Eye Ahem Da Guvner; Chapter Eight

 

Chapter 8:

 

     Jimmy had watched the whole frightening episode in his rearview mirror. He floored the gas, for he needed to turn around and go back. He raced up the freeway exit, came to a quick stop, causing Mange to fly forward and smash his face painfully on the dashboard, and sped straight ahead onto the onramp to the interstate going in the opposite direction. When he reached the approximate place where the truck had gone hurtling out off the sheer drop-off of the solid rock canyon, all he saw was a set of skid marks and the mangled gaurd rail. Far below, the semi-truck lay crumpled in a heap. Suddenly the shock hit him: Earle Edgar Nekk was gone!

 

     As he dragged himself back to his truck, sadness filled his eyes with tears. Yeah, Earle Edgar had bugged him sometimes, but overall, he had been his best friend. It all had ended so abruptly. It just goes to show someone: live for today, for one never knows what tomorrow hold in store. As he slumped his way back to his truck, he saw someone sitting in his truck. He was being ripped off! That was odd; Mange should have been ripping the guy’s throat out; but no, he was nowhere to be seen. Jimmy felt a flash of anger; what a watchdog he had turned out to be! All sadness about the crash was pushed to the back of his mind. Whoever it was had picked the wrong day to mess with him. He stormed up to the passenger door, ripped it open, and started to shout,

     “All right, you dumb bast---,” and was shocked to be staring into the face of Earle Edgar.

     “Earle Edgar, I thought you were dead!”

     “Yeya, Eye wuz, butt da aftarlife was sew boren, Eye deecidad tew cowem bak ta lief. Eye puet bowth mi arems bak owen, clymed uwp da sheere rok clief, an heer Eye amm! Ov corse Eyema nott ded, Eye juwemp owet afore da truk phlew ofa da clief, an hyd, untel Eye saww yew puyal uwep inn yer truk an ruwan dowen tew luuk ayat mie wrek, an Eye snuk over ta yer truk, an gowet inn. Noww lettuce leeve afore da poileece git heer.”

     Jimmy asked, “Are we still headed east?”

     “Noe, Eye tink weed juss betar hed bak ta Ceeatel.”

 

     Mange lay on the bench seat, as close to Jimmy and as far away from Earle Edgar as he could get. What a pecker! When he had heard someone approaching the truck, he had bared his fangs, started snarling and snapping at the window, and heard that moronic voice he loathed so much.

     “Sheut upp, ya basterd doweg!”

     He felt his spirits sink, as he’d thought he was rid of Earle Edgar forever.

 

     They were once again back in Seattle. They’d both decided to change their names, so the first thing they did was go see Mike Dumpling, the same guy who had made up Earle Edgar’s fake I.D. when he had changed to the name John Smith, and who had made their fake business license.

     Now Mike asked,“I need to know what name you would like to use, both of you.”

     Jimmy immediately replied, “Amazon Gus!”

     Dumpling gave him an incredulous look and said, “What kind of stupid name is Amazon Gus?”

     Jimmy got a hurt look and replied, “It was always who I wanted to be back when I was a kid. I had this pretend guy who was a circus daredevil, and solved perplexing mysteries on the side, Amazon Gus Freebird, who would fly through the air on the trapeze, while solving complicated crimes in his mind; and do a triple summersault before being caught by his partner, Theo Stack.”

     Dumpling and Earle Edgar exchanged looks, and Earle Edgar said, “Yew muss ov haad won pithetec cyldhoode!”

     Dumpling then asked, “How about Gus Dill instead?”

     “Well, okay, as long as my nickname can be Amazon.”

     “Yeah, your nickname can be 'Orbiting Pluto' for all I care!” Then he turned to Earle Edgar, “How about you? Do you have a name you want to go by?”

     “Amizon Fraynk!; noe, Eye donut reeli kare,”

     How about Chuck Dill? Yeah, you two can be brothers; the Dill brothers.”

Brothers; with Earle Edgar?  thought Jimmy.

Brathars; wid Jimy?  thought Earle Edgar.

     F****g stupid! thought Mange.

 

 

     Private investigator Oren Trough was writing down his notes on his latest investigation. He’d been hired by The Product Placement Corporation to track down a thief by the name of John Smith, but further investigation had revealed the name of Lance Devlin. His involvement had been uncovered after talking to Smith’s fellow members of The Product Placement Corporation. Smith had ordered a tractor-trailer rig loaded with 5,000 car stereos and then skipped town. The Product Placement Corporation hadn’t been very smart to trust these guys, but they had been blinded by greed. When John Smith had told them that a buyer wanted the stereos; they didn’t stop to think about who in their right mind would have need of 5,000 car stereos? They told themseves that a major chain store must have purchased them. All the Product Placement Corporation saw was the incredible opportunity for profit, and their greed overwhelmed the caution they should have had. Now the tractor-trailer containing the stereos had been seen arcing out into thin air, on its way to the bottom of a steep ravine along I-90, although John Smith and Lance Devlin's bodies hadn’t been found among the wreckage. The Product Placement Corporation wanted to locate Smith and Devlin so they could recoup their losses. Oren was reviewing what he’d learned so far:

 

     “The two suspects have disappeared, like store-bought cookies at my Uncle Jasper’s birthday party. I searched for the suspects on the Internet, but so far had come up with nothing. The name John Smith yielded 143,000,000 hits, and the name Lance Devlin 196,000, so that would be of no use, like t*** on a milk-cow. My next stop is going to talk to the new owners of the house that the suspect Smith owned.

