|
The Five Dollar Disaster |
||
|
Sit down, light up a cigar, and listen in as Warmheart goes downtown to get his hat blocked only to discover that, when it comes to little old ladies, there is NO JUSTICE in...... |
||
Isn't that a great title? "The Five Dollar Disaster"! Sort of like a Mickey Spillane title, don't you think? Elmore Leonard would love a title like that. It grabs you right here, doesn't it? What's that? You want to hear the story? I thought you were just here to marvel at the snazzy title. Okay here goes.....The Five Dollar Disaster.
Someone tell me how I got here in this condition. What the hell happened? I feel like I was hit by a freight train, and maybe it would have been better if I had. Death, even a fiery burning in hell kind of death, has got to feel better than this. When
I awoke, the room was spinning and all I could feel was a searing pain
in my face, my chest, everywhere. I
remember that there was a policeman there, not to ask me questions but
more like standing guard in this hospital room I’m lying in now.
I vaguely recall someone trying to get past him, to get at me.
I imagine he was trying to thank me, but the damn cop would not
let him in. Then
there were others, shouts from just outside the room.
In my mental state, I could not make out what they were shouting,
but I heard my name. They
must have wanted to bring me flowers, to show that people still love
Warmheart, but they were disallowed entrance, due, to be sure, to my
poor physical state. And yet, they let you in, a kindly old lady. The
memory of what happened is winding its way into my brain as I lie here.
With each breath, a new piece of the puzzle falls into place.
The way I feel at this moment is that I would welcome death’s
sweet heavenly arms. Since
I’m surely going to pass on to the next world, I want to tell you my
story, about the events that led to….all this so that the record be
straight. You see, I
was in the right but apparently being right doesn’t mean you can
escape the vengeance of a vigilante mob. Looking
back on that fateful hour is like looking through a dark bottle into
some distant daylight. Then,
I was happy and the world seemed right.
I had gone downtown to get my hat blocked.
And to shop for a new bear trap as my old ones were getting
rusty. As I recall it was a
bright spring afternoon. There
were a lot of people on the streets and avenues, happy-go-lucky, nobody
in a hurry to get anyplace too quickly.
It was perfect. Perfect,
that is, until it happened. Oh
yes, I am starting to remember the entire incident quite clearly.
But remembering something does not necessarily mean understanding
it, and I will never understand what transpired until my dying day; if
then. Let’s just
say that my hat remains unblocked and I never did get that new
trap. There,
on the crowded sidewalk of the city, I saw it.
A five dollar bill. Such
an innocent little item when you think about it, isn’t it?
Just a little green piece of paper with But the crowd! It was the moment we all wait for, isn’t it? There they were, the crowd of people, but they had become more than just a gathering of individuals. Yes, they had become a faceless mob, a single voiced gathering whose judgment would decide the fate of both this cowardly despicable woman and me.
|
It
was a tense moment, and I reveled in it.
I knew that every move I made, every word I uttered could mean
either the throng-cheering-victory that we all crave or - if I made a
false move - it could mean a one way trip to the dank and lonely portals
of gut wrenching defeat. Or,
in this case, perhaps a one way trip to the intensive care ward of the
local hospital. My
fabulous mind raced like Parnelli Jones pulling Ole Calhoun out of a pit
stop, engine roaring, flames shooting out of his exhaust pipe.
Within seconds, plans were hatched, some tossed out, some
accepted. It was imperative
that I get this mob on my side and right now.
I thrust forward with my opening parry. “Good
citizens”, I began. “The
decrepit old woman whose hand is beneath my boot is nothing more than a
jackal.” I heard a
loud murmur coming from the mob, with women’s voices seeming to be
prevalent. This was
vital information. I knew
now that I must appeal to the woman’s sensibility.
“Her
hand rests on a five dollar bill.”
I turned to look down at the crouching woman with a look of
disgust. “A five
dollar bill that is owned by one
of you good people!” I
lifted my boot off of her hand.
The crowd grew louder, the voices resonating with hostility and
anger. I could feel it in
my blood, I was winning them over.
“I
had intended to pick it up and find the rightful owner!” I announced
sharply, “but, look, her intentions were of obvious selfish
origins.” The
woman must have known that the situation looked hopeless for her.
She gave me a look of mock anger and disgust that almost had me
fooled for a moment. Me,
who knew every emotion behind every frozen human mask.
No, I was not fooled. She
tried her return parry. “What
the hell are you talking about, you maniac”, she cried.
“That bill was mine.
I had just dropped it and I was just reaching down to pick it
up”. To add emphasis to her weak utterance, she tried in vain to jerk
her swelling hand free, but I held on.
The crowd was yelling now. Perhaps
she was winning them over! But
before she could win even one person to her side, I knew I had to act
and act fast. Again, my
mind focused and raced. You
see, a mob can shift suddenly. They
can turn on you like that (tries futily to snap broken fingers).
Oh yes, I fully intended to keep this crowd on my side
until I was certain they saw what a conniving thief the woman was.
But what to say at this crucial juncture?
Her defense had been typical in these situations.
Oh yeah, so I’m the
maniac here, huh?!. It
was that burning thought that gave me the idea that would drive me to
victory. My
voice was loud and demanding. “So,
you dare attempt to put the blame on me!
My little dear, I am only a maniac when I see senseless
plundering and thievery by worthless people like yourself.”
A roar from my crowd!
It was time to add the Midas touch to this golden moment of
victory. The people were
wild eyed, ready to strike and I wanted that strike to head in her
direction. I knew
that there were two symbols of injustice to bring to the mob’s
attention. The money
and the craving hand that attempted to steal it.
I acted! Pulling
on her hand, I lifted her to her feet and then held her hand high in the
air. “Look, people!
It is with this guilty hand that she intended to STEAL
THAT MONEY”. For
emphasis, I squeezed her old hand until the bones crunched!
Her bloody hand was aloft, a symbol of all that is wrong with the
world, aside from Rush Limbaugh.
The mob, as one, lunged forward.
This was my shining moment of victory!
But, what was this?!!
Many of them were accidentally hitting me!
Me, who was on the side of right.
On the side of justice and fair play.
I took blow after menacing blow.
I had a quick moment of realization that I had fired this mob up
to such a fever pitch that a general melee had started.
As consciousness left my body, I remember thinking “if
they’re doing this to me,
just think of the treatment she’s getting!”
With that, blackness enveloped me.
The next thing I knew, I was in this hospital bed wishing for
death. The
pain pill is taking effect, so let me tell you the most ironic part of
this whole twisted tale. As
you know, I am a person who cares deeply for his fellow man, and woman.
So, that being the kind of guy I am, I asked about the wretched
woman’s fate when I first came to.
Considering my fate, the victor, I figured she must be dead or
worse at the hands of that howling mob.
But, to my everlasting amazement, I was told that she had her
hand bandaged and was then released.
I’m fading out now, the pill is taking effect. I open my eyes again to see that your old face is full of incredulousness, distaste and disgust. I struggle to open my eyes again and I see that……wait a minute……It’s YOU! You’re the old woman! My head is spinning, but I can dimly see your cane lofted high over in the air, now coming swiftly towards my face. |
|