"Everyone expects you to behave like a kid so you might as well do it. Go throw your TV out of a hotel window." ~ Gerard Way
WE TRY TO GET ARRESTED
It took us three days to find our first. Frank had come over to my house to defeat his boredom while Mikey was at work, and we decided to search the streets for living dead. We had just entered downtown when we saw him.
He was being arrested.
"Damn it, Gee, we can't let this happen!" Frank exclaimed.
"What?" I said, automatically grabbing the back of his jacket to keep him from running towards the cops. Frank sometimes did crazy things without thinking.
"He'll kill everyone in the prison!"
He was right, I knew he was. We had to do something. The walking dead was already being pushed into the cop car, screaming and roaring at the cops. How could they think this was a normal person?
"How can we get to him..." I said quietly, thinking out loud. "We could...follow the car...maybe we can shoot him before they...or..."
"We could get arrested."
I turned to Frank. This idea was so bad it was actually good.
We waited until sundown. Toro and Mikey demanded it, as that was the soonest Toro could reach us, and when Mikey got off work. We headed towards the nicer part of town, sky scrapers glaring down at us from the heights. I called my friend Matt on the way over. He was perhaps the only friend I had that would believe me when I said the dead were walking.
Not immediately, though.
"Gerard, what did you smoke today?"
"Matt, I'm serious."
He agreed to be our gunman. He would meet us outside the compound our first day out, and throw us a gun over the fence before anyone could stop him. And before anyone could stop us, we would shoot the walking dead with incendiary rounds. Toro had made the calls to acquire those rounds today. He had served a short stint with the military, and thus he could procure such black market things as these.
That night we met in the parking lot of a major corporation, and stood in the lamplight, scheming.
"Okay, how should we do this?" Mikey was asking. "What's the best way to get arrested?"
"Punch a cop?" Matt suggested.
"Okay, I'll punch a cop...no, man, what if he hits back! I don't wanna get hurt!" Mikey exclaimed. "Gerard can punch a cop!"
"Mikey."
"Or I could punch you, doesn't matter."
"We could...I don't know...we could race through the city like madmen in my car," Frank suggested.
"Or we could car-jack," I said.
Frank's eyes wandered around the parking lot. "I like that. Come on, Gerard."
"Have you ever car-jacked before?" I whispered to him as we slipped between parked vehicles.
"No...not really...but the idea isn't to steal the car, right, it's to get caught trying to steal it."
"Right." That was when I saw that Frank was making his way towards a shining yellow Camaro, a newer, nicer version of his car, which was still hidden in Toro's garage. "Frank! That car?"
"Yeah, if we're going to pretend to steal a car, it might as well be an awesome one."
He stood next to the driver's window, putting his hands against the glass. "Oh man, this is sweet..."
"So, how will you..."
Frank drew a knife from his belt. "The idea is to get the door to unlock from the outside," he said, sliding the blade into the gap between the door frame and the window. "Sort of...like..."
Frank twisted the knife between the window and the door-frame, pretending to try to unlock the door. We were being as obvious as possible, Frank making no effort whatsoever to hide as I circled the car, pretending to watch for the police.
I heard as much as felt when Frank suddenly stopped moving. "Oh my god."
"What, have they found us..?"
"No, the door just unlocked!"
"No way."
"Yes way. Check this out!"
I think Frank's ecstasy was definitely more than necessary.
He pulled the car door open as I stepped around the front with some sarcasm.
"Oh my god, this is so sweet! Check this out, dude..." He had climbed into the leather interior. I heard the passenger door unlock and climbed in next to him. Frank looked at me. I looked at Frank.
"As long as we have it..." I started to say.
"We should race it. Gimme the keys...oh crap. No keys."
I grabbed my cell phone/walkie and called to Toro. "Hey, Toro? You know how to hot-wire a car?"
"Yes. Where are you? And why?"
He was down in the parking lot moments later. "Move your leg," he said to Frank, crouching beside his open door and detaching the panel under the steering wheel. "What exactly are you planning on doing?" he asked as he fumbled with wires we could not see.
"We're going to race this car downtown. We'll get arrested for speeding and outrageous conduct," said Frank, still sounding over-enthusiastic.
