yeah, the long awaited sequel is finally here. if your new hear, scroll down a bit and read part I first. trust me. i can't turn off the underline.
ONCE UPON A TIME IN CHESTER COUNTY
Part II
I peek out my door and double check the sleepliness of the house. I sneak downstairs like a smooth criminal skipping the steps that creak and to the back door. Architects are buttheads. The master bedroom is 6 feet from the front door and 15 feet from the back. Both doors are loud, but I’m a smooth criminal so I creep out opening the door just barely enough to get through and then do the same with the screen door. Hard part is over but thats not to say its time to relax. I creep down the back deck and book across the lawn I get mostly out of sight of my house and then settle to a walk. Its 11pm. Meeting Derelict Dave and The Duck in Eagle at 12, in town by 12:30. So I’ll be to Rich’s house around then. Rich is a good friend of mine and is having a small get together. In many cases ‘small get together’ turns into ‘open house’ but this is really just 7 or 8 friends. I could have skipped it, I’m going really out of my way, but I’ve been real bored lately and I could use some adventure.
Derelict Dave is a drug dealer. He drives the flyest white cadillac with his business partner The Duck. The Duck is always in half of a blues brothers costume and Derelict Dave is always wearing a really comfortable flannel shirt. Derelict Dave loves driving around in his fly white cadillac and The Duck just wants to make money. We’ve all been great friends since forever so they drive me around when I need it even though I never buy anything.
I’m crouched in the shadows next to the foreclosed pizza shop that went out of business when the mediocre chain joint opened up across the street. At the end of the road I spot the flyest white cadillac newly waxed. I get up and hail them down and they pull in. I get in the back seat and sit in the middle.
“Evenin fellas”
“Whats happenin’?” Derelict Dave always the coolest guy.
“the usual”
“glad to hear.” Derelict Dave reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a cassette tape and pops it in the tape deck. Says “Rock” and puts it in gear and we drive.
“Whats this party your goin to?”
“Just a few fellas, some ladies”
“Beavers, huh.” Derelict Dave watches a lot of 70’s trucker movies and his manner of speech shows that.
“our kind of fellas” The Duck is straight business.
“no I don’t think so”
“yathink these beaver friends of yours would be interested in a couple’a guys like us?”
“they might be, you do drive the flyest white cadillac”
Derelict Dave laughs. “yeah I sure do.”
We’re going 80 on a 55.
“easy there Derelict the Bears are hungry”
“Bears are always hungry, man.” but he slows down. I spoke his language so he was happy to oblige.
Not 20 seconds later we hear sirens coming up behind us. This is bad. The Duck stays cool, a first class professional. Oftentimes in movies people stuff thousands of dollars into there stomachs but The Duck lifts up the car rug and places it under, then leans back. Derelict Dave pulls over.
“May I see your license and registration?”
“sure thing Papabear”
“excuse me?”
“sure thing officer”
“now you were going 25 miles an hour over the speed limit. A generous estimation on my part could call that 26 and that means your license is mine. So I suggest you treat your authorities with a little more respect.”
“sure thing. Officer.”
I’ve never been more scared in my life Derelict and The Duck are getting more panicked, less cool. They’re whispering between each other in their own little language, I’m not paying attention really, believe I caught something about “S.C.M.O.D.S.”, I’m zoned out in fear. Papabear returns.
“well, well, well, mr. Uhm Dave. Can I call you Derelict?
Papabear knows their reputation. Their business.
“And that makes you The Duck. Boy, we were told to have our ears perked up for a fly white cadillac. I was under the impression it would take some more old fashioned police work, take ANY old fashioned police work. But you went the extra miles-per-hour and went 26-over. Like I said thats a license suspension on that alone, we’ll get to the merchandise a little later.”
This is by far the worst situation I’ve ever found myself in. Hopefully my guilty by association won’t be too guilty and they’ll let me off, not tell my parents, and maybe even drive me back to Eagle. Keep telling yourself that.
“Now you 2 boys can play funny and we’ll cavity search you and you fly white cadillac, or you can just show me.”
He said 2 boys. Without meaning to I was slunked in my seat and he didn’t notice me at all! How about that, but in the long run it might not help anyway.
Derelict Dave and The Duck share a look. Papabear hands derelict his paperwork and steps back. Derelict Dave and the Duck get out of the car at the exact same time and walk back to the trunk. Dave reaches into his pocket, grabs a small black remote, and I hear a ‘beep-beep’ and the trunk pops open. I’m still in the back and I can barely see behind the open trunk. The Duck is off to the side leaning against the rear quarter pannel looking into the nighttime wooded area to the side of the road. Sunglasses still on. Derelict Dave grabs something out of the trunk closes the door and places a guitar case on the closed trunk. Naturally Papabear believed that to be storage space for merchandise but I know better. Derelict Dave pulls another beeper out of his pocket and points it at the case and I hear another beep-beep and he opens the case. Papabear grabs the guitar and Dave winces. With one hand he shuffles through the case while still holding the guitar in the other. Satisfied he puts the guitar back in and instructs Dave to open the trunk again. The Duck gets up and walks around back just as Dave opens the trunk I see some commotion but have no idea what it is. When Derelict Dave closes the trunk I see that The Duck has punched Papabear right in the face. As Derelict Dave is coming back towards the car The Duck punches him again and he falls down at which point The Duck stomps on his head. Derelict Dave and The Duck fly back to the car, get in, and book.
Its silent for a few seconds.
“Derel-”
“not now”
“what are we going to do. He might be dead.”
“he’s not dead” Derelict Dave a strange form of optimism
“we don’t know that.”