 

     Jerry and Sally Dutzenheimer were sitting on their couch across from a chair that was occupied by a private investigator named Oren Trough. Trough had set up this meeting to find out what, if anything, they knew about where the men he was seeking information about were headed. When he’d first phoned them, the Dutzenheimer’s had told him they didn’t know anything about the seller, because the transaction had all been handled by their real estate broker, and they’d only met the seller one time, and they hadn’t exchanged much more than hello’s. But Trough had been insistant, telling them that anything, no matter how seemingly trivial, could be helpful, and had set up this meeting.

     “Well, he was a big guy named John Smith who looked like some sort of escapee from a mental institution, but we only saw him once, so maybe that impression might be inaccurate,” said Jerry Dutzenheimer.

     “Exactly how do you mean?”

     “Oh, he just looked like he had problems; several severe problems.”

     “For instance?”

     “I don’t know; it was just the whole impression.”

     “What about the skinny one?”

     “What skinny one? The only one we dealt with was not skinny.”

     “Is there anything else strange you remember?”

     “No, I can’t think of anything,” Dutzenheimer said.

 

     Jerry Dutzinheimer was glad to get the conversation with the private investigator over with. He was going to rent out the house as quickly as possible, and he didn’t want some p.i. stumbling upon the truth about his shady finacial situation.

 

     Oren Trough wrote down what he’d uncovered after talking to the Dutzinheimer’s:

     “Talked to the Dutzinheimers, who purchased the house from Smith. Tried again to look up the suspects on the Internet, but still came up with nothing unusual. I didn’t unearth anything; nothing crooked jumped out at me, so I’m afraid I’m at a dead end. Unless I am lucky enough (like a vegetarian who picks the exacta at a horse race) to stumble upon a new clue, I’m afraid this one will never be solved.”

 

     Oren Trough was depressed. He was driving aimlessly around in circles, thinking about what he should do next. He really had no clue. Then he spotted a shabby-looking tavern in the shabby-looking neighborhood he was driving through. 'That place looks about like I feel, like a pair of oars on an ocean liner; you’re going nowhere!' he thought. He found a parking spot, and went through the door. He found an empty barstool at the counter and sat down to wait for the bartender to take his order.

 

     Earle Edgar was thirsty. He and Jimmy had decided to stop and have a few beers while they talked over what they should do next; now that they were damn near broke again. They had left Mange outside tied a sign post. All the money they had was the $50 bill that Earle Edgar had in his wallet. They had argued about saving it, as the minute they returned to their house or bank the cops would likely arrest them, and not blowing it on beer, but Earle Edgar said,

     “Eyea nede ta furget abowet tings fer a wyl, sew Eyem goen ta hoyest an feww.”

     Jimmy knew better than to argue once Earle Edgar had his mind made up; and besides, escaping their bleak reality for a couple of hours sounded like a good plan to him, so against his better judgment, he thought he may as well have a few quick ones himself.

 

     The few quick beers had turned out to be much more than that and soon they were both were crocked.

     Jimmy slurred,“Maybe we should stop drinking, and start thinking about what we should do now?”

     Earle Edgar replied, “Eyema sic ov werryen bowet dat sheit; tewdayy iz fer unwynden an reelaxaton. Inn da werds Eye saww inn da mewvy 'Gowen Wid da Wynde', Eyella tink abowet dat tumorow!”

     “Well, we can’t afford to wait a long time before we decide.”

     “Sheit, Jimy, Eyema trine ta furgit abowet tings; bartendar, anutter beir dowen heer!”

     “Better make it two, barkeep; I give up on talking any sense into Earle Edgar here.”

     “Eet itt, Jimmy Reeno, oar shud Eye saa Layants Develan; Eyema nott goen ta sitt heer an bee critersyzed bye da lykes ov yew!”

     Jimmy thought of the saying something sarcastic, but said only, “I’m sorry, Earle Edgar.”

 

     From his barstool, Oren Trough overheard the drunks at the table behind him. He could scarcely believe his good fortune; he’d just happened to stumble upon the very two guys he was looking for! When he’d overheard the name Lance Devlin, or Jimmy Reno, he could hardly believe it; how was this for blind luck? Lance had called the bigger guy Earle Edgar, but he must be John Smith. For some reason, he’d been drawn to this particular tavern, like a moth with ESP. He declined to order another beer when the bartender asked him if he’d like another. He needed to stay sharp, mentally. He needed a plan as to how he would preceed, like a rat in a maze with a blindfold, and a hack saw.

 

 

     Mange sat outside the tavern, tied to the “No Parking” sign in the parking lot. He was pissed once again. They had left him by himself. Then his hackles rose as a drunk guy staggered out of the place and stood over Mange and unzipped his pants, like he was about to go to the bathroom. Apparently, he was so drunk he failed to see that Mange was tied to the sign on his short leash. Just before the guy started to go (he was whistling a tune!) Mange snarled and growled loudly. The drunk guy was startled, and pissed on his own leg.

     “Son of a...what the hell? Why you mangy b*****d!”

     Mange took note of the derogatory use of his name, and snapped. He foamed at the mouth and lunged at the guy.

     “Holy s***, this dog is crazy!” the drunk guy exclaimed, and staggered away out of the lot.

 

     Mange slowly felt the rage leave him, and settled back down to wait for Earle Edgar and Jimmy to come out for him. Knowing Earle Edgar, he had a long time to wait.

 

     Earle Edgar and Jimmy Reno staggered out of the tavern and into the blinding rays of the sun.

     “Fuwaken Ay, iz dat bich brite!” exclaimed Earle Edgar.

     “Yeah, I can’t see jack!” added Jimmy.

     “Woo?”

     “It’s just a figure of speech; what I’m trying to say is I can’t see anything with the sun shining right in my eyes.”

     “Owa, yeya.”

     “Well, what should we do now?”

     “Wee nede ta fynd sumplac ta lyve.

     Jimmy thought with a longing look in his eyes about the fortune they’d left behind in the bank as he untied Mange. “It sure seems like a waste to just abandon all that money.”