Toro looked intrigued, like he wanted to come along. The car suddenly roared to life.
"Get in," I said to him. "And don't tell Mikey. He'll be so mad."
"Oh yeah, he's going to kill us for not taking him," Frank agreed, shifting gears.
Toro slid into the back seat.
Mikey called my walkie. "Hey guys, you get arrested yet?"
"Working on it," I responded.
Mikey was waiting on the roof of one of the lower buildings flanking the road. Across from him on another rooftop was Matt.
"Where are you?" Mikey asked.
"Frank tried to car-jack a Camaro."
"Sounds sweet, how's it working?"
"It already has."
"What?"
Just then, Mikey heard a loud, racing engine roaring above the other cars on the street below, and looking down, he saw a yellow Camaro dodging through traffic, heading downtown.
Mikey's response in my walkie was a frustrated scream. "Gerard! I wanna do that!"
"Meet us downtown. Maybe you'll get arrested, too."
There was a flaw in our plan for arrest. About the racing madly through the streets. It's kind of difficult to do when you're trapped in gridlock.
"This is not going as I had anticipated," Frank objected, banging his head repeatedly against the wheel. The police had seen us and had begun pursuit, but their car was many vehicles behind us in traffic. Also, there was another problem. They were Essex County police.
"We can't let them arrest us," I had said. "The walking dead is in the Applegate County jail, I saw them. We can't go to Essex County."
"Agreed," said Frank unnecessarily.
The police sirens began to whine.
"I've got an idea," Toro said, leaning in from the back seat. "You guys get out, both of you, and find Mikey. I can get out of traffic. If we're fortunate, the cops won't realize I'm here and follow and arrest you."
Frank and I thought about it in silence for a moment. Then simultaneously we reached for our doors.
Toro climbed up from the back seat as Frank and I got out, drivers in adjacent vehicles yelling at us for leaving our vehicle. "Good luck," Frank told him.
"You too," Toro responded.
Frank and I ran, dodging between vehicles and towards an alley where I could see Mikey, just outside of the light.
Matt was waiting there with him when we arrived.
"You don't look arrested," Mikey commented.
"It's harder than it sounds," Frank complained, resting his hands on his knees.
"Okay. I have an idea. Why doesn't Gerard stand in the middle of the street and scream really loudly. In his underwear!"
"Mikey, why don't you stand in the middle of the street and scream in your underwear?" I snapped.
"We could..." Frank started to say, but he paused. His eyes rested on Mikey. "Mikey, go away, I don't want you to hear this."
"Nice, Frank. So nice." He kept complaining as Frank stood next to me and whispered.
"This may sound really weird, so don't freak out, okay, but you and I could do something really outrageous. We could, like, make out in the middle of the street, or something."
I turned slowly towards him. "Really?"
Frank shrugged. "As a last resort."
"What? What as a last resort?"
"You don't need to know this, Mikey," I said, walking away from him down the street.
Mikey hurried after, nagging as only Mikey could. "Come on, what? I wanna know! Tell me, Gerard! Look, whatever it is, I swear I'll do it with you, so long as you tell me!"
I had to stare at him. Frankie almost laughed. The idea of kissing Frank is strange, but slightly intriguing. The idea of kissing Mikey is disgusting. He's my brother. "No you wouldn't," I decided, beginning to walk again.
"No, come on, seriously!"
"Mikey, lay off," Frank said, purposely walking closer to me to prevent Mikey from stopping us.
Mikey sighed and kicked at the sidewalk. "We could break a window," he suggested, unexpectedly breaking off his assault. I grabbed at the opportunity.
"Vandalism. Great, Mikey. We could ruin someone else's life just so we can get arrested. I love it."
Mikey reached out and caught my shoulder, pulling me back and turning me to face a building just across the street. "See that bar over there? That bar happens to be owned by the members of your least favorite football team."
My teeth clenched and breath quickened at the mere thought of our high school football team.
"They still owe us," Mikey said. "I'm breaking their window."
"No, I'll break the window," I said quickly, searching the ground for a rock large enough to do some damage.
"I'll..."
"Mikey, I'll throw you through the window if I have to, I am breaking that window."
