by Mike Faricy
“Ahh, Hail Mary,” Otto screamed in terror.
Mendel tossed the trash bags into the rear of the armored car, pushed Merlot out of the way, jumped in, then pointed his AK at Cindy, motioning her to follow him. Cindy quickly climbed in. Then Elvis dove into the rear of the armored car, and motioned for Merlot.
Mendel was pounding his palm on the front wall of the armored car. “Drive baby, drive!” he screamed as the armored car lurched forward. Merlot did his best to hop into the back of the accelerating vehicle just as Otto, stunned and unable to hear anything, poked a visibly shaking hand around the chewed corner of the brick column and fired a final round.
“Zing” the round whistled off the open rear door.
“Ahh, fuck!” screamed Merlot sailing into the rear of the armored car, landing on top of the trash bags.
“Pull that damn door closed,” Mendel screamed at Elvis as they raced down the alley.
“Jesus Christ,” Merlot groaned. His rear felt as if it were on fire from molten lava. A burning, slashing pain ran left to right across his rear.
“Son of a bitch just got shot in the ass!” exclaimed Elvis. Arching the eyebrow above his good eye, staring at the puckered, ripped, and bloody jeans as Merlot lay face -down, groaning.
“Quit your bellyaching, you dumb shit. That’s barely a flesh wound, damn ricochet is all, hardly a new crack in your ass!” Mendel said disgustedly.
“Oh my God, that fucking hurts!” Merlot screamed, his mirrored sunglasses fell off. The dive into the back of the armored car and subsequent rolling around had pulled his long-haired wig down just above his eyebrows.
“Hey, what the hell’s this shit?” Elvis shouted. Then pulled Merlot’s wig and leveled his AK at the back of his head.
“What the fuck?” exclaimed Mendel.
“Tony?” asked Cindy, sounding even more incredulous.
“Oh God, I’ve been shot!” groaned Merlot.
“You’re gonna be hurtin’ a lot worse, you don’t start talking awfully God damn fast! You some kind of undercover cop or weirdo or something?” Mendel shouted. He thrust the barrel of his AK between Merlot’s eyes. As the vehicle sped down the street rocking back and forth, the gun barrel repeatedly bounced off his forehead.
“Look, can’t you see I’m dying here. I’ve been shot!” Merlot whined.
“Shit, that’s barely gonna leave an interesting scar. What in the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Mendel scoffed.
“Oh yeah, like I wanted to come along,” Merlot gasped just as a wave of pain raced across his rear.
“He’s my boyfriend!” exclaimed Cindy, moving in to get a closer look at Merlot’s wound.
“Hey, can you move that thing?” Merlot looked up and crossed his eyes to focus on Mendel’s barrel as it bounced off his forehead.
“Check and see what’s behind us. He ain’t goin’ no where’s,” Mendel told Elvis. They could all feel the armored car gaining speed after it turned and accelerated onto Highway 280 and raced south.
“Oh God!” Merlot groaned as more searing pain raced across his rear.
“Are you okay, Tony?” Cindy gasped, gently tracing her finger along the puckered, bloody wound.
“Oh, please don’t do that,” Merlot gritted his teeth.
“Nothing, back there but cars, no cops,” Elvis said sounding a bit more relaxed.
“Good. Now if we can just get the hell out of this thing we’ll be fine and dandy,” Mendel said.
Lucerne was just merging off 280 south onto I-94, heading west across the Mississippi and into Minneapolis. He was heading for the Riverside exit.
* * *
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” the young officer said to Daphne, more exasperated than sorry.
“We’ve asked you a number of times to please leave the scene before you cause another incident. We have allowed you to place five separate phone calls to this Lucerne individual. Maybe she just doesn’t want to come and pick you up,” he said, wondering who in their right mind would?
“Lucerne is a he,” Daphne exclaimed defiantly.
That figures, he thought. Just his luck to have a crowd of women in thongs jumping up and down while he dealt with this three-hundred-and-fifty pound blob.
“You’ve failed to leave the area as we have asked a number of times. Because of your actions I’m afraid we are going to have to take you into custody.”
