Pink Butterfly (27 page)

“So I forgot, where exactly is Labiastan again?” Jeff asked.

““It’s between the legs of the river Fatchick south of the twin Titty mountains in the province of Grannypantyania,” the official replied.

“What continent is that on?”

“We need to go, time is short.”

“Why? Are the cops after me?” Jeff asked.

“No, you are immune, remember?”

“Yeah, but Labiastan is a small country and who knows if the US will honor some treaty from a country nobody seems to know where is.”

“We have a car waiting to take you to the airport.”

“My doctor hasn’t released me yet,” Jeff said.

The lawyer looking guy in the back waved a release in the air and didn’t even crack a smile.

“Alright, am I supposed to take this IV out myself?” Jeff asked.

The official in the front stepped over and yanked the IV out of Jeff’s arm and dropped the tubing on the floor. The IV pump beeped that something was wrong and the same man shoved the pump and pole onto the floor. The pump continued to beep so the official picked up the pole and began banging the pump on the floor repeatedly until he was out of breath. The pump continued to beep.

“Why don’t you press the off button?” Jeff asked.

“Get dressed,” the official replied.

At the airport, Jeff and the two officials from Labiastan boarded the Aérospatiale N 262 and took seats. The pilot and copilot were busy preparing the flight and the plane was otherwise empty. “How long will this take?” Jeff asked.

“Six, maybe eight hours depending on the weather,” the shorter official replied. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Rolf,” the man replied.

“And your buddy?”

“Kanuk.”

“Are those traditional Labiastan names?” Jeff asked.

“No, my mother made it up. She was a nutty fruitcake.” Rolf replied.

“What would be a traditional Labiastan name?” Jeff asked.

“Dennis,” Rolf replied.

Not impressed, Jeff looked around the plane to find something to chat about. “Any magazines in here?” Jeff asked.

“It’s a rental, I have no idea,” Rolf replied.

“Why do I get the idea this is going to be a long dull trip?”

“And noisy, this plane makes a hell of a lot of noise. And it’s the kind that sounds like the wings are going to fall off.” Kanuk stated like he was pissed.

“Why not book a different plane?” Jeff asked.

“Labiastan is a poor country, we can’t afford fancy planes to fly everyone who asks for asylum back home when the embassy burns to the ground.” Kanuk barked back.

“How much cheaper is this plane?”

“About a third the price and we have to serve our own drinks.” Rolf replied.

“No flight attendants?” Jeff asked.

“Not even a bathroom, we have to shit in a bucket,” Rolf replied.

The plane began to vibrate as the turbo props revved up and bolted the plane forward on the taxiway. Everyone slammed back into their seats and Jeff felt his jaw snap. As the plane taxied down to the end of the runway, Jeff looked out his window as to say goodbye to the country he had called home all his life. He was now onto a better life in Labiastan.

The plane spun around and faced the long run way into the wind. The pilots yelled some gibberish into a microphone and the plane quickly scurried down the runway pulling quickly into the air. For a moment Jeff felt his stomach drag down to the floor, then up into his throat, then to the right as the plane banked and headed over the city towards the open country. As Jeff looked out the window, trying not to barf, he noticed how all the people looked like tiny ants. Ants with cars and buildings.

Three minutes into the flight and Jeff heard a loud pop from his side of the plane. He looked out and saw the prop was no longer spinning and the engine was half torn off spitting out fire and smoke. “Hey, can this thing fly with just one engine?” Jeff asked turning to the men behind him. When he spun around, Jeff noticed the prop had broken off, shot through the skin of the plane and lodged into Kanuk’s skull.

By this time Rolf had run up to the cockpit and was screaming at the pilots who were trying to save the plane from crashing. It must not have helped because the plane began to bank heavy to the right and fly in a cork screw pattern towards the ground.

“Is there a parachute?” Jeff screamed at Rolf.

Rolf either ignored Jeff or couldn’t hear him and somehow fell backwards out of the cockpit and slammed against the side of the plane in front of Jeff. “Do you have a parachute?” Jeff asked slower.

“I don’t fucking know!” Rolf screamed back. “It’s a rental!”

“How long before we hit the ground?” Jeff asked.

Rolf twisted and turned till he could see out the side window watching the ground get closer and closer. “Twenty seconds?” he guessed.