"Fine, I'll get arrested for breaking the window and you'll get arrested for murdering me."
My fingers closed on the perfect rock. I drew back my arm and threw it with all my strength to the window across the street.
It shattered with a fountainous crash into a million glittering fragments. People on the sidewalk screamed. They started to turn, looking for the vandal.
Mikey pointed heartlessly at me. "He did it!"
"What... No I did not, he did it!"
"He did it! He threatened to throw me through the window, he's a mass murderer and a madman! He..."
A police officer suddenly came into view, hurrying towards the broken window and the frantic crowd across the street. "Calm down, somebody tell me who did this!"
"One of them," I heard a girl say. "But I have no idea which one."
"Oh my god, Mikey, that cop is from Essex, we can't get arrested by him!"
"Dang it!" Mikey exclaimed, and we slipped away from the scene as quietly as we could.
I realized then where we were. I had been to this part of town before. With a friend. "Mikey, I know what we need."
"What," Mikey asked, sounding unimpressed and put off by our lack of skill at crime.
"We need Bert."
"What?"
"Bert McCracken, he lives nearby. On this street, even."
"Oh no. No, no, Gerard, don't find him now, he's probably drunk, he'll probably slit your throat and tear you into a hundred pieces and then burn the pieces in his barbecue pit!" Mikey protested as he hurried after me down the street. The street we entered was dark and narrow, cold. The houses were dingy and weather-stained, but as if in direct contradiction, they seemed to shine with an unnatural luminescence in the darkness. A chill wind blew against us that had not touched the lighter part of town. Bert's house was halfway down the street. One of the shutters on his upper window was hanging from one hinge.
"I know how he broke that shutter. He hung someone out of that window, I know he did it, he's probably high, and he'll probably..."
"Mikes, give me your phone."
Mikey handed it over without slowing his rant. I drew back my arm and threw the phone at Bert's window.
"Hey!"
A few seconds went by, and then I saw the curtains draw back and the window slid up. Bert's silhouette stood over us, and his voice, cracked and weary, shouted down to us, "Hey, you better get the hell away from my house or I swear to God I'll c... Oh! Gerard Way! Hey man, what you doing here? Hang on, I'll be right down."
A few moments later, Bert stepped out of his house. He was dressed, but his clothes had a rumpled look, as though he had been sleeping in them. Trust me, I know what that's like. His eyes were tired to match his voice, but he was intrigued. "Hey, man, what brought you here? Come on inside. Hey, Mikey."
"Hey," Mikey said, staying back from Bert as though the horror of his house were contagious.
Bert put his arm around my shoulders and started to pull me inside. Not exactly what I wanted. "No, Bert, I need your help, I can't stay."
"Oh, all right, what's it gonna be?"
Mikey leaned next to my ear and whispered, "He's high."
I slammed my elbow into his ribs, and as he backed off, swearing, I said, "I need you to tell me how to get arrested."
Bert was silent for a moment, gazing at me, like he was trying to gauge me or something, and then suddenly he put his arm around my shoulders with more force than before and began to drag me towards his house. "Gerard, I don't know what you've been smoking but you're messed up, you have no idea. Trust me, man, you don't wanna go to prison, and I am helping you, man, I'm going to take you upstairs and lock you in a dark room until this wears off, okay?"
"Bert, get off, I don't..."
"Get serious, man!"
"I am serious! I need to go to prison."
Bert stopped trying to drag me and stared instead. "Why?"
"Because, I..." I couldn't tell him. He wouldn't believe me, if I told him it would confirm his suspicions that I was high. "I can't tell you why."
"What? Can't tell your best friend, come on, Gerard. What is it?"
I watched him. He was really serious. I stepped closer to him, not wanting anyone else to hear, not counting Mikey. "The dead are walking."
"Okay, Gerard, what are you on, seriously, this is a little..."
"I am serious, Bert! Shut up and listen. I've seen them, they're dead..."
"You mean like zombies?"
"Yeah, seriously, I, I saw one in a restaurant the other day, okay, and it was walking but it wasn't alive, and I shot it, but..."
"Whoa, whoa, you had a gun?"
