker stood side-by-side with a barbed-wire fence separating them, and one couldn't tell the cars belonging to one from those belonging to the other. Sam thought he spotted a Ram inside the wrecker's yard and said the wrecker might be in cahoots with the shepherd.