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iR story #2
Fragments. Fragments of insanity just like the inner workings of Randy's mind: look.
1
Rats can be quite a delicacy when done right. The biggest problem is the fur. Most of the time this can be done away with with a good burning, but when in hiding, smoke can be the biggest detractor of concealment. If you have a knife you can skin it. Or you can boil it. Most of the time though, you find yourself too hungry to care. To think I once consumed caviar at swank Hollywood parties. The drinks. The shine of the cars. The shine of their eyes. The shine of their jewelry. Everyone shined. Like stars ought to. Rats brains are like caviar. You can suck them through their eyeballs. Really, its the best part. Squirrels are too fast. Best to stick with rats. Rats.
2
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| lulz, this photoshop sucks, iR approved |
RANDY: Rip? Rip, you there? Hey buddy. I'm calling from a pay phone, I can't really hear you.
RIP TORN: That's. . . that's beehcause I wasn't talking.
A drunk Rip Torn had just finished off a bottle of whiskey and was playing around with a pistol, pointing it at things in his vicinity and killing them with his mind: KHEWW KHEWW. The phone had rung and he had picked it up, and was even now killing armies of inanimate objects.
RANDY: Listen, just listen, I"m in a real fix, but I can't talk much.
RIP TORN: I'm no sailor!
On Rip Torn's end he could hear Randy breathing heavy, as if he had recently undergone some strenuous activity, and Evi Quaid singing La Vida Loca just like a bird. For some reason he was reminded he was no sailor.
RANDY: Listen. We just evaded them. Them! Them! Those bastards, they're like ticks on a dog's back. They're like chocolate stains on a fat boy's shirt. You know they're gonna be there. You. looking. . . Just. around. . . Don't know where! They're after us. Just know that. That means they could be after you too!
The silence which ensued almost illustrated the look of confusion on rip Torn's face. He seemed genuinely perplexed.
RIP TORN: After who? After what? When! Where are the bastards!
RANDY: Just listen. Listen.
RIP TORN: Wait? You're on a payhee phone?
Even Rip Torn found it strange. He thought to ask how? How? Where? Where did you manage to find one of those things? but Randy answered him:
RANDY: Yeah, we're in Canada.
RIP TORN: That ehhsplainsit.
RANDY: Listen. They're after stars. Big stars. . . Stars like us. . . . . . Oh my God! They're probably tracing this call! I'll call you back.
Rip Torn casually hung up the phone and then went back to killing things around his home office with his mind. A picture of his first wife fell victim to his imagination and the poison of his breath: KHEWW KHEWW. The pistols deadly end scanned the room, Rip leaning back in the chair and squinting his eye as much to add to the character he played as to keep himself balanced and the room from spinning about him. A half hour must have passed, and bored with his murdering, he took up inspecting his deadly weapon. He hiccuped on occasion. The phone rang.
RANDY: Rip? Its me. Had to change location. They're after us. But look, if you just come up to Canada with us, we can fight them. Rally the troops. Bring in the greats. You know Tom Arnold right? They're after him. Chevy Chase. . . They're after everyone.
RIP TORN: What of your brother?
RANDY: Fuck him.
RIP TORN: Of your brother. . .
RANDY: Fuck him. Listen. They murdered Heath Ledger. They killed David Carradine. I know that, and because I know it, they're trying to get rid of me too. . . Oh God, I've involved you now too. Listen, they're Hollywood Star - Whackers. The Whackers. Offing us. . . Offing us. . .
RIP TORN: I do enjoy casserole.
Rip Torn, still firing at things around the room with his imagination had become overzealous, pulling the trigger he bore a hole right in his sole copy of Moby Dick. He never liked the book, so he didn't mind much. He then casually hung up, probably to make some casserole.
RANDY: Hello? . . . Hello? . . . Shit. Shit. Shit.
3
When they first walked in, I could tell something was off about them. They just had that sort of look to them, and believe me, I should know. In my fifteen years at the Blue Swallow I have seen just about every breed of scum and lowlife walk through the door, even the occasional rich fool looking to spend a night with a hooker, unknowing of the disease she was about to impart on him. I know trouble when I see it, I have a discernible eye for that sort of thing. My eye almost starts to itch, all on its own, and the second that bell over the door twinkled and the neon lights flooded the floor of the small office, I knew they were trouble.
I was itchin' fierce.
First, I must state that:
First, I must state that:
My boss has a penchant for making money, and as such he never likes to turn away business, which means his employees are never to even think of it, even as a smiling villain drools on your desk and eyes the register with hungry eyes.
