Connecticut Casino Cocktail Waitresses Fight Against High

Continuing… (It's Part 6 in the saga, I fucked up. Sorry.)
So, after a few re-fueling and impromptu cigar-purchasing stops in South and Central America, we wheel up to the deserted jetway at LAX.
“Thought we were going to Elmendorf?” I asked.
“This isn’t it?” the pilot replied, feigning worry.
“No.”, I replied, “Looks like California. Fruits and nuts. All around. What’s going on? One minute we’re off to Texas, then Cali, then Texas again, now we end up here at the California airport of the iconic tower.”
“Yeah, it’s confusing enough haulin’ civilians around. But when we get a call from Virginia, we tend to comply without any questions,” the pilot explains.
“Aw, shit!”, I sort of exclaim, “Rack and Ruin called?”
“Yeah”, the pilot replies, “Figures you’d know these guys. They said they were closer to LAX rather than Texas and had us divert here. In fact, you look over there, see that dark blue Chevy? That’s them; and evidently, your ride.”
I tipped the airman from earlier a couple of cigars as he helped me with my gear off the plane and into the trunk of Rack and Ruin’s plain-Jane blue late modeled Chevy. Had to move the Sidewinder Missiles off to one side, though.
“Most honorable Agents Lack and Luin!” I quipped in my faux-racist greeting. “What the hell, guys? I’ve got to get to Japan and get some newly rigidified digits.”
“Let’s see your hand”, Agent Rack asks. “Nasty.”
“Yeah”, I sigh “And with the medicos in South America and their penchant for plaster, I don’t so much have a left hand as more of an ankylosaur tail.”
“Or Thagomizer”, Agent Ruin tittered. “Anyone gives you grief, and one upside the head should set them right. Or dead.”
“You’re a riot, Ruin.” I replied, “But not entirely incorrect.”
We all agreed that I really didn’t need any extra accouterments to make myself look more dangerous. I mean with my severe haircut, stern beard clip, and perpetual ‘Go fuck yourself’ scowl.
“Yeah”, I replied, stroking the aforementioned beard, “I just can’t get that. I’m such a people person.”
After Agents Rack and Ruin finished drying their eyes from laughing what I thought was en extremis, we finally got down to business.
“So, what’s the skinny, guys”, I asked. “New marching orders?”
“No. Not as such”, Agent Ruin said, still sniggering over my ‘people person’ comment.
I see we’re moving. Agent Rack is just driving casually, like Chewbacca when they were waiting to see if the Empire went for that expensive Bothan code.
“Then, what?” I asked, getting a slight bit piqued.
“Well”, Agent Ruin noted, “When you went to South America, you took some of your artillery collection with, correct?”
“You know I did. You even made some snide comments about my personal choice of sidearms and their ‘excessive’ calibers, if memory serves”, I reiterated.
“And if you are proceeding normally, as you always do, they’re all nestled in the trunk of this very car. All cleaned, quiet, unloaded, and smelling sweetly of Hoppe’s Number 9 and WD 40, correct?” Rack inquired.
“Yes?” I cautiously venture.
“Well, ya’ big dummy, do you think they’re going to let you saunter into Tokyo armed like the Third Fleet?” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Um…well…I do have a Diplomatic Passport.” I ventured.
“That’s not going to work this time.”, Agent Ruin said, shaking his head. “They’re tighter than Dick’s Hatband about sidearms. Want to bring in your Rigby SXS .500 Nitro Express double rifle? Not a problem. Sidearms, especially in your alien hunting calibers, nope.”
Well, that’s just….*dandy!”, I reply, semi-put out. “Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Ever think that’s why Ruin and I are here, now?”, Rack asks.
“And here I thought it was just so you could bask in the warm glow of my fucking wonderful personality. Or that you actually cared about me as a real goddamn human”, I joshed.
“Ummm…yeah”, Rack replies, “There’s no way we can answer that without going on some Deadpool list. “
I agreed.
“OK, here’s the deal: you get your sidearms, ammunition, speed loaders, brass knuckles, Asp, laser range finders, Sap, Zeiss scopes, Kukri, Wisconsin Cheese Whittler, Buck folding skinner, Marine K-Bar, those two ultra-illegal Cheburkov Cobra titanium switchblades...”
“Three. Olga the KGB lady sent me one for Geologist’s Day.”
“Ahem. Those three ultra-illegal Cheburkov switchblades, that Wyoming Speedholer, your MASER Time-Distance Computer, garrote, pocket rail gun and whatever else lethal you carry and deposit it in the iron box in the trunk. We’ll ensure that it’s delivered to Esme post-haste. And by post-haste I mean one of our guys will deliver it personally.”
“Well…I suppose”, I conceded, “But best send someone who’s been to the house recently. I don’t know how much bigger Khan has grown since I left on this little fantasy trip. Wouldn’t want a star on the wall in Langley for someone eaten by a mastiff. Want to see a picture….Oh, bother. That’s right. My phone’s at the bottom of fucking Lake Maracaibo.”
“Good point”, Ruin interjects, “Guess we’ll do a little road trip and deliver it ourselves. Best call Esme and let her know what’s going on.”
“I have no objections to your proposals. Please give Esme this when you see her. I had some luck in the Calaveras Casino and if I don’t send her some mad money. Ouch. She’ll never forgive me for not taking her along to Japan.” I asked.
“But I thought Esme hated Japan? Too crowded and too ‘fussy’, I believe was her estimation.” Ruin asked.
“Yes, but once she saw the Ginza, all bets were off. Shopping the likes of which even Allah himself hasn’t seen.” I replied, slowly shaking my head.
“I see”, Ruin said, “Well, since you’re off to Sapporo, perhaps you can do a recon for Esme on the shopping there.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”, I smiled, “Now I know why I let you guys hang around with me.”
So, as advertised, I am now standing on the tarmac at LAX, basically feeling naked.
“Can’t I keep just one switchblade?” I moaned to Agent Rack.
“Go ahead, if you’re really keen on donating it to Japanese customs”, he replied.
“Fuckbuckets.” I groused.
“There, there now. That’s the usual Dr. Rocknocker of which we’re all so fond.” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Remember, you do have that wallet-sized credit card gizmo from the Company. So you’re not entirely ‘naked’. Think of it as an emergency breechcloth.” He smiled.
“I’d like a larger model if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.” I joshed.
After Agents Rack and Ruin stripped me metaphorically naked as they de-weaponized me, they handed me a Business Class ticket to Tokyo, and a pass to the Japan Airlines Hospitality Suite and Lounge.
“So sorry you guys can’t hang around and have a few farewell snorts”, I chided, “But you’ve got a bit of a drive, so best be off before the weather turns to shit.”
“Who says we’re driving?” Agent Rack asked as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the ready and waiting C-130 cargo plane currently taxiing slowly in our direction.
“Well, in that case”, I smiled even more broadly, “Let’s invite the flight crew to join us. That’ll make the flight home all that much more interesting.”
After near tear-jerking farewell sentimentalities, i.e., “Piss on you”, “Get stuffed” and “Take a fuckin’ hike”; Agents Rack and Ruin, my weapons and the Agency’s plain-Jane Blue Chevy were all nestled snugger than buggers in ruggers in the belly of the thundering C-130.
Now truly on my own, I trudge the hundred thousand or so centisteps to my departure terminal, make a quick recon that my flight’s still slated to go in a generally westward direction, and hightail it to the nearest courtesy desk to ask for a motorized cart to take me and my remaining luggage to the JAL Hospitality Suite.
Hey. I’m old, infirm, and currently among the walking wounded.
Anyone that disagrees risks an Ankylosaur tail club swat or Thagomizer to the skull.
Finally ensconced in the JAL Hospitality Suite, Polo Lounge of course; I was drinking Tokyo Teas (3 oz. vodka, 2 oz. gin, 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. Midori, good splash of lime juice, a slight splash of 7-Up (diet, of course), over ice with a lime wheel) with Pabst Blue Ribbon Extra 1844 chasers and Hangar One’s “Fog Point” vodka on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of two thousand and twenty-something, Common Era…
I’ve already called Esme and we’ve had a good, long chat. She still managed to give me her shopping list for whenever I find myself bored on the Ginza.
She’ll be shocked when she learns that I’m not going to be in Tokyo long, but have 1st class tickets on the Bullet Train to Sapporo. Still, I’ll probably find myself in Pole Town or the Stellar Place there, trading piles of US greenbacks for locally produced Japanese curios and clothing.
I can hardly wait.
I order another round of drinks, as the wonderful attendants in the Hospitality Suite were bored out of their skulls because of the COVID-induced drop-in customers flying anywhere that requires a hospitality room stay, and I was virtually the only one around. They tried their level best to outdo each other when it comes to Japanese efficiency and friendliness.
After a couple of hours, they ask if I would like something from the grill, as the day chef had “the COVID” and the night chef just arrived. A quick perusal of the menu and I chose a 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse and another round of drinks.
I usually don’t like to eat too much before I fly, but JAL tells me the flight is going to be virtually empty, something like <121 pax, all told, so restroom availability shouldn’t be too much of a concern.
Plus, who am I to say no to a free, blue 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse?
There was a bit of difficulty conveying to the chef through the intermediaries of the hospitality just how I wanted my steak.
“Blue,” I said.
“Brue?” was the reply.
“Rare. Very, very rare.” I continued.
Look of total bewilderment.
I drag out my Personal Language Pro, speak “Steak, very, very rate” into the infernal gizmo, and hand the contraption to the attendant.
“珍しい、非常に珍しいステーキ?”[ Mezurashī, hijō ni mezurashī sutēki?]
“Raw! Nama!” I say, louder than need be.
They toddle off to find the chef.
“How is it sir, that you would like your steak cooked?” he asks.