     Earle Edgar replied, keeping a wary eye on the dog, “Yeya, Eye tink itts an wayast tew, butt da minut wee tri ta coleked itt, da poelees wyl arest uss.” Then he got a gleam in his eye. “Uwnles...?”

     “Unless what?” asked Jimmy.

     Earle Edgar replied, “Uwnles, wee robb ar muny bak!”

     “You mean steal it?”

     Noe sheit!   “Yeya, wee putt sumpin ovar ar heds ta disgys woo wee ar, an robb ar muny bak.”

     “I don’t know; robbing people for a few bucks is one thing, but robbing a bank is quite another.”

     Cowerdli basterd!   “Noe itt ayant, awl weed haav ta dew iz half da guwets tew dew itt!”

 

     Earle Edgar and Jimmy staggered down the street towards their bank; having stopped by a grocery store, spending the last of their money, and buying more pantyhose and another six pack of courage. They had visited Mange, and started to untie him, but decided to leave him still tied to the post behind the tavern.

     “We’ll be right back for you, Mange,” said Jimmy.

     You and Mr. Braindead here had damn well better be, Mange thought.

 

     As they walked, Earle Edgar and Jimmy finished guzzling a beer, and then tossed the empty bottles agaist the side of a building, where they exploded; sending shards of glass spraying in every direction. They were both beyond the point of trying to hide their drinking. In fact they both shouted at people, who gaped, open-mouthed at them.

     “Wat inn da hel ar yewluken at, dare goyater womin?”

     “You got a problem, you cross-eyed son of a b***h?”

     They became aggressive with anyone unlucky enough to walk past them on the sidewalk.

     “Luk att dis gui, Jimy; tawlk ahbowet ugily. Eya, haw, haw!”

     “Yeah, the Ugly Convention’s back the other way; eh, ha, ha!”

     They were so busy between making fun of people, and drinking, they failed to notice the police car that cruised by them and they flipped it off without glancing up as it went by. It quickly made a u-turn and speed up behind them.

     

     The first indication that anything was amiss was when they were confronted by a angry-looking policeman. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I assume you wanted my attention, because you just waved at me to get me to stop for you.”

     Earle Edgar exchanged glances with Jimmy; looked at the red-faced policeman standing in front of them on the sidewalk, and shouted, “Ruwan!”

     Jimmy was caught off guard by his statement, and watched as Earle Edgar took off running down the sidewalk. Then Jimmy also started running.

     Behind them, they heard, “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” This was quickly followed by several loud 'pops!' As they rounded the corner, Jimmy felt his stomach lurch. Thankfully the policeman was a lousy shot, and Earle Edgar yelled over his fleeing shoulder,

     “Eyed hitt da taragit rayange agin, beecuz yew suk!”

 

     They kept on running until they felt sure they had left the angry cop far behind, and then they slowed to a walk. Earle Edgar grabbed a couple more beers from his jacket pocket and handed one to Jimmy. Then they both bent at the waist as they attempted to catch their breath. After they both had somewhat, and had both opened their beers, which sent a cascade of foam splashing from the shook-up beers to the sidewalk, Jimmy exclaimed,

     “Whoa, that was too close!”

     Earle Edgar answered, “Yeya butt wee shudnt haav bin scard, da gui owbviusly shud spende an lital moor tym owen da taragit rayng, an an lital les tym att da doenu�"”

     Suddenly, a different policeman came up the road towards them. Apparantly, he hadn’t seen them yet, and Earle Edgar grabbed Jimmy by the collar and pulled him into the nearest building, which happened to be an alcohol treatment center. Earle Edgar and Jimmy found themselves facing a room of clients.

     “Welcome, friends; please come in and make yourselves comfortable,” said the councilor.

     Earle Edgar quickly replied, “Wera sory, weev gott da rong adres, wee donut haav a drinken problum.”

     The councilor then said, “Well, the fact you came here tells me this really is a cry for help.”

     “Buellsheit! Eyma telin ya, wee ayant gott an drynki�"” As he was starting to say this, he flung his hand in defiance, and beer foamed from the top of the shaken-up beer he was holding and slopped on the floor. He had forgotten he was still holding it.

     The councilor pointed to a couple of empty chairs and said, “Please, you’re among friends here. Have a seat and tell the group your stories.”

 

     Mange sat in the boring silence behind the tavern. This was bulls**t; he wasn’t going to take this. He untied the rope from his collar, and trotted out into the daylight.

 

     Oren Trough had followed John Smith and Lance Devlin from the tavern down the street to the tavern, where they left their dog, and then to an alcohol treatment center, and now they were back on the street. They had stopped behind a building, and Oren snuck to a place where he could overhear their conversation. He heard Devlin say,

     “Boy, of all the places for us to duck into; I didn’t they’d ever stop chasing us.”

     “Yeya, dos dewds kan reeli ruwen!” answered Smith.

 

     Oren was unsure as to how to proceed, and like a car stuck in rush hour traffic, he needed a map. He was trying to think of what his next move should be, when Smith said,

     “Sew, yew udderstayned da plann?”

     Devlin answered, “Yeah, Earle Edgar, we’ll each use the stick under the coat trick; I’ll watch the door for police, while you give instructions to the bank teller to take all the money from our account and put it in a this suitcase; except I doubt that all of our millions will fit.”

     “Weall, weel juss haav tew maak dew wid howevur mutch muny fiyets in dar.”

     “I guess you’re right, Earle Edgar.”

     “Oakay, letts hed fer da banc,” Smith, or Earle Edgar then said.

 

     They were planning a bank robbery! Oren wondered how he should stop them. He thought, 'I have to put a stop to this, but I’m not sure how'.

 

     Oren knew if he was going to stop them, it was now or never. I’m out of time; like a clock with frozen hands, I can’t think!  He walked from his hiding place and shouted,

     “Hold on there; you two are up to no good!”