With that said:
I knew I had seen them somewhere. When they signed in as Bonnie and Clyde, I knew it was a lie, but facing the boss was hardly anything I was interested in. The weekend was near. I couldn't quite recognize them, and as I looked at the man I tried to imagine him without the fat about his face, to imagine him without the wispy unkempt beard, but all of it was in vain, all I could think of was December . . . He was a memory kept yet not quite tangible enough for the mind to bring up for the eyes to see, and as such, it irritated me. Only the man spoke, his face blank and lifeless. The woman next to him seemed capable of only making squeaks and squeals, like a trapped mouse being tortured by a cat. Yet no keen eye could see any cat. Just nervous twitches. Squeaks. She was annoying too. To be honest I was happy to get rid of them.
They paid cash for one night.
They took their key and left.
In the morning the police arrived, and they asked me questions about a Randy and Evi Quaid. I described them, and they said I had described the fugitives they were looking for perfectly. They hadn't returned their key, so I assumed they were still in their room. We went down to it, and the cops entered, kicking down the door with their pistols drawn.
They found a room with chairs turned grotesquely over, some missing legs, others gutted with what one officer estimated was a six inch blade. The mirror on the wall had been shattered, it lay on the floor reflecting an army of fragmented police offers. The bed no longer resembled a bed, but more a fire pit, as scorch marks emanated from the center of the Sealy Posturepedic. The television was gone, even though it was bolted to a dresser. Now that I mention it, the dresser was gone too. All the towels were missing, even the Gideon's Bible.
It was then the officer said:
"Well Earl, we've got another one."
Earl was his partner.
4
Dear Dennis,
I just want you to know what a cocksucker you are. I want you to know that I know you've always had eyes for Evi. I remember than night in January. I remember everything. Evi remembers too. I know you've spoken with them. I know you've told them all about me, I know they've told you they're going to kill me. I know you don't care. You jealous bastard.
Their control runs deep. They've taken our home and turned the world on us. We weren't running. We're not crazy. We're surviving. We're targets. They've sought to make an example out of us. Them and everyone else. He'll, you're probably one of them. I'll probably tear this up when I'm done with it. I just wanted you to know you're a cocksucker. What a shitty little brother. I knew you were always jealous, but this is just ridiculous.
With that said:
I knew I had seen them somewhere. When they signed in as Bonnie and Clyde, I knew it was a lie, but facing the boss was hardly anything I was interested in. The weekend was near. I couldn't quite recognize them, and as I looked at the man I tried to imagine him without the fat about his face, to imagine him without the wispy unkempt beard, but all of it was in vain, all I could think of was December . . . He was a memory kept yet not quite tangible enough for the mind to bring up for the eyes to see, and as such, it irritated me. Only the man spoke, his face blank and lifeless. The woman next to him seemed capable of only making squeaks and squeals, like a trapped mouse being tortured by a cat. Yet no keen eye could see any cat. Just nervous twitches. Squeaks. She was annoying too. To be honest I was happy to get rid of them.
They paid cash for one night.
They took their key and left.
In the morning the police arrived, and they asked me questions about a Randy and Evi Quaid. I described them, and they said I had described the fugitives they were looking for perfectly. They hadn't returned their key, so I assumed they were still in their room. We went down to it, and the cops entered, kicking down the door with their pistols drawn.
They found a room with chairs turned grotesquely over, some missing legs, others gutted with what one officer estimated was a six inch blade. The mirror on the wall had been shattered, it lay on the floor reflecting an army of fragmented police offers. The bed no longer resembled a bed, but more a fire pit, as scorch marks emanated from the center of the Sealy Posturepedic. The television was gone, even though it was bolted to a dresser. Now that I mention it, the dresser was gone too. All the towels were missing, even the Gideon's Bible.
It was then the officer said:
"Well Earl, we've got another one."
Earl was his partner.
4
Dear Dennis,
I just want you to know what a cocksucker you are. I want you to know that I know you've always had eyes for Evi. I remember than night in January. I remember everything. Evi remembers too. I know you've spoken with them. I know you've told them all about me, I know they've told you they're going to kill me. I know you don't care. You jealous bastard.
Their control runs deep. They've taken our home and turned the world on us. We weren't running. We're not crazy. We're surviving. We're targets. They've sought to make an example out of us. Them and everyone else. He'll, you're probably one of them. I'll probably tear this up when I'm done with it. I just wanted you to know you're a cocksucker. What a shitty little brother. I knew you were always jealous, but this is just ridiculous.
Big Bro,
R.Q.
Randy took the hand written note, smeared about the edges, soggy from the sweat on his hands and stared one last time. He must have read it thirty times. He tore it into pieces, and as the soap and grimy water from a Lexus getting a luxurious bath washed down the rain gutter, he tossed them in, and the waters carried the pieces with it, down and off towards the ocean.
5
SBPD Arnold BARRY #3528
09-18-10
7:20 PM
I was on patrol when I received call of a 10-31. Arriving on the scene I called for backup and proceeded towards the residence. During an interview with the family they claimed they had heard noises from their guest house and suspected people of squatting there.
