Lunatics (11 page)

CHAPTER 22

Jeffrey

I didn't want
to be recognized, and I wasn't comfortable being completely buck-ass naked, so the first thing I did, after I got undressed, was head for the shopping deck. I got a ship-logo ball cap and a pair of sunglasses, which cost a total of $238.50, which was a complete rip-off, and which I charged to the room of Sue and Arnie Kogen.

After that I spent an hour walking around the ship, pretending it was no big deal to be walking naked around a ship full of naked people. In a situation like that, you can't be every ten seconds pointing at some woman and yelling, “Hey! I can see your vagina!” Even though that's pretty much all you're thinking. I'm not saying all the women were hot. Some of them, if they fell overboard, they'd be harpooned by Japs. But there's something about a naked woman, any naked woman: Your brain always wants you to take a look. Your brain never says, “Nah, I've seen enough naked women for now.”

After a while, I got thirsty from all that looking, so I found a seat at a bar on the sundeck called the Anemone Lounge, where I had a Heineken, which cost twelve dollars, which was picked up by my good friends Sue and Arnie Kogen.

I'd been sitting at the bar for maybe five minutes when this couple came up to me. She was a blond middle-aged woman, but you could see she worked out, with a nice fake rack. He was a big guy, some muscle, some fat, very hairy, like he was wearing a full-body sweater. He had on one of those fanny packs, which is a douchebag look even if you're not naked.

I had this weird feeling that I knew them, but I couldn't figure out from where.

The Rack said, “Mind if we join you?”

I shrugged. They sat down.

“I'm Sharisse,” said the rack. “This is Mike.”

Mike stuck out his hand and we shook, him holding it a little too long, letting me know he had a grip.

He said, “Are you enjoying the cruise so far, Jeffrey?”

I pulled my hand away. “Do I know you?” I said.

“Not yet,” he said.

“Then how do you know my name?”

Sharisse smiled and said, “Everybody knows you, Jeffrey.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I have to say,” said Mike, “going on a nude cruise, that's a very creative way to hide out.”

“I'm not hiding out,” I said.

“No,” said Sharisse, looking straight at my dick. “You're not.”

“Listen,” I said, “I don't know who you think I am, but . . .”

“You're Jeffrey Peckerman,” said Mike. “We recognized you when you got on board.” He unzipped his waist pack, and for a second there, the way things had been going lately, I thought he was going to pull out a gun. But what he pulled out was an iPhone. He tapped on it for a few seconds, then handed it to me. On the screen was the
New York Post
website. The headline said
ZOO SEX PERVERT BRIDGE TERRORISTS LINKED TO AL-QAEDA CELL
. There were the usual pictures of me and Horkman, but now there were four new pictures, crappy black-and-white head shots taken from video. Three were of the assholes from the bar who kidnapped me, with raghead names under their pictures. The fourth was Fook. At least I figured it was; the actual photo showed the head of Chuck E. Cheese, underneath which it said
Mystery Cell Leader
.

I read the first few paragraphs of the story. The cops had checked surveillance videos from Central Park the night Horkman and I had been at the zoo. They'd identified the three assholes, who it turned out were serious al-Qaeda, wanted by the FBI. So now the story, according to “federal sources,” was that Horkman and I were working with al-Qaeda, taking orders from the highest levels, and we were planning major new terror attacks. There was a nationwide manhunt on for us; the president had declared a state of emergency; the public was completely freaking out; and Fox News was spearheading a boycott of Chuck E. Cheese.

“Jesus,” I said.

“Yes,” said Sharisse. She rested her hand on my thigh. “You're a popular man, Jeffrey.”

“Listen,” I said. “This is a huge mistake. I have nothing to do with al-Qaeda.”

“Then why'd you go to the zoo with them?” said Mike.

“I didn't. I mean, I
did
, but they forced me.”

“I see,” said Mike. “And did they force you to bomb the GW Bridge and shoot down the police chopper?”

“No.”

“So you did that on your own?”

“No! I didn't do any of that!”

“I see. And after not doing any of that, you suddenly decided to take a nude cruise, get out of town for a while.”

“With your friend Philip Horkman,” said Sharisse. “Traveling under the names Sue and Arnie Kogen.”

“I'm curious,” said Mike. “Which one of you is Arnie, and which one is Sue?”

I took a swig of beer, put the bottle back down. “Okay,” I said. “I know it looks bad.”

“Yes, it does,” said Mike.

“Very bad,” said Sharisse. Who, by the way, still had her hand on my thigh.

