Anadeia 37

The plan was set into motion. Joelle’s PO Box was located inside a UPS store near a Baskin Robins and mattress store in some sleepy suburb of Reno. Dale concealed himself with a fake mustache and sideburns along with a pair of brown shaded aviators; a classic look. With the killing he made at the blackjack tables, he bought a blue Porsche 911 because it was named after his favorite holiday.

“I bought this Porsche so that I will never forget,” Dale said.

“Forget what?” I ask.

“9/11”

Old Jim came around and decided he’d like to participate in the stakeout as well. He shaved off his beard and dyed his hair jet black and it was then I suspected he was much younger than he appeared. “What year did your brother die?” I asked him.

“Nineteen hundred and twelve.”

“Goddamn Jim! How old are you ?!”

“I don’t think I’m that old.”

Dale was to park the brand new Porsche in front of the UPS store and lookout for suspicious passersby. Jim was to observe the whole operation from inside the Baskin Robbins. Meanwhile, I was disguised in fake dreadlocks and tattoos and a Liverpool FC jersey in front of the mattress store while carrying a sign advertising a reduced sale on mattresses. I was going over the plan while Jim ordered some ice cream.

“Vanilla please,” he requested from the server.

“Jim, we have all these flavors and you decide on vanilla?” I asked.

“I’m just a plain ol country boy,” he explained. “When I was a kid growing up in the bayous of Loosieana, an old Cajun man would give us some of his homemade vanilla ice cream. The kids would ask how he made this ice cream and he’d ask us ‘have you ever milked a bull before?’ and then he’d take us into the swamps and drop his pants…”

I cut him off. “I’m sure this is a fascinating story,” I said, “but we must get to work. Do you have your walkie talkie?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

He holds up the walkie talkie. “Just press this button right here?” he said.

“Correct. I’ll be across the street. If you think you see Joelle, just radio through. Got it?”

“Yes sir.”

I exit the Baskin Robins carrying the large red sign and proceed to my position in front of the mattress store. As I cross the street, I’m nearly hit by oncoming traffic and a man rolls down his car window and yells at me.

“Cut off them dreads you honky ass mother fucker!” he yells.

“I’ll have you know, sir, that I’m half Pakistani!” I say.

The man speeds off and I finish crossing the road. I look to Dale parked in front of the UPS store and he nods.

The show was on.

I spin the sign with furious passion in front of my body and behind my back. I was a dancing fool. After a few minutes, cars began piling into the mattress store parking lot with customers searching for a great deal. The manager stepped outside and tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me sir,” he said, “but I didn’t hire you and I’m definitely NOT selling mattresses for a $1.99.”

“This is official police business,” I lie. “Now kindly fuck off.”

“Police business?” he asks. “Can I see a warrant?”

“Yeah I have a warrant right here,” I say and I lift my foot and sock him right in the ballsack. While he was writhing on the ground, I give him a final warning. “There’s my warrant,” I say. “And if you have a complaint, you can take it up with the Washoe County Sheriff’s Department. Have a nice day.”

Figuring the Sheriff’s Department would show up at any moment, we didn’t have much time.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 36

I hitchhiked towards I-80 where Old Jim was holed up in a Motel 6. A cabbie picked me up and I climbed into the front seat where the driver tore me a new one. “Are you some sort of dumbass?” he shouted. “Don’t you know how dangerous hitchhiking is? I should beat the hell out you for being a moron!”

“Look brother,” I retorted, “I’ve been hitchhiking all my life and I’ve only been stabbed twice. Furthermore, I am armed with a Colt Python and a crisp $20 bill. So would you like the 20 bucks or a wadcutter to the belly?”

The cabbie shut his trap and put the vehicle in drive and we journeyed towards the interstate in cordial silence. When I arrived, I climbed out the passenger door while the petrified driver was itching to say something. When he did, he asked if he could have the $20.

“I see that the fare came to $19.98,” I said. “Do you have two pennies?”

