Chapter Two: ¡¿Por Que?!
This chapter is dedicated to my friend, Emily
George Florence Pork exited the Los Angeles Correctional Facility in a brand new suit and tie. In the past few months, he had lost a considerable amount of weight, found Jesus Christ and married his high school sweetheart, Miranda.
Miranda, who was a considerable woman of thirty-seven, worked at the elementary school that Tina used to be employed at. She pulled up on the side of the prison in a semi-rusted 1998 burgundy Corolla with Nevada license plates.
Stepping into the vehicle, George, who now preferred his first name (and the last name Aurelius, for some reason) smiled at his wife with perfectly white teeth and Listerine on his breath.
"Hello dear," George said rather sophisticatedly. "how were the children today?"
"Fine George," Miranda replied, smiling as well, enjoying that her newly reformed husband. "Michael Jefferies is having dinner with us tonight- I hope that's alright."
George smiled and shoulder hugged his wife still maintaining his smile. "You my dear, are a saint."
"Eh, I try." Miranda said with a smug look in her eye. She drove out of the prison parking lot and down the interstate, towards her house and a new life.
Elsewhere in the world there were less peaceful events...
"Elsewhere in the world there are less peaceful events as the First Crusade rages on the in the Middle East..."
A History Channel documentary entitled "The First Crusades" was playing on the television in Terry Dicks house. The television, which was massive (and had, not surprisingly, Panchito's face on the top of the damn thing) sat perched on the wall. Sitting on the "L" shaped couch, Panchito, José, Donald, Américo, Launchpad and Eddie (who came over to visit Panchito for the day) were all eating popcorn and their share of Sour Patch Kids.
"How long have they been like this?" John asked, who stood in the back of the room, just staring at them.
"About three hours." Terry, who was grabbing a drink from the kitchen, said.
In the back of the house, towards the bedrooms and bathrooms, one object after the other was being destroyed via physics and douchebaggery.
"Be careful of my mother's china please!" Terry called back into the hallway.
"Of course sir!" Reepicheep called. "We'll be most-"
The breaking of craftsmanship from England.
"Well, we'll attempt to be most careful." The mouse said.
Terry rolled his eyes, sighed, grumbled, looked up at the sky and said. "Lord, why have you done this to me! What exactly did I do to deserve this!"
"That's simple Terry," Panchito said, turning towards him with a smile. "You listened to horrible music."
"Excuse me?" The man said, looking at his friend, well, roommate, with a stare.
Panchito stood, holding a smug smile and looking like Daffy Duck holding a mallet- obvious and swaying on the heels of his feet. He walked over, almost goose stepping it, reached into his sleeve and pulled out a business card.
Terry held it in his hands and turned towards his compatriot with a deadpan Buster Keaton stare. "Seriously?"
"Sí Señor," the rooster said, "soy completamente serio."
The documentary went to commercial. José stood up, brushed off his shirt and made his way into the kitchen. "You know," the parrot said, glancing over at the card, "he's right, your music is terrible."
"Like you're one to talk," Terry said, "your music is all instrumental."
José stopped a moment and sighed. "Was that comment supposed to be racist?"
Terry rolled his eyes, "No it was just-"
"It was just what?" The parrot asked, turning around a bit, trying his best to keep his composure.
"It was just a comment."
The parrot nodded slowly and beckoned to move a little closer with his finger. His eyes were locked and fixed on one thing- to make Terry Dicks regret everything he has ever said in the last twenty-seven years and to just see how far the man's buttons could be pushed. The bird began to pressing.
"Your music," José said, "or my people's music, which do you mean you sad, sorry, laid back excuse for a telecommunications operator."
"Hey!" Terry shouted, "That's not cool man."
"It isn't!" The parrot shouted back, turning towards the rooster with a quick wink. José, who was in the kitchen anyway, opened the freezer and grabbed some ice. "How about this!"
As José advanced with the ice cubes, Terry moved back. "Now José, come on, be civil about this."
The parrot said and did nothing but produce the wickedest smile he could, which in truth, was like putting Anthony Perkins and Jack Nicholson from The Shining together. The only thing that the parrot was missing was a bloody knife and appropriate theme music.