“Very rare. Just a minute or two per side. Inside still cold.” I instructed.
All I got for the trouble was a puzzled smile.
“Give me the language gizmo…” I type in a few words…
“お尻を洗い、角をノックオフして、ここから出してください”
[O shiri o arai,-kaku o nokkuofu shite, koko kara dashite kudasai.]
“Wash its ass, knock its horns off, and walk it out here.”
“OH!” as the lightbulb pops. “Rare. Got it! Excellent!” the chef laughs and zips back to the kitchen.
Like I always say, I’m nothing if not the international ambassador of amity and goodwill.
“Crack tubes!”
Dinner was fantastic. I do wish I could have somehow mailed the Porterhouse bone back home for Khan. After that hambone incident, he might even taste it.
Finally on the plane, in an almost empty Business Class, the flight captain informs us that we’re headed to Haneda Airport Tokyo and anyone not headed in that direction better ‘haul ass off’ the flight or forever hold their peace.
Late-night international flights tend to be a bit more wooly than your average Chicago to Omaha gig.
Especially when the flight’s damn near empty and we have the next 12 hours or so to be best friends.
We taxi, turn and head into the wind. I’m doctoring up a couple of dossiers and keeping my personal cabin attendant, Luna since there were two of us in Business and two business flight attendants, busy with her trying to play ‘Stump the Geologist’.
“I’ll bet you never had this before.” She beamed and handed me a tumbler of very dangerous-looking brown liquor.
I cautiously sniff, take a modest gulp, swirl and glug the rest down.
“Ohishi Single Sherry Cask”, I say with a muffled belch. “Light. Fruity. An Englishman’s drink.”
“Oh. You knew. Let me try again.” She smiles beatifically.
“I have no objections to your proposal.” I smile as nicely as this crotchety old Komodo Dragon could.
She returns with another flagon of spirits; it smells of obsidian, leather, and earth.
I just had some of this back in LAX. I take a snort, smile, and shotgun the rest.
“Hibiki Japanese Harmony…lovely stuff.” I smile. “A little light for my jaded palate, but I’d never turn it down if it were free.”
“Oh, you win again. Wait. One more.” She smiles and skitters off to the galley.
She returns with another soupçon of some more dangerous brown liquor.
“Here, try this. It will make you very popular at social gatherings”. She smiles.
Sniff. “Splendid.” Snort. Swirl. Smile. Shotgun.
“Kanosuke New Born, if I’m not mistaken.” I smile back. “Very nice. I really do like this one.”
“You too good at this. One more!” she stands and stomps off defiantly. She returns in a trice and hands me the glass.
“Hmm…brown. Light notes of earth, leather, dating your daughter, and Kentucky…
“Beam Suntory, right?”
“You know them all!” she says, feigning irritation.
“And I thank you. Those were all excellent. Now, anything in the dangerous clear liquor category? I asked.
Luna smiled as I palmed off a 20k yen tip.
“Oh, no sir. Wait until we land.” She demurred, referring to the gratuity; which is know is not de rigueur in the Orient, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Just in case we never make it to Tokyo”, I laughed, unknowingly presciently.
We both chuckled about that last line as she tried out various sakes and shōchūs and an actual Japanese ‘White Liquor’ (ホワイトリカー), which were all excellent as was the company.
I tell her that I need to get some work done and could she bring me a tall Rocknocker. After explain the origins and construction of the eponymous drink, she brings me one that must tip the scales at 1 or so liters.
She settles down to an empty seat and I get after the work that I need to finish before we land. I’m about ½ way through my drink when it felt as if the plane hit a brick wall. She quivered and quaked and clutched at herself while I made some comments about the pilot’s mental health.
We dropped like a paralyzed falcon, then just as suddenly, felt like it was an express elevator to Angel’s 11. The plane bucked and shimmied, wickedly. Then we slam-danced right and fell a few more stories. It was like we were in a Mixmaster and the owner was trying out every speed.
The emergency lights in the 777-300ER popped on, and the fasten seat belt sign barked loudly so even sleeping travelers could enjoy the show.
Rinse. Spin. Shudder. Repeat.
Finally, the ride smooths out and we hear the captain on the blower.
“This is your captain speaking…ah, we seem to have hit some uncharted turbulence back there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious”, I muttered.
“Everything’s A-OK. “ he reports.
“That’s good”, I note.
“But…”
“There’s always the but…” I groan.
“…we have a couple of warning lights for which we can’t quite account. So to just be safe and certain, we’re going to divert to Hawaii, get a clean bill of health and resume this flight once we make sure everything here is hunky-dory.”
There were scattered groans and applause. Add them together and divide by two and the average response on the flight was “Meh. Whatever.”
Except for the other guy in Business, with whom I hadn’t shared two words. He began to absolutely lose his shit.
“Oh, man! We’re so screwed! Mechanical malfunction? What does that mean?” he positively fizzed with fear.
The flight attendants tried to calm him down, to no avail. They basically gave up and said they’d report his misgivings to the Captain.
I motioned over to my personal flight attendant, Luna, and asked if I could be of service.
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled at me, “If you could speak with him. You are so calm, and he is…”
“Losing his bloody mind”, I chuckled as I finished her sentence for her. “Of course, I’ll take a stab at it.”
So, I grab my drink and ease over to my Business Class partner and introduce myself.
“Hey, pal. How’s it going? I’m Dr. Rock, gentleman, scholar, and connoisseur of cigars and things alcoholic. You doing OK?”
He looks at me with an ashen face and his eyes the size of bloodshot dinner plates.
“Yeah. I’m Todd Schotts. I’m flying to Japan for business.” He mumbles
“No surprise there,” I reply calmly and take a slug of my drink.
“But now we’re all going to die. The plane is busted and we’ll crash…” he started off again.
“So, Todd is it? Good. You drink?” I asked.
“Yeah?”, he stammered back.
I asked Luna to make us a fresh batch of my eponymous cocktails.
“OK, Todd, listen up”, I began after the drinks were served, “I have flown literally millions of miles over the last 4 decades. On Aeroflot when it was still the USSR. On TACA (Take A Chance Airways), on Chalk’s in the Caribbean, on Bob’s Verrifast Plane Company in Rhodesia, on regional carriers that don’t even exist anymore. All over the world. Had some bad experiences flying, and me ol’ mugger, this ain’t one of them. This is nothing more than the glitch for this mission.”
I chuckled lightly and complimented Luna on a fantastic drink.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah…but we have to land and check out some lights…” Todd squealed.
“Well now, Todd. It would be rather difficult to do any external assessment while in flight, don’t you agree?” I asked.
“But we’re diverting. We have to land and that adds more risk. We’re going to crash and die!” he was coming more and more unglued.
“I will bet you every cent you have on your person and home bank accounts that that will not happen”, I chuckled.
That took him by surprise. At least it shut him up for a while.
“Look, Todd. This is Boeing’s latest model. They have the most incredible safety record. And if a little clear air turbulence were to be knocking planes out of the sky, don’t you think we’d hear about it as the press went berserk?” I asked.
“But they don’t know what the lights mean! What if one of the engines’s out? How far can we fly on one engine?” Todd stuttered.
Having my fill of a supposedly grown man with inane childlike fears, I calmly replied,
“All the way to the crash site.”
He went white.
“...hope we hit something hard. I don’t want to limp away from this.”
He went limp.
Then I went to my seat and motioned for Luna to prepare a reload.
Of course, 45 minutes later, we land without incident at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu Hawaii.
We were told to just wait around until they figure out what the problem if any, was.
They had officials waiting at the end of the jetway to check our COVID status and passports before they let us loose in the terminal.
I asked Luna if she knew this airport. She noted that she did.
“Is there a JAL hospitality room here at this airport? I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It’s the Sakura Lounge. It is located on the third level above The Local, Terminal 2.” She replied.
“Please notify whoever needs to know that that’s where I’ll be for the duration”, I smiled and handed her my business card. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Dr. Rock”, she replied, “I am sure it is nothing much. We’ll be back in the air within mere hours.”
“Well then”, I smiled, “Guess I’d better get ready to hoof it to the lounge.”
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled, “No rush. I will call for you a courtesy cart. You are injured, you are Business, you are priority.”
“I love that Asian efficiency.” I smiled back and toddled down the jetway.
At the terminus of the jetway, I show my COVID-clear papers, dates and times of my Anti-Virus vaccine administrations, the letter from Virginia clearing me of all detention, and my red Russian diplomatic passport.
While in the cart, whizzing our way to the JAL lounge, the driver said “Man! You must be some kind of VIP. You were through that welcoming committee in less than two minutes!”
“Me? Nah!”, I chuckled, “Just an old phart of a geologist that they didn’t want to mess with. Not on such a bright, sunny day as this.”
“I see you’re not wearing a mask.” The driver quipped.
“Very observant. There are reasons for that.” I replied.
He careens around a corner and if this were a normal pre-Covid day, I’m certain we’d have killed hundreds. However, the airport, as I’ve come to grow accustomed to, was virtually deserted.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.
“Well, Scooter, 1. I have an active and hardworking immune system that I let off the chain every once in a while for exercise. Got to let it know what it’s up against, right? 2. I’ve had all my shots and some that were experimental. They seem to have worked. And 3. I find it difficult to drink and smoke cigars while wearing a mask. However, if you’d prefer, I will mask up. No problem, though it still is optional.”
“Nah, man”, he said, “I was just wondering if you were one of those religious idiots or conspiracy nuts.”
Nope”, I smiled back, “Just another geologist out in the world plying his trade for cash. Y’know, whorin’ around for money.”
He laughs aloud as we skid to a stop right in front of Lounge.
I slip the guy a $20 and ask if he’d listen for the JAL flight I was just on. If we’re going on ahead today, I’d need him to scoot by and putt-putt me back to the plane.