“look, we’re gonna book. Georgia at least, ideally Texas, then Mexico. Wether or not he’s dead, we’re over. In Chester County anyways. The best we can do is get out of town. Or state.” The Duck figured all this in his head really quickly.
“Well ok man but what about me?”
“We’ll drop you at the next exit”
“Wheres that?”
“Not Sure. West Chester I think.”
“look, we know its really far from where you were trying to get in the first place, but its the best we can do. Our supplier lives on high street. Go to the house with blue shutters behind the burger king. Tell ‘em we sent ya, tell ‘em about our situation and tell ‘em your problem. He might be able to help you.”
That actually sounds pretty good. Better than nothing I suppose, I’m not dead yet. Not like them anyway.
We get off at the first exit we come by which is West Chester. Right in the middle of town fairly close to the University is where they drop me off. Its a not far walk to the Burger King and the house behind it. When they pull over to a sidewalk I get out and stand by the car. Derelict Dave has been speechless since he said “he’s not dead” in his strange form of optimism.
“Well. Bye.” not sure what to think of that since I can’t see The Duck’s eyes as he says this, always wearing sunglasses. I’m gonna miss them 2 hooligans. And thats probably the last I’ll ever see of Derelict Dave and The Duck.
I made the walk, about half a mile, to the Burger King and found the house easily. It seemed fairly subtle and I wouldn’t have called it out for being a local crime dealer’s hideout if I wasn’t looking for just that. I knock on the door and I hear some shuffling from inside. And a small plate in the door slides across and I see someone’s eyes.
“who are you”
“a friend of Derelic-”
The person slides the small plate shut and I hear some more shuffling from inside as well as some voices. A bit while later the small plate slides again and its someone else’s eyes.
“who are you”
“a friend of Dereli-”
“you already said that but who are you”
“long story, not important.”
“thats my call, kid, hit me with the bottom line”
“Derelict Dave and The Duck got into some trouble.”
“what?”
“can I come in?”
Incredulous, he pauses. Derelict Dave and The Duck are the best in the business, how’d they get into trouble? He steps back, slides the plate, and I hear some locks and stuff turning. The door swings open and he whispers, “In. Quickly” I duck in and he closes the door behind me. A rather large man is inside standing up against the wall with his arms crossed. This was the first man at the door.
“Bronan” and nods his head
“yeah boss”
I notice the second man that came to the door, the one this Bronan fella called ‘boss’, was wearing a velvet blue robe. We open a door that leads into another room. I enter and immediately notice it is much classier than the outside. Everything is the same shade of blue that the boss’ robe is and there are two scantily clad beavers on a circular blue bed on the far side. I am in no mood to sit back and appreciate the awesomeness of such a place nor the awesomeness of the man running it, but it resonates in me that this is a place of great awesomeness. He leads me to a seat, takes his own and gestures for Bronan to sit down as well.
“first, I’m Marky Moodlebutt. As you’ve been told I’m the supplier to our mutual friends. I also run or in some way have a hand in most illegal stuff in Chester County. Now tell me what happened to Derelict Dave and The Duck.”
Like the awesomeness, I’m in no mood to appreciate how funny that name is. So I start right in with the story.
___ ___ ___
“And then I knocked on your front door.”
“by god”
“yeah.”
“was he dead?”
“we don’t know”
Bronan is sitting silent
“this is insane. So they sent you to tell me. That can’t be the only reason why you came.”
“I’m glad you asked. You see I snuck out of my home tonight, without the little mishap with Papabear I would have been down with a ride back home before light easily, but all this hoopla, I’m stuck 25 minutes away by car, 60 by bike, and all I got are these nikes.
“I see. Well since you rubbed my belly I’m ready to rub yours. I can’t offer you a car though or a bike. What I do got is. Well, I better just show you. Bronan.” Marky Moodlebutt gestures Bronan to open a garage on the far side of the room. “come on kid, your gonna love this.”
I have know idea what to expect. Not a car, not a bike, but what? The garage door opens and the shadow moves away to reveal not a car, not a bike, but a lawnmower. Very funny Moodlebutt.
“look at ‘er. 2004 Johnny Deere. Aw this puppy can race down a hill 0-6 in 60 seconds. Engine only marginally loud too.”
“your sayin. This puppy is gonna get me across the county.”
“I’m sayin it’ll getya, kid.”
I pause a tick “you serious?”
“pope where a funny hat?”
I’m in no mood to appreciate the humor of such an answer. Bronan cuts in.
“tank’s full. Thats 3 hours of grass tearin. So thats 4 hours of drivin with the blades turned off.” that’ll take you as far as Downingtown. your own from there, kid. Good luck.”
So now I’m driving a lawnmower on some back roads between West Chester and Downingtown. I’m in no mood to appreciate the humor in such a situation. A couple cars pass me along the way, wondering what I could possibly be up to. Probably no good, they assume, and they are half right. I’m close to the school when she finally kicks out. I get up from the seat, stand and look at it for a while. I glance at the horizon, ballparking how much time I have left. Enough if I’m lucky. I’m getting hungry. Just before I start my long walk to what’s next I sit back, and take a second to appreciate the humor in everything that happened tonight. Everything thats happened tonight so far. Most of it was very easy to laugh at were it not so real. I have a feeling that if I was hearing this story told to me in a workshop in creative writing class I would find it quite enjoyable. But right now, my legs are kinda sore.
__________________________
and thats it. it started as a 'memoir' in creative writing class, but kinda fell off of that.
actually, the short story is fairly mediocre, but as we speak its getting expanded, improved, awesomer'd, and adapted to a script i'm gonna shoot sometime...
skadoosh.
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