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Our scene faded in to see Hobo Nick in the drivers seat of a genuine pink Cadillac convertible, cruising down a busy freeway and belting out Eddy Grant at the top of his lungs. His tangled mass of brown and grey hair was whipping in the wind behind him in a very 80’s way. Jalie Thomas was stretched out in the backseat, reading a piece of paper clutched in her hands. The paper was a poorly constructed ransom note. The letters were spelled out from newsletter clippings:
WEE! HAVE YOU’RE BROTHER Jalie was reading the note over again, trying to make some sense of it. Finally she spoke. “Who the fuck is Tim and what is he going to have less of?” Hobo Nick spoke up from the front seat. “I’m pretty sure that part means that if we try anything funny, they’re going to molest him.” Nick pointed out. Jalie looked slightly ill. “Who the hell would want to molest Jay?!” she shouted. “Well, some Hell’s Angels. A couple of strippers. The Korean neighbor you used to live next to. And mormons, obviously.” Nick chimed in. “Really, Nick? Are we going to go through this again? I see no evidence that the you-know-what is behind this.” “EVIDENCE IS EVERYWHERE!” Nick hollered. “And don’t say you-know-what. They’re not Voldemort.” Jalie gasped. “You must not speak his name.” she whispered. Nick ignored her. “Look, I have a gut feeling the mormon mafia is behind this. If you look closely at that ransom note, the letters are clipped from an evangelical newsletter. Lutherans aren’t organized enough for this. Episcopalians wouldn’t dare fuck with me after the last years bake sale results. I make the best god damn butterberry almond crisp in the county. I resolved things with the Catholics, the Church of England is too busy having tea and degrading each other to participate in anything else, and the Temple has nothing to gain financially. That leaves those filthy sons of bitches with their eight nagging wives apiece and more kids than they can marry off at puberty.” She knew he was right. And avoiding it wouldn’t save her brother from almost certain tickle time. So, they were off to the VanderFresh Cannery – an abandoned sardine canning facility that had simply never seen enough business. It was revamped for a time and used as a meeting venue for the Ladies for Equal Societal and Business Opportunities. The smell of fish, however, whether lingering or fresh, was unbearable. “I’m scared, Nick.” He sighed. “You should be. So am I.” Thirty minutes later Nick’s Cadillac was parked in the wide open lot of the VanderFresh Cannery. It was empty with the exception of a gold Saturn four-door sedan. The sedan was a brand new model and had deeply tinted windows. Jalie wondered if perhaps Jay was inside the car looking out, his face pressed against the back window like tits on glass. But deep down she knew, there was no way it was going to be that simple. Nick climbed out of the Caddy and opened the trunk. From inside he pulled a mini-uzi. He removed his trench coat and slipped the strap over his shoulder and across his chest for a quick cross-draw. He put his coat back on, reached in the trunk, and tossed Jalie a Derringer. She palmed the tiny gun and glared at her mentor. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why do you get a submachine gun and I get the bitch gun?” she demanded. “Don’t ever call a Derringer a bitch gun. Besides, I have a penis, which means I have a God given right to carry a bigger gun.” With that statement, Nick strode toward the building without giving Jalie a chance to argue. She had no choice but to hustle and catch up, clutching the tiny Derringer in her left hand. She wasn’t even entirely sure how to aim something that felt like you were carrying a pocket flashlight. Nick approached the steel door that had once served as an employee entrance. He made a few swift hand signals, instructing Jalie to take a low stance while he broke entry. However, as Jalie’s only military experience extended to the fatigues she’d bought at the thrift store, she just thought he was somehow flipping her off. Nick ended up pushing her to a crouching position while he flung the door open and ducked inside, uzi aimed and ready to fire. The warehouse was predominantly empty; a huge open space devoid of any remaining machinery. It was clear at a glance there was no one inside, unless, as Jalie pointed out helpfully, they had an invisibility cloak. “THIS IS NOT HARRY POTTER! AND STOP CALLING ME PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE!” Nick raged. Jalie’s lower lip trembled. “Five points for Gryffindor.” Nick sighed. Jalie perked up, standing and pocketing the Derringer. There was only one thing to break the monotony of the large, grey room. Against the far wall was a card table set for what looked like afternoon tea. The tea, on closer inspection, turned out to be decaf. “Those bastards.” Nick growled. On the table was another, more definite calling card: the Book of Mormon. Jalie was flipping through it when a slip of paper fell out. This time, miraculously, it was hand-written. Your brother is alive. We couldn’t risk such an open location, but had to know that you would follow instructions. Nicholas Appellus Octavius Primus Maximus, Champion of the Unwashed Masses, you have defied us for the last time. Now, your underling will face the consequences that you have avoided for so long. There will be a series of tests, which, if she succeeds, will prove she is ready for the next step: Initiation. These tests may come at any time, at any place. We are always watching. Be prepared. “Holy mother of the metric system! Me, become a mormon? I’LL FUCKING DIE FIRST, NICK! Let them molest Jay, I don’t give a shit! They can shove a pineapple up his ass and make him do the hula – I don’t care!” Jalie was red in the face, slowly turning purple. Nick grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly, making her teeth clatter and her eyes roll back. “Pull yourself together!” he shouted, slapping her across the face. Jalie held her breath for a moment then slowly exhaled. “That’s better. Now listen, I might be able to work this to our advantage. Let’s get back to the car and I’ll explain.” The two of them headed for the door, Jalie rubbing her cheek where a red handprint was forming. “Nick? Is your last name really Maximus?” she asked. Nick gave her a stern look as he climbed into the car. “My name has been many things.” he said ominously.
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