Melvin Skankmeyer, still dressed in his hospital gown walked the alleys of downtown looking for something to eat when he came across a man unloading musical instruments behind a bar. The man, mid-thirties, scruffy hair and a leather jacket was huffing and puffing pulling speakers out of a trailer and setting them by the open back door.

“Can I give you a hand?” Melvin asked in a pseudo friendly tone.

The musician, taken aback by Melvin’s odd choice in clothing shook his head no and continued back into the trailer for another box.

“What’s wrong? Can’t a fellow musician help out another in need?” Melvin asked.

“You play?” The scruffy musician asked, not really caring.

“Yeah, I play guitar, banjo and a little xylophone,” Melvin replied. “Used to do a little gigging back in my day.”

“When was your day?”

“About twenty years ago, me and two other guys, maybe you heard of us, we were called “Blues Rocket.”

“Nope, never heard of you, I would have been ten back then.”

“What kind of music do you play?” Melvin asked.

“A little of everything.”

“You seem to be a little annoyed with me, is there something wrong?”

“I have to get this stuff unloaded, set up and sound checked before eight thirty, that’s all.”

“Hey, I offered to help,”

“I know, buy honestly, you’re dressed like you just escaped from a hospital, and I’m assuming not the good kind.”

“Oh this?” Melvin asked looking down at his blue flower print hospital gown. “I guess it does look a bit odd.”

“Yep, it does,” the musician replied.

“You wouldn’t judge a guy based on what he’s wearing would you?”

“I almost always judge a person on what they’re wearing, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I care for your tone Mr. Rock star!” Melvin snapped back.

The musician leaned over and picked up a box labeled “cables.” “I really got to get going, sorry I don’t need any help, I do this three times a week, all by myself.”

Put off, Melvin stepped back and faced away from the trailer exposing his butt through the open gown in the back. He turned back and asked, “Do you think I could sit in with you on a couple of songs tonight?”

Frustrated, the musician replied, “No, I work alone. I only let people sit in who I personally know and I don’t know you.”

“I think your breaking the musician’s code,” Melvin said with a frown.

“What code?”

“That if someone wants to sit in on a gig, you let them.”

“Never heard of it, now please, let me finish unloading.”

“Do you do “Stairway to Heaven”?” Melvin asked.

“No,” the musician asked.

“Any AC/DC?”

“No.”

“Creedence?”

“Bad Moon, that’s it.”

“I don’t know how to play that one,” Melvin replied. “Bang Tango?”

“I have no fucking clue who that is, now please step away from the truck so I can get my shit in the bar.”

“They had that song, “Someone like you” It kicked ass.”

More frustrated, and feeling pinned in, the musician stepped towards the opening of the van with the box of cables and expected Melvin to step aside. He didn’t. “Are you going to let me by?” the musician asked.

Melvin started singing the lyrics to the song, “Well, I’ve seen it all before, and it all comes back to me, well I see your face now, honey, and I know just where you’ve been, with someone, someone well there’s, someone just like you”

The musician stood dumbfounded watching Melvin sing the song to him. “Like I said, never heard it before.”

Melvin stepped to the side and gestured for the musician to pass by. “Just thought maybe it would jog your memory.”

“Sorry, not into metal,”

“Me neither, just liked that one song. Hey by the way, could you do a fellow musician a favor and give me some money? I haven’t had a decent meal hours.” Melvin asked.

Surprised at the question based on the previous conversation, the musician pretended not to hear Melvin and kept walking into the bar to set the box with his other gear on the stage. Put off, Melvin decided to follow the musician inside and ask him again. When he stepped through the door, he looked in amazement at the pretty lights lining the stage. “Fucking nice!” Melvin said looking around at the stage.

“What are you doing in here?” the musician asked. “I told you I don’t let just anyone sit in on my gigs! Now please leave!”

Melvin ignored the musician and walked to the front of the stage pretending he was a rock star. The bar was empty, but the feeling of being on stage gave him a shot of adrenaline that made his hair stand on end. Stepping down off the stage, Melvin spied a bartender loading up the cooler with bottles from a case of beer and walked over to her. “Hey, can I help you with that?” Melvin asked.

The barmaid looked at Melvin like he was a freak from a freak show and didn’t answer.

