by Mike McCrary
After she washes me, she dries me off and then helps me get dressed. As I’m pulling up my pants, she stops me. Not for the reason I think.
She jams a needle into my right ass cheek.
My eyes get heavy.
Really thought we’d moved past this as a couple.
67
I wake up in a trunk, once again.
It’s a new trunk at least. Not sure of the make or model, but there is a new-car smell to the place. I hope Ruby was right and the owners of that house were set free without being harmed. They seemed like nice people. After all that went on at that house, they should probably move. That house will never be clean, not truly clean.
The undefined feeling occupying my head is sharp and dull at the same time. It’s the same syringe cocktail as before, I’m beginning to get a taste for it. Waking up in a trunk having no idea how long you’ve been out cold or how long you’ve been traveling is an odd feeling. A certain disconnection from the world, like everyone else on the planet is in on the joke of Jasper not knowing where he is or what day it is. I need to go to the bathroom, but I refuse to soil my pants again. Not living through that shit again. Can’t help but giggle at that one.
The car stops.
The trunk pops open.
Hello LAX storage.
“Go retrieve our money,” says Choke.
68
Boone goes with me to get the money.
I realize I haven’t filmed anything since the rubber sheet show. Really need to get some more footage. Slice-of-life stuff. Filler too. I haven’t gotten any of the interview stuff I wanted. Haven’t had a chance. I didn’t recognize the camera Ruby had on us during the penetration. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure those were my cameras during rubber time either.
The storage facility is a climate-controlled cavern of sorts. Each corridor leads to another, then another and another. The lighting is minimal along these long concrete-floored hallways lined with orange metal doors that roll up. Each has its own lock.
I check a map the owner gave me. I’ve been here before but a lot has happened since then. We make the second of the three lefts he told me I needed to make. I ask Boone where we’re headed after this. He doesn’t really give me an answer, only says, “We’re going to kill what’s left of the Shaw gang.”
Wanted a definition of we, but I knew better than to press Boone on specifics. He’s a hair-trigger, and predicting his reactions is an exercise in futility. He does give me some unsolicited information about how the Shaw gang is holed up in a house up the coast. Not remembering the name, he said it’s on the water in some beach town.
We reach my storage area.
As I work the combination lock, I ask, “Is that The Massive?”
Boone cocks his head at me like a dog that just heard the word treat.
“You eavesdropping little son of a bitch,” he says with the wriest of smiles.
I get the lock open and shrug my shoulders, not knowing how to respond.
“Nah. That ain’t The Massive. The Massive is the job of all jobs. The kind of job that you go away on.”
He helps me roll the door up. This is the most up-front information I’ve gotten to date from these people, so I don’t want to push it or have Boone shut down on me. I want to let him control the conversation flow here, or at lease let him think he’s controlling it. Maybe if I give him enough line, he’ll run with it.
“We need to dead those Shaw motherfuckers first. Then The Massive goes down.” He sees the duffel bag lying in the middle of the storage unit all by its lonesome self. Before I left for New York, I personally placed the bag directly under the light for effect. The light above shines a circle around the stuffed bag perfectly on the dark, polished concrete. I’m pissed I’m not filming any of this conversation. This would be a great quiet moment to fill in some exposition without sacrificing story. Maybe I can voice-over this somewhere. It won’t be as good and might come off as clunky, but I’m not sure I’ve got much of a choice with this.
I hold my hand out, offering the bag to Boone, an all-yours style of gesture.
More than anything I want to ask what he knows about me and his sister, but I know if I ask that question and it does not go my way, Boone could very well take that bag, cut me wide open, and leave me to bleed out in the storage unit underneath that perfect light. That’s a topic of conversation you can’t undo. Can’t put the genie back in the bottle.
I decide to refrain from the subject of Ruby.
Boone opens the bag, thumbs through the stacks of cash.
“We good?” I ask.
“We’re gold, Hollywood,” he says, hoisting the bag over his shoulder. As he walks out, he says, “I’m happy the bag was there. Choke told me either bring back the bag or your heart.” He begins to laugh.
I snicker a bit. I’m starting to get a handle on their dark sense of humor.
Boone laughs harder. A deep, booming laughter.
Trying to match his tone, I laugh along with him.
He shows me a knife. “This is what I was going to use.” He snorts as his face slams to ice cold. His eyes harden. The most immediate shift in tone I’ve ever seen. Like going a hundred miles an hour to a dead stop.
My laughter trails off into silence.
Boone moves up close, slipping the blade inside my nostril. “Guess my favorite movie.”
“Chinatown?”
“I hate you, I really do,” he says.
“Starting to pick up on that.”
“I want to kill you so bad my cock was turning purple, but Choke…Choke wants you alive, you see? He wants your money. Your payout. That’s what you are, a big bag of money. He says it’s that money that will put us over the top and on the road to retirement.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“He says it’ll be the difference between living off caviar and cat food,” Boone says, removing the blade from inside my nose.
“Caviar is nice,” I say.
“Cat food’s better.”