The cabbie swallowed hard before reaching into his wallet to dig for two golden pieces of useless copper. He found plenty of quarters, dimes, nickels, and Iraqi dinars but only one penny. He held the lone coin silently while sensing his doom.

“I’ll tell you what bucko,” said I, “how about I shut this door and you go about your merry way?”

I took the cabbie’s non-response as an agreement so I closed the door and the cab slowly rolled out of the parking lot. It was another successful hitchhike.

Inside the motel room, I found Jim siting alone in his longjohns with a spit cup and playing solitaire. He left the air conditioning off which under the Nevada heat made the room unbearable. I sat the plastic bag of goods I bought on the dresser; some Rogaine, razors and shaving cream.

“How have you been holding up Jim?” I ask him.

Jim picks up his styrofoam spit cup and spits out a wad of long cut tobacco. “About as well as you could expect,” he said. “Where have you boys been?”

“Dale’s been killing it on the tables. I don’t know why but luck has blessed us here. We stayed in a suite last night.”

“A suite? Well Ain’t that somthin’” he said, spittin another wad.

“Look, I’m gonna need you to shave and dye your hair. We’re going undercover.”

“Shave? Dye?”

“Yes. That’s what all this shit here is for.”

His dead grey eyes hinted at a lack of comprehension. Perhaps being left alone in motel room for days on end resurrected his dementia so I folded on my demand. “You know what, nevermind,” I said. “Is there anything you can tell me about Joelle? Something we’ve never discussed?”

“Joelle?” he asked.

“Yes. The Madam.”

“Oh she’s a darlin’. How’s she doin these days?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“What’s she been up to?”

“Apparently pimping out whores again.”

Jim chuckled. “That madam, she’s a character.”

“What’s her relationship with Randy like?”

“Randy?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mumbled under my breath. “Anyway, I’m gonna go see her soon”.

“What fur?”

I paused and thought. “I guess the day of judgement comes for all of us,” I said.

“Mmm,” said Jim, spitting again. “You know, I’ve been thinking about my own judgment. I suppose I should be thanking the lord for blessing me with a long life. I’ve watched so many of my friends die. They were good men. And they were evil men too. I think about them a lot. I suppose that’s all I do nowadays. But then I think, maybe there is no god. Why must my brother die of cholera at six years old while I, a man who slayed another for a pack of cigarettes, gets to live a long life? Then I think maybe my brother is the blessed one and that hell lies not below our feet but lasts as long as we breathe. Funny things a man thinks in his old age.”

That night, I made Old Jim stay with us in the suite.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 35

The next morning, I watched the prostitute climb out of bed and put on her black brazier and panties and I laid in bed naked as she lowered her shirt and grabbed her belongings. “Can I know your name?” I ask her.

“No,” she said.

“Well, what if I want to get in touch with your services again?”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a white business card. “Just call this number,” she told me.

Without looking at it, I placed it on the nightstand and crawled out of bed to put on my underwear. “So what do I owe you?” I ask.

“$15,000,” she said.

“Jesus Christ!” I shouted out loud. Strangely, that was the exact amount that the Dr. Phil slot machine spat out the night before. So I handed her $15,000 all in 20 dollar bills and she was on her way.

“Can I at least get you a drink?” I ask her on the way out.

“Fuck no.”

And she closed the door behind her.

Meanwhile, Dale came cackling out of his bedroom door with two other sex workers. I stood in the foyer in only my underwear while that gaggle proceeded to the kitchen while grabbing each other’s asses and I scratched my ass and followed them in there. “Dale, it seems like you had a pretty good night,” I said.

“You’re damn right I did!” he said while pouring champagne into everyone’s glass. “Didn’t you?”

“Yeah well, ya know. I think I had the whiskey dick. $15,000 down the toilet.”

“Ah man, that sucks. Well anyway, this is Danica and Delilah,” Dale said, referring to the two women as they both gave me a flirty wave. “Ladies, I have enjoyed your company but it’s time to bid you adieu.”