He laughs and pockets the $20 as quick as a mink ruts.
“No worries. I’ll just hang around this area. I hear anything about the flight, I’ll come and let you know.” He grins.
“Good man”, I say, as I hand him my card. “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock”.
“And I’m Kapula Mano, call me Kap” he replies.
“Good man”, I say again, “Hope to see you in a while.”
He grins, floors his electric cart, and peels out at speeds approaching 4.5 MPH.
I wander into the lounge, show my credentials, and am escorted to a post up on Mahogany Ridge.
The bar is very quiet. Besides the bartender, I can’t see anyone else in the darkened and Smooth Jazz-infused drinking emporium.
I order a local drink, a Mai Tai, just for the experience and something a bit different.
It’s served in a goldfish bowl on a stem, bedecked with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, a stick of sugar cane, a polychromatic orchid, and the obligate paper umbrella.
“Ah. Mai Tai. I will enjoy it.” I said to no one in particular.
One was enough, and I decided to go back to the old standard. Once I explained to the bartender what that was, he made them heroic and enthusiastically.
I’m reading up on a random dossier, making notes in a new file, and puffing away on a Fuentes Onyx double Maduro Churchill cigar.
I hear a slight cough coming from my right, and this here lovely lady, she sat to my immediate starboard and looked at me semi-quizzically.
Not in the mood for shenanigans of any stripe, I give her the obligate Baja Canada nod and tilt of the drink. I return to my dossiers and continue to read and take notes.
“Excuse me!” I hear.
Fearing the worst, either the woman is Karen-oid anti-smoking or a religious fruit-and-nutburger, I slowly turn to face her and reply, somewhat glacially, I have to admit.
“What?”
“That cigar…”
“Here we go…” I mutter, eyes rolling northward.
“Smells exquisite. Could you tell me the brand? My husband would enjoy some like that.” She notes.
Instantly my demeanor switches 180^0.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an Arturo Fuentes Onyx. Churchill size, or 60 ring x 7” length, double Maduro. Here, take one for your husband. I have an ample supply.” I smile.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Could I?” she asks.
“Please. I insist.” I smile the best I could given the circumstances.
“Thank you. You’re too kind…umm…Mr….?”
“Doctor. Doctor Rocknocker. World traveler, oilman, and international ambassador of amity, good drinks, and fine cigars. Call me Rock” I said.
“Oh! A Doctor?” she brightens.
“Yes, of Petroleum Geology and Engineering. Not medicine.” I chuckle.
She chuckles back.
“And I am Hella Aaberg”, as she offers her hand for a quick shake.
“Interesting name, Hella. Scandinavian or Old German heritage?” I ask.
“On my father’s side. He’s Finnish.” She replies.
“But I’ll wager your mother is not Scandinavian, correct?” I ask.
“She was from Truk, an island…”
“In the South Pacific, Micronesia. Was she from Weno city?” I asked.
“Why yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been there. Great diving amongst the WWII wrecks. I think it’s actually called ‘Chuuk Lagoon’ or something like that now.” I said.
“That’s right! Amazing. Where else have you been?” she asked.
“Anywhere there’s oil, strife, booze, cigars, heavy explosives and typically long distances from whatever most normal people call civilization,” I replied with a chuckle.
Suddenly, I hear a voice booming out behind me.
“Why don’t you save that rapier-like wit for those musky-fuckers back home, Rocko?”
My expression changes. My eyes pop fully wide open.
“Hella?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“May I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask…”
“Thank you. Now, looking over my shoulder, is there a hulking goon of a person, thin up top, paunchy halfway down with the most ridiculously tiny sized shoes you’ve ever seen for a so-called grown man?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is.” She replies.
“I thought so. Many thanks.”
I spin and launch off my barstool and grab Toivo by the hand. He hadn’t seen my left-hand Thagomizer yet.
“Toivo! You old sumbitch. What the flying fennec fox fuck are you, of all people, doing in Hawaii?” I laughed.
“Just keeping an eye on you, Rock!” he laughed equally as loud.
“No, fucking-A, seriously. What the actual fuck? What are you doing in this actual nice place?” I asked.
“Just headed to Tokyo to conduct a bit of service company business. I walked into the lounge and smelled a foul cigar. I figured it can’t be the venerable Dr. Rocknocker. He’s back at some school up north terrorizing geology and engineering grads and undergrads.” Toivo laughed.
“But there I was. Surprise!”, I laughed and pumped his hand.
“What the fuck, Rock. Now what did you do?” he asks, referring to my Ankylosaur tail club left hand.
“Ah, fuck. Long story. Oh, pardon me. Toivo, this is Hella. We were just talking about the South Seas Islands.” I said.
“Planning on running off together?” Toivo laughs, to the amusement of neither party.
“Oh, and this idiot is Toivo, a man with a congenital foot-in-mouth disorder. He’s mostly harmless.” I noted to Hella.
Greetings were shared all around. Hella made some small excuses and said she needed to depart. I gave her another cigar for her husband, shook her hand, and wished her well.
“Here’s my business card. If your husband has any questions, have him drop me a line.” I noted.
Hella smiled beautifully. She said she would. Then she thanked me shook our hands, and like that, there she was, gone.
“Well Toivo, you old bastard. Don't just stand there in the doorway like some lonesome goddamn mouse shit sheepherder, get your ass over here and have a drink.” I motioned over to my perch on Mahogany Ridge.
“Don’t mind if I do”, he says as he deftly winds his way to a seat to my left, snagging a cigar out of my pocket on the way over.
“You might want these”, I say in an exasperated tone, and hand him my gold Dunhill Hobnail lighter and V-cutter gizmo.
He cuts and fires up his heater.
“What you drinkin’, Rock”, he asks.
“Anything with alcohol, as usual. You know that Toiv.” I reply.
“No. I mean right now.” He clarifies.
“Well, I had a Mai Tai. Very nice if you like fruity, flowery drinks. It’s the locals’ favorite.” I reply.
“Sounds good. I’ll have several. And you?” Toivo asks.
“My usual. The bartender is already apprised of the situation.” I reply.
Toivo smiles the smile of one knowing his sobriety is going to be taken out for a swim. Hell, taken out and tossed into the deep end.
Toivo and I sit there, swapping lies, smoking cigars and sipping at our toddies.
Hell, Toivo was slurping them like a sump-pump during an extra-wet summer.
We chattered about family, work, whether or not Tokyo was going to host the Olympics or if the COVID-boogie man scared everyone off.
Toivo, always one afflicted with TB (“Tiny Bladder”) got up to go to the loo for the third time that hour. He left his pocket organizer on the bar and I swear on a stack of Origins of Species, I didn’t touch it.
I reached over to his vacated seat to retrieve my cigar lighter when I looked down and saw in his organizer a tab that reads “Rack & Ruin”.
“Oh. No. Fucking. Way.” I recoiled as I’d just reached out and petted a 6-foot hungover scorpion.
“One of my best friends? Secretly allied with the Agency? No. Not possible.” I drained my drink and called for another.
“No. No. No. It can’t be. No. No fucking way…” as doubt began to dissolve when I thought back to all those times I had just ‘run into’ Toivo.
“But he’s oil patch as well. That could be chalked up to coincidence.” I ruminated quizzically in my brain.
I quickly reflected back on J.M. Darhower: “Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are.”
She may be the author of the execrable New Adult Sempre series, which Esme likes and I loathe, but she might just be right on this occasion.
Toivo return, lighter in the bladder and good sense. He never even noticed he’d left his organizer out in broad bar light for all to see.
“So, Toivo, when’s your flight?” I ask.
“Oh, man. Was I lucky. The JAL flight to Tokyo from Los Angeles had mechanical trouble and had to divert here. I got a ticket on the plane for that flight, when it continues.
“You mean ‘if it continues’,” I replied.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Hey! Was that your flight?” he asks innocently. He’s really innocent of fieldcraft.
I decide to have some fun at my old friend’s expense.
“Yep. Hit some CAT (Clear Air Turbulence) and the JAL pilots reported some lighting problem. No apparent ruin to any of the systems. They relay racked their brains to figure it out, but they couldn’t that’s why I here.” I said, waiting for the words to swim upstream in Toivo’s coconut and make some sort of connection.
“Yeah. Double lucky. No problem with the plane and I get to go to Japan early.” Toivo crookedly grins.
“So, no trouble with the plane? Then why haven’t I heard that the flight’s going to resume?” I asked as I pushed a fresh, seriously strong drink to Toivo.
“Oh, must have heard it in the john.” Toivo countered and tried to cover his tracks by taking a huge gulp of his drink and damn near dying coughing.
I pound on Toivo’s back.
“Heimlich time?” I ask.
Toivo signals ‘no’.
“Jesus Christ, Rock. What was that?” he asks.
“Just my usual”, I innocently replied.
“Holy fuck. No wonder you have the reputation of…” Toivo realizes too late that he’s said too much.
“Yeah. They can rack you out. Really ruin a person if they’re not careful.” I reply icily.
“Why, Rock. Whatever do you mean?” Toivo slurred as he realized he’s been caught out.
“The jig is up, you turncoat. You know Agents Rack and Ruin from the agency. Right? You keeping tabs on me for them? You Quisling! You Benedict Arnold!” I almost was on the verge of losing my cool.
“It was nothing. They approached me years ago as I kept being mentioned in your reports. They asked me for some information. One thing leads to another…” Toivo was ready for an Ankylosaur tail club swat to the bean.
“Oh, put your fucking hands down, you asshole.” I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re not mad?” Toivo slurred badly. I had the bartender make him another special drink.
“No, Toivo. Not mad. Just disappointed.” I said, smiling like a Komodo Dragon just finishing up a fortnight-old wildebeest.