"Yes, and I shot it, but it wouldn't die!"
"I thought you said it was already dead?"
"It is, it was, but you can't kill it, you can't destroy it, not by conventional means. So we caught it, we burned it, but there are more of them out there, and we've pledged to destroy them. So the one we're chasing got arrested."
Comprehension dawned in Bert's eyes.
"So now I need to go to prison, so I can find the walking dead, and destroy it."
Bert was silent for a moment. Then he laughed a little. "Gerard, that is really messed up. Oh my god. Yeah, I'll totally help you. Come on, let's walk, I'll tell you how to get arrested."
Mikey sidled up to me as we started walking, leaning close and whispering pointedly, "He's drunk!"
I pushed him away and asked Bert how he got arrested.
"I've been arrested three and a half times."
"How can you get arrested half a time?" Mikey demanded, but I pushed him away again.
"Two times, I was drunk. So the way you should do this is go to a bar, and get really, totally, blind drunk, and then you can go out in the street and start screaming and doing a whole bunch of crazy stuff..."
"Bert, I need to be aware when they arrest me."
"Oh, okay, you wanna be aware, that's all right, not drunk, then. The third time I got arrested...well, okay, I was drunk that time, too. Okay, the half time I got arrested..."
"How, in the name of hell, can you possibly get arrested half a time?" Mikey demanded again, standing next to Bert this time.
"I nearly got arrested, okay, it was only from my own genius that I escaped!" Bert paused and looked at me, then turned back to Mikey. "Mikes, go away."
"Nice. Why?"
"You don't need to hear this."
"What? Why won't anyone let me hear anything?" Mikey complained as Bert pulled me closer than necessary and whispered rapidly about how he and his friends had an outrageously loud party in his dilapidated house, and how he hung one of his friends upside down out of the window. His house was on the police's list of routine checks for criminals now.
"So, if you wanna get arrested, we'll go back to my house and I can hang you out of a window..."
"I'm the one who needs to be arrested, Bert, why don't I hang you out of the window?"
"No, man, they tried to arrest the hanger and the hanged, it was crazy."
We had entered downtown again. I was going to talk to Frank, but Frank wasn't there. Neither was Toro, or Matt, and neither was our car.
"Mikey, wait," I said, holding out my arm as my brother drew nearer. "Frank's gone."
"What? Where's the car?"
"You guys brought a car?" Bert interjected.
I was calling Frank. "Frank? It's Gee, where are you?"
No response.
"Frank? Frankie, it's Gee, say something!"
My heart beating fast, I called Toro instead. "Toro? Toro, talk to me."
"Hey, Gerard."
Somehow I had not expected him to answer. "Toro, where are you? And where's Frank?"
"He's with me. We were having a dispute about his car and my garage."
I rolled my eyes, but Toro was still talking. "We were discussing his car and this new one you guys stole, and how they're both wanted vehicles. So Frank's going to drive his, and I'm taking this one, and we are going downtown to cause as much havoc as possible. Both in cars the police are searching for."
This was so brilliant that I couldn't speak for several moments. "Tell Frank to meet me, I want in."
"What? What's happening?" Mikey was asking.
"They're at Toro's house, getting Frank's car. They're about to wreak havoc on downtown."
"Sweet! I wanna drive the new Camaro."
"You can fight Toro for it, maybe he'll be nice and let you have it."
"Hey, I can get you arrested before he gets here," Bert said, pushing passed me and walking across the street.
Mikey sidled up to me. "He's high," he informed me, again.
"Shut up, Mikes."
Bert crossed the street with the swagger of a drunk and banged on the door of the nearest club. When the door was answered, he started shouting as loud as he could, his voice slurred so convincingly that I suspected Mikey might actually be right.
"You're drunk, sir, you don't need to be in here..." we heard the doorman suggest.
"I am not drunk! This is my calm voice! Don't you mess with me!"
"Sir..."
"I don't even drink beer! I am a non-alcoholic!"
"The man's an idiot," Mikey groaned.
"Then maybe you should consider decaf?" the doorman suggested sarcastically.
"I DON'T DRINK COFFEE!" Bert exclaimed.
"That is the biggest lie I have ever heard in my life," I said.