The ladies sighed and Dale shoved numerous $50 bills into their bras and sent them on their way. He put on his silk robe and joined me in gaudy living room where the bright Reno skyline shown through the window. He poured himself more champagne then sat down on the couch where he briefly flashed his nutsack before crossing his legs. “All we have to do is maintain this level of luck and we’ll have Randy’s attention in no time! Easy as pie,” he said.

“Yeah,” I shrugged.

“Don’t feel so down,” he told me. “You’ll have your revenge. Maybe we need to call some more hookers tonight to cheer you up! Just don’t drink so much today.”

“Yeah. Yeah!” I tried to convince myself. “More hookers! That’s the ticket!”

I go to the bedroom to retrieve the business card. Before I could hand it to Dale, I catch a glimpse of a name: “For a good time, contact Joelle” it said on the card.

“Fuck,” I uttered.

“What?” asked Dale with his hand out waiting to receive the card.

“Does a name on here ring a bell?”

Dale took the card and tried to make sense of it. “No?” he said.

“Joelle was the name of the madam at the Candyland brothel!”

“And?”

“And? Are you stupid? This might be the same Joelle!”

“Does it have an address on it?”

“Only a PO Box.”

“Should we stake it out?”

“We’ve got to!”

Dale finished his champagne and scratched his nipple. Then a look of consternation fell over his face. “What do we do if we catch her?” he asks.

I hadn’t thought of that so I rubbed my chin and considered our options. “Well, I guess we corner her and question her,” I said.

“I dunno,” Dale said. “I say we tail her and follow her around a bit. We gotta know what we’re getting ourselves into.”

I agreed. “Then we need to find disguises,” I suggested. “We should have done that anyway before we came into town.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dale said. “I’ll go put some pants on.”

“You do that,” I said. “I’m gonna go check on Old Jim.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 34

In these dying days I sat staring at the loud floral carpet on the casino floor which concealed ages of cigarette stains and dried up vomit while the jolly jingles of slot machines and video poker provided a hallowed sense of revelry. Reno was a dime store conception of a good time. I thought my return to civilization after months in the wilderness and endless days in a desolate brothel would restore my joviality and lust for life. Instead it brought forth blitheness and disdain.

Perhaps it was the hidden presence of Randy who remained as a shadow in the streets which ceaselessly haunted me. Somehow I felt that he knew we were here. I wondered what I could say to the man who was the architect of my nightmare.

I dropped a quarter into the slot. The wheels on the “Dr. Phil” machine spun and landed on three mustaches in a row. An endless amount of silver coins spat out into the troth and the voice of Dr. Phil announced in his Texas draw “Congratulations! You won a lot of money! But you’re playing a slot machine in Reno, Nevada. It’s time to make a change in your life!”

Maybe this was a good omen, I told myself. I collect the coins and stop a barmaid. “Excuse me miss,” I say, “I’d like a rum and coke, a tequila, and a Bloody Mary please.” Then I drop a wad of 50s on her tray.

“Your drinks are already paid for sir,” she said.

“By whom?” I ask.

“By that gentleman over there.”

She points to Dale, decked out in a Tom Ford suit and stogie in his mouth, at the blackjack table. I should have known, I thought. The barmaid brought me the drinks and I immediately swallow the tequila and rum and coke and then I stumbled over to the table and take a seat next to Dale.

The croupier drops two kings in front of Dale and he laughs while cigar ash drops on his lap. “Hit me!” he says.

“Dale, you’re fucking insane,” I tell him.

“Yeah but look at all these chips!” he says. Indeed he had thousands of dollars worth of chips stacked on the table.

“But you pushed them all in you idiot!”

The dealer tossed him another card and he flipped it over. To my astonishment it was an ace. “Goddamn I’m unstoppable!” Dale declared. He doubled his earnings and hauled all his chips towards him. “Daddy’s eatin’ good tonight!” he cheers.

We cash out then waltz on over to the casino buffet. I get a bowl of ice cream and Dale slops heaps of mashed potatoes, chicken, and green beans onto multiple plates. We take a seat near the slots and Dale digs in. “You were fucking careless on that last hand!” I tell him.