Panchito blocked Terry's way and massaged his shoulders. "It's all going to be alright hombre, you'll s
"Yes," José said, laughing deviously, "it's all going to be just fine."
"José, please don't do this. Please, I have a life." Terry said.
"Oh you do? What does that include, hanging out with birds?" José teased as he motioned for Terry to unzip his pants with his free hand.
Terry did so and as his hand reached the bottom of the zipper, Puss and Reepicheep who was battle scarred and beaten to death, walked in mouths to the floor and eyes wider larger than a kid who has just seen his first R rated movie with nudity in it. Awe and somewhat scared. The cat and mouse looked at Panchito, then at Terry and then at José and felt not only uncomfortable but extremely confused.
José leaned down and was about to insert an ice cube down the poor man's pants when he stopped a moment and threw all of the ice cubes in Panchito's face in one fluid motion of the hand. He moved the hand with the majority of the ice cubes to Terry's eye level and looked as if he were about to do an ice bucket challenge minus the bucket but instead quietly motioned Terry to zip up his pants.
Terry looked towards at the parrot in confusion. Alright, Terry thought as he zipped his pants up, what the hell are you doing bird?
José didn't answer him, instead the parrot just looked at Puss and Reepicheep and winked.
"Do you have any idea what he wants us to do?" Puss asked.
"Not a clue." Reepicheep replied, as he looked at the scene and noticed that a particular movie was coming on. "Oh look," he said, "is that Mon-"
"Don't!" Everyone said simultaneously as well as looking in his direction as if he had lit the fuse of a bomb.
"Did I say something incorrect?" The mouse asked, somewhat confused.
"Señor," Puss said, kneeling down to Reepicheep's level, "the rooster is not too keen on Them."
"Them?"
Puss sighed and face palmed himself. "How am I going to explain this without actually saying it." He turned toward Panchito, "Close your ears amigo."
"Sí Señor Gilipollas!" Panchito shouted (for no apparent reason) as he covered his ears with his hands and closed his eyes. He entered his "happy place". Note: Panchito's "happy place" is an Italian villa with a beautiful senorita by the name of Francesca on the island of Sicily. Oh and there's Baxter the monkey. He's awesome, but not important right now. What is important is that the author has realized that he has spent way too much time putting this off and would like to apologize for the "telling" instead of "showing" but then again, it is a comedy piece so really it can be seen as intentional. Also the author would like to point out that the next joke ends abruptly-
The cast paused and turns towards the sky, because for some reason, I'm dead.
"¡¿POR QUE?!" They shouted.
Because I can that's why.
Eddie stood up and walked to the center of the room. "Excuse me Mister Nothing," he said rather formally, also looking up at the ceiling. "in order to get people to laugh you must first not ruin the joke. Now you can't do that joke anymore- ever. It's gone, the creative spark is gone right now. You're a joke, a sham and a waste of time. Stop apologizing and making this improvised crap- it's annoying as hell and you know it. So show yourself as a writer please and stop with the interruptions and just let the actors act. Thanks, everyone."
The room was silent. There were no crickets, it was just sheer utter silence. Like seriously, you could hear a thousand pin drops and a dolphin cry in misery. No one moved either, it was like staring at a museum display with all of the mannequins looking directly at you. Directly at you. The eyes follow you everyone like a Scooby-Doo cartoon, making you feel like you're being watched when really you're just at home, imagining all of this in your head and listening to music when they break out of their silence and say:
"Ditto."
You know, if you guys keep looking at up at the ceiling like that you're going to get cricks in your necks.
"We're in your head," they said, "so we don't care."
Alright wise guys. Suddenly the author began reciting terrible books.
"Try us." They said.
Alright, geez, let me pick one out first, oh yeah, here we go. I cleared my throat and did my best Morgan Freeman impression. To be honest, I sound like gargling soap. "Perhaps the sentiments contained in the following pages, are not yet sufficiently fashionable to procure then general favor; a long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right and raises at first a formidable outcry in defence of custom." I took a breath, "Thomas Paine wrote that in 1776 in a pamphlet called Common Sense, anyone know what that meant?"
I looked out and saw that they had all fallen asleep save for Reepicheep who was already engrossed. "I believe," Reepicheep said, "that he was merely stating the fact that what he was about to say would be contradictory towards the popular beliefs of the day. He says that there is a long tradition of conformity, gives the impression of it being right and thus, by the passage of time, causes revolution."
