Chapter Fifty Six

My brain was feasting on the facts and figures that Cy was regurgitating through the night. I hadn't realized that my blockage of numbers had broken free . It felt really good to remember and to not have the numeric figures jump up on the page and then scamper off like ants. We had gone from discussing how much money I'd managed to sock away before my accident with the chicken, which by the way was nothing to sneeze at, to the large purchases made on the promises and down-payments of my investors. Cy had layed out a litany of product endorsements for me to approve or dismiss. I was having real "Marty" fun!

Cy opened up a portfolio of movie scripts that he had received from potential clients that he wanted me to look over. He was interested in becoming a producer of a major motion picture. There was the "Swoosh" sound of pages turning as he leafed through the manuscripts. The noise came from Cy's mouth, not the paper.

"Here's one about a man that builds an automobile engine that runs entirely on pee." He could hardly contain his excitement. "The big oil companies try to kill him, and the carmakers try to get the license to the design so they can bury it." He took the cigar from his teeth and stared at me intently. "It's called Urine Trouble."

There was a lengthy pause as we gazed at one another. I could not muster a reaction. He tossed the script to the floorboard. "Plop!" he said.

"Here is one about a professional baseball pitcher that gets abducted by aliens. During the course of his kidnapping they reverse a couple of bones in his forearm and he develops the nastiest pitch ever seen. If you can make contact with the ball, it bounces right off the bat and into your forehead." I studied Cy's forehead just to make sure it wasn't based on a true story. "This one is called Screwball."

Pause. "Plop!"

"Ok, this one is a little more cerebral. There is this mean guy that commits a murder and gets away with it. He gets sick and the Doctors discover he has a brain tumor. After they remove it he becomes a really nice fellow, but he is haunted with the knowledge that he killed his wife. A year later he falls in love with the policewoman doing follow up on the crime he's responsible for. She gets all caught up in a moral dilemma when he finally confesses his deed."

"Wow, that sounds pretty good! How does it end?"

"That's something the author needs to work on. Not all movie scripts end up going to the screen with the same endings. I'm not at all happy with the payoff here."

"Let me guess. I would say that since she's a good cop, she talks him into turning himself in and they give him a break because of the medical circumstances." I held my hands up in a "Voila" styled wave.

"Not exactly. She bends the facts to implicate a guilty murderer who had escaped conviction from an earlier crime in which she had botched the investigation and he got off on a technicality. She and the real killer start a wonderful life together."

"That sounds a little immoral, but still compelling."

"Plop!" He threw the script to the floor in anticipation." Then the guy grows a new brain tumor and kills her."

I scratched the scar on my head.

"Anybody need a Starbucks?" Ted called from the front seat. Serge was behaving himself, with his arms around Ted's waist and staring up at him with affection.

"I could use a break. How long until we get to Louisville?" I asked.

"Almost there, but we have a lot of things to get done as soon as we arrive. We better stop now and get everything adjusted." Serge reached up and slipped Ted's hat off of his head and placed it on his own.

Ted looked different without his hat. This is the first time I'd seen him without it on. I studied his reflection in the rear view mirror with new interest. He had short, wavy brown hair that was matted down on his skull. I had just assumed all along that he must be bald, this revelation came as quite a surprise to me. His eyes met mine in the mirror and they shifted left to right in a nervous reaction. I got the feeling that he didn't want me to see him without his hat. He tried to wrench it off of Serge's head but the monkey had decided not to give it back.

"Let go you little bastard." I was concerned about Ted's sudden disdain for Serge's antics. The wrestling became more pronounced and Serge squawked with displeasure. "Let go you dirty little motherfucker!" The car swerved dangerously. Ted's eyes kept shifting from the monkey, to the road, and back to me. "Give it back!"

Right before the car hit the tree and I was thrown 200 yards from the wreckage, a streetlight illuminated Ted's entire face. The hat had been hiding an unusual scar just below his hairline. It looked very familiar to me.

It was my scar.

Chapter Fifty Five

"Which is better the Seelbach or the Brown? Then get me series of suites in the Brown, enough for 20, 25 people. I want a welcome basket in every room...You know, fruit, Champagne, caviar, the works...And chicken...lots of chicken..and leave the buckets...No no not from the kitchen, I want red and white stripes everywhere. Now, get me a deluxe suite on another floor, same items, but I also need guns...you know...pistols, AK's, shotguns...I don't care, just get them, about 14 and plenty of ammunition. Oh yea, I need a really fast car, something sporty but expensive...not a Porsche....American...get me a Vette...or a Jaguar...what?....you're kidding...where do they make that?...no shit?.....forget it...get me one of those modified Mustangs...a Saleen. Ok, that's it for now...uh wait...I need a lot of bananas...lots.....bananas.....just do it..and one more thing..I need some nice suits...30....Marty turn around for me...size 40 long 32 inch waist 33 inseam...Rolex watches...boxer briefs....and hats...many hats...fedoras, berets, cowboy,baseball, medium..socks, all colors. That's it, I'll call you back if I think of anything else....click." The "click" came from Cy's mouth, not his phone. He actually said click before he hung up. He closed the cell phone and handed it back to his monkey. "Don't slobber on it Serge, you keep licking my phone and I'm not going to kiss you anymore. Serge the chimpanzee curled his bottom lip and hung his head.

