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EPISODE 39
"They're here," cried
Wayne. "Canucks! Who took my gun?"
"Maybe it's someone with something
to eat," Harvey brightened, and opened the door. Two beefy goons brushed past him, like a pair
of tornadoes leisurely batting a tumbleweed
aside. Behind them swaggered in an ugly
little man with a snap hat covering his big, batlike
ears, and with a big, bat-shaped wart sprouting from his chin.
"Good evening folks," he
said, with smirking self-importance.
"You may know me... I'm Bill Blood, your representative. I'm..."
And something dark dropped from the
ceiling to cut the politician short, something fluttering towards Blood's dark
wart. The bat! The politician roared and swatted at it with
his hat; a dozen greasy strands of thin, exposed hair tumbled across his
brow. The bat settled on his left ear
with a high-pitched screeching. One of
his entourage stepped forward, with a clumsy swing of his briefcase. The other picked up and brandished the fallen
African mask. Blood held the hat over
his eyes. The bat flew up and out the
open door, which Howard quickly slammed.
"A fine reception," fumed the politician. "Where's Waldo?"
"He's not here. He's at the fire," Howard answered,
innocently.
"Speak up, boy! Was there
a fire, Tuggs?"
"I think I did hear sirens," conceded the big man with the mask.
"Damn!" Bill Blood swore,
"He'd do that to me. You!" he
pointed. Howard looked from side to
side, but he was all alone... the others edging rapidly but silently away. "What's your name, boy? You live around here? Vote?"
"Yes, sir," said
Howard. "Howard. Howard Slack, sir. Yes.
And this is...
"Another one of Waldo's fuck
ups," Blood interrupted, glancing about to see if any of the wives had
cringed at his language. None had. It seemed to sadden the politician. "Well, did you happen to have seen if
the fat fuck left an envelope for me? It
would probably have been like this..." he held his hands apart, about nine
inches. "Yellow. Unmarked... except, maybe, for my name, and
that stupid owl of his. Hell, you know
what I'm talking about, boy, you're not an idiot, are you? One of Waldo's?"
"No, sir. Yes, sir.
Waldo's..." Howard added by means of an explanation.
"An idiot," Blood finished
for him. "Never mind... any morons among the rest of you able to
tell me where my money is?"
Nobody volunteered. "Place has gone to hell since Henry
died," he growled. "So be
it! Anyway, pleased to meet you idiots. Voters? Baggs... look up
their names," he said to the goon with the briefcase. "All of you? Who are
you anyway... besides being Waldo's people?
Do you think for yourselves? Make
plans? Hell, do you stand for anything
besides getting in line behind the boss and grabbing whatever crumbs he throws
over his shoulder you? Look at
me..."
And Harvey presented himself with a
silly grin and one of his lobster newburg-stained
business cards, which Blood started to accept before turning, with disdain and
with disbelief... motioning for Tuggs to accept
it. From the other side, Wayne
approached, grasped the politician's hand and pumped.
"Swell to see
you here, sir. Do you
remember? Wayne Ray! One of your volunteers. You might not recognize me," he added in
a humbler tone, under Blood's steely gaze, "I'm not in uniform. The Civics?" he prompted...
Bill Blood continued to eye Wayne up
and down. "Whatever," he
finally conceded.
"I was just making these folks
here understand," Wayne said with a renewed, undaunted eagerness,
"that you're the man for what is right.
Against..."
"What's bad?" Bill Blood
suggested.
"Certainly!" Wayne leaned forward, friend to friend. "The way, you know,
that the Canadians have muscled into our territories..."
"Why yes," said the
incumbent, "I think Waldo did
make mention." A hidden gear seemed
to connect with another, and Blood stepped back. "It's just another incident of
rot," he confided, eyes flashing and snap hat bobbing. Even the wart seemed to throb and flex its
wings with righteous outrage at his words.
"Tattoos, Canadians, fluorescent lighting, citizens. All that rot! Why, if re-elected, you can count on me to
have Ziggy's Tattoo Parlor, over there on Bridge Street, shut down. That joint that's above the barber shop! There's no cause for young people to be
painted up like... like Africans," he spat, nodding towards the mask that Tuggs was now holding, protectively, over his genitals in
case of the appearance of more bats.
"Like, uh... Canadians," he corrected, taking a closer look at
the makeup-smeared wives. "Are you sure Waldo didn't show any of you a
yellow envelope, about so big..." he trailed off, holding his hands apart
again.
Two things occurred in rapid
succession. Mimi Kull turned the hi-fi
up. Karyl grabbed the politician by his
shoulder, tapping her wedding ring against his ear.
"These men are dreadful
dancers," she told Blood, as Nat King Cole crooned 'Stardust' for,
perhaps, the twentieth time.
"Oblige me! Please! I'll vote
for you," she purred, as he backed out of reach.
"Get the limo started, Baggs," Blood grunted to the man with the
briefcase. "Sorry ma'am, I can't be
seen dancing with a married constituent.
Never know when there might be one of Vogoroff's
vermin in the bushes, with a Polaroid... sorry, my envelope..."
"Take me away with you?" the
rented beatnik begged from his other side as Blood's words trailed off. "I am a poet... that is, in my middle
name. I'll write your speeches... use
words." He waved his phony beard...
filthy, by now... disgustingly close to Blood's nose. "We'll go far,
together... we have the same first and middle names! I think we do... mine's Zack, how many other
William Z's can there be? We can go all
the way to Washington..."
"Me, too!"
Harvey suggested. "Did you bring
anything to eat?"
Karyl Shea popped another bottle of blue champagne with an
inhuman squeal of delight. The cork
ricocheted from wall to wall, and William Z. Blood swatted at it with his hat.
"I want to go," Wayne said,
too, "we all do. We'll all stand up against the tattoos,
fluorescence and Canucks. The pencil
factory and the Civic... I know everybody.
They'll go, too! Take us with
you..."
But William Blood, behind the bulk of Tuggs and Baggs, had bolted for
the door, outrunning everyone but William Z. Morris to the white limo. A mob of salesmen and their wives chased
Blood into the driveway, clamoring to be taken away with him.
The rented beatnik barred their way to
the limo with his body. "You'll
take me," he threatened,
"or deal with all of them!" He held the phony beard up like a Bible,
causing Bill Blood to sneeze, look backwards at the approaching mob of wives
and salesmen lurching towards him... arms outstretched, feet muddled with the
blue champagne...
"Get in!" he decided. Zack stepped aside, allowing Baggs to open the back door. Blood and Zack hastened into the back seat of
the white limo, Baggs and Tuggs
crowded into the front. "My middle name, by the way," the
politician declared, "is Zebediah!" Then, the limo squealed backwards in a cloud
of burning oil and churning driveway gravel... and the shouts of the abandoned
constituents...
"Come back! Come back!"
But the limousine was gone, bearing
the rented beatnik into a future Valhalla of rubber chicken meals, deals struck
in smoke-filled back rooms, speeches written and surly, infected babies to be
kissed.
Waldo's dinner guests trooped back
inside.
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