Dale looks up from his plate. “What? You think I’m stupid?” he asks.

“Frankly, yes.”

He picks up his fork and points up to the ceiling. “Look up there,” he says. I look up and see hundreds if not thousands of cameras pointing down. “See those cameras?” he continues. “They see everything we do. I don’t know how much money I won tonight but it’s damn sure more than what I walked in here with. And the house knows that. At this very second, this establishment is losing money on me and they can’t permit that. Perhaps word will spread about me. Every casino will be looking out for us, which might, god willing, get the attention of Randy. Since we can’t go to Randy, we’ll make Randy come to us. Right now, I suspect management is trying to figure out a way to keep my money in the casino. So in a few minutes, they’ll probably approach us with their finest suite.”

I scratched my head. “So you think that’ll get the attention of Randy?”

“Of course!” he said while shoveling another heap of green beans in his mouth. “If there’s one thing I know is that all these gangster types are in with the casinos.”

“But what if we start losing money?”

“Well, we just have to make sure we never lose to the house,” he shrugged.

I raised one eyebrow.

But minutes later, Dale’s calculations were proven correct. A gaunt fellow with slick backed hair and a bright blue blazer approached our table with a smile and a handshake. “Congratulations gentleman,” he told us, “you two have had a remarkable night at our casino. As a compliment, we would like to welcome you to our hotel as esteemed guests. Our finest suite awaits you with champagne and all the usual refinements.”

Dale looked at me with a victorious expression and we got up from our table and followed the man into the hotel lobby where a porter escorted us to our top floor suite. The porter unlocked the door and we were greeted with all the garishness and extravagance that Reno had to offer. Dale was in awe as he looked around the room and then he looked at me with arms wide open. “What did I tell you? What did I tell you?!” he beamed.

“Is there anything else I can get you gentlemen?” the porter asked.

“Yes. Two whores please,” said Dale.

I looked at the porter wondering if such a request could be granted. Then the porter looked at me. “And for you sir?” he asks.

“Uh, I too would like two whores,” I responded.

The porter nodded. “Four whores coming right up,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 19

2 Months Later

I was dead in every way except physically. And in these dark days my dreams became the only place of solace. I’d make love to a beautiful woman and she’d tell me everything would be okay and that we’d find that small corner of heaven that was just for us. Then I’d wake up. There was no Vic; no bustling sounds of Los Angeles to greet me. It was only the small dingy quarters of a brothel in a desert that had no name. Out of this cursed saloon, a girl would go missing in the night only to be replaced by another who spoke a tongue no one understood. This was the loneliest of all possible worlds. Only the insipid interactions with Karl, Old Jim, and the Madam kept me company. But they, like me, were spiritually dead. We lived only in the decaying and depraved dream of Randal J Furie.

Each night bled into the next. A John overburdened with whisky and a crumbling life would refuse to pay and only Karl would take joy in altercation. The diminutive bumblefuck had one John beaten and bloodied and chained in a shack out back for days on end. When I found the John, he was severely dehydrated, lacking money, and begging for his release. I confronted Karl about this. “I completely forgot about leaving him out there,” Karl explained.

“He’s in dire need of medical attention,” I said.

“What do you suggest we do?”

I didn’t have the heart to put a bullet in his brain. One night, I escorted the John to the foot of the mountain range in a UTV and sat him right outside of the pass. “Follow the light flutter,” I told him. “And don’t come back.”

He was never seen again.

I’d sit at the bar, emptying my paycheck into the cash register of the Candyland Saloon. Money was meaningless out here. Burl would sling me one beer after another and I’d drink hoping that this night would be my last. Yet each morning I’d wake up still begging for death. Sometimes I’d pray to the 3am god then look out the window to that mountain pass and wonder if I should follow the path of that fateful John. My life was over. And even if I did escape, I’d never escape the clutches of Randy.

“How long have you been out here?” I’d ask the Madam.