200 yards span between the house and the guest house. A search of the perimeter revealed only one entrance into the guest house in front, and all of windows were blacked out. Officers Gutierrez and Smith arrived on the scene providing backup. Knocking on the door brought no response and after the necessary allotment of time we proceeded to use force. The door did no budge at first, but with the help of Officer Gutierrez we managed to open the door and enter the residence. Pieces of an outdoor jungle gym had been dismantled and propped up against the door. Furniture within the guest house had been destroyed, along with the personal effects contained therein.
The kitchenette was empty, along with the two other adjoining rooms. Officer Smith searched the bedroom where there two suspects, Randy and Evi Quaid were found laying on the floor unresponsive.
Paramedics were called in to the scene. When they arrived Evi stood up and tried to evade custody. She ran outside and dove into the pool. She swam down to the bottom and did not come up until she needed air. Upon reaching the surface she was promptly arrested. Randy was found to be merely asleep.
Suspects were separated and interviewed individually. Neither seemed particularly nervous, though they were worried about the state of the home.
Randy revealed their ruse was to feign death, and then escape when the police weren't looking, and that he would have ran as Evi did, had he not fallen asleep.
Evi denied any knowledge of breaking and entering, claiming that her and her husband have owned the home since the early nineties. The homeowner provided documentation disproving this claim. The home was bought from another man, whom the Quaids recognized as the purchaser of their home in the mid-nineties, yet they still claimed the home was theres. Neighbors had no information on the situation, but were kind enough to offer tea cakes and coffee.
Both Randy and Evi Quaid were detained at 8:45 p.m. on 09-18-10.
ARRESTING OFFICERS:
Arnold Barry
Johnathan Gutierrez
Wynona Smith
6
09-18-10
7:20 PM
I was on patrol when I received call of a 10-31. Arriving on the scene I called for backup and proceeded towards the residence. During an interview with the family they claimed they had heard noises from their guest house and suspected people of squatting there.
200 yards span between the house and the guest house. A search of the perimeter revealed only one entrance into the guest house in front, and all of windows were blacked out. Officers Gutierrez and Smith arrived on the scene providing backup. Knocking on the door brought no response and after the necessary allotment of time we proceeded to use force. The door did no budge at first, but with the help of Officer Gutierrez we managed to open the door and enter the residence. Pieces of an outdoor jungle gym had been dismantled and propped up against the door. Furniture within the guest house had been destroyed, along with the personal effects contained therein.
The kitchenette was empty, along with the two other adjoining rooms. Officer Smith searched the bedroom where there two suspects, Randy and Evi Quaid were found laying on the floor unresponsive.
Paramedics were called in to the scene. When they arrived Evi stood up and tried to evade custody. She ran outside and dove into the pool. She swam down to the bottom and did not come up until she needed air. Upon reaching the surface she was promptly arrested. Randy was found to be merely asleep.
Suspects were separated and interviewed individually. Neither seemed particularly nervous, though they were worried about the state of the home.
Randy revealed their ruse was to feign death, and then escape when the police weren't looking, and that he would have ran as Evi did, had he not fallen asleep.
Evi denied any knowledge of breaking and entering, claiming that her and her husband have owned the home since the early nineties. The homeowner provided documentation disproving this claim. The home was bought from another man, whom the Quaids recognized as the purchaser of their home in the mid-nineties, yet they still claimed the home was theres. Neighbors had no information on the situation, but were kind enough to offer tea cakes and coffee.
Both Randy and Evi Quaid were detained at 8:45 p.m. on 09-18-10.
ARRESTING OFFICERS:
Arnold Barry
Johnathan Gutierrez
Wynona Smith
6
"Hi, I'm Evi."
His mind replayed memories of her. Of when he first met her, on the balcony on the twenty second floor:
"You know, they say mockingbirds have the prettiest song. But they are wrong." She hung over the railing, staring down at all the ants beneath her without a worry at all. She smiled though she seemed to be teetering over the edge. Jesus, she's smiling. . . "I much prefer humming birds." She said, and then started humming and moving all about the balcony. "I also like it when crows laugh."
It was then that he knew for certain, that he was in love with her. Though there were other people at the party, he only noticed her: this humming bird moving ten times faster than everyone else, this humming bird living faster than everyone else, an exotic dart shot through the monotony and grey that was his everyday of this whole life thing in dreary Los Angeles. What could such an exotic bird be doing in such a black and white jungle as this? Oh I forgot, they're the only kind left. If only he could catch her.
Of when she would sing, always singing, no matter what it was she was doing. Cooking, cleaning, fucking. Always singing, and with a song for every moment.
Of when they first went on the run:
"Tis a lovely day don't you think?" She said. She was wearing that white cotton shirt without a bra, and a skirt that left little to the imagination.