     Earle Edgar and Jimmy started, and turned to look at Oren. Earle Edgar replied,

     “Wat? Wayre diyd yew comm frum; an woo ar yew?”

     “I came from left field, like a road flare, and I’m a private detective; Oren Trough, at your service.”

     “What the hell does that mean?” asked Jimmy.

     “It means that’s my name!”

     “Not that part; the road flare out of left field part.”

     “I’m not sure, but one thing I’m sure of is that you two are planning on robbing a bank, and it’s up to me to stop you, like a silver bullet stops a mummy!”

     Earle Edgar and Jimmy exchanged looks, as if to ask each other, 'Who is this idiot?'

     Earle Edgar’s first inclination was to run, but that would mean giving up on the idea of stealing their money back. He thought of another way to go. At least it was worth a try.

     “Yew gott uss redd-hayanded. Yew cud tern uss inn, oar, yew cud joyen uss, Oreyen Trowll!”

     Why, are we coming apart? chuckled Jimmy to himself.

     “That’s Trough, which rhymes with Cough.” Then Oren started to reply sarcastically, “You’ll wish you never heard the name “Oren Trough”! I’m going to turn you guys in. I’ll sing to the authorities like a canary playing the lead in an opera for the damn�"”.  Suddenly, he thought about the pathetic amount of money he made as a private detective. What had being on the right side of the law gotten him? Debt higher than a mountain with a pauper’s ski lodge at the summit; a rented apartment that was little more than a milking shed for destitute cows; and a spackle-covered car with more miles on it than a hooker’s shorts. The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealled to him.

     I’m going for it; I’m grabbing for the brass ring!  he thought. “Say I was to go along with you guys,”

Okay; I was to go along with you guys.  Eh, ha, ha!' thought Jimmy.

     “how much would would be my cut? And by the way, I know the truth about your name; John is just an alias; you’re real name is Earle Edgar.”

     “Sssshhh; nawet sew lowed; an nevur cawl mi dat!”

     Jimmy then spoke, “And my real name is Jimmy Reno.”

     “That explains the name I overheard John, or Earle Edgar, call you. As long as you include me, you’re secret’s like something important, safe with me!”

 

     Earle Edgar had managed to avert disaster by offering to cut Oren Trough in on their scheme to hold up the bank. He wasn’t happy at all.

     “Eyema nott hapy att awl!” he told Jimmy when Oren had returned to his apartment to grab another pair of pantyhose (just why he had pantyhose is a whole different story!); and to grab 3 squirt guns he had that looked like real guns. He hadn’t thought much of Earle’s idea to use sticks in their pockets. Jimmy had been adamantly opposed to their using real guns when Oren had suggested the idea; the thought of a real gun in Earle Edgar’s hands terrified him! So the squirt guns that looked like the real thing had been their compromise. Earle turned to Jimmy and said,

     “Dat dued iz an wakin tyme bom thayats goen ta susplode awl ovar an blowe uss sci-hye!”

     Jimmy replied, “Yep, he is that; we’ll have to keep a sharp eye on him to ensure that he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

 

 

     Oren Trough was excited, now that he’d decided to choose a life of crime, like a leapard can change his mind. He thought about actually having money, instead of sometimes having to sell his blood to make it through the month. At first, he had struggled with his conscious, but now he was on board with the idea of turning to a life of crime.

 

     Oren had driven his car back to the same building where he’d left Earle Edgar and Jimmy, picked them up, and driven all of them to the bank. They parked the car, pulled on the pantyhose, and started towards it. They were stumbling along, groping their way because it was dark. They had decided to use the darkness to cover their escape, but hadn’t thought about the difficulty of trying to see in the dark with the pantyhose over their eyes. Weird shapes seemed to come at them from out of the darkness. Earle Edgar was the first to trip and plummet to the pavement, when he fell over a rise in the sidewalk.

     “Sheit, Eyea kant cee diyek!” he shouted from the ground.

     “Yeah, we need to be caref---son of a b***h!” screamed Jimmy, as he too hit the deck.

     Oren stopped and looking down upon the fallen figures, struggling to regain their feet, “Watch yourselves; like a twisted image in funhouse mirror, appearances can be not right!”

     “Wi donut yew zyp itt?” replied Earle Edgar. “Oakay, maybee wi shuld nott haav puwet dese pantryhowes owen untyl wi gowet heer, butt itts tew friken layat fer dat noww.”

     Jimmy and Earle Edgar climbed back to their feet, and Earle Edgar spoke up,

     “Eye tink Eye kan mayak owet da vaag owetlyne ov da bavc ahed, sew squrt gunns att da redy. Letts goe ovar da playan won moor tyme. Jimy, wat ar yew suposd ta dew?”

     “Once we go into the bank, I’m to stay by the front door to make sure nobody leaves or comes in.”

     “Owakay, gud; wat abowet yew Oran?”

     “My job is to help you carry all the loot we get, like a living bag!”

     “Awen yer tew kepe yer moweth shutt.”

     “Don’t you worry, Earle Edgar.”

     “Owakay, wer awl sett. Lettuce dew dis ting!”

     They staggered up to the door, and Earle Edgar said, “Kawen aniwone reed wat itt saays owen da dore?”

     Jimmy replied, “Let me take these damn pantyhose off for a second, and I’ll tell you.”

     “Owa, owakay; tayak an luk.”

     Jimmy pulled the pantyhose off of his face and glanced at the writing on the door, that they thought was the bank and read, “Gary Fredricks--Chiropractor”. He looked around in confusion, and saw that the bank was two doors down.

     “We’ve got the wrong door; the bank door is two doors to our left.”