“You should never ask a woman her true age,” she’d say.

“But what does he have on you? How can you stay happy living like this?”

She wouldn’t answer.

This was life from now on. No cable TV. No long walks on the beach. No late night beer runs to the gas station. No belligerent driving down Sunset Boulevard. No antagonistic conversations with baristas. This was it.

I was dead.

Then one night like any other night, I was sipping on a Natty at the bar when I heard a familiar voice. He was yapping away ceaselessly at Burl who stood silently with arms crossed. It was all the shit I’ve heard countless times before: a cheating wife, bosses making unreasonable requests, and threatening to bring a loaded firearm into a federal building and ending it all.

It was Dale.

While drunk on cheap beer, I crawled off my stool and stumbled towards him. I reached my arms around him in a loving embrace. “Dale, I’m glad to see you!” I say.

Without acknowledging the wild coincidence of meeting in a place like this, Dale rambles on. “James, I’ll tell you what!” he said. “I finally had enough of that bitch once and for all! After they laid me off at the toilet factory, I told my wife that she better get the fuck out of Los Angeles or else I would light this trailer on fire! Did she want that on her conscience? She cried and cried before getting a restraining order and I told her that I ain’t afraid to die! So she better meet me by the railroad tracks or else I’d be ran over by a train! But that bitch never showed up! Goddamn I miss her.”

“Dale, will you shut the fuck up?!” I said. “I’m trapped out here against my will! Can you do me a favor? Can you find a man named Vic Weathers and send him out here to rescue me? Tell him to arm himself to the teeth!”

“Ya know, I was trapped in a whore house in Vietnam. That’s where I lost two inches off my cock for…”

I slap him across the face. “Goddamnit, will you listen to me?! This is serious! Tell Vic that I’m trapped in the desert in what is probably Nevada…”

“Nevada?!” Dale exclaimed. “I thought we were in Utah!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said. “Utah? I should have known that Mormons were somehow involved in this. Anyway, find Vic Weathers in Los Angeles. Give him this location. Tell him to bring guns, machetes, explosives, any and all weapons he can find….”

There was a light tap on my shoulder. I turned around and saw Karl flashing his yellowed and grimy teeth. “You’re not supposed to be conversing with the customers,” he warned.

Emboldened by my drunkenness, I tell him to fuck off. “I’m gonna tell the Madam you said that,” he told me.

“What’s she gonna do?” I ask. “I’ve been fucking her every night since I’ve got here. So do me a favor you ugly rat shit, go take a long walk in the desert!”

Karl cried and walked off the I looked back to Dale. “Quick! Go back to LA,” I said. “Time is of the essence!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

The College Football Uniform Playoff (Part II-Mountain West)

Okay, so maybe the SEC isn’t the weakest conference. The Mountain West also has painfully boring uniforms. For background purposes, The MWC currently hosts 12 schools in football.

12. Nevada-Reno

I feel absolutely nothing for this uniform. It’s less than boring. It creates a black hole in my imagination that’s large enough for Matthew McConaughey to fall into.

11. Utah State

This is only a slight elevation from making me contemplate death to just plain boring.

10. Hawaii

I don’t know, this just feels like a missed opportunity to do something more creative. I love the logo. The all black style is pretty dope too. But I guess this just fits in with the rest of the MWC blandness.

9. Fresno State

Yeah, I’ve got nothin.

8. Nevada-Las Vegas

For a program that was taking applications for head coach through Indeed, the uniforms aren’t too shabby. And for the record, yes UNLV rejected my application.

7. Air Force

Blue and white is a crisp look but that bolt logo is a bit amateurish. They’d be better off just putting numbers on the side of the helmets.

6. New Mexico

‘Lobos’ is a cool-ass name. While the uniform looks good, I feel like I’ve seen this red too many times in this conference.

5. Wyoming

Brown and yellow sounds like a combination that shouldn’t work but it does here. My biggest gripe though is the cheapass font.

