Untitled #1
Contributors: Ahchie, The Diesel, Brother Nature, Throcksmorton, Albuquerque Tom
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen (stay tuned...)
Felipe rose to his feet, still wheezing, and with one swift motion threw the green skittle that was stuck to his clammy hand at Frank. The skittle, however, remained stuck on Felipe’s hand. The sudden motion caused Frank to flinch and draw his gun like lightening, firing. Click-click-click, said the gun, out of bullets. Felipe, sure he was dying again, instinctively cried out, “AiiiiiiiiiiiEEEEEEE!” and covered his face with his arms and fell back to the ground. Frank, unsure of why Felipe swatted the air, was confused. He watched Felipe crawl under a table in the bus as he loaded his gun. You should always be ready, he thought, even among friends.
“Flipper? It's Frank.”
Felipe was muttering to himself in Spanish. He climbed out from under the table and pretended that he hadn't recognized him. “Frank?” he said, nervously and not very believably. He was sure Frank was going to kill him. He stood and waved awkwardly.
Frank smiled, genuinely happy to see Felipe.
“I almost shot you there - what are you doi - is this your bus?”
Felipe drew a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. He smiled weakly. “Yes, she is mine.”
Felipe was the type of person who believed everything happens for a reason. In two seconds, the big break that he and his father had been seeking for years would arrive. But instead of bringing joy, the news would knock him to the floor. Just as Frank was using his gun to point to Felipe and jokingly say something about his wife beater undershirt, Marcos was calling Felipe’s cell phone. The phone was clipped to the back of Felipe’s boxers, as it always was, and the ringer was set to buzz silently. When Felipe felt the buzz, he was so nervous he screamed out again, “AiiiiiiiiiiEEEEE!” and Frank accidentally shot him in the chest five times. As Felipe flew backward, the skittle finally dislodged and flew in the air towards Frank, who caught it in his left hand.
Frank examined the skittle and put it in his pocket. He looked at Felipe who
was crumpled on the bus floor, but breathing. He noticed the back door of
the bus swing open and someone crawl out under cover. He looked back to Felipe.
Amazingly, Felipe would not die from these wounds, but several hours later
from the abdominal aortic aneurysm. For now, he was alive.
“Flipper? What was that?” Frank asked, annoyed that he had been provoked to shoot.
A voice called out from the cell phone. “Hello? Felipe? Hello?”
Frank bent down and picked up the cell phone. “Felipe is crumpled on the floor, but still breathing. Can I take a message?” There was silence. Then Marcos spoke.
“Yes, this is Marcos. Tell him I found Harold Jenkins...Did you say Felipe was crumpled?”
“Yes, he is crumpled on the floor. Hold on.” Frank grabbed a pen off of the table. He began to write on his hand. “Harold Jergins?”
“Jenkins,” Marcos and Felipe said in unison. Felipe rolled over. Realizing Felipe was conscious Frank said, “Oh, hang on - here he is...” and handed the phone to Felipe.
“Hello?” he said, wheezing.
“Felipe? Everything OK?”
“No, I've been shot. I need help. I’m not doing good,” Felipe responded weakly, but the cell phone dropped out and all Marcos heard was “doing good.”
“Good, listen, I found Harold Jenkins. He’s in a hotel in Las Vegas. I’m on my way there. How soon can you get there?”
“I’m going to die in a few minutes,” Felipe said.
Again the cell dropped out and all Marcos heard was “in a few minutes.”
Marcos continued, “Meet me at the Riviera. I’ll be under the name Marcos. I’ll arrive tomorrow. Things are looking up for us, son.” As he hung up, he thought of the word “crumpled,” but wasn’t sure why.
Frank was sitting down at the table with a rare, relaxed smile on his face, and he winked at Felipe. He nodded his head as if to say, “Man, it’s nice to see you.”
Felipe lifted his head off of the floor, hoping to project his wispy voice and said, “Harold Jenkins is Conway Twitty’s real name.” Then he passed out.
Frank stopped smiling when he heard the name Conway Twitty.
“Hey you, throw your weapon out and come out with your hands up!”
Frank heard a voice come from outside the front of the bus. He turned and looked out the wide windshield and saw a state trooper, pointing a revolver toward the bus, was peeking around the side of the purple van. He saw a hippie lying on the ground next to the front of the van and momma being escorted by another trooper back toward their patrol car with its lights flashing. Frank stared at the red and blue flashing lights, mesmerized for a moment, shook his head, then snapped his head quickly back at Felipe.
Frank began mumbling under his breath, “Those kids called the cops on me. Those bra--” then louder, to Felipe, “Or was it you, Flip? Did you call them cops out here with your fancy phone?”
Felipe, who was in and out of consciousness, struggled to speak, but found it difficult just to focus his eyes on his surroundings.
Kneeling beside him, Frank got so close to Felipe’s face that Felipe began to wretch from the stink that was Frank’s breath. Frank continued, “Now why would you do that? I thought you was my friend. The cops, Flipper? Now that just ain’t right.”
Standing back up, Frank lit a cigarette from the pack that used to belong to Bill, the bus driver. He took a long drag and reached down to pick up Felipe’s phone. Kneeling down again, Frank first blew the smoke into Felipe’s face, then he shoved the phone into Felipe’s mouth. As he was doing so, Frank calmly said, “You shouldn’t have done that, Flip. What in the world happened to you? You know – you, me and Herman could have really been something.”
Felipe struggled to breathe between the involuntary choking caused by his phone. He tried to mumble something, but was completely incomprehensible.
“What was that, Flipper? I can’t understand you. You really shouldn’t talk with your mouth full. Didn’t you mother teach you to always chew your food?” Frank was grabbing Felipe’s lower jaw and moving it up and down in a chewing motion. With a grin on his face, Frank sat down next to Felipe and leaned back, taking a long look at the dying man. “It really is good to see you.”
Reaching into his pocket, Frank continued to watch Felipe struggle. After he had pulled the sticky green skittle out, he said, “Hey Flip, did you know that ostriches really don’t bury their heads in the sand to hide? I bet you didn’t know that.” Frank gently placed the skittle back onto Felipe’s hand, being careful to match the distinct mark that was left when the skittle was first stuck there, and said, “I think this belongs to you.” He closed Felipe’s hand into a fist around the skittle.
Frank paused again for another long look at Felipe, continuing to take deep pulls from the cigarette.
Then suddenly Frank said, as he put the cigarette out on Felipe’s exposed belly, “You don’t know how good it is to run into an old friend like this.” Frank shoved the phone further into Felipe’s mouth as he got up, saying, “I’ve gots to deal with these coppers now, Flipper. Then we can talk some more. Hey, before I forget, was that a chick that went out the back door? Mind if I introduce myself to her? No, don’t say anything – I know you won’t mind. That’s what friends are for, right buddy?”
Heading to the back door of the bus, Frank called out to Felipe as he looked at the name scrawled on his hand, “Oh, yeah, one other thing, Flipper. Some guy named Jergins called for you. Got that?” Frank’s voice began to tail off as he cautiously peered out of the back doorway of the bus, “It was Jergins, like the lotion.”