Part 2


Sitting there in my Accord, lights flashing behind, I discovered that--aside from my free slice of Sicilian Delight pizza sitting passenger seat--there were many perks to having been befriended by Giovanni. I had just visited that fine establishment (where he's manager) and was en route to my place when some prick cut me off.

Yeah. Some asshole in a fancy new Jetta, pulled out of a shopping plaza just in time for me to slam on the brakes. Then, as if cutting me off weren't enough, he just crept along real slow like while I clenched my teeth, impatiently waiting to re-reach fifth gear. In the meantime I noticed the vanity plates. Fucking vanity plates. You know what they said? STDNT DRVR.

Ridiculous, right? What kind of stupid idiot has STDNT DRVR as their vanity plates, I asked myself. Probably some stupid idiot named Star-dent Dreevor was the natural response. Whatever happened to creativity? Originality? You don't broadcast your name on your car; you put something like I DRIVE A HONDA across the windshield and wait for the babes to pile up.

So I did what every freedom loving American would do: I got on his ass, popped the clutch into neutral and revved the engine. It didn't have the calming effect I'd expected; I decided Star-dent should be run off the road. That would make me feel better.

And while screaming at him and his mommy in their fancy Jetta with the double steering wheels soothed my scorched nerves, it only ended up making things worse. Because I wasn't fully concentrated on my surroundings I didn't see the sheriff hiding beside an abandoned gas station; long story short, I got pulled over.

Johnny Law followed his preliminary procedure, pulled the whole license and registration bit, disappeared in his cruiser and returned before noticing the Sicilian Delight box.

"Listen up Shit Head. You can either take this ticket for speeding and reckless driving or you can gimme that slice of pizza and we'll call it a day. What's it gonna be?"

Good deal, I thought, but man was I hungry! And all there was at home were a few cans of coffee grounds I'd saved for a special occasion. And by no means was today a special occasion; I considered my options. On one hand I could peel out--leave Johnny Law stun-faced with a mouth full of pebbles and sand--while I scarfed down my slice doing sixty on the highway, and then, when the fuzz caught up, I'd wrap the Accord around an oak tree. Instant celebrity status.

Something like that would make Raymond Chandler shit his pants.

But on the other hand, I could just hand over the slice, go home, have a few bowls of coffee ground stew, and be glad the copper hadn't ticketed me. Then a new, more amazing, option reared itself. I could give up the slice, turn around, and head back to Sicilian Delight for another!
After all, wasn't I friends with the manager?

"OK" I said, "You win. Take the slice. I can just go back and get more anyways. I know the manager. No big whoop."

Johnny Law's demeanor changed to something distantly resembling friendliness.

"You know Giovanni?"

"Yeah. You too?"

"Do I!? My kid brother's only the manager of the Rent-A-Center over on Fairway Boulevard. They get together on weekends and . . . " His eyes went wide as something inside clicked. "You . . . you're him aren't you?"

"Him who?"

"The one. The one they call Dragonfly. Show me your hands."

I did so, allowing ample time for him to soak up the red indentations left from weeks of clutching Wii remote and nunchuk.

"Oh man" he said, "Oh man. I'm so sorry. Look. Forget this happened. Just go home and enjoy your pizza."

I told him I would, though under one condition, that he hunt down that Star-dent prick and run him off the road real proper like. Luckily he and I shared the same disgust for foreigners, noting the peculiar name and car, and so he was more than enthused to do me that favor. It was then that I took stock of the situation I'd just found myself in and its preceding events.

See, it all started with a simple bet involving me, Giovanni Manicotti, and a few rounds of Wii Boxing. Next thing I knew, invitations to underground parties were sent my way left and right.
Giovanni had likened the gatherings to those depicted in Fight Club, and in a way they were.

I can't tell you how nervous I was waiting for him to pick me up that first night. He hadn't given many details of the party but those two words--Fight Club--made my rectum quiver with fear. Seriously folks, think about it, have you seen a scarier documentary than Fight Club??

Wearing a white dress shirt and a new pair of purple sweatpants I stood in my driveway thinking I'd been conned when a totally bitchin' Neon came roaring up. Impressed as I was I knew my Honda could whoop his any day, but kept that to myself; no need to bite the hand that feeds you. When he'd screeched to a stop I opened the door, got in, and was greeted with a question that pumped me up more than Marky Mark & The Funky Bunch.

"You fuckin' ready to party or what?"

Never had anyone asked if I was ready to party, let alone while using the F-word. With Groff it was always "It's party time!" this or "Let's party now!" that. And just like that my anxiety was lifted! Hell I'd fight anything I had to at that point; women, children, women, you name it.

"Awwww shit yeah" I said.

"Good. Then put this on."

It was a blindfold.

I didn't understand and Giovanni, the perceptive bastard he was, picked up on it right away.

"Dragonfly, you gotta understand this. Right now you're an outsider. Not too many people are given the same opportunity to go where we're going tonight. I mean, if it were up to me, we wouldn't be doing this. But. It's not up to me. You gotta be up to par with what the rest of the Brotherhood expects. And these guys, well, they're pretty heavy dudes. I don't want to piss them off so you sure as hell don't want to piss them off either. Follow?"

Giovanni was right. Last thing I needed was a bunch of fat slobs angry at me.

"Look" he continued, "You just have to wear it for the ride. Once we're there, you can take it off."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

So whatever. I had a pretty sweet bandanna over my eyes for half an hour. I could deal with that. The trip really didn't seem too long anyways. Before I knew it we'd stopped and Giovanni was giving me the OK signal. He shut off the car and I heard the rumblings of a stereo. Having removed the bandanna I saw two rows of cars parked before a double-wide trailer. The music came from inside and like moths to flame we followed.

"Just stay cool" Giovanni said as he opened the screen door. Easier said than done. The inside of the trailer had been gutted so that it consisted of one long room with a bedroom at the far end. Between the two ends were a few couches, a fridge, a buffet table loaded with food, a beer pong table, a big screen TV, and, for some odd reason, a scale like the ones you see in a nurse's office. I tried to ignore it but it was impossible avoiding the stares cast my way. Giovanni leaned in and pointed out a few people.

"That guy there, that's Chad. He runs Fair Acres Real Estate Firm. Wanna know where we got this trailer? Look no further. Now. Standing next to him, why, that's Gene. He manages the Rent-A-Center during the day and provides us with whatever furniture or appliances we need at night."

"He was at Earl's the other night!" I cut in.

"Yep" he said, continuing his spiel, "Over there, by the keg is Marty; owner of Frosty Fresh Beverage Discount Center. Seeing a pattern here?"

I did and it wasn't pretty.

"Ugh, yeah. This wallpaper's hideous!"

"No! Remember what I said in the car about heavy dudes?"

"Yeah, but the only one here pushing 300 is Marty!"

"What I meant was these guys are pretty well connected. Get on their bad side and you'll find yourself driving three counties just to do your shopping. Capisce?"

"I capisce all right. But, you know, what does any of this have to do with Fight Club?"

"Glad you should ask" he said before turning to the crowd. Then, in that same booming voice he'd used from the night before, he spoke . "Ladies and gentlemen! The golden boy has arrived!

To Be Continued...