“I used to tend bar back in the day, I could help you if you need it?” he asked like a dog drooling over leftovers.

“I got it, thanks,” she replied trying not to encourage the stranger on the other side of the bar.

“Looks like you might have a busy night, do you need any extra help?” Melvin asked.

“Why are you dressed like that?” the barmaid asked.

“My other clothes are at the laundry mat getting washed. They should be done by the time this place fills up. I’m pretty good at mixed drinks.”

“Why do you own a hospital gown in the first place?”

“They let me keep it after my surgery a few years back, kind of a souvenir.”

“I didn’t get to keep mine,” the barmaid replied. “What hospital was that?”

“Oh, you never heard of it, I’m not from around here. And it was a long time ago.”

“Why do I get the idea you’re feeding me a bunch of bullshit?” the barmaid asked.

“Hey, no need to get so testy missy,” Melvin snapped back. “I dress better than some people I’ve seen.”

“Well, I don’t think we need any extra help tonight, thanks.”

“That’s it? You won’t even give me a try?”

“Look, I don’t own this place, I don’t even run it, I just work here, I don’t have the authority to hire help let alone people dressed in dirty hospital gowns who act all nutty.”

Offended, Melvin frowned at the woman and stared at her sternly. “Let me speak to your manager,” he stated firmly.

“She won’t be here till nine, if then,” the barmaid replied.

“Call her,” Melvin demanded.

“Fuck you! You don’t tell me what to do!”

“If you don’t call her, I’ll sit here and wait till she gets here and tell her what kind of a bitch she has working for her!” Melvin barked.

“My boyfriend is a cop, you go or I’ll call him.”

Now threatened, Melvin had to up the ante. “I used to be a cop!”

“And a bartender? And I know you told Gary you played in a band, I could hear you from here!”

“Yes! I was a cop/musician/bartender! I’m old enough to be your daddy, I’ve had more than one job in my life!”

The barmaid took out her cell phone and made a call. Melvin watched her thinking she was bluffing and sat down on a barstool next to the bar. In a moment, the barmaid was connected to someone. “Hi honey, yeah, I know you’re busy, but can you come down to the club, I got some guy here who’s on the verge of causing a disturbance.” The barmaid listened for a moment and replied, “He’s dressed real funny and talks like he’s high on something.” Again the woman listened to the voice on the other side of the phone and nodded her head in agreement. The voice spoke for a good ninety seconds and she said, “Love you,” and hung up.

“You have two choices mister, you can either leave now or wait till my boyfriend gets down here. I’d chose number one if I were you.”

Now as defiant as ever, Melvin dug in his heels and smirked at the barmaid not saying a word.

“If you’re not ordering anything, you can leave, I have that right as well. Hell, I have the right to refuse you service even if you do order.”

Melvin looked over the woman’s shoulder to the television above the bar. On the screen was a car race. He pretended she wasn’t there. She went on filling the cooler with beer from the case and ignored Melvin as well. It was the lamest Mexican standoff ever.

Twenty minutes later, the barmaid’s cop boyfriend walks into the bar out of uniform and hears the sound of an acoustic guitar from the stage. Other than the music, the bar appears empty. The cop walks back past the tables and chairs to find Melvin wearing a blood soaked hospital gown, strumming a G chord. Impaled on the speaker pole next to Melvin, is the chewed up head of the musician, eyes open as if watching Melvin play. Melvin is humming the melody of “Someone like you” by Bang Tango. He looks up at the cop in surprise and says, “I can’t remember the fucking words.”

“Where’s Susan?” the cop asks.

“Susan?” Melvin asks.

“The bartender, the woman who called me?”

“In the walk in freezer, she’s fine, just stuck a screwdriver in the latch,” Melvin replied.

“Wait here,” the cop told Melvin, not expecting anything like this. He didn’t bring a gun, didn’t think he’d need to.

Melvin started strumming again and smiled at the cop. “Wait for what?” Melvin laughed. “I got what I came for, you go get your girlfriend and I’ll be on my way.”

The cop walked away from Melvin, dashed behind the bar and ran back to the walk in freezer where he found a screwdriver jammed in the lock like Melvin said. He pulled the screwdriver loose and opened the door to find Susan cold but fine standing shivering.