Act IV

"What did you do, Coach?" Nick finally croaked. "He's, like, seriously dead."

"What did I do? What did I do?!" howled Coach in a high-pitched whine. "This was your idea, as I recall you mentioning that fact several times!"

"Oh no-my idea was to give Winston a birthday gift he'd never forget…not give me nightmares of Winston's birthday I'll never forget! What are we going to do?! My skin is too soft for prison!" Nick was shivering.

Meow. NO WHR TO PARK…WHY DONT U COME DWN WELL GO OUT

Nick Miller stared at the lifeless husk on the floor. Then he glanced at the cell phone. Inspiration struck Nick like a bolt of lightning from the heavens. Quickly walking to the front door, he shut it. "Coach, grab Winston's phone and help me move the body toward the window."

"Whoa, man, this is a crime scene now. I'm not touching anything…have some respect for the dead!"

"Listen to me, Coach-Winston's parents are downstairs. We have to get rid of them. If they're downstairs he must have texted them he was here…we have to get them to leave to then deal with this…situation."

"Situation, Nick? Situation?! This is murder, man! I don't know how-" The loud smack echoed throughout the apartment as Nick shook his hand in pain.

"Damn, Coach, you've got a solid jaw. Listen, I know how this looks and I know we're in deep with this one. But if you listen to me and follow my lead-I'm pretty sure I can get us out of this. Now, get his phone and help me drag him toward the window."

"What the hell are we going to do? We're friends, Nick, but not 'move dead bodies' kinda friends."

The pair each grabbed one of Winston's arms and dragged him toward the window. Rigor mortis had begun to set in and Winston proved heavier than he looked.

"Phew, geez…wish he'd been eating a few more salads." The body was now lying on the floor beneath the window. "Okay, dial the number and get ready to do your best 'Winston' voice."

"Nick, what are you talking about? This is not happening…this can't be happening, no way…and why do I have to be Winston? Because I'm black?!"

"No, you're going to have to talk…because I've going to be doing the heavy lifting-literally."

Nick opened the window wide and began to struggle to lift Winston's body.

"Holy sh*t, Nick, you're going to throw him out the window?!" Coach exclaimed, already dialing the number.

"Trust me, Coach, I got this. Haven't you ever seen Weekend at Bernie's?" Nick managed to lift the corpse to the window.

"Honey, calm down…I'm sure Winston's just getting ready to come down." Charmaine calmed her husband with a hand to the arm.

"Is it too much to ask that he could be ready for our surprise visit? I'm telling you, Charmaine, you were soft on the boy growing up…had I been there, we'd already be enjoying refried beans, chips and salsa." Gus grumped from behind the wheel. He and Charmaine had only been married six months after a whirlwind romance following a drunken hook-up during a local Mardi Gras party. He'd only met Winston twice and as far as he was concerned it was "two strikes." Lord knows he didn't want to see the boy strike out-but he'd call it if he had to.

Bzzzzz. "See, there's my boy now. Get ready!"

"Happpy birthday tooooo youuuuu…happyyy birthdaaaay to youuuu…happy birthday sweet sonnnnnn!" The couple harmonized in tone-deaf bliss.

"Happy Birthday, baby boy!" Charmaine cooed. "What's wrong with your voice? Are you feeling sick? Wait-what?" She leaned forward to peer out the front windshield.

"What the hell are you doing, woman?" Gus muttered, leaning forward, too.

"Wave to the birthday boy!" Charmaine called as she waved wildly with her free hand.

Gus waved…but found himself frowning. What was that boy doing? He wasn't waving so much as he was rocking back and forth outside the open, top floor window. It looked incredibly dangerous and was he even talking on the phone?

"Give me that phone." Gus reached over.

"Here's your step-dad, honey! I love you!" Charmaine called into the phone.

Gus stared out the window at the apparition above them and spoke into the phone.

"Listen, Winston, quit playing games up there and get down here. We're hungry for your birthday lunch and-" He gasped…Winston's body took a strange lurch OUT the window and then suddenly slid back inside in a very serpentine manner. "Holy hell, be careful, son! Are you high? Charmaine, your son is high as a kite-did you see that little trick out the window? I told you he was on drugs." He pushed the phone back toward her in disgust. "Let's go get lunch and check into our hotel."

Charmaine took the phone back from her irate husband. "Honey, we're going to get lunch and we'll check into our hotel. Maybe we can meet in a few hours after you've, uh, freshened up a bit? We'll come back by at 2:00 okay? I love you, birthday boy!"

Gus gunned the engine and pulled onto the street as Charmaine hung up the phone.

"I wish your boy could be more like those roommates of his. All of them responsible and hard working. Who's high by noon? Damn hippies."

Charmaine frowned. Something wasn't right and her son definitely wasn't high…and she was sure his voice sounded off.

"Can you google a Mexican place around here? It's Los Angeles, I'm sure there's a million of them."

Act V

Nick and Coach watched the car drive up the block and turn down a corner.

"Jeeessus! You almost dropped him out the window!" Coach whined.

"Look, man, he's surprisingly dense for a guy his size…" Nick grunted as he dragged the corpse across the room. With a huff, he lifted Winston and laid him upon the couch. "He's so peaceful looking. Well, except for the bruises on his neck. And that disgusting yogurt on his face. I mean, seriously, who eats pineapple yogurt?"

"Yeah, that's nasty," grumbled Coach, sitting down at the other end of the couch. "What are we going to do, Nick? Seriously, we're in deep this time. I don't see how this can end well."

"I'm formulating a plan, Coach, don't worry." He put a blanket over the corpse…tucking it in. "Look, it looks like Winston's taking a nap!"

Joyless laughter echoed in the apartment. Nick sat down heavily next to his deceased friend.

"I only see three options here, man. One: we confess to the police and take the fall. Two: we make it look like a suicide. Winston hung himself on his 35th birthday-apparently that's a popular age for suicide."

"Gawd, those are both terrible, Nick. Suicide? What's the third?" Coach whimpered around the hands that were now holding his face.
Nick sat up with a look of steely resolve on his face. "Third: we hunt down Outside Dave and…deal with him…making that look like the suicide of a deranged man overwhelmed with remorse."

Coach perked up immediately. "That's genius. He broke in to rob us, killed our beloved roommate Winston, and then fled…later taking his own life in overwhelming guilt. By jove, Miller, I think you've got it. We're going on a manhunt!" Coach clapped his hands together happily.

"We're going on manhunt." Nick echoed in a hollow whisper as he starred wistfully at his beautiful, deceased friend.