"Yeah, not too bad." The gas station attendant said. He was in his thirties, and not really her type, but he didn't know that. I knew that.
"And you cooped up in here all day. Don't you ever get to come outside and play?" She said, with the littlest hint of mischief on her face. I would take all I could get.
"Uh, no not much. Got to work. But I do get off in a few hours." He replied. Smiling. The fucking jerk-off.
"Ohh really now? Well isn't that exciting. What is there for a girl to do around here?" She leaned in closer, to allow him to better inspect her features.
"Well I do enjoy the bar down the road, on 12th and Washburn." He said after looking and liking what he saw.
"Oh, well see you there." And then on the signal he would come up from the back of the store, and walk up to her side nice and polite, to share a moment with the poor confused fellow behind the desk. They would pay for their gas and leave. Outside, in the car, they would take everything out of his pockets, mostly gum and candies, but also bigger stuff like beef jerky and a handful of doughnuts. She was always doing stuff like that. Always conning people. She was like an actor, much like he was, only she was carefree enough to change characters on a whim, in a instant, mid-monologue, she was free to do as she pleased, and he felt she was damn good at it, too.
Of her favorite television show: The Jeffersons. Of her favorite color: puke green. Of her favorite medications: Zoloft and whiskey, Cocaine and Mimosas (for breakfast.) Of the dancing at the Beverly Hills Hilton, beneath the overhang of the ornate ceilings. Just he and her, two wackos in a cuckoo's nest. . .
7
Now.
"So, just where are the defendants?" The judge peered over his spectacles with tired and slightly annoyed eyes. They fell upon the Quaid's lawyer, who's calm and professionalism was slowly giving way to a noticeable nervousness seen in the shifting of his eyes and the biting of his nails.
"Well. . . your honor. . ."
"Yes?" He asked abruptly, almost to cease any excuse that happened to be forming in his mind.
"Well, I don't know." He confessed.
The judge pondered, a great sigh emerging from his person. Swelling. Silence. The lawyer thought to himself, mostly of the tail by the pool in Las Vegas. The judge thought to himself, mostly of last nights roast beef dinner. Home fried potatoes and asparagus. Delectable. The judge was a fat man.
"Well, I must say, I've never seen such a blatant disregard for the judicial system. I understand that Mr. Quaid has been in many a film. I know he's a figure of National Lampoon. Well National Lampoon is a buffoon. I can only assume that the Quaids and their history of ignoring court dates is indicative of their contempt and vanity -- as if somehow their celebrity status will forgive their actions away from the silver screen. Yes well, unfortunately for them, we are living in reality, and besides my mind fails to remember the last film Randy did, it was so long ago."
"Actually sir, It was..." The lawyer started to say.
"I don't want to hear it. The point is that justice should know no color, no race, no religion, that justice should not have loopholes and breaks for those who feel they're more privileged than others. May it free the main wrongly in chains, and cut the hands of he who tries to steal. Your clients seem to think that the rules do not apply to them. That because of some made of imaginary enemy is out to get them that its okay to skip out of hotel rooms, after destroying them, and that it is perfectly logical for them to squat in a home that is not theirs. Up until now, the courts have shown their understanding. They have shown their soft backsides. But alas sir, I shall not be the same. As such I wish to issue bench warrants for both Randy and Evi Quaid, at 50,000 dollars bail each. We will reconvene October 26th. That is all."
His hammer banged through the courtroom, and with that Randy Quaid and Evi once again cemented their fugitive and regally retarded status.
The timeline goes like this:
Sept 24, 2009: Randy and Evi Quaid are arrested in Texas for running out on a hotel bill in California.
October 29, 2009: Randy and Evi Quaid fail to show up to court. Bench warrants are issued.
April 12, 13 2010: Again Randy and Evi Quaid fail to show up to court.
April 14, 2010: Arrest warrants issued for Randy and Evi Quaid. Couple forfeits 40,000 in bail money.
April 26, 2010: Quaids actually make it to court.
April 28, 2010: Sanger, the Quaid's attorney resolves the case. Case thrown out due to lack of evidence. Evi sentenced to 3 years probation and 240 hours of community service.
September 18, 2010: Quaids arrested for breaking and entering. Suspected of squatting in their old home, and reportedly did 5,000 dollars worth of damage to the home. Bail set at 50,000 each.
September 19, 2010: Quaids post bail, released.
October 18, 2010: Bench warrants issued, Quaids miss court AGAIN.
October 22, 2010: Quaids arrested in Vancouver. Apparently the jumped the border fearing persecution from a group of "Hollywood star - whackers." Randy proceeds to claim they killed Heath Ledger, and may have even had a hand in David Carradine's death.
October 27, 2010: Quaids released.
love,
iR
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