     He then pulled the pantyhose back over his head and they and walked to the right door. They yanked it open and Jimmy stayed by the door. Earle Edgar and Oren continued on to the counter.

 

 

     “Owakay,” said Earle Edgar, brandishing the squirt gun, “Weer robin da playws; awl wi waunt iz da muny frum da acowent of Jowan Smythe and Jimy Reeno.”

     “Yeah, these are real guns that shoot real bullets and if you try to be a hero, we’ll shoot you full of real holes, like a house with a trap-door!” yelled Oren Trough.

     An incredulous Earle Edgar gave him a withering look, and hissed, “Kepe yer friken moweth shuut!”

     Oren looked right back at him and whispered, “What? I’m only trying to help.”

     “Wel, yer joweb iz ta hep mi lode upp da bewty, noww kepe yer yawp klosed!” he replied in a low voice.

     Oren’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, he nodded his response, and he thought, 'dream on, Earle Edgar, there is no way I’m touching your a**!'

     The teller behind the counter said, “We just sent most of our money to our main office, so I’m afraid we don’t have much cash.”

     “Wat? Aint dis an banc? Bancs awlways haave plenti ov muny; dew Eye luuk lyke Eye juss fel ofa da catsupp truk? Noww wi hapin ta kno dat dis acowent hayas miliens ov dolers in itt, an ifn wi donut gett itt, weer goen ta staret shuuten!” and he slid a piece of paper with their account number written on it across the counter.

     “Yeah, because we know them, but we’re not them!” interjected Oren Trough.

     Earle Edgar shot him a wicked look.

     Oren then said, “Yeah, we’ll get angry and kick all your a***s, so you’d best cough up the money, like a cat hawking up a hair-piece.”

     “Owakay, yewd betar goe helpe Jimm�"er�"da gie att da dor,” said a clearly-frustrated Earle Edgar.

     “I’ll keep my mouth shut, Earle Edg---err---I mean, I don’t have a clue as to who you are!”

     Earle Edgar turned beet-red with rage, and snapped at Oren, “Juss dew itt!”

     A motified Oren Trough slunk away to stand next to Jimmy. Earle Edgar then turned back to the bank clerk,

     “Eyema waytin; Eye wawent dat muny!

     “Look, keep your pants on, she’s telling you the truth!” A man exchanged looks with the teller.

     Earle Edgar’s hand shot to his zipper in a panic, and then he said, “Eyema fuli dresed. Eyea donut noww wat yer gayam iz; woo inn da hel ar yew?”

     At the door, Jimmy’s shoulders sagged. Why now of all times?

     “I’m the president of this bank, Howard Drain.”

     “Wat dew yew meen, shees rite?” asked Earle Edgar.

     “Denise is right; most of our cash has been shipped to the main office.”

     “Yew suspekt mi ta beeleeve yew yews an boawt?”

     Jimmy cringed.

     “No, I just meant we sent them most of our cash.”

     “Wel sheit; howa mutch dew yew haav?”

     “I’d have to look at our paperwork, but probaby not more than 5 thousand. If you’d have come a little earlier, we could have given you a lot more.”

     Sum of an bich, thought Earle Edgar. “Wel, den puwet awl yewv gott inn dis bayag!” he commanded the president of the bank, who promptly went to each till and emptied it out.

 

     He was having trouble believing that anyone would fall for his and Denise’s line of pure b******t. In their vault was half a 3 or 4 million dollars; their lie had just saved the bank almost all of that amount. It was very fortunate for the bank that John Smith, Jimmy Reno, and a 3rd as-yet unidentified moron were all dumber and more gullable than s***. Were they really moronic enough to think the bank had been fooled at all by their assinine claim that they had learned of all the money in someone else’s account, but didn’t know them?

 

     All told, he handed them a bag containing $2,532 dollars.

     “Letts goe!” Earle Edgar commanded Jimmy and Oren, and the three disappointed amateur theives left the bank, and ran back to Oren’s car.

 

     Immediately, Howard Drain picked up the phone and dialed the police.

 

     They were sitting around the kitchen table at Oren’s apartment; having left Mange tied up to the post behind the tavern until they could ditch the money; although they had expected a hell of a lot more, and the mood was somber. They had thought it would be wise for them to change clothes, so as to get out of the outfits the police would be looking for. Oren changed into a tee shirt and slacks, and Jimmy had borrowed some shorts, as his legs were too long for Oren’s pants, and a shirt that only covered down to his navel, but Earle Edgar had had to make due with the only outfit that fit him, a jumpsuit with the words, 'Devil Dan’s Love Machine'; from Oren’s friend Dan’s ill-fated idea of a truck with a waterbed built into the bed for couples who couldn’t quite afford a motel room, whom he had briefly worked for. Earle Edgar, in his new borrowed outfit, Jimmy, and Oren were staring bleakly at their meager haul from their armed robbery.

     “Well, know what do we do? We came up just a little short; you said there’d be millions of dollars, Earle Edgar.”

     “Byte mi, yew cowabraned muthar-fuyc�"”

     “Now, there’s no reason to call me names; that’s like blaming your chickens after they opened the barn door; what’s done is done,” cut in Oren.

     “Wi donute yew juss shuet da hel upp? Yer paret ov da reezon wi gowt dik!”

     “Oh sure, blame me as the boy who cried 'robbery'!”

     “Dat mayaks absilutily kno sence; wat Eyema trine ta sayy iz dat ya wer an dystaction. Mayabee ifn Eye didint haav to mayak suur yew kepte yer moweth shutt, Eye mayabee culd haav thoyt an littal cleerer, an reelized dat obveosly da wood haav an lowet moor muny owen hande thayn da pidely amowent dat wi gowet!”

 

     They had just gotten done watching the news coverage on T.V. and had heard the interview of Bank President Howard Drain, in which he had said that but for the stupidity of the three crooks, the bank would have lost millions, instead of thousands.