Toivo sat there and puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
“You’re not going to kill me or anything rude like that?” Toivo asked, half-assedly trying to inject humor into the proceedings.
“Nah. The paperwork’s too ridiculous for me to do another liberation. But, Jesus Fucking Christwagons, Toivo; you could have mentioned it to me. Fuck, I thought we were friends to the end?” I said, dejectedly.
I was really getting through to Toivo. I could tell he was loaded; feeling like shit and massively deplorable.
Great fieldcraft, indeed.
I told him things “are what they are” and that I won’t blow his cover nor his honorarium.
He began to feel better. I often wonder if he was serious about the sanctioning thing.
Then I delivered the strategic missile strike.
“Just remember, Toivo. I wrote your dossier for the Company…”
He swivels to look at me.
“And one for the KGB. Olga says ‘howdy’.” I grin evilly.
Toivo short-circuited at that. Russia is his company’s bread and butter. Now he has the KGB as well as his best buddy looking over his shoulder at every move.
I bought him a few more drinks and continued to needle him about his ’leading a double life’. He was well and truly fuckered when the electric tap-tap driver from before came looking for me to whisk me back to the plane.
Seems it was simply some knocked-out wires on the plane, or slammed bulbs that were generating a false positive, indicating something other than the system that alerts one to something haywire went haywire.
Toivo was pretty much down for the count. I got him sober enough to hand them his ticket and ensure that he was really supposed to be on this flight. Thing was; h e was in Economy, and I was, as always, in Business.
I spoke to Luna, and the plane was going to be even less crowded than previously because some folks could or wouldn’t wait, or didn’t want to go on with the rest of the trip on a ‘damaged’ aircraft, or were just stupid and superstitious.
“Luna, could I pay for the difference between Business and Economy for my less than 100% conscious friend here? He’s had a rough day.” I asked.
“Dr. Rock. Just put him into Business. No one will be the wiser. Luna says so.” As she gave us a grand smile.
“Luna, I owe you. Thanks so much.” I said.
“Now get on board. Your friend looks like he needs all the downtime he can get.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said and saluted here be best I could which dragging a schnozzled Toivo down the jetway.
I dumped Toivo in a window seat well away from my seat. I know Toivo. He snores like a semi-load of live hogs rocketing downhill locking up the brakes at 88 MPH.
Surprise! There was no one else in Business. Luna looked at me, at Toivo, and gave me a thumbs up.
Whatever I can write to further her career at JAL, she’ll have it before I deplane.
We finally get everyone settled, and with Captain Kangaroo at the helm, we bounced gracelessly off the tarmac, into the warm, tropical Hawaiian air, finally headed for the Land of the Rising Sun.
Toivo was snoring like a chainsaw hitting rusty nails as I worked on the various letters, communiques, and dossiers which needed updating before we reached touchdown. I gave Luna a thick letter with instructions not to open it until we were on the ground and Toivo and I were well off and away into the terminal.
We left Hawaii at 1300 hours, so we should arrive at Tokyo Nareda around 4:00 pm, the previous day. I was so bereft of time and time zones, I couldn’t figure out what time it really was, as judged by my biometric rhythms, so I asked Luna for a stiff drink as I was kicking off my boots and going to attempt to get some kip.
She brought me another liter or so eponymous drink. I was sawing logs by the time I slurped the last swig of that nifty drink.
Suddenly, or later, I have no idea really, some loudmouth drunk asshole from way-the-fuck-back in economy-land toward the ass end of the plane staggered into Business demanding free drinks.
Luna was nothing but civil, and asked him to both shut up and return to his seat. His air cabin hostess, or whatever the fuck they’re calling them these days, will attend to his needs.
“Naw they won’t! They want me to pay for more drinks! I’m broke but I demand more booze! You fucking owe me.” railed the asshole. “I sat at the bar in Hawaii for four hours. Them fuckers charged me an arm and a leg!”
“No, they don’t owe you shit”, I said in a voice that unmistakably loud and clear.
“Fuck you, old man! You stay the fuck out of this!” he bellowed. “Shut up or I’ll do ya’!”
“’Old man’? ‘Do me’? Excuse me. Luna, may I have a word alone with this individual?” I asked sweetly.
Luna shook her head in the affirmative, and I stood up to confront this flagrant asshole.
“Now look, Scooter. You have gone way, way over the fucking line. You are loud. You are abusive. You are obnoxious. And you stink. Plus you insulted a person who is just barely containing his righteous wrath right now. So, I’m giving you one and one only chance to shut up, sit back down before your body spontaneously develops all sort of bruises, contusions, broken bones, and unconsciousness.” I said calmly, evenly, and threateningly.
“What da’ fuck you think you’re going to do…old man?” he screeched, trying to inflate himself into full mammalian threat posture, all 5’ 9” of it.
He didn’t notice Toivo walking up quietly behind him, as Toivo was returning from the head, quiet as a moose.
“Well, Scooter, I am an Air Marshall. Duly appointed, fully trained, and properly pissed off. Right now, I can arrest you, physically detain you, turn this flight around and take you to the Hawaiian police, at your cost for the inconvenience of the entire flight. Or I could arrest you, physically detain you, and turn you over to the Japanese authorities when we land. It’s really your choice. Choose wisely.”
To be continued…⇝

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alarm,lawn mower,nail polish,Band-Aid,Star Wars,clothes hanger,toe,mud,coconut,jaw,bomb,south,firework,sailboat,loading,iPhone,toothpick,BMW,ketchup,fossil,explosion,Finn,Einstein,infinite,dictionary,Photoshop,trombone,clarinet,rubber,saxophone,helicopter,temperature,bus driver,cello,London,newspaper,blackberry,shopping cart,Florida,Daffy Duck,mayonnaise,gummy worm,flying pig,underweight,Crash Bandicoot,bungee jumping,kindergarten,umbrella,hammer,night,laser,glove,square,Morty,firehouse,dynamite,chainsaw,melon,waist,Chewbacca,kidney,stoned,Rick,ticket,skateboard,microwave,television,soil,exam,cocktail,India,Colosseum,missile,hilarious,Popeye,nuke,silo,chemical,museum,Vault boy,adorable,fast forward,firecracker,grandmother,Porky Pig,roadblock,continent,wrinkle,shaving cream,Northern Lights,tug,London Eye,Israel,shipwreck,xylophone,motorcycle,diamond,root,coffee,princess,Oreo,goldfish,wizard,chocolate,garbage,ladybug,shotgun,kazoo,Minecraft,video,message,lily,fisherman,cucumber,password,western,ambulance,doorknob,glowstick,makeup,barbecue,jazz,hedgehog,bark,tombstone,coast,pitchfork,Christmas,opera,office,insect,hunger,download,hairbrush,blueberry,cookie jar,canyon,Happy Meal,high five,fern,quarter,peninsula,imagination,microscope,table tennis,whisper,fly swatter,pencil case,harmonica,Family Guy,New Zealand,apple pie,warehouse,cookie,USB,jellyfish,bubble,battery,fireman,pizza,angry,taco,harp,alcohol,pound,bedtime,megaphone,husband,oval,rail,stab,dwarf,milkshake,witch,bakery,president,weak,second,sushi,mall,complete,hip hop,slippery,horizon,prawn,plumber,blowfish,Madagascar,Europe,bazooka,pogo stick,Terminator,Hercules,notification,snowball fight,high score,Kung Fu,Lady Gaga,geography,sledgehammer,bear 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code,clickbait,star,girl,lemon,alarm,shoe,soap,button,kiss,grave,telephone,fridge,katana,switch,eraser,signature,pasta,flamingo,crayon,puzzle,hard,juice,socks,crystal,telescope,galaxy,squid,tattoo,bowling,lamb,silver,lid,taxi,basket,step,stapler,pigeon,zoom,teacher,holiday,score,Tetris,frame,garden,stage,unicycle,cream,sombrero,error,battle,starfruit,hamster,chalk,spiral,bounce,hairspray,lizard,victory,balance,hexagon,Ferrari,MTV,network,weapon,fist fight,vault,mattress,viola,birch,stereo,Jenga,plug,chihuahua,plow,pavement,wart,ribbon,otter,magazine,Bomberman,vaccine,elder,Romania,champagne,semicircle,Suez Canal,Mr Meeseeks,villain,inside,spade,gravedigger,Bruce Lee,gentle,stingray,can opener,funeral,jet ski,wheelbarrow,thug,undo,fabulous,space suit,cappuccino,Minotaur,skydiving,cheerleader,Stone Age,Chinatown,razorblade,crawl space,cauldron,trick shot,Steve Jobs,audience,time machine,sewing machine,face paint,truck driver,x-ray,fly,salt,spider,boy,dollar,turtle,book,chain,dolphin,sing,milk,wing,pencil,snake,scream,toast,vomit,salad,radio,potion,dominoes,balloon,monkey,trophy,feather,leash,loser,bite,notebook,happy,Mummy,sneeze,koala,tired,sick,pipe,jalapeno,diaper,deer,priest,youtuber,boomerang,pro,ruby,hop,hopscotch,barcode,vote,wrench,tissue,doll,clownfish,halo,Monday,tentacle,grid,Uranus,oil,scarecrow,tarantula,germ,glow,haircut,Vatican,tape,judge,cell,diagonal,science,mustard,fur,janitor,ballerina,pike,nun,chime,tuxedo,Cerberus,panpipes,surface,coal,knot,willow,pajamas,fizz,student,eclipse,asteroid,Portugal,pigsty,brand,crowbar,chimpanzee,Chuck Norris,raft,carnival,treadmill,professor,tricycle,apocalypse,vitamin,orchestra,groom,cringe,knight,litter box,macho,brownie,hummingbird,Hula Hoop,motorbike,type,catapult,take off,wake up,concert,floppy disk,BMX,bulldozer,manicure,brainwash,William Wallace,guinea pig,motherboard,wheel,brick,egg,lava,queen,gold,God,ladder,coin,laptop,toaster,butter,bag,doctor,sit,tennis,half,Bible,noodle,golf,eagle,cash,vampire,sweater,father,remote,safe,jeans,darts,graph,nothing,dagger,stone,wig,cupboard,minute,match,slime,garage,tomb,soup,bathroom,llama,shampoo,swan,frown,toolbox,jacket,adult,crate,quill,spin,waiter,mint,kangaroo,captain,loot,maid,shoelace,luggage,cage,bagpipes,loaf,aircraft,shelf,safari,afterlife,napkin,steam,coach,slope,marigold,Mozart,bumper,Asterix,vanilla,papaya,ostrich,failure,scoop,tangerine,firefly,centaur,harbor,uniform,Beethoven,Intel,moth,Spartacus,fluid,acid,sparkles,talent show,ski jump,polo,ravioli,delivery,woodpecker,logo,Stegosaurus,diss track,Darwin Watterson,filmmaker,silence,dashboard,echo,windshield,Home Alone,tablecloth,backflip,headboard,licorice,sunshade,Picasso,airbag,water cycle,meatloaf,insomnia,broom,whale,pie,demon,bed,braces,fence,orange,sleep,gift,Popsicle,spear,zebra,Saturn,maze,chess,wire,angel,skates,pyramid,shower,claw,hell,goal,bottle,dress,walk,AC/DC,tampon,goatee,prince,flask,cut,cord,roof,movie,ash,tiger,player,magician,wool,saddle,cowboy,derp,suitcase,sugar,nest,anchor,onion,magma,limbo,collar,mole,bingo,walnut,wealth,security,leader,melt,Gandhi,arch,toy,turd,scientist,hippo,glue,kneel,orbit,below,totem,health,towel,diet,crow,addiction,minigolf,clay,boar,navy,butcher,trigger,referee,bruise,translate,yearbook,confused,engine,poke,wreath,omelet,gravity,bride,godfather,flu,accordion,engineer,cocoon,minivan,bean bag,antivirus,billiards,rake,cement,cauliflower,espresso,violence,blender,chew,bartender,witness,hobbit,corkscrew,chameleon,cymbal,Excalibur,grapefruit,action,outside,guillotine,timpani,frostbite,leave,Mont Blanc,palette,electrician,fitness trainer,journalist,fashion 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Pac-Man
bow
Apple
chest
six pack
nail
tornado
Mickey Mouse
Youtube
lightning
traffic light
waterfall
McDonalds
Donald Trump
Patrick
stop sign
Superman
tooth
sunflower
keyboard
island
Pikachu
Harry Potter
Nintendo Switch
Facebook
eyebrow
Peppa Pig
SpongeBob
Creeper
octopus
church
Eiffel tower
tongue
snowflake
fish
Twitter
pan
Jesus Christ
butt cheeks
jail
Pepsi
hospital
pregnant
thunderstorm
smile
skull
flower
palm tree
Angry Birds
America
lips
cloud
compass
mustache
Captain America
pimple
Easter Bunny
chicken
Elmo
watch
prison
skeleton
arrow
volcano
Minion
school
tie
lighthouse
fountain
Cookie Monster
Iron Man
Santa
blood
river
bar
Mount Everest
chest hair
Gumball
north
water
cactus
treehouse
bridge
short
thumb
beach
mountain
Nike
flag
Paris
eyelash
Shrek
brain
iceberg
fingernail
playground
ice cream
Google
dead
knife
spoon
unibrow
Spiderman
black
graveyard
elbow
golden egg
yellow
Germany
Adidas
nose hair
Deadpool
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Bart Simpson
rainbow
ruler
building