Wow, that was thorough and correct.
"Yes it was, but to be fair," Reepicheep said, "you did ask."
Just so you know, I'm not in the sky and I'm not dead.
"Oh, then where are you?" Reepicheep asked.
I'm on a computer.
"Which is what exactly?"
Oh yeah, I forgot, you wouldn't know. Alright, well, do yourself a favor and have Terry drive you to the nearest Books-A-Million. There you'll find every single "How to...for Dummies" book ever made. Start reading.
"Ah," he said, "and how long do you think it would take me?"
About a year and a half.
"Alright," Reepicheep replied rather enthusiastically, "I'm off to discover the world. If you need me, don't hesitate to ask good sir."
Sure.
The Mouse walked over to Terry, who was asleep on the floor, and moved to his left ear. "Sir," he said, "wake up."
Terry winced a little and kicked like a dog having a bad dream. "No, no, he's- he's coming to get me. No, don't!" He rolled over and pawed air. Dodger, who was asleep on the couch, opened his eyes and stretched a bit. Yawning, he looked around a bit and noticed that everyone was still sleeping and why someone was crying out for help.
"You alright?" Dodger said.
"Over here sir!" Reepicheep called. "He seems to be having a nightmare."
"Let me see." Dodger carefully made his way off the couch, hoping over Launchpad and Américo who fell forwards and curled themselves in the fetal position.
Whimpering like a dog, Terry stuck out his lip and began barking.
"Oh now that's just insulting." Dodger said. "You really need to work on that I mean come on."
"He's coming for me!" Terry screamed.
"Who's coming for you?" Reepicheep asked.
"G-G-G-G-George."
Dodger scratched the top of his head with his ear and cocked his head to the side. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
The semi-rusted 1998 burgundy Corolla with Nevada license plates pulled into the driveway with The Rolling Stones Greatest Hits CD on full blast. It getting to the beginning of Satisfaction. George stepped out with his wife wearing a fedora and sporting a pocket watch. He looked like the human version of Scrooge McDuck, but less Scottish accent and more in the appearance (in the face at least) of William Howard Taft. In terms of physical shape, he was normal for his height and age now- a nice ripe age of 36 with a nice weight of 175. Ringing the doorbell, George and Miranda sang the chorus of The Stones' hit and waited patiently for the door to be opened.
Reepicheep instinctively moved to open the door but Dodger stuck out his paw, blocking his path. The Mouse glared up at him, "Pardon me," Reepicheep said, "but someone is at the door."
"Yeah, I know," Dodger replied, "but to be honest- you have to weary of people around here. Strange people have walked through that door and I don't wanna see you get hurt."
Reepicheep laughed, "You haven't the slightest supposition of where I hail do you?" Smiling, the Mouse hurdled over Dodger's paw and nonchalantly walked over to the door, scaled it and opened the door, speak singing a made up poem along the way.
"Shirley's a girl I used to romance and she always liked it whenever there was a chance to dance. In the rain and through the storm, she always knew how to clear the skies and make the sun rise."
Stepping through the threshold, George and Miranda expected to see a gathering of friends or at least someone who was awake.
"Um," George said, noticing that Terry was surrounded by anamorphic birds and such things. "I didn't realize this was a sleepover with late trick or treaters. Great costumes kids!"
He smiled and Reepicheep, who was on the floor at this point, walked out to meet him with all the warm salutations he could muster.
"Greetings and Salutations good sir," The Mouse said smiling from ear to ear. "Apologizes for the siesta, everyone was tired out from the jetlag."
"Jetlag?" Miranda asked, a bit confused as to why a mouse was talking to her and further more why he looked so familiar.
"Yeah," Dodger replied, "we just got back from New York and we're just getting used to the place."
George laughed, "Does that include sleeping on every square inch of the floor?"
"Apparently." Miranda laughed in response, it was almost annoying but it wasn't off-putting either. It was like a bad clown audition. Faux, short, and creepy. She turned towards Reepicheep and smiled, "I think I've seen you before, well, at least, read about you."
"Read about me? Sorry, I don't follow." The Mouse said. "Please elaborate."