     Earle Edgar had given a withering look towards Oren, and started to say something derogatory.

     Jimmy quickly had said, “Now, this is not the time to point fingers!”

     Earle Edgar piped up with, “Eyema nowet poynten fingars, Eyema sayen dat ifn itt wuznt fer dis stoopid basterd heer lipen owef an disstrakten mi, weed bee welthi!”

     “Earle, pointing fingers only means us blaming each other.”

     “Wel, wen yew putt iwet lyke dat, yewr juss a*s skrewd inn da hed as Mooron Boye ovar heer!”

 

     Mange was trotting down the middle of the street, daydreaming about food, when the semi nearly hit him. He heard screeching tires, heard a blaring horn, and looked up to see a steel monster just about to plow over him and send him to oblivion. Yikes, he ran to his right, and the truck somehow missed him and went, horn still blaring, around the corner. Wow, had that ever been close.

 

 

     He cut through a vacant lot to get to some houses he had seen. The smells from one of them were driving his paws forward. He hadn’t eaten since the left-over sloppy joe’s that the normal one (relativley speaking!) and the villiage idiot had eaten for dinner the night before and had given him this morning, and he was starving. He was just about across the lot, when this total fox of a hound came trotting the other way. Mange just stared. He was trying to tell whether she was friendly or not. He couldn’t tell, but one thing he was absolutely sure about; she was hot! As she drew abreast of him, Mange tensed, ready for any kind of aggression. Their eyes met, and he felt light-headed. She was staring back, and the electricity was obvious. It was pure animal attraction.

     “Hi, there, my name’s Jasmine; what’s yours?” she barked. Even her voice was smooth as liquid gold to him.

     “Ahh, ahh, ahh...” his mouth seemed to act like he had lock-jaw or something. He couldn’t make it open, except to mumble like a young puppy. He wasn’t sure what the symptoms of lock-jaw were, or even what it was, but he was pretty sure he had it.

     “Ahh, trot here often?” he somehow managed to force from his idiot’s mouth. What kind of moronic thing was that to say?

     “Oh, I just live right over there,” and she pawed in the direction of a nearby house.

     “Oh.” Oh? 'Pull yourself together, Mange; you sound like a total moron!'

     “Ah, that is to say, the house with the gray trim?” 'See Mange; that wasn’t so hard, now was it?'

     “Yeah, that’s the one. Where’s do you keep your dog house?”

     “Oh, right now I’m cohabitating with a couple of guys; one of of them is alright, but the other is an absolute idiot!”

     “I think my owner’s looking for another dog; if you’re unhappy with your situation. She’s pretty decent, as far as people go.”

     Mange’s heart skipped a beat. Here was a total fox of a dog basically inviting him to live with her; he couldn’t believe it; “Are you sure your owner wouldn’t get mad and call the pound on me? And, are you sure I wouldn’t cramp your dog-style?”

 

     They put 'Operation Padquest' into motion. Mange would wait for Jasmin’s owner to come home from work, and 'accidentally' run through the backyard right in front of her. He pawed off his collar, so as to make himself look as much like a stray as possible.

 

 

     He heard the car coming up the drive-way. It was time. He trotted across the yard just as Missy, which he had learned was her name, pulled up next to the house. She got out of the car and started for the front door.

     Come on, notice me, he willed her. Nothing; she seemed to be completely oblivious to her surroundings. Don’t tell me she’s a female Earle Edgar! He ran closer still, after doubling back when he reached the edge of the yard. She was almost to the door.

     Come on, Mrs. Nekk, look at me!  he thought. She was reaching for the door handle. Mange could see his chance at unbelievable happiness going bye-bye. He veered towards her and plowed into her, almost sending her sprawling.

     “Oh, sorry dog; I guess my mind was far away, still at work. But then you’re just a dog, and don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you?”

     Yeah, I’m just farm-animal stupid, he said to himself. I guess my bias is showing; farm animals can understand humans too!

     “My, aren’t you a cutie!” she said.

     Mange cringed. He started wagging his tail furiously. How fricking degrading!

     “I wonder who you belong to?”

     Please, don’t make me go back to the guy with the inbred-looking face, he thought. Then immediately, no, that gives inbreeders a bad name!

     Then he thought of the fact he had no collar; no way he could be identified, unless Jimmy put a lost-dog notice in the paper, and Mange didn’t figure they would want too much attention right now.

 

     Two weeks had gone by, and in those two weeks Mange was deleriously happy. He never knew it could be like this. Whereas before, he had to avoid the jerk-weed one of his owners, now he was treated with dignity and respect by an owner that genuinely seemed to care about him. Before, the b*****d one would give him dirty little looks all day, every day. Now, the obvious love with which he was gazed at by his new owner was incredible; and he hadn’t even mentioned Jasmine. Jasmine! He saw her at all hours of the day and night. He had no complaints about that; what would he have to complain about; being around such a beauty? Everything was perfect, until the advertisement.

 

 

     It was at breakfast one morning when Missy opened one section. Her eyes scanned downward, then she exclaimed, “Oh no!”

     Mange looked up from yet-another nap he’d been taking, and looked up at his new master. They liked to think of themselves as 'master' and he let that little error in their thinking go.

     Don’t tell me that Jimmy’s looking for me; he’s alright, and I wouldn’t mind except if you get him, you also get dip-s**t!, he thought.

     “This sounds exactly like you, but then it says this one had on a collar, and you didn’t have one on. It can’t be you!”

     Thank you, whatever higher power who looks out for a lowly dog!

     “Well, I guess you’re going to be staying around, so I’d better give you a name.”

     A new name; Duke, Mauler, or...?

     “Pee-King!”