raindrop
storm
coffee shop
windmill
fidget spinner
yo-yo
ice
legs
tent
mouth
ocean
Fanta
homeless
tablet
muscle
Pinocchio
tear
nose
snow
nostrils
Olaf
belly button
Lion King
car wash
Egypt
Statue of Liberty
Hello Kitty
pinky
Winnie the Pooh
guitar
Hulk
Grinch
Nutella
cold
flagpole
Canada
rainforest
blue
rose
tree
hot
mailbox
Nemo
crab
knee
doghouse
Chrome
cotton candy
Barack Obama
hot chocolate
Michael Jackson
map
Samsung
shoulder
Microsoft
parking
forest
full moon
cherry blossom
apple seed
Donald Duck
leaf
bat
earwax
Italy
finger
seed
lilypad
brush
record
wrist
thunder
gummy
Kirby
fire hydrant
overweight
hot dog
house
fork
pink
Sonic
street
Nasa
arm
fast
tunnel
full
library
pet shop
Yoshi
Russia
drum kit
Android
Finn and Jake
price tag
Tooth Fairy
bus stop
rain
heart
face
tower
bank
cheeks
Batman
speaker
Thor
skinny
electric guitar
belly
cute
ice cream truck
bubble gum
top hat
Pink Panther
hand
bald
freckles
clover
armpit
Japan
thin
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spaghetti
Phineas and Ferb
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funny
poisonous
Wonder Woman
Squidward
Mark Zuckerberg
twig
red
China
dream
Dora
daisy
France
Discord
toenail
positive
forehead
earthquake
iron
Zeus
Mercedes
Big Ben
supermarket
Bugs Bunny
Yin and Yang
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rock
drum
piano
white
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fall
royal
seashell
Audi
stomach
aquarium
Bitcoin
volleyball
marshmallow
Cat Woman
underground
Green Lantern
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west
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whistle
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wind
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tissue box
fire truck
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iPad
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landscape
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organ
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chin
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invisible
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Paypal
King Kong
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lung
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tiny
icicle
flashlight
scissors
emoji
strong
saliva
firefighter
salmon
basketball
spring
Tarzan
red carpet
drain
coral reef
nose ring
caterpillar
Wall-e
seat belt
polar bear
Scooby Doo
wave
sea
grass
pancake
park
lipstick
pickaxe
east
grenade
village
Flash
throat
dizzy
Asia
petal
Gru
country
spaceship
restaurant
copy
skin
glue stick
Garfield
equator
blizzard
golden apple
Robin Hood
fast food
barbed wire
Bill Gates
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neighborhood
lightsaber
video game
high heels
dirty
flamethrower
pencil sharpener
hill
old
flute
cheek
violin
fireball
spine
bathtub
cell phone
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open
Australia
toothpaste
Tails
skyscraper
cowbell
rib
ceiling fan
Eminem
Jimmy Neutron
photo frame
barn
sandstorm
Jackie Chan
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T-rex
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acne
avocado
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Kermit
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young
trumpet
cheeseburger
gas mask
apartment
manhole
nutcracker
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bunk bed
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Jack-o-lantern
saltwater
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cliff
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banjo
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fireproof
earbuds
crossbow
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Playstation
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good
corn dog
Gandalf
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magic wand
field
Solar System
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ukulele
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The Beatles
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Netherlands
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Lego
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hotel
ramp
dandelion
Brazil
coral
cigarette
messy
Dexter
valley
parachute
wine glass
matchbox
Morgan Freeman
black hole
midnight
astronaut
paper bag
sand castle
forest fire
hot sauce
social media
William Shakespeare
trash can
fire alarm
lawn mower
nail polish
Band-Aid
Star Wars
clothes hanger
toe
mud
coconut
jaw
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south
firework
sailboat
loading
iPhone
toothpick
BMW
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Finn
Einstein
infinite
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Photoshop
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bus driver
cello
London
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Florida
Daffy Duck
mayonnaise
gummy worm
flying pig
underweight
Crash Bandicoot
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kindergarten
umbrella
hammer
night
laser
glove
square
Morty
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melon
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Chewbacca
kidney
stoned
Rick
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skateboard
microwave
television
soil
exam
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India
Colosseum
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hilarious
Popeye
nuke
silo
chemical
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Vault boy
adorable
fast forward
firecracker
grandmother
Porky Pig
roadblock
continent
wrinkle
shaving cream
Northern Lights
tug
London Eye
Israel
shipwreck
xylophone
motorcycle
diamond
root
coffee
princess
Oreo
goldfish
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chocolate
garbage
ladybug
shotgun
kazoo
Minecraft
video
message
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fisherman
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password
western
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barbecue
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pitchfork
Christmas
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office
insect
hunger
download
hairbrush
blueberry
cookie jar
canyon
Happy Meal
high five
fern
quarter
peninsula
imagination
microscope
table tennis
whisper
fly swatter
pencil case
harmonica
Family Guy
New Zealand
apple pie
warehouse
cookie
USB
jellyfish
bubble
battery
fireman
pizza
angry
taco
harp
alcohol
pound
bedtime
megaphone
husband
oval
rail
stab
dwarf
milkshake
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president
weak
second
sushi
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complete
hip hop
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Europe
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Terminator
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high score
Kung Fu
Lady Gaga
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sky
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clown
catfish
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scarf
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skyline
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triplets
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electric car
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raspberry
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comic book
cylinder
Milky Way
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sunrise
popcorn
eat
cola
cake
pond
mushroom
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surfboard
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glasses
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Norway
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nightclub
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novel
injection
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Notch
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seafood
Sydney Opera House
Susan Wojcicki
parents
bed sheet
Leonardo da Vinci
intersection
palace
shrub
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relationship
observatory
junk food
eye
log
dice
bicycle
pineapple
camera
circle
lemonade
soda
comb
cube
Doritos
love
table
honey
lighter
broccoli
fireplace
drive
Titanic
backpack
emerald
giraffe
world
internet
kitten
volume
Spain
daughter
armor
noob
rectangle
driver
raccoon
bacon
lady
bull
camping
poppy
snowball
farmer
lasso
breakfast
oxygen
milkman
caveman
laboratory
bandage
neighbor
Cupid
Sudoku
wedding
seagull
spatula
atom
dew
fortress
vegetarian
ivy
snowboard
conversation
treasure
chopsticks
garlic
vacuum
swimsuit
divorce
advertisement
vuvuzela
Mr Bean
Fred Flintstone
pet food
upgrade
voodoo
punishment
Charlie Chaplin
Rome
graduation
beatbox
communism
yeti
ear
dots
octagon
kite
lion
winner
muffin
cupcake
unicorn
smoke
lime
monster
Mars
moss
summer
lollipop
coffin
paint
lottery
wife
pirate
sandwich
lantern
seahorse
Cuba
archer
sweat
deodorant
plank
Steam
birthday
submarine
zombie
casino
gas
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helmet
mosquito
ponytail
corpse
subway
spy
jump rope
baguette
grin
centipede
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website
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workplace
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anglerfish
wireless
Zorro
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abstract
detective
Amsterdam
elevator
chimney
reindeer
Singapore
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soldier
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magnifier
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yawn
backbone
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Vin Diesel
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Lasagna
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hypnotize
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Leonardo DiCaprio
bird bath
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Black Friday
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Sherlock Holmes
ABBA
hard hat
sword
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toilet
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snail
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beef
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Tetris
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mattress
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stereo
Jenga
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chihuahua
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Romania
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Suez Canal
Mr Meeseeks
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inside
spade
gravedigger
Bruce Lee
gentle
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funeral
jet ski
wheelbarrow
thug
undo
fabulous
space suit
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Minotaur
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Stone Age
Chinatown
razorblade
crawl space
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Steve Jobs
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time machine
sewing machine
face paint
truck driver
x-ray
fly
salt
spider
boy
dollar
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book
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dolphin
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milk
wing
pencil
snake
scream
toast
vomit
salad
radio
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Mummy
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vitamin
orchestra
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litter box
macho
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hummingbird
Hula Hoop
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take off
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BMX
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William Wallace
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betray HUH SO HARD

So I am extremely intrigued by the Mitrice Richardson case, as I feel like there is just something "off" about it. I've been thinking about posting about it for a while. I did just see a new post this morning with a theory, and figured I'd run through the entire case again to hear what people have to think. I'm not used to this so please be gentle! This is also going to be a long one, so strap in!