Ted shook his smiling head in amazement. "What did I tell you? Isn't he fucking incredible Marty?"

"Marty, I'm your agent Cy Blumenthal." He extended his fat, calloused hand to shake and pulled it back quickly. He momentarily forgot he was holding a lit cigar. He shoved the stogie in his mouth and it fit perfectly in between the enormous gap in his front two teeth. The big fat mitt came flying right back at me. My hand felt small inside of his and I sensed a burning pain from the strength of his grip. The shake was so heartfelt that his Cowboy hat rocked up and down on his great big head as he pumped. "That is, if you'll have me. Ted says you really need help, and I'm here to show you my stuff!"

"Uh....I don't know if I really need a..."

"Were you listening to me back there Marty?" Ted was aggravated. "You, of all people need an agent and Cy is the best...aren't you Cy?"

Once again the Cowboy hat rocked up and down, this time to indicate the affirmative.

"Now if you want Marty, I can let you off right here in the middle of Shitsville and you can make your own way back to the world, but I don't think you wanna do that. Do ya?"

"No Ted. Cy would you mind?" I looked down at our clasped hands and Cy let go in recognition. "I would just like to make a few decisions on my own if you don't mind. I've been at your mercy for I don't know how long now, and I want some of my autonomy back, if you know what I mean."

"No Marty, I don't know what you mean. You are a lost individual in a world that wants to eat you alive right now. Some people think you're a God, Hell, some people think you are God. Some people love you and aren't even sure what you look like. Some people want to kill you. There are millions of people right now who just want a piece of you. Autonomy doesn't exist for you and won't ever exist for you, get used to it. All you can hope for now is to live long enough to do the things you are supposed to do before you die. All you can hope for now is enough privacy to change your underpants alone."

I was a little surprised by this revelation. I thought about boxer briefs for a moment.

"I took you apart like watchmaker cleans a watch. Don put you back together with the skill of an artist. The only thing that didn't go back into your body was all the crap that you were carrying around inside you. Let me tell you there was enough crap to fill one of those super-sized Hefty bags. Yes, you need to make decisions on your own....Except when I make a decision for you. You have an agent and his name is Cy Blumenthal and he has a monkey named Serge. We are going to Louisville together and you are going to face your enemies. When you're done with that, if you survive, you are going on tour and recording an album..."

"I made you a deal with Virgin records, they gave you your own company." Cy took the cigar out of his teeth when he spoke and shoved it right back when he finished.

"Is that a Bolo tie?" I asked Cy. He shook his hat, yes.

"And, once again, if you survive, you will seek your own truth and find the true meaning of life, and THEN you'll die." Ted's face was beet red. He hadn't taken a breath in quite some time.

The silence in the car lasted for several minutes before Ted hit the deer.

"12 pointer!" Cy's head whipped around to view the carcass hitting the pavement.

"What do I have to say to get through to you? You want me to pull over and get the tire iron out again? I will...God help me I will!"

"Marty come on back and sit with me and we can go over a few things. Serge, you go sit up with Uncle Ted." Cy waved towards the front seat and Serge climbed over.

Ted's face returned to it's normal gray palor and a smile crossed his lips as the chimp put his arms around him. "I love the monkey."

As I crawled over the bench seat, Cy pulled out a bulging file with Marty embossed in gold on the cover. Below my name was an icon. A chicken leg.

"You know Cy, I'm getting pretty tired of the Chicken thing."

"I just had a discussion like this with one of my other clients. I got sick of his whining and I dropped him for you. As a matter of fact I dropped all of my clients for you."

"Really?" I snickered. I didn't believe Cy had any other clients.

"Yeah, he told me he didn't like his nickname anymore."

"Really, what's his nickname?"

"The Boss."

"Oh." I said. That was the same nickname as the international recording sensation Bruce Springsteen. What a coincidence I thought.

Cy opened up a folder with pictures of mansions in it. "I took the liberty of buying you a few houses. Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, and Loogootee, Indiana."

"Home of the winnigest high school basketball coach?"

"The same......sign here."