I knew the Bride when she used to rock n' roll...
Dawn had struggled up slowly though the desert haze to the west, and even now it was only ten o’clock, but I had been driving all night and felt the need for some hard drink. I pulled the Chevy up by a bar on the outskirts of Reno and wandered inside.
There are many dangerous people loose in the world, but barely a few are accounted for. Particular among those are my associates Crazy Mean Dave and Yail Bloor, neither of whom I have seen for some time. What were they up to I wondered? And should I be concerned? Whatever it was, certainly they were not to be found in this smokey stagnant dive in the south of Reno.
The noise in the corner distracted me however, and I felt uneasy. There was some huddle around the final table, a girl with her hair dyed red and black sat amid a cluster of men. The men had a vaguely seedy look about them, ruffled ties and creased suits… politicians in other words….
Clearly they had been up all night and at the time I walked in, it seemed their conversation had reached something of a denouement. Tension hung in the air. I wondered if this was some kind of weird white slavery deal going down, but the woman had an aura about her that said she was firmly in charge. And as I looked across the bar she seemed to lock eyes on me…
I needed no part of that action. On the television, the democratic candidate John Kerry was making another victory speech after crushing his party rivals yet again. And for all I knew she was dangerous -- maybe some kind of murderous off-duty cop with two guns and a salt-shaker of cocaine in her pocket.
Where was George W Bush I wondered, as I returned to staring at the TV? Did he have no response to the apparently unstoppable Senator from Massachusetts, beyond some blather about gay marriages and Janet Jackson’s left breast?
If I had any vested interest in the Republican Party I would do everything possible to get George W Bush committed at once. Is it possible that he has already abandoned all hope of getting re-elected? Or does he plan to cancel the election altogether by declaring a national military emergency with terrorists closing in from all sides, leaving him with no choice but to launch a huge bomb immediately?
These are heavy thoughts, and I needed peace, quiet and solitude to assess their value. But suddenly there was a thunderous crash from the table in the corner, and a desperate cry of ‘Never’ from the girl. She threw over the table, high kicked a suit, and then gave a great whoop of triumph. The politicos were rolling on the floor, the drinks were smashed, and then she was running for the exit.
‘You crazy bitch’ yelled the barman, reaching for a shotgun. ‘You’ll pay for that’.
The girl grabbed my arm, and smashed the barman over the head with my bottle. ‘Quick’ she ordered, ‘You’ve got to get me away from this place’.
The politicos were pulling themselves up. Clearly this meant trouble, but I recognised in her the menace, madness and fragmented coherence of a kindred spirit. Well, why not? I thought. My beer was now gone, so it was time to leave anyway. I already had two dangerous lunatics as associates and one more couldn’t hurt. So I kicked the reeling barman, and ran with her for the door.
‘Its my fiancé,” she said, when we had got in the car. ‘He’s a powerful man in Washington and he’s deeply involved in some plot. I have to warn Senator Kerry before its too late.’ I kicked the accelerator and we screamed out the car park. I had rented the car from friends at the Woody Creek Gun club, and I can always rely on them to provide a surfeit of torque.
Just then I noticed a ticket on the dashboard for a traffic violation. She gave out a wierding crazy laugh, grabbed it and threw the ticket away. ‘I am Senator John Kerry’s personal bodyguard’ she informed me with glee. ‘I have the Senator’s ear. He will soon be the ruler of the world and will let us do anything. He will deal with it’ she added confidently, and then let out another laugh. ‘But first we have to get to him.’
‘Wonderful’ I replied. ‘We’ll drive across to Las Vegas and meet him there’. ‘No need’ she said. ‘ I have his number’. With that she grabbed my cell phone and punched the digits in quick succession. A voice answered and she began to talk quickly into the phone, apparently warning the senator of some invidious plot against his life. But my eyes were on the road, and it is difficult to hear while travelling at 120 miles per hour.
Was she being serious I wondered? But suddenly she thrust the phone at me. ‘Quick, the ticket’ she said!
I almost lost control of the car. This was a national emergency and she insisted about discussing a a speeding ticket with a leading senator. A voice down the phone was saying ‘Hello?’ repeatedly, but I couldn’t respond. Then I heard other voices jabbering, then cursing and the sounds of a struggle. Finally, he came back on the line. "Who else knows about this?" he asked sharply.
I was about to reply, but he interrupted. “Do not worry,” he said with unnatural calmness. “Everything is under control. We will win it all this year.” Then he made a snide noise that was meant to be a laugh, and babbled in some strange language that sounded Syrian.
I knew John Kerry didn't speak Syrian. "Who the hell is this?" I demanded. "You're not John Kerry! What have you done with him?"
"I am he," said the voice. "I am the new ruler of this country."
There was a queer, snide and superior tone, which I recognised at once. It was Robert Kilroy-Silk. I was in shock. Bloor had been babbling about Kilroy. Could this be Crazy Mean Dave’s work? He had been acting strangely quite recently, and I knew he was involved in something deep and dangerous. Somehow, he had replaced the Democratic frontrunner with the disgraced TV show host at the very moment we called.
Suddenly mood over the phone changed. “I know who you are!” screamed Kilroy. “You’re finished this time, the both of you. You’ll both be on death-row before the day is out!”
I hung up on this unhinged rant and looked at the girl. From what she had told me about her fiancé, they would have roadblocks at every turning within an hour. Madness in every direction, but she was just grinning and waving her hands in the air. This was clearly not some random hitchhiker I had acquired, but a dangerous dingbat with a total commitment to the adventure ethic. We were outlaws now, and for one brief moment, I realised what Clyde felt like when he first saw Bonnie Parker on that fateful day in Dallas.