"Certainly," she said kneeling down to his eye level, "you see you're a character in a book series. A beautiful wondrous book series called The Chronicles of Narnia written by an Irish born Englishman by the name of C.S Lewis. Exceptional person really."
"Avid reader, love reading but unfortunately am short on time." Reepicheep said, "For you'll never get a cup of tea big enough or a book long enough to suit me."
"Really? Lewis said that too!" Miranda cried in part excitement. "Do mind if I hug you?"
Reepicheep gave her the quintessential indescribable Jack Benny deadpan stare. He stared at her for so long that George actually thought he was going to steal her soul away.
"Alright that's enough rat." George said.
"I am a mouse sir," Reepicheep replied sternly, "there is a very true, very logical, very anatomical differentiation between mice and rats and to be honest I don't want to go into it so it will be in your best interest to keep that vulgar mouth of yours shut."
"Yeah," Dodger said, "it's vulgar, repulsive, and absolutely positively perverted. You're a low life son of a bitch who has about three seconds to get out of my living room before I rip you to pieces!"
George backed off, raising his hands in the air as Dodger advanced with a very menacing growl and bark.
"Alright!" George said, "We're going, just wanted to apologize to Terry but he seems to be busy, I'll come back later."
Dodger barred his teeth, lunged forward and bit George on the hand. Holding on to dear life as if he wanted to rip the poor man's hand off, Dodger kept a firm grip as Miranda tried to pull the dog off. Reepicheep jumped on Dodger's back and lightly jabbed him in the back. Dodger bucked like a horse.
"Dog!" The Mouse said, "Don't make me hurt you."
Dodger instantly sat down, let go of George's hand and turned towards Reepicheep with a huff and raise of the head. "For your information rat, I have a name, and it's Dodger, best you remember that."
"For your information dog," Reepicheep replied with the same intensity that he was given, "I too have a name and it's Reepicheep, best you remember that- if you don't want your jugular vein severed."
George fell to the floor and cradled his hand, Miranda rushed over to him and examined it. It wasn't too bad, if you consider most of the skin off as "wasn't too bad" that is. The bones were showing, the veins and arteries were flowing and the pulse in the wrist was going faster than a racehorse in the Kentucky Derby. It was fascinating and disgusting at the same time.
"I hope you have your rabies shot." Miranda said, turning towards Dodger with a glare.
Dodger smiled, "What happens if I don't."
Reepicheep took a step away from him, it was casual but nonetheless obvious. Dodger rolled his eyes and walked to the kitchen.
It was one of those eat-in kitchens that had state of the art stainless steel appliances, a beautiful light fixture and a large dining room table made of cedar wood (accompanied with cedar chairs) to accommodate everyone. This large table was to the left, the sink was to the right, the fridge was to the right of the sink and the dishwasher to the left of the sink. The microwave was above the dishwasher. The cabinets were made of authentic mahogany and the counter was a nice taupe color. It wasn't the best counter top choice, but it was better than a dark counter top which would have made the space smaller- even though that really wasn't a factor.
Dodger turned to his right and opened up one of the lower cabinets- finding nothing but Tupperware containers.
"Hey Panch!" Dodger called, "Where's the first-aid kit?"
Panchito stirred and sat up a bit, "It's in the only cedar cabinet."
"What the hell does cedar look like?"
"It's lighter than mahogany, darker than oak and smells divinely." Reepicheep said from in the living room, "It's actually very difficult not to miss."
"Thank you John Donne." Dodger said. "Jesus, what a pompous little asshole."
Reepicheep laughed a bit, "You must think me pompous?"
"It's because you are." Dodger replied.
"Sí, Señor Ratón," Panchito said, "you can come off a bit ostentatious."
Reepicheep smiled smugly, "Says the rooster who used a word he probably doesn't know what it means."
"Ostentatious, characterized by or given to pretentious or conspicuous to show an attempt to impress others." The rooster said. He stood up, "You don't have to impress us or anyone else. Just be yourself, I mean, I'm a complete tonto but you don't see anyone trying to belittle or badger me do you?"