“But,” I said, “I swear to you, I can explain, if you'll just give me a minute, okay? A couple of days ago, I was at my daughter's soccer game, and I don't know if you're familiar with the offside rule, but . . .”

I stopped there, because of how they were looking at me.

“You're not gonna buy this, are you?” I said.

“No,” said Mike.

“I'm blond,” said Sharisse. “But I'm not stupid.”

“So,” I said. “Are you going to turn me in?”

“No,” said Mike.

“You're not?”

“Jeffrey,” said Sharisse, breathing right in my ear. “Whatever happened, it's not your fault.”

Then it hit me, where I knew them from. “You're the lawyers!” I said. “In that ad. On cable. Somebody and somebody.”

“Fricker and Fricker,” said Mike. “Whatever happened, it's not your fault. That's more than just a motto for us, Jeffrey. That's how we live our lives.”

“We help people who need help,” said Sharisse. “Even if they don't know it.”

“And you, my friend, need help,” said Mike.

“Okay,” I said. “But why would you help me? What's in it for you?”

Mike leaned in. “Let's say we're able to help you out,” he said. “Maybe you know some people who would appreciate that. Maybe these are people with resources. And maybe they'll be inclined to feel a certain degree of gratitude toward the law firm of Fricker and Fricker.”

“What people? Who are you talking about?”

“You know,” said Sharisse. “Important people you might happen to know. With resources.”

I stared at her. “You mean
terrorists
?” I said.

A big smile from Sharisse, and another squeeze.

“Such an ugly word, ‘terrorists,'” said Mike. “Why can't we stop the name-calling and the labeling? Why can't we just get along?”

“Listen to me,” I said.
“I don't know those people.”

Mike smiled. “Of course you don't,” he said. “As your lawyers, we wouldn't want to hear you say anything else.”

“Wait. You're my lawyers?”

“I would hope so, for your sake,” said Mike. “Because if we weren't your lawyers, this wouldn't be a privileged conversation. And if that were the case, we'd have no choice, as citizens, but to turn you in.”

“We'd hate to do that,” said Sharisse.

I stared at them. They were smiling at me, big smiles. Like moray eels, but without the warmth.

“You know what?” said Mike. “It's getting windy out here, and we have a lot to talk about. Let's go find your friend Philip.”

He stood. Sharisse pulled me to my feet. It really was getting windy; the ocean looked rough, and the deck was moving. I stumbled a little, and Mike and Sharisse grabbed me, holding me up between them. My legal team.

CHAPTER 23

Philip

With the possible exception
of the semi-erection that involuntarily sprouted when I thought I saw Diane Sawyer in an airport, I had never cheated on my wife Daisy. We'd exchanged sacred vows some eighteen years earlier and I was proud that even my fantasy life, at its wildest, was of the PG-13 nature. That's to say that my most lurid wanderings permitted a woman to peel (or be peeled) down to her underwear. Hey, I'm a guy! But the moment any move was made to undo the hooks on her bra, I was quick to pull the plug on the proceedings by smacking the back of my head and switching to another daydream. Yes, that's how faithful I'd been and planned to remain. So it stood to reason that if I were to step out on Daisy, the perfect situation would be to do so with someone who was celibate.

Maria, the twelfth of seventeen children born to extremely Catholic parents, had wanted to enter the clergy since grade school. But now, at the age of thirty-four, was questioning whether she still had the same passion and was taking time off to reassess.

“So you're sort of like the Maria in
The Sound of Music
,” I said.

It was about a half hour later and we were now walking on the ship's outer deck again. Because the winds were blowing a little stronger and the temperature was a little lower, we'd both taken the time to exercise the ‘optional' part of this clothing optional cruise and got dressed—me in the only pants and shirt I had with me, she in a pair of jeans and bathing suit top.

“Remember that movie?” I continued. “Julie Andrews played a nun who temporarily left the convent because she had the same questions you do and ended up marrying Captain von Trapp and helping him lead his seven children over the Alps and into Switzerland because the Nazis were bearing down on them.”

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head.

“There's a big difference between that Maria and me.”

“How so?”

She looked at me and smiled.

“I'm a better yodeler.”

And then I smiled.

“Oh, is that a fact?”

And then she started singing.

High on a hill stood a lonely goatherd,

And then she started yodeling.

Lay-ee-odl, lay-ee-odl, lay-hee-hoo . . .

And then I started laughing as she continued.

Loud was the voice of the lonely goatherd,

Lay-ee-odl, lay-ee-odl
-
oo.