He was actually pleading with her, hoping he wouldn’t end up booking her. Everyone else was hanging around with hot chicks screeching and jumping while they drenched one another with industrial-size squirt guns.
“Look,” he groveled, begging as he watched Misty shriek and squeal after taking a full chest shot of cold water.
“I’ll let you phone one more time, but if Lucerne doesn’t answer, you’ll have to leave the area or you leave me with no other choice but to place you under arrest.”
He just knew the way his luck was running, this would be the one who sat down and refused to move unless she was carried out. God, they’d have to get a forklift.
Daphne had been listening to Lucerne’s phone ring on and on for some time while the cop was lost watching the distant, full-breasted reverie.
“Hello? Lucerne? Oh, thank God! I’ve been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes.”
Lucerne had absently answered his phone while racing up the Riverside exit ramp, glancing nervously in his side mirrors.
“Tracey? Angel, that you? Sorry baby, just a little busy is all,” he replied, checking for police. He couldn’t recall a time when she had sounded so eager to talk with him.
“You okay? You sound a little, I don’t know not shitty or pissed off, but more like worked up, sort of,” doing his best to sweet-talk her.
“No, I’m not okay. They’re asking me to leave, telling me I’ll be arrested if I don’t go.”
“Arrested? They can do that to a vice president?” He pictured Tracey wearing her shimmery dancing gown working with all sorts of files open on her desk, not wanting to dance or anything else except do her vice president’s job.
“Is it that God damn Osborne fella again, making you do dancing and shit you don’t want to do?”
She was having a hard time hearing with all the whistling and cheering from the crowd. But, she did hear the words ‘Osborne’ and ‘dancing’.
“Exactly!” she said. “Look, I was wondering if you weren’t too busy, maybe you could come and get me, give me a ride out of here. Right away, before things get any worse.”
The young officer smiled coldly, checked his handcuffs.
It sounded to Lucerne like Tracey was in one hell of a fix and in need of his help. Now. Frankly, he couldn’t think of a better way to deliver it than in an armored car, his brothers armed and carrying more money than God. Just cruise on up to Tracey standing innocently and sweetly on the corner. It would make one hell of a big first impression.
“You at that Beaver Hut joint?”
“Yes,” she said, wedging her finger tighter into her left ear, hoping it might help her hear. The crowd was beginning to clap in unison, creating a beat. Two of the girls, she couldn’t see who, were dancing, driving the crowd crazy. The cop next to her began clapping with the rest of the crowd.
“I’ll be at the ice-cream truck, you can’t miss it, right next to a big sign…”
She was suddenly hit by a misguided blast from a water gun that immediately cut off her phone.
“Hunh, hey Tracey? You there, Tracey? Christ on a cross,” he swore. He was only a few minutes from where she was and he quickly diverted the armored car along a side street for four blocks before turning onto Hennepin Avenue, making his way to the Beaver Hut.
“Where in the hell is he going?” groaned Elvis.
“Doing just what he should,” Mendel said stretching out, watching as Cindy gently patted and examined Merlot’s rear end.
“He’s got us off them freeways and into a quiet area. We’ll ditch this ride, grab some other car, the
n get the hell out of Dodge. Cops’ll all be guessing we’re on the highway somewheres while we just drive off into the sunset with the money. We’ll leave dumbass and his nurse here, locked in the back.”
“I’ll give you this son, you’re gonna have one hell of a sore ass for a while. Best stay in that position for a couple of days,” Mendel snickered.
* * *
“Come on, Milton, up, up, up you ingrate!” Osborne continued to chide Milton in an effort to raise him off the office couch. All the cheering and whistling from the crowd assembled outside his front door, without one of them buying so much as a bottle of water, had simply become too much to take. Police or not, he was going to entice the assembled crowd inside with the tantalizing offer of his suntan contest.
He pulled on Milton’s arm, slowly, gradually forcing the delirious giant to accompany him downstairs.
“Arghhh!” Milton growled heavily with a thick tongue, weaving back and forth unsteadily out the office door. He drooled down his chin and stumbled, glassy eyed, to the staircase. The stairway seemed to toss from side to side like a rowboat in a storm. Milton grabbed the stair rail with his good arm, ran the side of his head against the wall for added balance, and began his descent.