"Look, sir, I'm calling the cops..."
I realized I couldn't let Bert be the only one yelling. I wanted to be arrested, too.
"Hey!" I shouted, sprinting towards the bar. "Hey, don't mess with him, that's my friend."
"You know this loser?" the doorman asked, pointing at Bert.
"Yes, I do," I said, reaching Bert and grasping his arm.
Someone had just brought the bar's phone to the doorman. "Yeah, you better take your friend and run far away from here, I'm calling the cops on both of you."
This was exactly what we wanted. We thought arrest would be only a few short minutes of waiting in Frank's car (Frank had just arrived) for the cops to get there and arrest us.
Fifteen minutes went by completely uneventfully.
"This. Is. In-Sane," Frank said, banging his head repeatedly against the wheel of his car. "Why is it so hard to get arrested in this town?"
A thought came to my mind and I tried to push it away. I knew what we might have to do.
Frank seemed to be thinking the same. He turned to me, looking over Bert to my face. "We could do it."
I nodded slowly, while Bert looked back and forth between us with an intrigued expression on his face. "What? Could do what? You guys have a back-up plan or something?"
I shrugged. "Sort of. But not while you're watching."
Frank was taking the keys out of his car and starting to climb out. I followed him, and Bert followed me.
"Hey, come on, man, what is it?"
"Hey, it's a last resort, we probably won't try it anyway."
"Yeah, that's true, I've still got ideas. You could, like, let me beat you up or something..."
"I don't think so," I said.
"Or you could, like, do something really gay and like let me kiss you in the middle of the street or something."
Frank carefully avoided my eyes. I almost laughed.
"Shut up, Bert. You should get back to your house."
"Yeah, you know, you're actually right. I don't wanna be arrested. This is your party. I'll see you later, man."
"Yeah, all right."
Bert was gone in moments, swallowed by the darkness between his street and the lights of the square. I didn't want to, but slowly I turned to Frank. "Where do you wanna do this?"
"The middle of the street. I think he's right. We can stand right in front of the stoplights."
"Right, and be in everybody's way," I said, following him towards the crosswalk.
We stepped out across the wide, white bars. There were no cars waiting to cross yet, but I could see them coming, their headlights glaring into my eyes. Frank turned to face me. The lights shone against one side of his face, leaving the other in relative darkness. "So... How should we do this..."
"Just...stand there. Okay."
"You ever done this before?"
"No, never."
"But with girls, right?"
"Yeah. This is going to be completely the same. Only...completely different."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay, if you...yeah, just...I'll..."
Our eyes met, and Frank stepped closer to me. Horns were blaring at us, headlights glaring against us. Drivers were screaming, people were watching. Frank put his hands on my jacket.
And then we heard screaming. Not fearful screaming. Angry, I thought, and...
Frank was staring over my shoulder. "There's a mob right behind you," he informed me.
"Bert?"
"Definitely."
I sighed, and then we both turned and ran for Frank's car.
Bert has a million friends. In the course of maybe five minutes, he had gathered at least twenty, closer to thirty, and they had charged onto the square to cause the biggest riot and most mayhem possible. Some of them had brought paint ball guns. Mikey was pissed. "Bert McCracken," he said, "is totally and completely high."
"Why don't you take his gun and shoot him with it?" Frank suggested as we climbed the hill towards him.
"That's not a bad idea," Mikey responded, and then he was gone, running towards an oblivious Bert McCracken, who held a paint-ball gun in each hand and was laughing maniacally.
I heard sirens. "Genius Bert. He's going to get us arrested."
Frank had stopped moving. "By the Essex County police," he said.
He was right. All of the police cars racing through downtown were from Essex County. This was not fair.
"Bert, we can't be arrested by them, those are cops from Essex County!" I shouted to him.
"What?" Bert asked, turning my way. I had unwittingly provided the perfect distraction for Mikey, who snatched one of Bert's guns away and when Bert turned to look at him, shot him several times in the chest.
"Hey!" he shouted, too pained to realize he still held a gun he could shoot Mikey with.
The sirens whined nearer. Bert turned to look back at the police cars, now streaming through the stoplight where Frank and I had almost made out. "Come on," Bert said, running towards me and pushing me as he went by. "We can hide at my place."