I am struggling to get the formatting to work correctly so I apologize.
Mitrice Lavon Richardson was born in 1985 to Latice Sutton and Michael Richardson, though she was raised by Latice and Mitrice's stepfather, Larry. From a younger age, she was extremely drawn to psychology and the way the human brain worked. Mitrice grew up in West Covina, CA and later attended Cal State - Fullerton to pursue her BA in psychology. She was the first person in her family to attend college.
As she approached the end of her undergraduate career, Mitrice decided that she might want to pursue graduate school. During this time, she was dating her girlfriend, Tessa, and also go-go dancing at a lesbian bar.
Leading up to her disappearance, there are conflicting reports on whether or not Mitrice had been acting unusual. According to Crime Junkie, Tessa adamantly opposes the idea that Mitrice was in any way mentally ill or erratic. However, both Crime Junkie and Trace Evidence acknowledge that Mitrice had been sending strange text messages and posting weird posts on social media at all times of the night.
At some point in the investigation, officers also found erratic journal entries where the writing switched from clean and neat, to staggered and illegible, within the same pages, sometimes the same sentences.
Whether or not she had bipolar disorder is also a point of contention. NBC Los Angeles states that she was diagnosed. I have seen some articles state that she was diagnosed, and that her mother admitted this. But other articles, like this one from Fox LA state that family members state that she had no mental health problems.
However, regardless of whether or not she had bipolar disordea diagnosis, I do believe that she was struggling with mental illness in some way. But did this have to do with her death?
On September 16, 2009, Mitrice was driving down the Pacific Coast Highway when she decided to stop at Geoffrey's in Malibu. She got out of her car to wait for the valet - in his car, mumbling about avenging Michael Jackson's death. When she went inside, the valet informed the host that she was acting strangely.
Mitrice sat alone, drinking a cocktail and eating a steak. But then she randomly joined another table of 7 people. She talked quickly about astrology, even mentioning that she was from Mars. At the end of the meal, the other people left. When Mitrice tried to leave, she was stopped and told to pay the $89 bill. Despite the fact that money was later found in her purse, Mitrice told the restaurant that she had no money and thought the table would pay for her.
The manager called Mitrice's great-grandmother Mildred, who agreed to pay the bill. However, the manager refused to take her credit card number over the phone. Eventually, one of the employees called the police. On the phone call, the woman stated, "We have a guest here who is refusing to pay her bill. She sounds really crazy. She may be on drugs."
At approximately 9pm, officers from the Los Angeles County Sheriffs Department Malibu/Lost Hills Sheriff's Station showed up at Geoffrey's to arrest Mitrice. Officers searched her car and found a small amount of marijuana. LA Mag, who has one of the most comprehensive write-ups of this case I've seen, also notes that the police found partially drunken bottles of alcohol in her car, but I have not seen that anywhere else.
Because employees at Geoffrey's didn't think Mitrice was okay enough to drive, and because of the marijuana, officers performed a field sobriety test. Mitrice passed. Officers do not report finding a wallet, money, or even cell phone in the car. Although the employees at Geoffrey's considered paying Mitrice's bill for her, to avoid her being taken into police custody, they were worried about her mental health and her ability to drive. So they let her be taken away by the police, as the manager chose to press charges.
As this was going on, Mildred called Latice. Immediately, Latice was concerned about how strange her daughter was acting. She called the Lost Hills station and was assured that Mitrice was being carefully watched by the officers. It was late at night by this time and Latice wasn't sure if she should pick her daughter up; the officer assured her that Mitrice would be in custody until morning, so Latice could pick her up then.
According to LA Mag, Latice told the officer, "I think the only way I will come and get her tonight is if you guys are going to release her tonight. She's not from that area and I would hate to wake up to a morning report, 'girl lost somewhere with her head chopped off.'"
Here's what we know.
Mitrice's car was impounded. Mitrice was taken to Lost Hills station, about 25 miles away from Geoffrey's. Law enforcement could have held her under the belief that she might hurt herself or others.
Despite conflicting reports, law enforcement officers state Mitrice was fine. Mitrice was released from custody between 12:15am and 1:25am on September 17. When released, she had no wallet or cell phone.
She used a phone at the station to try and call Mildred. LE states she called 4 times and they heard a conversation. Mildred says she never received a phone call. All phone calls (if any) were made from a non-recorded line.
Mitrice was charged with marijuana possession and defrauding an officer. Because she had no prior record, she was let go with a fine and court date. Officers refused to drive her back to her car (8-13 miles away). Officers told her she could sleep in the lobby until morning. One jailer claims Mitrice said she was meeting friends.
In an article for CBS News, sheriff's spokesman Steve Whitmore stated, "She exhibited no signs of mental illness or intoxication. She was fine. She's an adult."
Mitrice walked into the night, in an unfamiliar area, with no car, wallet, or phone. When Latice called the station the next morning around 5:30am, she was told that her daughter was gone. She asked about filing a missing persons report, but was told it was too soon. Latice told the deputy she was worried about her daughter's mental state, that she might be depressed.
Somewhere between 5:30am and 6:30am, Bill Smith called the Lost Hills station to report a young black women "prowling" around his home in Monte Nido (about 6 miles away from the station). Bill reports that when he asked the woman how she was doing, she replied that she was OK, just resting. Then she disappeared into the night.
Now here's where the Lost Hills station begins to look more and more fishy.
It took 2 days before Lost Hills officers started searching for Mitrice...at Bill Smith's house. Officers declined to use scent tracking dogs that would tell them how Mitrice got from Lost Hills station to Monte Nido.
Officers found shoe prints. It looked like Mitrice was walking, then had suddenly started running towards Dark Creek and Dark Canyon. Officers did not search Dark Creek or Dark Canyon at the time.
Mitrice's case was reassigned twice: first to the LAPD's Missing Persons Unit, then to LAPD's Robbery-Homicide Unit. LAPD officers determined that Mitrice had a manic episode caused by bipolar disorder. When LAPD officers searched her car, they found her wallet, cell phone, ATM card, and enough money to cover her meal - despite the fact that the LASD stated they found nothing.
3 days after her disappearance, the Lost Hills Lieutenant sent out an email about Mitrice, which LA Mag got a hold of. In the email, Lieutenant Scott Chew addresses Captain Thomas Martin, noting that Mitrice was brought in because "[Loureiro] felt she was acting unusual and was uneasy about letting her go. In the end, [Loureiro] brought her because of his instincts. The fact that she disappeared validated his instinct.”
Since then, Chew stated that he did not remember writing the email, or maybe didn't write it at all. Loureiro stated that he never actually had that conversation or asked for a sobriety test for Mitrice. For the next month or so, the LASD frequently spoke to the media to reaffirm that Mitrice had been fine.
Latice then asked for the footage of Mitrice at the station, hoping to get insight into her daughter's condition. She was told that no footage existed. 4 months later, she was told that there was actually a video...but due to "technical difficulties," it took ANOTHER 3 months for the family to receive it.
In the video (which was edited), Mitrice seems agitated, pulling on her hair and on the bars. When she is finally released, the video shows Mitrice walking out the door...with a deputy following quickly after. The police department refused to name the officer or state if he had any contact with Mitrice outside of the station.
In January, there were immense searches of Malibu Canyon; no body was found, and Lost Hills officers refuse to say whether or not they checked Dark Canyon. As time went on, there were some supposed sightings of Mitrice in Las Vegas, in a casino or working as a prostitute. But Latice says she knew her daughter was still somewhere where she went missing. Unfortunately, she was right.