“Quickly, Milton, hurry,” Osborne chided.
* * *
Lucerne could see some sort of crowd up ahead on the right and figured that was where Tracey probably was waiting for him. No wonder the poor little thing was frightened. From this distance it looked to Lucerne like there was some sort of wrestling match. People were jumping all around. His blood began to boil just thinking what that son-of-a-bitch Osborne was doing.
“Damn traffic’s looking awfully busy,” Elvis groaned nervously through the toilet paper stuffed in his nose, still not recognizing where they were. Unhappy with the snail’s pace they had suddenly adopted he turned and slid down the back of the door. Merlot’s wounded, raised rear end pointed directly at him.
“Take her easy, E. He knows what the hell he’s doing. You want him to race down the street and bring all sorts of attention and such on us? I’m telling ya, we’re just blending in, that’s all, just blending in,” Mendel said.
“Mister, what in the hell is your deal? You got an awful lot a clothes on for it to be close to a hundred degrees. And what the hell was with that wig? You some sort a pervert or something?” Elvis asked.
Mendel looked at Merlot for a moment, shot Elvis a look, and then lowered the muzzle of his AK directly at Merlot’s head.
“Tony?” Cindy asked, for the first time noticing the powder blue shorts popping through the puckered seam running across Merlot’s rear end.
“Ahh, God my ass is killing me,” Merlot groaned.
* * *
Once she convinced the officers Lucerne was really on his way they seemed only too glad to release Daphne on her own recognizance, at least for the moment. Reminding her they didn’t want to see her next time they checked.
After waiting for a half minute next to the ice-cream truck Daphne decided one more treat couldn’t hurt, although it had been a fight over an ice cream bar with one of the dancers that had initially garnered all the police attention earlier.
“Look, lady, I told you I’m not serving you. So just go away!” Morris twitched before stepping away from the window, arms folded, indicating she would not get any service.
Daphne steamed, remembering her last encounter with Morris thirty minutes before. She had just purchased an orange-flavored Creamsicle from him. He couldn’t take his eyes off Thumper, the dancer waiting impatiently behind Daphne. Thumper requested an orange-flavored Creamsicle, and Morris informed her they were all gone.
“That fat broad just took the last one, sweetheart,” he said, staring down into the Grand Canyon of Thumper’s cleavage.
Then, Thumper calmly wiggled over to Daphne and ripped the Creamsicle right out of her hand.
“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Give it back!” Daphne screamed, reaching to snatch back her melting treasure. Grabbing just as Thumper half turned and Daphne pawed her top, unleashing a massive surgically enhanced breast before recapturing the Creamsicle.
“Cat fight!” screamed Morris excitedly, leaning forward on the counter enjoying his front row-seat.
“Eeek! Ahh, don’t touch me. How dare you!” Thumper screamed making absolutely no attempt to cover herself, catching the attention of two young officers who quickly handed Daphne’s orange Creamsicle to Thumper, got her a glass of ice water, and took down her side of the story while she remained grateful, indignant, and exposed.
Daphne was told to stand at the rear of the ice-cream truck. Within seconds she began to swelter, all the hot exhaust from the cooling unit blew directly on her like a blast furnace.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Morris had added, twitching, hoping to win Thumper’s eternal gratitude.
“That fat broad over there stole her Creamsicle and pushed her, assaulted her, tried to rip her top off, too,” nodding in Thumper’s direction. “I saw the whole thing. You okay, Honey? She didn’t hurt you or anything, did she? Christ, she must be nuts. You guys should cart her off,” he twitched.
“Hey, buster, you know you sold that to me, and…” Daphne yelled storming around the corner of the ice-cream truck, flushed in the face, glistening with sweat.
“That’s enough, ma’am, I’m only going to tell you once, I will arrest you. Please let me finish with this lady then we’ll get to you. Now go around to the side there, please,” the officer smiled briefly at Thumper, then glared at Daphne.
“But it’s hot back there,” Daphne protested.
