Friday, July 27, 2018

The Maltese Horse

Jonah came into my office. Shadows cut across his face. He looked grim under his fedora.

"Uh-oh," I said. "Did Todd ask you to help him color in his coloring book?"

"It's about color, yes," Jonah said. He narrowed his eyes meaningfully. "But... a different kind of color."

"Ah?"

I peered through the Venetian blinds. It was another hot, sticky, sweaty day at the library. The stacks gleamed with the sticky stink of broken hearts and sweaty dead bodies. Outside the rain came down like spent bullets. I scratched myself and sighed. Would this descriptive paragraph ever end?

Jonah looked around. He was dressed to the nines in his Hegel tee and basketball slacks.

"I need you to see a movie," he said. "And then report back to me."

"Yeah?" I riposted.

He slid two pieces of paper across the desk. I took them up eagerly, having fallen thirty years behind in my rent. But they were just architectural doodles. I flung them away.

"What the hell is this?!"

"You remember that taquito you bought me? Now we're even. Also, I need you to spy on Justkidding."

My heart sank. Justkidding? I wasn't sure I wanted to get involved. I mean, Justkidding was a powerful black woman and I was just a sniveling quisling of vermiculate, the white kind. While Jonah concurred with my self-description, he insisted I go see a movie called Sorry to Bother You playing at an arthouse in a seedy part of town where the dames were book-smart and the men owe each other for taquitos. My mission, should I have accepted it, was to scope out the scene and gather intelligence on possible subversive activity. Also, spy on Justkidding.

"Just remember to break all the rules," Jonah said. Then he and Hegel shook their heads, adding grimly, "Don't break any of the rules."

I went to the theater. First order of business: park across three handicap spaces. Whistling something annoying by The Fixx, I hung my mom's handicapped placard on the rearview mirror. Then I got out of my beat-up Impala and limped more-or-less convincingly to the theater entrance. In the lobby I conceived the idea of purchasing a hot dog. My stomach rumbled like a burst appendix in a dirty old bum. I was hungry.


As I stood at the counter waiting for the hot dog guy to give me my hot dog, I heard laughter--loud, familiar laughter--behind me. I didn't want my target to know I was there at the theater. This was top secret work, after all. But first I wanted to eat a hot dog. When were they going to get me my hot dog?

"Excuse me, is my hot dog...?"

"They're getting it in the back," said the dame, not looking up from her book.

I roamed the small lobby, shooting furtive glances out the theater window. Justkidding was outside, taking pictures of herself and acting as her own paparazzo. Rats, I said to myself. I can't let her see me!

I hurried back to the counter. They had my hot dog! I paid and, not wanting to risk possibly being seen by getting condiments, immediately plunged into the gloom of the theater. I went to the front. There were two rows with RESERVED taped to the seats. I assumed this was where Justkidding would be holding court. But there was still plenty of time before the talkie began, so I sat hunched down in my seat with my beautiful, beautiful...


Just then a laugh rang out. It was Justkidding! I ducked down further into my seat, gripping my warm hot dog. The laughter came closer. No, I told myself. This wouldn't do. I couldn't let her see me!

Crouching, serpentining, I made my way for the exit. I got out into the alleyway, panting, sweating, beat down by the lights of a city without pity etc.

Then, stealthy as a debutante's fart, I rounded the building and sidled my way back to the lobby. This time I sat in the rear of the theater. The lights came down and the previews came on and I nestled into my seat like a raccoon in a pile of baby puke.

Once the indifferent entertainment finished, the lights came on and the director, some guy by the name of Bootsy Collins(?), talked about his process and his feeling for horses. Then the floor was opened for questions.

A shrill voice exploded. Justkidding rose with her bullhorn and, overcoming all others like a Viking Haitian, yelled her rambling question. I dutifully recorded what she said, assuming this would go into a government file somewhere. She finally finished, crying, "Power to the People!"

I snuck out as the Q and A continued. Waiting by my transgressive vehicle was a dark shadowy figure. Was I getting a well-deserved ticket? The figure turned in the shadows. With an irritable gesture, Jonah ripped off his fedora.

"Well?" he said.

"Oh! Uh... well, I have what she did on tape."

He listened to my recording. Hatless, Hegelian, he was less than pleased.

"Oh well," I said. In my fist I gripped my cold hot dog. "At least I have my hot dog, which I haven't started to eat yet. Man, I can't wait to take a bit of my--"


Jonah slapped it out of my hands. The dog and bun flew to the pavement like a sad hot dog being slapped from a hungry person's mouth who was me.

"No," Jonah said. He shook his head. "Just, no."

"I thought you wanted me to spy on Justkidding!" I whined. "I did what you asked!"

Jonah walked away. "I was... wait for it... just kidding."

I was left with the silence of the dead, the rainy streets, and mediocre prose. I pulled my jacket tight around me. The moon shone. I went off to find the nearest taquito dealer in this crazy pitiless city.

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