4. San Diego State

At first glance this looks like another run-of-the-mill MWC outfit. But it’s actually got a lot going for it. The logo is awesome. Aztecs are cool. And the red sleeves with the black body is totally bitchin.

3. San Jose State

The Los Angeles Rams should take note here on how to make this color scheme look good. The blue and yellow are bold enough alone, so there’s no need to do too much. The colors speak for themselves. Plus, totally awesome logo.

2. Colorado State

This one might be an acquired taste but the green and gold works for me. Since the LA Rams totally fucked up their helmet logo, CSU Rams now have the best ram helmet. But green is an another underrated color that more teams should utilize.

1. Boise State

These uniforms absolutely hurt my eyes, but in a good way. And respect to their blue field. Only those with strong eyes can stand to watch an entire game. So congratulations to the Boise State Broncos for making the playoffs.

Ranking the 50 States (the good states)

Like I said, every state has a part of it that I absolutely HATE. But if you’re living in one of these places (except for the bottom two) life is probably pretty good.

19. Kentucky

You either get the Bluegrass State or you don’t. Most claim it to be a southern state. Some say otherwise. But I like that ambiguity. It gives the COMMONWEALTH its own distinct flavor.

18. Missouri

To me, Missouri is decidedly and unambiguously NOT a southern state as much as it desires to be. But that’s neither here nor there. KC is legit. Other than the Ozarks on the southern portion, there might not be much else there. But at least they got KC.

17. Georgia

Atlanta is another legit city. Probably the best in the south. While it might be the Confederate Flag capital of the US, if you can ignore all of that, it’s actually a really charming place.

16. New Mexico

This is actually another state I’d like to rank higher. But other than Albuquerque, Taos, and Santa Fe (or Roswell if you’re a weirdo), there’s a whole lot of NOTHING occupying this place.

15. Minnesota

I feel like I’ve already mentioned this state, but whatever. It’s quietly one of the prettiest places. The only knock against it is that it contains Minnesota Vikings fans and it gets really fucking cold.

14. Maine

People are a little odd, but other than that, it’s pretty ace. Marylanders like to brag about their lobsters and crabs or whatever, but they ain’t shit compared to Maine.

13. New York

Cities along the western edge are a little iffy. But the rest of the state could be a nuclear wasteland and it would still rank this high thanks to NYC.

12. Nevada

Now Nevada IS mostly a nuclear wasteland, but I rank it above NY because…between Las Vegas and Reno, with all its cheap glitz, glam, and shattered dreams…it seems like I’d fit in much better there.

11. Tennessee

Sure the cost of living has skyrocketed, but make no mistake: whatever you’re looking for, you’ll find it in Tennessee. Now Nashville likes to consider itself a “party town” on par with Las Vegas, New Orleans, and Miami…and it’s DEFINITELY not that. Nevertheless it’s a pretty solid town. Sure it’s a little rough around the edges, but give it a few years and Tennessee will probably be a top 10 state.

phoning it in again

So I was in the bathroom at the bus station when an employee banged on the door.

“Hey buddy,” I said. “Do you mind? I’m trying to beat off!”

“Sorry sir,” the employee replied. “But I have a message here from your mother.”

So I opened the door with my pants around my ankles. The message read:

Dear son,

Please don’t come home for Christmas. Your cousin Megan is here and she told me some troubling things about you.

Love,

Your Mom

So I pulled up my pants and went to the front counter.

“Can’t take your ticket back, sir. All sales are final,” the employee said.

I turned around and the janitor was harassing a homeless woman, accusing her of clogging the toilet.

“That was me sir,” I told the janitor. “I blew up the toilet in the women’s bathroom.”

“You have one cursed ass sir,” he replied.

The woman walked up to me. “Thank you for taking the blame,” she said. “I just wish that they’d give me a ticket so I could get out of this godforsaken place.”

I handed her my ticket. “Merry Christmas,” I said. “Today’s your lucky day.”

“Oh, no thank you,” she said. “I don’t want to go to Reno, Nevada.”