“Be a lot hotter in the back of a squad car or a holding room. It’s hot everywhere. It’s 99 degrees out. Now, please, I’m not going to tell you again, step around the corner,” he said pointing to the rear of the ice-cream truck.
Thumper gave the Creamsicle a very healthy lick in Daphne’s direction.
“You ain’t buying anything else here,” Morris yelled as Daphne sullenly stepped around the corner to stand in the heat of the blowing exhaust.
* * *
Now Daphne stepped away from the ice-cream truck, wiped the sweat off her flushed face and looked longingly down the street hoping she would find Lucerne. She couldn’t see much past an armored car slowly working its way to the corner.
Lucerne scanned the crowd and wondered if maybe one of the girls wearing a thong and standing up on top of the air-conditioning unit might be Tracey. There were at least a half dozen girls with light brown hair, and it suddenly dawned on him that, except for her ad on TV, he had never really seen her. He noticed a very large police presence.
* * *
There’s gonna be a lot more wrong with you besides a new asshole if I don’t get some answers here pretty fast, mister,” Mendel said, bouncing the muzzle of his AK off the top of Merlot’s head.
“Now, I’m gonna ask you again, what in the hell are you doing in this getup?”
Elvis raked the barrel across Merlot’s wounded rear end.
“Ahh-ahh, God, please,” Merlot groaned.
“Hey, we’re stopping,” Elvis exclaimed, quickly scrambling around to peer out the corner of the window.
“Jesus, cops, lots of ‘em!” he said ducking down.
“The hell?” Mendel exclaimed, duck-walking over Merlot, scraping a boot across his rear end before cautiously peering out over the bottom edge of the oval window.
“Ahh-ahh-ahh, ahh,” Merlot groaned.
“God damn it, I told you I didn’t like this one bit. I God damned told you!” Elvis yelled.
“Shut up! Just shut the hell up! Let me see what Lucerne’s up to here,” Mendel shouted, duck-walking back over Merlot, scrapping the same boot back across his rear end.
“Oh God, please,” Merlot pleaded.
“What are all them folks doing here? How in the hell are we gonna get out of here? What are all those cops…?”
“Will you please shut up, Elvis! I’m trying
to find all that shit out but I can’t even hear my own self think with you babbling on and on. So, please, shut the fuck up so I can figure this out!”
“But…”
“Shut up,” roared Mendel, before turning to the front and pounding the wall with his fist.
Shit, thought Lucerne as his head felt the slight vibrations through the steel-plate wall. He quickly returned a couple of knocks with his left hand, holding the ringing cell phone in his right, desperately scanning the milling crowd for a light brown-haired woman looking like Tracey sounded.
Between the noise from the dancers music, the crowd cheering and whistling, Daphne couldn’t hear herself think let alone see Lucerne ever since that armored car had parked in the way.
“Move that damn thing, you moron,” she screamed red faced, waving a flabby forearm farther down the street indicating where she wanted the armored car to move.
“Come on, answer your damn phone, Tracey,” Lucerne swore, looking frantically across the crowd, wondering if Tracey was all right or if that Osborne guy had done something to hurt her. Maybe he found out Lucerne was on the way and just freaked.
He began scanning the crowd for a white-haired guy wearing a tuxedo, ignoring the noise, the shimmering heat, and the crazed, sweaty, fat woman.
“Hey, move that damn thing, you jerk, I’m waiting for someone,” Daphne screamed, eyes wild, face scarlet and glistening.
“Jesus, what a nutcase!” Lucerne said under his breath, doing his best to ignore the large, sunburned, woman. Tracey was supposed to be near the ice cream truck but he feared Osborne had already grabbed her, dragged her off, and was probably making her dance on that air conditioner thing. That’s the way assholes like him operated. Find Osborne and he’d find Tracey.
“Jesus H. Christ! Ya know where we’re at? That stupid son of a bitch brung us straight to that naked-lady-dance place, the one his girlfriend works at! The Beaver Hut!” screamed Elvis, peering out the rear window and sucking in a mouthful of air.
“The Beaver Hut?” Mendel responded, shocked.
“The Beaver Hut?” Cindy asked.
“The Beaver Hut?” Merlot whispered, thinking Osborne.
