PIGGS - A Novel with Bonus Screenplay (24 page)
I
ggs didn't make a lot of sense, and Rhino thought about Niggs, or Jiggs, but only to himself, not to anybody else, and certainly not to Mr. Hamilton T. Gerrard. They'd never talked about it, but Rhino had an idea racial humor wasn't a topic his boss would care about at all.
What he did was take the neon "W" from Wan's, and call the place Wiggs.
No one asked what it meant, no one seemed to care.
That left an's for the restaurant, which wasn't Chink anymore, but kind of Creole-Thai, and seemed to fit.
The little blue pigs stilled blinked and whirled around Wiggs, but that was fine, too.
Guys came to drink and see bare-ass girls.
The philosophy of signs was the farthest thing from their minds.
Mr. Gerrard said Mr. Junior Ambrose didn't much like baby pigs.
What Mr. Ambrose liked were gators, and Mr. Gerrard brought a pickup full from Louisiana, where gators were easy to find. They looked real nice behind glass, and Mr. Gerrard had a decorator person from Dallas come in, and install some plastic plants.
Very few patrons asked to sign a gator.
When anyone did, Rhino had them shown to the door.
Mostly, he roamed around in a new sportcoat and a tie for every night.
He greeted everybody, watched the money flow, kept a close eye on the bar.
The everyday work he left to his assistant manager.
Jack did a real good job, keeping up the inventory, making sure the waiters and the cooks didn't kill each other, or steal more than they should.
Jack got along well with the girls, and Rhino was happy to leave the job to him.
Women were fine, but fussing with them was an irritation Rhino could do without.
He walked around Wiggs, looked at the tables, looked at the bar.
Checked the restrooms to make sure no one was about. Seeing the place empty didn't seem right, but it was just for the night, and he guessed he could put up with that.
Peering across the way, he saw Jack had closed up an's, locked it up tight.
It was good to have someone you could trust, leave things to, know they would all go right.
Rhino knew people.
He'd always had this rare insight.
Right from the start, he knew Jack had what it took.
No one else saw it, but Rhino did.
What it was was a gift.
You either had it or not, you couldn't learn something like that...
T
hat magic moment just before dark was Jack's favorite time of day.
It seemed like the world kind of paused and held its breath, before the light slid away.
It had finally rained in Mexican Wells, and everything was green and bright.
He had always thought there was no better way to see the countryside than from a car.
Walking, you got tired of seeing one thing.
Driving, stuff changed all the time.
He was grateful to Rhino, who'd let him have his '95 Toyota on time, when he'd bought his new Cad.
He could handle the payments on his salary, and what he siphoned off on the side.
A little from the till, and kickbacks from the meat and beer guys.
Mostly, he thought, things were going fine.
He'd never imagined he could live without Gloria Mundi, but that was working out okay.
The new girl from Wichita Falls, JoAnn Sebastian Box, was a honey and a half, and it looked like she cared for him too.
Sometimes he thought about Cecil's stash, and regretted it had turned out that way.
But the past was gone and you had to look back, as Ortega used to say.
Mr. Chavez told Jack he'd made a real find.
Cecil's baseball cards dated back to the l900s, and some of them were signed.
Mr. Chavez gave him three-hundred dollars for the lot–which told Jack what he already knew, that Mescans weren't nearly as smart as they thought.
"What I want you to do," Jack said, "I want you first thing in the morning, I want you to get that shit out of the storeroom, out back where it belongs.
Then you get the kitchen stocked, and I want it fucking neat.
N.E.A.T. neat.
Don't you fucking forget."
"Uhhhhnnn...uhhhnnnn..."
"You say yes, damn it, don't give me that uhhhnnn-uhhhnn business.
You say it.
You say 'yes.'"
"Yuuuuuush..."
"Okay, that's a start.
You are an aggravation to me, I don't mind saying that."
Cecil sat in back, all hunched over, all crouched up, flapping his arms like a fucking chicken, twitching and blinking like he always did.
Son of a bitch couldn't look at you straight.
His eyes were all gotchy, like where a rock hits the windshield when you're going too fast.
He sure wasn't the Cecil he'd been before they took him to New Orleans, but no one complained about that.
Jack didn't miss the old Cecil, he sure as hell didn't miss Grape. Whatever they'd done with Cat, Jack didn't care, and didn't ask.
He hated to say it, but sometimes he missed Ortega and Ahmed, and wondered where they'd gone. The new guys were better, but one was a pure albino, and the other was a Jap.
"Uhhhhhnnnn...uhhhnnnnn..." Cecil said, and Jack said, "I see it, shut the fuck up back there."
Jack had to admit the place really looked fine.
THE BATTLE OF BRITUN FAMILY FUN PARK
sparkled like a Christmas tree, all shiny and bright.
Cars were parked everywhere, as people flocked from all over to see the wonders of Opening Night.