     What?  Up until that moment, he had thought you couldn’t get any dumber a name than Mange. He had been so wrong; yet-another stupid name. Well, he wasn’t going to hang around here and...that’s when he looked at Jasmine and realized he could be called 'Trouserhumper' and he wasn’t going anywhere!

     “I’ll call you King to everyone, but I’ll think of your full name!”

     That’s better!

 

 

     As their day went along, Earle Edgar, Jimmy, and Oren had come to the conclusion that the only thing to do, now that they’s started down the road of theivery, was keep on going; there was no going back. They were wanted felons anyway, so they didn’t have anything to lose. Oren was still bitching about being blamed by Earle Edgar for causing the last robbery attempt to go awry.

     “Why should I go along with you guys? I’m obviously the unwanted third spoke on the tractor-trailer rig.”

     “Oren, we don’t think of you as a drain on us,” said Jimmy.

     “Da hel wi donut; hees lyke an ded chyken arowend ar neks!”

     “I think you mean like a dead weight around our necks,” interjected Jimmy.

     “Watevar; sumpin ded, awet ani rayat!”

  

     They had scoped out the liquor store for hours; each of them reluctant to rob the place. Each time a customer left the store and the only person left inside was the clerk, they hesitated.

     “Eyea tink dis gui comin uwep da sydwalk luweks lyke an likur-dryker.”

     “Yeah, he sure does; we’d better wait until we see if he’s indeed headed for the liquor store,” added Oren.

     The guy coming down the sidewalk had been about the 30th excuse they’d used for a reason not to go. As they watched the man walk past the liquor store and keep moving, Jimmy said, feeling exposed in his borrowed outfit,

     “Well, we’ve just got to do it.” He wished like hell he had something less attention-grabbing, not to mention revealing, to wear, but he didn’t.

     “Owa, oakay!” replied a reluctant Earle Edgar.

     “I guess you’re right,” added Oren.

     They started across the street with dragging feet, each of them wishing there was someway to avoid doing this.

     Boydo Eye wysh dare wer sum waya ta avoyad dewin dis, thought Earle Edgar.

     We’re taking a huge risk; I hate being on the wrong side of the law, thought Jimmy.

     I never noticed that policeman across the way, thought Oren.

 

     The three thieves entered the liquor store waving their squirt guns in quite a threatening manner. They had switched from pantyhose to Halloween masks, grabbed from Oren’s place to conceal their faces, and Earl Edgar yelled through his mask of a spectre from beyond the grave,

     “Dew wat wi asek an yew wonet bee harumed; juss giiv uss awl da muny inn da registar!”

     The sales clerk gave them a frightened look, and reached into the till to grab the money. He also grabbed a handgun, and said,

     “Give me a minute; almost got it; ahh, all done; here you go!” and he threw the empty bag at the spectre, and raised the gun to shoot. The cowboy and fireman dove to the ground, but the spectre failed to react in time. Earle Edgar heard the click of the misfiring gun before he even realized what was happening. The clerk stood there looking at him with an incredulous look on his face. Earle Edgar finally reacted, yelling,

     “Owa noe!” and diving to the floor, where he joined Jimmy the Cowboy and Oren the Fireman.

     “Fancy meeting you here,” Jimmy said. “Since I haven’t heard a shot yet, I’m guessing that his gun jammed.”

     “Yeah, I think it’s safe to get up now,” added Oren.

     Earle Edgar jumped to his feet and yelled to the cashier who’d tried being a hero,

     “Giyav mi dat frikin guwan,” and he grabbed the weapon out of his hands; “nowet two smaret, mistar!”

     “Yeah, not very bright, like a lightbulb under a blanket!” interjected Oren.

     “Owa sheit, Eyema nott goenta lisen tew hys krap animoor!” shouted Earle Edgar, who was a little shaken up by the near-death experience.

     Oren replied defensivly, “Fine, I gotcha; well, you’re not going to have Oren Trough to kick around anymore; I’m leaving like a freight train on a track to the moon; I’ll be so far away!”

     Jimmy interjected, “Now hold on Oren, I’m sure that Earle Edgar didn’t mean it!”

     “Lyk hel Eye dydnt; dis moor onn iz juss abowet da stoopidist bast---”

     His rant was interrupted by an amplified voice saying,

     “Okay, you men inside the bank, this is the police; come out with your hands up, and I promise, no harm will come to you!”

     All three of the theives panicked at the sudden sound of a cop outside.

     “Now what do we do, Earle Edgar?” pleaded Jimmy.

     “Eyea donut know; shuet uwp an lett mi tink!”

     “Well, you better think fast because we’re in deep trouble here!”

     “Oh my god!” Oren blurted.

     “Wat?” asked Earle Edgar.

     “The cops; they must have been tipped off by the one I saw sitting in his car across the way!”

     “Dew yew mean ta tel mi dat yew saw da gui an diydnt bothar telen uss?”

     I think he’s not only meaning to tell us; he is telling us, thought Jimmy. Why was he trying to make a joke out of everything now? He needed help!

     “Wat da hel dew yew meen?”

     “I mean I noticed a cop across the way, but I just figured he was either off duty or on break, because he was just sitting there, like a statue on vacation.”

     “Wat? Yew dum-ayas---”

     “Quit blaming him Earle, we need a plan,” broke in Jimmy, “How are we going to get out of here?”

     Earle Edgar seemed to snap back to reality. “Yeya, lett mi tink. Howabout..., mayabee...nowp, Eye gott nuthin!”

     “In all the confusion, they might have lose track of the fact there are three of us, and if we make it look good, we might get away before they think about it. If I take off my mask, and act frightened; with a lot of luck, it just might work! So how about Earle Edgar, you act like you’ve taken me hostage, ah....ah...the rest of the plan I need to work out!” Oren said.