I agreed without argument. Bert was calling to his troops. "Fall back, guys! My place!"
"Your house is worse on the inside," Mikey informed Bert when we entered at the head of Bert's paint-ball crazy mob. All of these people completely packed the house, all of them talking, laughing, lighting their cigarettes. Someone's...Bob Bryar, I remembered his name was...paint-ball gun went off, and pink and yellow splotches spattered across Bert's living room wall. It was definitely an improvement to the place.
"All right, you guys, not all of you have to stay, so if you're desperate, you can sleep on the floor. Ways, Frankie, dude with the Afro..."
"My name is Toro."
"You guys can have the couches and the guest room upstairs. Gerard can stay in my room, with me."
"Oooo..."
"Gayness!"
"That's creepy, man!" exclaimed everyone close enough to have heard what Bert said.
"And the rest of you freaks need to get out before the cops investigate me for having too many people in my house."
The guys were disappointed. I think they were expecting a party. Slowly, they left, still in wild spirits and carrying their paint-ball guns. Bob Bryar's accidentally spattered the other wall on his way out. I wondered how much paint-ball graffiti would mark the city in the morning.
"Hey, thanks, man," I said, turning to Bert as the door closed behind the last man.
"Not a problem. I want everyone in bed and lights out, I don't wanna get arrested for looking suspicious. Come on, who wants the guest room? Mikes? Let's go."
Leaving Frank and Toro to the twin sofas, we climbed the creaking, sagging staircase to the second floor.
"My room," said Bert, gesturing carelessly to a door on the left. We passed down the hall to another door, which he swung open for Mikey. It was the room with the broken shutter outside the window. "Guest room. If the lights don't work, bang on the wall, and they will."
Mikey was not thrilled. "Don't let him feel you up while you're sleeping, Gerard," he warned me as he stepped into the dusty guest bedroom.
Bert just grinned. I turned away from Mikey's closed door and crossed back down the hallway. Bert's door was hanging half-open. I pushed it open the rest of the way and stepped inside. The room was a wreck. Clothes lay on the floor; the doors to his dresser were open; a mirror over a small desk reflected an erroneous image on it's fractured surface. The bed was near the window, the bedclothes in disarray. I crossed to that window, not wanting the conversation that I knew would begin when I looked at Bert.
"Sort of a mess," he said behind me, as I heard the door shut. "But you can't tell in the dark."
"Mm," I said noncommittally, listening to his footsteps as he came towards me in the dark. I heard the creak of his bed springs as he threw himself down with a comfortable sigh. He probably expected me to tackle him. We have played games before, but I honestly didn't feel like them tonight. I turned towards the bed, but saw a light out of the corner of my eye, and looked back towards the window. A solitary cop car was turning onto our street, passing slowly by the houses. Probably searching for us.
"What's that?" Bert asked, somehow sensing that this car was more than normal.
"Cop car. But it can't know we're here."
It stopped in front of Bert's house.
"Oh, crap," Bert said, looking over my shoulder at the cop car.
My heart stopped beating. I remembered. His house was on the routine inspection list after a crime is committed. He had told us himself.
The Applegate County police broke in the front door. In moments, I was in handcuffs. A prison van was called, and, unbelievably, we were being carted off to prison.
They all cheat at cards
And the checkers are lost,
My cell mate's a killer,
They make me do push-ups in drag!
Oh, but nobody cares if you're losing yourself
AM I LOSING MYSELF?
I MISS MY MOM,
WILL THEY GIVE ME THE CHAIR,
OR LETHAL INJECTION
OR SWING FROM A ROPE IF YOU DARE?
BUT NOBODY KNOWS ALL THE TROUBLE I'VE SEEN!
Yay, I like this chapter. I was inspired to write this after I read a short story called The Cop and the Anthem, by O. Henry. If you haven't read that, go read it, it's good. It's about a homeless guy who tries to get arrested so he can spend the winter months on a tropical island doing public work with other prisoners. The keyword here is tries. :)
Boots tight, gun close, mask on. Love ya, Killjoys!
xoxo,
Rebel Rose