11 months after her disappearance, Mitrice's mummified remains were found in Dark Canyon by rangers, only 8 miles from the Lost Hills station and 2 miles from where she was last seen. You can see the map to get a better idea.
Again, here's where it gets weird.
Mitrice was found naked. Some of her clothes were recovered a few hundred feet away in positions that did not suggest animal involvement. Her bra was unclasped. Her belt was unclasped and removed. Her jeans were unzipped.
An earring that she had not been wearing at the time of her disappearance was stuck in her hair.
Her right leg, with the femur removed, was located 6 feet upslope from her body. Her body, clothes, and leg showed no signs of animal involvement, biting, trauma, etc. Five neck bones were never found.
Mitrice's left arm was tightly flexed over her chest, indicating that she mummified in that unnatural position.
Rangers called in the dead body. Around 1.5 hours later, a Lost Hills deputy (unidentified) arrived on scene. Policy and state codes say that the coroner must be contacted immediately upon finding remains. It took 1.5 additional hours, after the deputy arrived, to call the coroner.
The coroner and his team were told that a LASD helicopter would pick them up and bring them to the body. 2-3 hours later, they were told that the LASD would remove the body instead. Against the wishes of the coroner, the LASD collected the remains and took them back to the Lost Hills station, breaking policy.
Sheriffs took no photographs of the scene, failed to collect soil samples, and did not document the process of recovering Mitrice's remains. When asked, sheriffs stated they pulled on the skull and the entire skeleton appeared. This is untrue, as her skull was detached from her neck.
The LASD stated that they believed no crime had been committed. Rather, they posited that Mitrice had been bitten by a rattlesnake or possibly had a fatal allergic reaction to poison oak. They stated that Mitrice must have been naked because animals ripped her clothes off, but this directly contrasts how neatly the clothes were removed, the fact that the clothes and body show no tooth marks, and that her clothes were scattered around the canyon.
Additionally:
If animals had torn off her clothing, where were her shoes and socks, shirts, and underwear?
Why were her clothes so clean, with no evidence of animal bites or even dirt from nature? One forensic anthropologist believes the clothes might have been removed from the scene and cleaned.
Why was Mitrice mummified and not totally decomposed if she had been exposed to the elements for 11 months?
What caused her left arm to be flexed? Could she have been tied up while mummification occurred?
When the animal theory didn't pan out, the LASD changed their statement, saying that her clothes were removed by running water. But for this to be possible, the creek would have needed to rise by 60 feet, and her body would have needed to float against the current.
Next came a series of infuriating mistakes from the coroner's office:
The coroner did not test hair found on the ground and compare it to Mitrice's hair to see if someone else was present. The earring was never tested. Bug casings on Mitrice's body were never tested. Dirt and leaves from the scene were never tested.
No craniotomy was performed to identify potential blunt force trauma. It took weeks to find Mitrice's clothes at the coroner's office; they were shoved into the bottom of a bag. Mitrice's pubic hair and clothes were not tested for semen, fibers, or hair.
Altogether, the LASD only searched the scene twice: once when Mitrice's body was found, and again 6 months later. Some of her remains are still missing. Her teeth were slightly pink, indicating strangulation, but no determination can be made without the missing hyoid bone from her neck.
So what happened to Mitrice?
(1) She was experiencing some sort of psychosis or manic episode, whether from bipolar, schizophrenia, or another mental illness. Because of this, she was able to get to the specific area of the canyon, remove her clothing, and succumbed to the elements. The LASD, though sketchy, did not play a role in her death. They just didn't care that much about a black woman in a predominantly white area.
(2) Mitrice was going through some sort of mental health crisis. Officers of the LASD believed that they could take advantage of her in some way, probably sexually. After she was released, the LASD contributed to her getting to Monte Nido and then to her death. They cleaned up and either hid the body, or dumped it but led others away from the area, then continually prevented the investigation from proceeding.
(3) Some third party (another person, a group of people) contributed to Mitrice's death. Because of LE's clear negligence, and Mitrice's mental illness, no third party was ever searched for.
I personally believe that the LASD did have a hand in Mitrice's death. I believe that one, or multiple, officers offered her a ride. I believe that she was sexually assaulted. But I'm unclear if, after this, LE killed her or she wandered off on her own, where she died. What are your thoughts? Curious to see what everyone else thinks.
Additional Articles: LA Mag & Wikipedia

I was eighteen when I met Reyna. I'd been at a local bar called Jerry's by myself since my friends had left me hanging. I was using a fake ID, not that I really needed it unless there were cops around. The bartender was the kind of guy who would let you have the booze if you could pay. He did have some rules, though. If you were under sixteen you'd get booted out of the bar real quick and he'd call your parents, and you weren't allowed to cause any problems with the other patrons or the same thing would happen.
I was always a usual since it was the laxest place in town, but I had bar-hopped before. Most of the places just didn't click with me. I needed a good vibe in order to drink. This was a night where not a lot of people were around, but those that were there were the usual old drunks. All aside from one.
I noticed her before she noticed me, and she was absolutely beautiful. Her scarlet hair practically glowed under the dim bar lights, and she was wearing a really expensive-looking dress. There was a small purse with a thin strap over her shoulder and I recognized the Louis Vuitton logo on it. I was curious about her, since the town I was living in was pretty small and not very rich. I guessed she must've been from out of town or something. She looked like she might've been nineteen or twenty, but the way she sat made her look older and more mature.
I didn't realize I'd been staring at her until she looked at me point blank with an eyebrow raised and a curious smile across her face. In the next moment she slipped off of her stool and started walking towards me. Okay, don't freak out. Don't freak out. Don't freak out. Stay cool, I thought nervously. My palms were sweating and I felt a lump develop in my throat. She took the seat beside me and ordered two shots. The bartender placed the shots in front of her, and she pushed one over to me. I just stared at it for a moment before looking at her. She raised her eyebrow again, "Are you going to drink it or just stare at it all night?"
I wasn't really a vodka person, but the fact that this beautiful girl had just bought me a drink rather than it being vice-versa made me feel a sense of obligation. I downed the drink and it left a burning sensation in the back of my throat. The girl smiled and downed her own shot, but it didn't look as though it had fazed her. "So... You aren't much of a vodka person, huh?"
I was slightly shocked by her statement, but I guessed I must've made a face or something. Her voice had been soft like velvet. I nodded, "Yeah, I usually like whiskey or beer or sometimes gin."
She shrugged, but the motion coming from her looked so graceful, "I understand. I don't much care for this brand, either."
I tried to think of something smooth to say but all that came out was, "Do you come here often?"
She laughed, but her smile quickly fell, "Really? That's your opening line? And here I was expecting something a little more interesting from you."
I shook my head, "No, no, no... I was really curious. I haven't seen you in this bar before, and I'm one of the usual customers."
Her smile returned and she nodded, "Well, then my answer is no. I've only been to this place a handful of times and you've never been here when I am. Perhaps fate has brought us together this evening. I'm Reyna."
I smiled, "I'm Todd..." I sighed, "Maybe you're right. I was considering going over to Mary's but changed my mind last minute."
She nodded, "I can understand why. You seem to be quite at ease here... but not completely."
I frowned, "What do you mean?"
She opened her purse and drew a cigarette and lighter, offering one to me, but I declined. She shrugged and lit her cigarette before continuing, "Your demeanor is calm but until I came over you were sitting very stiffly. You're worried about the cops coming in here and catching you, even if you don't realize it yourself. You'd have no cause for any concern if we were at the Crimson Cabaret."
"The Crimson what now?" I asked.
She shook her head, "Just my favorite bar. It's not too far from here and it's a bit of a tourist destination, but I enjoy it. See, police don't typically show up at that bar, but even when they do... Sixteen, eighteen, twenty, it doesn't matter. They don't care. You could even walk in being thirteen years old and you'd get away with drinking. Hell, they'd probably buy a round for you."
I was skeptical with the way she was hyping up this bar. Sure, everyone had their favorite place to hang and drink, and you always wanted to believe your place was better than anyone else's. Still, the fact that I'd never heard of the place being the bar-hopper I was made me feel like this was sort of sketch. "Right... So why bother bringing up this place?"
Reyna smiled and shrugged, "Being such an avid bar-hopper, I'd figure you'd like a place where you can be most at ease. I used to be a lot like you until I found the Cabaret. It's a really nice place, but it's also very expensive unless you go in with a member." She placed her hand on my shoulder, "I could show you."
I felt a shiver run up my spine from the warmth of her hand and smiled, "Ah... Um, no, I don't think so. I... I need to go home and get some sleep. You see, I have work in the morning and--"
Reyna removed her hand from my shoulder and shook her head, "It's alright. I shouldn't have been so forward with you." She frowned, "You remind me a lot of myself, honestly. I... I used to drink because of my boyfriend. You're drinking because of Cecilia, aren't you?"
My heart sank at this comment. Not because she knew my girlfriend by name, but... Because she was right. Cecilia and I had been dating since Freshman year of high school and at first things had been really great, but... Eventually they weren't? I don't know why it happened or how, but it happened. And she started cheating on me. I didn't break up with her, though. Once again I don't know why. I guess it was just because we'd been together for such a long time and I couldn't imagine my life without her.
No... No, that wasn't it. It was because of convenience. I was there to fulfill her needs whenever she wasn't out with other guys and she did the same for me. It wasn't healthy and it certainly wasn't because we cared about each other. We just were with one another. I never cheated on her because I was just a faithful guy. I wasn't above innocently flirting with girls now and again at parties or bars, but that was as far as I took it.
I sighed and nodded, "Yeah. We, uh, we don't exactly see eye to eye with each other anymore. But at least it's a relationship."