     Earle Edgar screamed, “Owa, ya nede two werk iyat owet? Yor ideeas ar suked,; yer suked; yew brane-ded peec---”

     Just then they were interrupted by the cop’s voice on the bull horn again, “Time’s up; we’re coming in to get you!”

     “Mayan, da donut mes arowned!” remarked Earle Edgar.

     “Ayant noe moor tyme ta tink, weel juss goe wid Orans plawan. Yew ceep thiyuken, Oran. Awlrite, akt lyke yer skared ov mi!”

     I don’t need to act; you scare the crap out of me, like a ghost on a rampage!  he thought. Oren wasn’t scared of him physically; he was scared of him mentally; or more accurately, of how his mind worked; or didn’t work. The dude was as unpredictable as a tree in a windstorm; the damn thing might go anywhere!.

     “Okay Earle Edgar, show me your piece, point it at me, and start out the door. In the meantime, I’ll be thinking of what we should do next.”

     “Luuk payal, Eye donut caair dat yer an gaye, butt noww iz nott da tyme ta hyt on mi; contowel yer fantecees unel wi git aweigh!”

     “What in the hell are you talking about?” Jimmy asked, as he exchanged a look with Oren.

     “Wel, dident hee asskt ta cee mi peece? Ware Eye cowem frum, dat meens hys gayat swinges boweth weighs, inn an owet!”

     “He means your gun; point your gun at him!”

     “Eye neww dat; oakay, giiv mi yor hed.”

     “Excuse me?”

     “Owa, fer Krists sayk; Eye nede yor hed sew Eye kan git ya inn a hed-lowek.”

     “Oh, of course; to grab me around the neck.”

     “Wowa, da boye gits firss pryz!” Earle Edgar said, as Oren took off his mask and leaned his head towards him, then he grabbed Oren around the neck, with a just little extra force than was nesassary.

     Oren made a choking, gurgling noise, “Ahhhch!”

     Jimmy quickly said, “Not so tight, Earle Edgar; he can’t breath!”

     Dats da poyent, Earle Edgar thought, them let up on the pressure some.

     With Jimmy right behind him, and his arm around Oren’s neck, Earle Edgar went to the open door and yelled,

     “Weer komin owet; won rong moove frum yew clowens, an mi hosteges brane mater mayeks a werk ov aret owen da sydwak!”

     Maybe the fake hostage deal wasn’t such a great idea, Oren thought.

     Then they started forward, one step at a time out of the door. The police formed a half-circle around them, but had their guns pointed down at the ground. Earle Edgar whispered to Oren,

     “Oakay, weer owet da door; nowe letts heer da reyast ov yer plann!”

     Oren replied, “Nothing seems to be leaping out at me; maybe we should just give up an take our chances with a lenient judge?”

     “Dats yer briliunt plann? Wi yew stoopid bast---”

     He never got to finish his sentence, for at that moment one of the policemen yelled for Oren to drop and lifted his gun to fire. Earle Edgar viciously grabbed Oren’s throat tighter, and yelled,

     “Eyell bloww hiyas friken hed ofe!” looking directly at the would-be hero policeman.

     The guy who was holding the bull horn looked quickly around and saw what the cop had in mind; and snapped, “Snarf, do not fire; I repeat, do not discharge that weapon!”

     The policeman reluctantly lowered the gun, and Earle Edgar and friends continued on their way. Earle Edgar made a quick decision; quick for him at least; and shouted,

     “Wi wawant an carr; ifen wi donut git itt, Eyell shuet d is muthar-fuc---”

     Mr. Bullhorn quickly spoke up. “Now there’s no reason for that; we’ll supply you with a car, just don’t hurt the hostage!”

     Mr. Bullhorn said something into a hand-held radio, and after a few minutes an older-model unmarked police car that had been rigged with a tracking device was wheeled into position. The policeman driving it opened the door slowly, got out, and walked away. Earle Edgar looked at the car with suspicion for a couple of minutes; then the bull horn broke the silence.

     “There’s your car; it’s all we can get that’s not full of police gear. It’s full of gas and is all ready to go.” To Mr. Bullhorn, it sounded lame as soon as he’d said it; nobody would buy that b******t story, unless they were a complete moron!

     Earle Edgar then said, “Eye gess itt luks oakay. Awlrite, weer taken ofe, an yew diyks haad betor not tri ta folow uws!”

     We’re in luck; this guy is a complete moron!  thought the captain.

 

     Jimmy looked with dismay on the car that had been provided. “Oh, it’s a four-door!”

     Earle Edgar whispered, “Sew?”

     “So, were going to look like the biggest dork criminals who ever---”

     “Shuet yer pye whole; weer inn an lief or deth sitiaton, an yer werryed abowet looken kool!”

     Jimmy looked at the ring of policemen almost surrounding the escape car, and replied, “You’re right; I guess for a minute, I was back in high school!”

 

     They piled into the vehicle; Jimmy driving; and Earle Edgar hissed,

     “Git uss owet of heer!”

     However, Jimmy was a stickler for seatbelt use, because it had saved his life in a wreck once, and he said, “I’m not moving this car until everyone has his seatbelt on!”

     “Owa, fer Krists sayak!” and Jimmy heard a click. “Dare, ar yew hapy noww?”

     “Yeah; What about you, Oren?”

     “Juss git da friken ting mooven!”

     “Yeah, your hostage is ready,” Oren answered.

     Jimmy put it in drive and started moving forward past the half-ring of police. They were almost up to the last policeman, when he stepped forward, raised his gun and fired. The windsheild exploded, and Earle Edgar reacted without thinking. He raised the squirt gun and pulled the trigger.

     As the stream of water arced out, he was screaming,“Ahhhh!” The breeze was blowing most of the water right back in his face, but he kept on screaming, “Ahhhh!” If it did nothing else, it kept the police frozen; reluctant to expose themselves to danger.