Maybe, I thought, I’d better find out this girl’s name.
There are many dangerous people loose in the world, but barely a few are accounted for. Particular among those are my associates Crazy Mean Dave and Yail Bloor, neither of whom I have seen for some time. What were they up to I wondered? And should I be concerned? Whatever it was, certainly they were not to be found in this smokey stagnant dive in the south of Reno.
The noise in the corner distracted me however, and I felt uneasy. There was some huddle around the final table, a girl with her hair dyed red and black sat amid a cluster of men. The men had a vaguely seedy look about them, ruffled ties and creased suits… politicians in other words….
Clearly they had been up all night and at the time I walked in, it seemed their conversation had reached something of a denouement. Tension hung in the air. I wondered if this was some kind of weird white slavery deal going down, but the woman had an aura about her that said she was firmly in charge. And as I looked across the bar she seemed to lock eyes on me…
I needed no part of that action. On the television, the democratic candidate John Kerry was making another victory speech after crushing his party rivals yet again. And for all I knew she was dangerous -- maybe some kind of murderous off-duty cop with two guns and a salt-shaker of cocaine in her pocket.
Where was George W Bush I wondered, as I returned to staring at the TV? Did he have no response to the apparently unstoppable Senator from Massachusetts, beyond some blather about gay marriages and Janet Jackson’s left breast?
If I had any vested interest in the Republican Party I would do everything possible to get George W Bush committed at once. Is it possible that he has already abandoned all hope of getting re-elected? Or does he plan to cancel the election altogether by declaring a national military emergency with terrorists closing in from all sides, leaving him with no choice but to launch a huge bomb immediately?
These are heavy thoughts, and I needed peace, quiet and solitude to assess their value. But suddenly there was a thunderous crash from the table in the corner, and a desperate cry of ‘Never’ from the girl. She threw over the table, high kicked a suit, and then gave a great whoop of triumph. The politicos were rolling on the floor, the drinks were smashed, and then she was running for the exit.
‘You crazy bitch’ yelled the barman, reaching for a shotgun. ‘You’ll pay for that’.
The girl grabbed my arm, and smashed the barman over the head with my bottle. ‘Quick’ she ordered, ‘You’ve got to get me away from this place’.
The politicos were pulling themselves up. Clearly this meant trouble, but I recognised in her the menace, madness and fragmented coherence of a kindred spirit. Well, why not? I thought. My beer was now gone, so it was time to leave anyway. I already had two dangerous lunatics as associates and one more couldn’t hurt. So I kicked the reeling barman, and ran with her for the door.
‘Its my fiancé,” she said, when we had got in the car. ‘He’s a powerful man in Washington and he’s deeply involved in some plot. I have to warn Senator Kerry before its too late.’ I kicked the accelerator and we screamed out the car park. I had rented the car from friends at the Woody Creek Gun club, and I can always rely on them to provide a surfeit of torque.
Just then I noticed a ticket on the dashboard for a traffic violation. She gave out a wierding crazy laugh, grabbed it and threw the ticket away. ‘I am Senator John Kerry’s personal bodyguard’ she informed me with glee. ‘I have the Senator’s ear. He will soon be the ruler of the world and will let us do anything. He will deal with it’ she added confidently, and then let out another laugh. ‘But first we have to get to him.’
‘Wonderful’ I replied. ‘We’ll drive across to Las Vegas and meet him there’. ‘No need’ she said. ‘ I have his number’. With that she grabbed my cell phone and punched the digits in quick succession. A voice answered and she began to talk quickly into the phone, apparently warning the senator of some invidious plot against his life. But my eyes were on the road, and it is difficult to hear while travelling at 120 miles per hour.
Was she being serious I wondered? But suddenly she thrust the phone at me. ‘Quick, the ticket’ she said!
I almost lost control of the car. This was a national emergency and she insisted about discussing a a speeding ticket with a leading senator. A voice down the phone was saying ‘Hello?’ repeatedly, but I couldn’t respond. Then I heard other voices jabbering, then cursing and the sounds of a struggle. Finally, he came back on the line. "Who else knows about this?" he asked sharply.
I was about to reply, but he interrupted. “Do not worry,” he said with unnatural calmness. “Everything is under control. We will win it all this year.” Then he made a snide noise that was meant to be a laugh, and babbled in some strange language that sounded Syrian.
I knew John Kerry didn't speak Syrian. "Who the hell is this?" I demanded. "You're not John Kerry! What have you done with him?"
"I am he," said the voice. "I am the new ruler of this country."
There was a queer, snide and superior tone, which I recognised at once. It was Robert Kilroy-Silk. I was in shock. Bloor had been babbling about Kilroy. Could this be Crazy Mean Dave’s work? He had been acting strangely quite recently, and I knew he was involved in something deep and dangerous. Somehow, he had replaced the Democratic frontrunner with the disgraced TV show host at the very moment we called.
Suddenly mood over the phone changed. “I know who you are!” screamed Kilroy. “You’re finished this time, the both of you. You’ll both be on death-row before the day is out!”
I hung up on this unhinged rant and looked at the girl. From what she had told me about her fiancé, they would have roadblocks at every turning within an hour. Madness in every direction, but she was just grinning and waving her hands in the air. This was clearly not some random hitchhiker I had acquired, but a dangerous dingbat with a total commitment to the adventure ethic. We were outlaws now, and for one brief moment, I realised what Clyde felt like when he first saw Bonnie Parker on that fateful day in Dallas.
Maybe, I thought, I’d better find out this girl’s name.