Reyna shook her head, "No, Todd, it's not a relationship. Call it a dependency, a multiple-night stand, but it's not a relationship. Not really." She put her hand back on my shoulder, but this time I wasn't so stiff at the motion. "You shouldn't have to live like this." She smiled, "Come to the Cabaret with me. Just as friends. We'll have some drinks and talk for awhile. You'll have so much fun you won't want to leave. What do you say?"
Something about Reyna talking to me in that understanding sweet tone... It made me feel like I could trust her with anything. That going and getting some drinks at this bar of hers didn't sound like a bad idea. I smiled and nodded, "Alright. Let's go."
I don't know why I decided to go with Reyna in her car. I guess... it was because I thought I'd had too much to drink? I don't know, but Reyna had a really nice car and it was pretty cool to be riding in it. We arrived at the bar which was quite a few miles outside of town through a thick blanket of fog, but the place looked really nice on the outside, so I figured the inside would be no different.
Reyna handed off her keys to a valet and we walked up to the doors where a bouncer was waiting. Reyna pulled a strange card out of her purse that had two holographic filigree Cs on it. The bouncer glanced between the two of us for a moment before nodding and opening the doors. And from the moment we stepped inside...
I was in love.
The entire place was decorated in rich reds and golds, and it looked like some sort of lavish casino rather than a bar. It was two stories high and, yeah, there were slot machines and card tables galore. On a big stage were girls dancing on both the stage floor and a trapeze hung from the ceiling in glittery costumes. The place was full of people and bustling workers carrying various cocktails in some crazy colors. I looked at Reyna, who smiled at me, "What? It's a bar first and a casino second. Or do you not like gambling?"
"No, I--"
"Then shush and let's go," she said with a coy smile.
She gently pulled me to the very long bar and we sat down at two of the padded stools. The bar was a transparent fish tank, and it had some pretty cool exotic fish in it. The bartender wasn't like Jerry in looks, being much more cheerful and smiley rather than tired and grumpy. "What can I get you?" he asked. I was about to say something, but Reyna spoke first, "Two galaxy lotuses, Benny." The guy nodded and started expertly mixing alcohols and came back with two tall glasses of alcohol that literally glowed and looked like he'd taken the stars and put them into a glass.
Reyna sipped at her drink and gestured for me to do the same. I picked up my drink and sipped it. It was smooth and warm. Nice to taste, too. Sort of oaky and fruity all at the same time. "It's good, isn't it?" Reyna commented. I nodded and she smiled, "Thought so. It's one of my favorite drinks to order here. After you finish do you want to do some gambling? I play a pretty good poker hand now and again."
I shrugged, "Sure, I guess so."
We finished up our drinks and she took me to a poker table that was about to deal a new hand. At this point I was buzzed and starting to drift into being drunk. I'm not typically the type of guy to go and get drunk drunk a lot of the time. When I'm buzzed, I tap out. I know it's not smart to do but I do have to drive home because I can't afford to call Ubers if I'm bar-hopping all night. It'd be more trouble than it's worth, I guess. When Reyna bought even more drinks I withheld a groan. There was no way I'd be able to drive home once Reyna dropped me off to pick up my car. I'd have to sleep in my back seat until tomorrow morning.
"Hey," Reyna muttered, placing her hand on my shoulder, "what's wrong?" I frowned, slightly confused and muttered, "Huh?" She frowned, "Your forehead is all scrunched up like you're thinking." She smiled and lightly pushed my chest, "Relax a little, Todd. I'm not going to leave you in that parking lot at Jerry's."
I don't know if I felt scared or relieved that Reyna seemed to be able to read my thoughts yet again. I guess she was just so pretty and I was getting drunker and stupider so I decided not to be weirded out. Reyna ordered more drinks and I finished mine yet again. Now, I know I said I was only a drink till' I'm buzzed kind of person, and that's true, but once or twice I'd gotten drunk drunk. When that happened I'd get really tired and typically let one of my friends take me to their houses and I'd crash on their couches. But right now... I didn't have anywhere to sleep.
"If you're tired we can go into one of the member's rooms upstairs. I don't mind you sleeping on my bed," Reyna said with a smile.
I don't know why, but I just nodded and allowed her to lead me upstairs. I was leaning on her for support and she opened one of the doors to one of the rooms. She walked and I stumbled inside. She closed the door with her foot and sat me down on the bed. I immediately fell over and wanted to go to sleep, but in the next moment Reyna sat down in front of me and started taking her heels off. I sat up and through my drunken haze noticed the blisters on her ankles and how she was wincing and rubbing them. "Are you okay?" I asked concernedly. She glanced back at me and smiled reassuringly, "Um, yeah. I'm alright. These shoes are new, so I haven't exactly broken them in yet."
I don't know why I did what I did next, but I pulled Reyna into a hug with her back pressed against my chest, resting my hands on her stomach. "You don't have to put on an act with me, Reyna," I muttered into her hair. "You've been so understanding and sweet all night. I think you can tell me whatever's wrong with you."
Reyna smiled and placed her hands on top of mine, "Todd... I hope you know I don't just bring any man back to the Cabaret with me or let them into my room. I like you. You're thoughtful." She turned around in my arms and wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me.
Since Cecilia and I had started dating I'd never even thought of any other girls. Even after she started openly cheating on me I refused to do the same. I hadn't put my hands on another girl in a long time... But Reyna... She was so beautiful and understanding... So gentle and sweet... Everything Cecilia wasn't. I kissed her back, and then we just laid there, holding one another. It was nice. "Todd..." Reyna muttered cautiously. I kissed her forehead, "Yeah?" She smiled slightly, "Would you do anything for me?"
I found the question curious, but nodded and squeezed her hand in reassurance, "Yeah. Yeah, I would."
She nodded, "I know you would. I just wanted to ask."
I don't know when or how I fell asleep, but when I woke up I found Reyna's side of the bed empty. I muttered a cuss under my breath and rushed out the door to her room. I caught sight of her crimson hair heading towards the exit and just managed to make it through the throng of people to catch her. She smiled as she looked back at me. Then I noticed... She looked different. She was still beautiful, but... Less so than last night. It made me wonder if my being under the influence had made her appear more gorgeous. She was also wearing some cheap street clothes which shocked me all the more. "Hello, Todd," she said. "Sleep well?"
"Where are you going?" I asked, confused and pretty hurt.
She smiled and gestured for me to come outside with her. I only noticed it was still night when we got out the doors. How long had I been asleep? It had been long enough to sleep off my alcohol, clearly, but... How was it still nighttime? Reyna and I sat on one of the benches outside and she lit a cigarette, taking a puff before finally speaking.
"You know I said I used to bar-hop like you?" she asked. I nodded, and she continued, "That was true. Then one night... One night I met a guy at one of my local hops who was dressed so nicely and was the polar opposite of my boyfriend who I was still with. His name was Rodger. We got to talking and he just seemed to get me and what I was going through. He mentioned the Crimson Cabaret as the best bar to visit and I let him take me to it in his car. I reacted the same way as you. I drank and drank way beyond my tolerance level and he offered to let me sleep in his room. Just like I offered to you. We got in there and I started crying about my boyfriend and then Rodger started kissing me. I wanted him to kiss me. He asked me if I'd do anything for him. I said yes.
"I woke up with his side of the bed being empty and just knew I needed to hurry. I found him about to leave just like you did me. He sat me down at this bench here and explained everything to me."
"Everything about what?" I asked, my mind starting to race with fear.
"The Cabaret." Reyna's voice was wistful and hollow, "How it works. What it does to you. I said you'd love it so much you'd never want to leave, but... You can't leave. Not anymore. At first it's great to be a member. All the free booze you can drink without the threat of a hangover, nice expensive clothing brands, a big room with all the food and entertainment you could ever want, and God if you don't wake up every single morning looking like your best self!"
She sighed, "But eventually it gets mundane. You don't age. It's always nighttime. The acts on stage get repetitive until you can predict what's going to happen that night. The bartenders come off less as cheerful and kind and more so robotic and creepy. You come to hate it."
I frowned and shook my head, "Why can't you leave? What is this place?"
Reyna extinguished her cigarette and shook her head, "See, the thing about the Cabaret is that you have to be a member to leave, but even then you can't leave forever. You have to bring back customers. People who will be easy to manipulate into forgetting themselves and just drinking and gambling forever and ever. The only way you can ever really escape is if you find someone to replace you. A new member. A new bar-hopper to give a home.
"Sometimes it's easy to find someone to replace you, but you can't pick just anyone. You'll know who can help you escape because it'll be obvious. You'll be able to see into their lives and know they want an escape. An escape... I've been looking for years to find someone who can help me. It's been about sixty, maybe seventy years. I looked and looked and looked for someone who could get me out, but I never managed to. Until I met you. I could see into your life and how much you hated it. How much you hated your girlfriend. How much you wanted anything different. And I knew. You were my salvation."
I was shocked as Reyna rose to her feet, pulling something out of her pocket. It was her car keys and her member card from the Cabaret. She handed both of them to me and smiled, "I really do like you, Todd, and I hope you'll find your way out soon." She handed me one more thing. A scrap of paper with a phone number. "Keep track of the time, and call me if you get out within the next ten years."
And then she took off, walking out of the parking lot and down the road. I watched as she began to disappear into the fog, her crimson hair being the last thing I saw.
It's been about thirty years. I still have access to the outside world via my phone, a computer in my room, and a TV that shows all the channels. It's been about thirty years now. I have since received only one text from Reyna. A picture of her in a wedding dress looking rather sad with the words, I waited, but I'm done waiting now, in the message. I don't blame her for moving on. And now as I type this on Reddit I hope that maybe it'll reach my replacement. But if you're not... Still... Come to the Crimson Cabaret.
You'll never want to leave.