Boone holds my face, making a quick cut down my cheek. There’s a short fsst sound as it slices my skin. Burns like hell down my face. I feel the climate-controlled air hit the open sliver of exposed flesh. I suck in through my grinding teeth.
“Chinatown sucks. Guess my favorite movie now,” says Boone, smiling big as shit. The snide little prick. I know the answer, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of his little joke. A few drops of my blood hit the concrete between my feet.
“It’s Scarface, dumbfuck. Get it? You get it, right?”
I’m not a violent person, but I’m learning, and I’ve decided I’d like to watch Boone die. Matter of fact, watching his light go out is something I would love to get on film.
69
From an outside shopping mall bench, I watch Choke and Boone pick a new car to steal.
They walk up and down the aisles of the parking lot carefully searching for the ride they want. As if they were shopping on a dealer’s lot, trying to pick just the right family truckster for a vacation to Yellowstone.
We had a big discussion about me filming this—I am, by the way—and I actually won this one. I argued this was part of what they did, and therefore it was part of the story and part of our original agreement. Not to mention, car theft is always interesting as long as it’s not yours that is being stolen.
Ruby is trailing behind them about twenty feet, acting like she’s looking for her car. Really she’s looking for pain-in-the-ass people who might cause them grief while trying to swipe a vehicle.
I’m trying not to be upset that nobody said a word about me returning from the storage unit with a bleeding three-inch slice down my face. Not even a puzzled glance. I knew Choke wouldn’t care less, but Ruby? I thought she’d at least question it. Maybe be pissed at her asshole brother for cutting up the one.
The romance is already over.
Now that the drugs are clearing my system and the sting from my newly mutilated face is subsiding, or
I’m just getting used to it, I can try and piece together what the hell is going on with Choke’s family and the Shaw gang. I want to get a handle on it for several reasons. Notwithstanding, I’d like to have an idea of what might happen next. Meaning what situation I’m going to be thrown into that might end my life. You know, for planning purposes if nothing else. Also, I need to put together a narrative for my film. Have to find the spine of this thing so I can navigate themes, dramatic propulsion, and all that Syd Field, Robert McKee shit that people pretend is shit but everybody reads and follows them in Hollywood anyway. You kinda have to read the bullshit books on how to write a screenplay so you can have a conversation with the people who read the books and use them as their education, but they realize that you, the writer, think those books are shit, so they play them off as shit so you won’t think they are idiots, but in reality they are idiots who cling to those books as if they are the gospel because it’s all they’ve got. Plus those books have handy lists and easy charts. Executives love lists and charts.
Choke and Boone have stopped at a truck.
Ruby passes them and circles back, getting a nice wide angle on the parking lot.
She nods.
I’m just happy it doesn’t have a trunk.
From what I can put together, there is some beef between the Choke family and the Shaw gang. No idea what it’s about, but I can only guess it has to do with money. Isn’t it always about the dollars? They are apparently at war for this Massive job, and they are killing off one another so the other one can do The Massive job unencumbered. Now they are finding a new ride so they can storm in like cowboys from hell and kill off the rest of the Shaw gang. The person from the bag in the cave gave up the location.
That’s something I can work with.
That’s a movie.
This is all contingent on one big if.
If I can only stay alive long enough to pull it off.
Big. Fucking. If.
70
The sun is starting to set.
I am riding in the back of a twin cab Chevy truck. Big. Black. Roaring. Boone drives with Choke next to him. Ruby sits in the back with me, holding my hand. We’ve been driving awhile. Choke has selected a book on CD. It’s in Italian. I ask Ruby if Choke speaks Italian. She says no, he just likes the sound of the language and that it soothes him.
It’s been on for over an hour.
It’s driving me crazy.
Yes, I’m filming this too. It’ll play great, fueling the idea of how insane these people are. Of course that whole thing back at the house will probably sell that point loud and clear, but it’s nice to have supporting evidence.
We’re winding around, up into the Hollywood Hills. Shaw must have done something right. This is not cheap real estate. Must be good with the money he steals.
Good for him, I guess. Could’ve sworn Boone said something about a place off the coast—Shaw’s hideaway?
Ruby squeezes my hand. Believe it or not, it actually feels nice.
I’m calling my therapist if I get out of this. I need a moral adjustment, no question. Haven’t spoken with the woman in years, but I’m sure she’ll take my call. We always communicated well.
Ruby says, “I think we’re going to have a baby.”
71
I don’t get much time to process Ruby’s announcement.
The truck has stopped in front of an ultra-modern home nestled in the hills. None of this makes a lot of sense. It’s completely lit up. Every exterior and interior light is burning bright. It’s also not the kind of place you would expect to be housing a pack of violent criminals. You’d think it would be a more toned-down, off-the-beaten-path, nondescript type of criminal domicile, the type of place that doesn’t draw so much attention to itself. This place? This place screams, Hey, look at us! We’ve got money and tons of it.
Ruby nudges me. I turn to her, asking, “What?”
“You remember the other night?”