"Yes," Reepicheep said, "considering what was about to transpire between you, Mister Dicks, and the parrot, yes, I say that people are out to do you in." He turned towards the door, "I'm off to the library to get some fresh air as well as alert the medical professionals of this poor man's hand. If you would like to accompany me Mister Gonzales you must certainly can."
Panchito shrugged his shoulders, "Eh, what the hell, I got nothin' else to do." He hurdled over Terry and walked towards George helping him up. Miranda grabbed George's left and Panchito, his right. They walked him out to the Toyota Corolla with Reepicheep in tow.
"Hey Panchito," George said, "how you doing?"
"Could be worse," Panchito said and punched George square in the nose, moving his free hand back and letting him have the works. George screamed in pain for a moment and went unconscious.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" Miranda cried.
"A lot of things Señora, a lot of things." Panchito said. "There are a few things you don't know about your friend here."
"He's my husband." Miranda replied.
"Oh," Panchito stopped a moment, sighed and said, "lo siento. Mi casa es tú casa, sin rencores y ¿por que él?"
Miranda turned towards Reepicheep for a translation. The Mouse simply shrugged and laughed a bit. "Speak not, say not, do not ask- that's my motto."
Miranda sighed, "Great," she said underneath her breath, "I'm stuck with a Mexican who speaks Spanish- which I don't understand and a mouse who can't speak plain English- which I also don't understand. Wonderful Mary, just plain wonderful."
"We should probably get moving." Panchito said, "Don't want him dying on me."
"Yes," Reepicheep replied, "death is never an option and if it comes to that then I'm sorry sir but you'll have to be executed."
Panchito laughed a little, "What are you going to do, cut my head off?"
"I can arrange it." Reepicheep said, smiling a bit.
The rooster nodded with a lump in his throat as he continued walking towards the car with Miranda, "Understood," he said, "let's get to the hospital, rápido!" He began speed walking, which forced Miranda to follow suit.
"Hey," she said, "slow down!"
"Can't," Panchito said opening the passenger door and placing George in the seat while also doing the kindness of buckling the poor man. "if I don't then there's a mouse who's going to kill me. Now, coche- vamanos por favor!"
Miranda started the car.
Reepicheep scurried over to the car and allowed Panchito to carry him for once.
"Just to let you know," The Mouse said as he and Panchito entered the backseat, "I'm only letting you do this because I find you amusing and so that when you slip up or kill someone I can administer justice," he pulled his blade and landed the tip right up against the pulse in the neck. "Do you catch my meaning?"
Panchito nodded, still having a lump in his throat. "Crystal clear, Señor."
Reepicheep sheathed his blade with a smile and laughed himself silly at the sight of the rooster sweating and struggling to breathe, "Your gullibility is brilliant!"
Panchito stopped, turned towards the Mouse and smiled, "So, you're the straight man. Good, we need one of those."
Reepicheep shrugged, "Call it a character trait."
Panchito's phone rang. On the third ring, he answered. "Ahola," he said, "who is this?"
"Hey," the caller said, "are you Panchito Pistoles?"
"Sí," Panchito replied, "¿Como te llamas?"
"Santiago Juarez, soy su hijo."
English translation: I'm your son.
Panchito instantly hung the phone up. He took a deep breath and cried a small tear of joy.
"Something wrong?" Reepicheep asked.
"I don't know," Panchito answered, "if not, then everything's going to be fine."
"What if the world burns?"
"Then," the rooster said, "it burns." His phone vibrated, a text message came in. Panchito looked at his phone and glanced at it, it was from the same number that just called him. I have some bad news...I only have a few days to live.
Panchito quickly responded back. Where are you?
Last time I checked I was on Familiar Street in Los Angeles, CA in a basement. I think I'm somewhere else though. A gunshot just went off, someone's speaking Italian I think. I gotta go. See you later. Please come find me. Don't respond back, I don't want to get caught. Love you.
Panchito sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. He massaged his head and closed his eyes for a moment.
"Alright rooster," Reepicheep said, "what's going on?"
Panchito didn't answer that question. Instead he dialed John's phone number.
"John Silverman."
"John," Panchito said, "it's me. I need your help."
John sighed, "Look I'm not bailing you out again."
"No, it's nothing like that, can you trace a call for me?"
"Sure," John said, "what's the number?"
Panchito searched through his contacts, "Alright, here it is..."