I was falling for her. In the purest of ways. We were both clothed. And the earlier stirrings that had made Lieut. Longfellow stand and salute were now at ease. Still, I was more enchanted than ever.

“Can Daisy yodel?” she asked.

“Who's Daisy?”

She laughed again because she thought I was joking. What she didn't know was at that particular moment, I literally had no idea who she was talking about.

I looked at her. She looked back. We held those gazes and I wondered if I was going to kiss her. As if I was a spectator to this couple standing alone on this ship's outer deck with no control of my own actions, I seriously wondered if I was going to surrender to the magnetic pull I was feeling, lean in, and kiss this beautiful nun. So it didn't surprise me when I allowed my face to drift toward hers. Or when I closed my eyes. Or when my lips lightly touched her lips. What did surprise me, however, was the sound of a voice, the last voice I'd ever want to hear at this tender moment.

“Hey, Horkman! We gotta talk!”

As if suddenly jerked into another reality, I turned to see that idiot Peckerman, naked except for a hat and sunglasses, flanked by a man and woman whom I'd immediately recognized as the ambulance-chasing couple from those tacky television commercials, coming toward us.

“Who's that?” Maria whispered.

“Don't worry, I'll get rid of him,” I whispered back.

Because I had no desire whatsoever to expose Maria to the hideous behavior of this lummox and his new friends, I walked away so I could put as much distance between her and this unsightly trio as possible.

“What's up?” I asked.

“Philip Horkman, say hello to our attorneys, Fricker and Fricker. This is Fricker,” he said, pointing to the woman. “And this is Fricker,” he said, pointing to the man. “Or is it the other way around?” he asked, and then started snickering as if he'd just said something funny. And the fact that both Frickers started laughing as if this was the first time they'd heard anyone make a joke about their names made me despise them before we even exchanged a syllable.

“Our attorneys?” I asked.

“We need them,” he said, leaning toward me as if they couldn't hear him even though he somehow forgot to lower his voice. “They know everything.”

The wind kicked up a little more, rocking the boat. The four of us instinctively shifted the weight on our feet and grabbed the railing to keep our balance. I took a quick peek back at Maria to make sure she was okay. She was.

“If you can take your mind off of pussy for a second,” he now said under his breath, “I think we should go inside and talk to them.”

“With all due respect,” I said to the Frickers, “if you do know everything, then you know we're innocent and really don't need legal representation.” I opted to leave out the rest of that sentence, which would have been, “by shysters such as you.”

“It's because we know everything that makes us perfect to fight for justice on your behalf,” said the male Fricker.

“And we'll prevail,” said his female counterpart, who I'd just noticed had her hand on Peckerman's thigh. “That is, if you allow our team to represent your team.”

They were obviously able to read my hesitance.

“Give it some thought, Mr. Horkman.”

“Okay,” I responded, with every hope that this conversation was over and I could return to Maria.

“Hey, we're on an ocean liner in the middle of the ocean,” he unfortunately continued, with a smirk that would make a used car salesman look as honest as our nation's sixteenth president. “So I know you're not running away.”

“And it's like we told your partner here,” said Mrs. Fricker, tapping her index finger on Peckerman's stunted thigh for emphasis, “these conversations are privileged, so there should be no fears about any of this coming back to haunt you.”

“I appreciate . . .”

“But what we can't control,” interrupted her husband, “is if someone onboard this ship should make an anonymous call to the proper authorities, who'll be there to greet you when we dock tomorrow.”

A threat? Absolutely. There was no other way to take it. I looked over at Peckerman, who was silently urging me to take these Frickers seriously. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. And I was going to tell them this had I the time. But I didn't have the time, because just then a particularly large wave caused the boat to rock. As if it were a huge seaborne cradle with the side we were standing on dipping into the Caribbean, before rocking back to where we were high off its surface and then slamming back down again with a thud which sent Maria over the railing and into the water.

I saw it out of the corner of my eye. One second she was there, the next she'd lost her balance, and her attempt to grab the railing failed. In an instant, the ship righted itself and I looked overboard and caught a glimpse of her when she surfaced.

“Maria!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, but had no idea whether she yelled back or even heard me over the sound of the mounting wind. All I then saw was her getting smaller as she receded into the distance.

“Let's get back inside!” shouted Peckerman.

“Yes! Let's discuss our legal strategy!” shouted Fricker.

“Yes! There's so much we have to do!” shouted Fricker.

And then I jumped into the Caribbean. So I could save Maria.