“Yeah, yes, of course. How do you know? A baby?”
“A girl knows,” she says, releasing the biggest smile in the history of glowing female smiles. “Can I ask you something?”
I brace myself for whatever is coming next from her.
“What was your second movie about?”
I can only stare back at her. This is coming from out of nowhere.
“It’s not a good movie, it’s shit really, but it looks like it’s about something,” she says. “What is it about?”
“I don’t talk about it.”
“Come on. We’re going to be parents.”
My insides twist…
Choke and Boone end our chat by opening the doors and handing us black ski masks. Choke holds a sawed-off shotgun. Boone has a handgun, checks the clip. He slips it behind his back and pulls a sledgehammer from under the front seat. Choke hands Ruby a Glock.
“Get your cameras together,” Choke says.
I have the cap cam on, so I strap on the camera-mounted vest and grab a handheld. If this is going to be a big shoot-out, I want to get it from many angles. There will be no multiple takes. I grab the mouth cam as well.
We push up the hill toward the well-lit house. Choke stops me, getting in my face. “Don’t slow us down. You move and move fast. You get me?” Before I can pull out the mouth cam and respond, they are charging toward the house. I’m struggling to keep up. They are moving fast, with Boone leading the charge, his sledgehammer at the ready.
My mouth cam keeps slipping out of my mouth as we bounce and jiggle up the hill. I shove it back in, but it’s getting on what’s left of my nerves.
I’m about twenty feet behind when Boone takes down the door with two hard whacks. Like watching a crazy person chop down a tree. The amount of anger he generated in the blink of an eye toward the door, it’s impressive to say the least.
The door splinters clear from the frame. Choke and Ruby charge in hard. Guns out front like they’ve been SWAT trained. Voices call out from inside. No gunshots yet.
Good. Haven’t missed anything.
Clearing the entryway, I slip and stumble over chunks of wood and door remains.
The house is immaculate. I can make out Wolf Alice playing in the background, but I don’t hear the usual screaming, fighting, or other sounds that come from bloodshed. Sounds my ears have become attuned to recently. I run as fast as I can down the hall. My legs are concrete. Lungs are pumping acid. I’m almost to the corner.
Choke whips around, stopping me. He plants a hand firmly to my chest.
Watch the camera, I think.
He looks into my eyes, as if trying to give me a minute to calm down. Takes a beat. He’s allowing me to refocus. Moment appreciated, I guess, but for what. What have I done to deserve this sudden generosity?
Choke takes my handheld camera and replaces it with a gun.
Grabbing my elbow, he leads me around the corner.
72
There’s a table full of men playing poker.
At least they were playing poker.
All in their twenties or thirties. All of them are terrified, as they should be. They look nothing like what I envisioned the Shaw gang would look like. Hip, salon-quality hair. High-end shirts. Cigars. Scotch. No, this isn’t a world-class kill squad; this is a big-money poker game for Hollywood douchebags. I know the look. A friendly game consisting of people of privilege winning money off other people of privilege. That self-entitled thing, it oozes from every pore. It’s present even when surrounded by people in masks holding guns on them.
Boone is holding one of the guys down, planting the douchebag’s face on the table. Choke hands Ruby the camera. She points it at me, holding it steady as a rock. Choke waves a hand. Boone grabs a different Hollywood boy by the back of the neck, raising his face to me.
It’s a face racked by fear.
Wilson Gains is scared out of his skull.
73
“Shoot him,” Choke says to me.
I forgot I was even holding a gun. Ruby h
as her family camera on me recording this moment. Capturing every nuance. My teeth bite down on the bit of the mouth cam. I feel my teeth sink into the soft plastic.
Boone is taking up wallets and sampling their cocaine as he goes. Wilson Gains shakes. I want to scream out, You fucking prick! How in the fuck could you do that to me? Don’t Get Tripped? Don’t Get Motherfucking Tripped?
But I say nothing.
I can only stand staring stone-faced.
Like an oak with roots dug into the floor.
I realize I have a mask pulled over my face; Gains has no idea it’s me. I know I can’t talk to him, not that I can form actual words at the moment. Can’t remember the last time he heard my voice, but I can’t take that chance.
“Shoot. Him,” Choke says again, more annoyed this time.
I can only stand there, oak-like.
Might have stopped breathing.
I glance over to Ruby, for what, I don’t know. A slow tear rolls down from under her mask passing over her smiling lips. “This is so beautiful. The universe—it’s making everything whole.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about.
Future mother of the century.
Choke grabs my hand, jamming the barrel to my childhood friend’s forehead. I know I’m shaking. I can’t control it.
“You need to do this, don’t you?” Choke says.
“Who are you?” asks Wilson Gains, voice trembling.
Choke backhands him, sending him spiraling out of his chair onto the floor. Choke turns back to me. He places a hand on each side of my face and pulls me close, talking in my ear. “You hate him.”
I mumble; the mouth cam prevents me from getting clear speech across. Ruby pulls the cam away from my teeth.
“I do, but—”
“Then end this.”