Even from the parking lot, Jack could see the "Loopin' Stuka" ride, streaking by on tracks above the park.
Closer, he caught the "Howlin' Hawker Hurricanes" whirling screaming kids about.
The night was alive with the sound of dogfights shrieking through speakers set up in the trees.
Ricky Chavez had done a great job, you had to give him that.
It took a lot of money, but the place looked grand.
Jack didn't need a ticket.
He knew nearly everyone who worked on the grounds.
Most of the staff were highschool and college kids from Mexican Wells, Luling, San Marcos, and San Antone.
The boys were all pilots, and the girls were nurses of many nations, Allied and Axis Powers alike.
Cecil went "Uhhhhnnnn...uhhhhnnn," and tried to hop away to a hotdog stand.
"Damn it, we'll get something later, you stick with me now."
There were plenty of things to eat, and a hundred different smells wafted through the air.
Everything from American burgers to Nazi schnitzel, and RAF kidney pie.
Jack couldn't help it.
When he spotted Gloria through the crowd, his heart skipped a beat.
Lord, she looked fine.
She had on a l942 dress with the big shoulder pads, and a funny little hat.
She wasn't that far along yet, and the baby didn't show.
Ricky looked handsome and gallant in his natty Luftwaffe blues.
Gloria gazed up at him with an almost mystical sparkle in her eyes, and Jack couldn't deny they belonged together now.
She wasn't his, and they'd never go for pie, but he's always remember those special moments when she looked in the mirror, and her robe slid to the floor.
"Uhhhhnnn...uhhhnnn...uhhnnnn!" said Cecil, and tugged at Jack's sleeve.
"Stop it," Jack said, slapping Cecil's hand aside.
"I 'bout had enough of you."
He looked down at Cecil, and Cecil looked up at him.
"Get down," Jack said.
Get down now. You know what to do."
"Uhhhhnnn...uhhhnn..." Cecil showed Jack a glassy stare, and flapped his arms in alarm.
"Do it, Cecil, don't you mess with me."
Cecil mumbled and whined, but did as he was told.
And when he was down on all fours, Jack drew a short iron rod from his belt, a piece he'd found behind an's, and carried all the time.
Then, as Messerschmitts and Spitfires snarled overhead, as children and grownups crowded in to watch, Jack mounted up, kicked Cecil in the sides, and gave him a healthy whack.
"Hi ho," he shouted to the night, "Hi ho, motherfucker,
hu-wayyy...!"
PIGGS – The Screenplay – Written by the author.
This screenplay is unproduced.
If you are interested in optioning it, please contact
[email protected]
for information.
BLACK SCREEN
The faint sound of country music begins as:
BLACKNESS SOFTENS TO--
MOONLIT NIGHT, SUMMER IN SOUTH TEXAS
As the CAMERA SWEEPS over treetops, nearly brushing uppermost branches and MUSIC GROWS as we pass over a road jammed with cars, horns honking, headlights beaming.
CAMERA DIPS from on high as we are MOVING IN on the front of
PIGGS, a sleazy, rural Texas strip joint, next door to WAN'S RESTAURANT, two establishments joined at the hip, sharing a packed parking lot.
MOVING IN FASTER on the sign above PIGGS. Pink letters flash PIGGS every second. A herd of blue neon pigs chase one another in a jerky circle around the name.
SWEEPING IN CLOSER STILL to the entry to PIGGS, crowded with rowdy guys eager to get in. The MUSIC and SHOUTING are flat out DEAFENING now. Photos of strippers are pasted on the front. One, a large photo with a caption reads:
SHE'S HERE!
THE HEAVENLY
***MISS GLORIA MUNDI***
WE RUSH past the entry now and BLAST through the door...
INT. PIGGS
into chaos, ear-splitting country-rock and the roar of the crowd.
MOVING, we elbow through the crowd into
A QUICK SERIES
Stripper on main stage, others on minor stages.
Screaming college guys and rednecks drinking and yelling at the strippers.
CUT TO:
AQUARIUM TANKS IN WALL
GUY hits on a STRIPPER WAITRESS in front of one of the joint's aquariums embedded in the walls of this FORMER SEAFOOD RESTAURANT. Behind the glass, CUTE PINK PIGLETS dash about.
CUT TO:
JACK, a weary guy in his thirties, struggles through the crowd with a tray of empty plates, glasses, etc. His face mirrors the flashing lights, and the expression of a guy permanently on the edge of an anxiety attack.
CUT TO:
CECIL'S TABLE
In a relatively quiet corner, CECIL DUPREE, owner of PIGGS,
with his two aides. Cecil wears bib overalls, no shirt, no shoes. If the Godfather was LBJ.. An unfortunate, slightly off-center birthmark, similar to the Lone Ranger's mask, surrounds Cecil's eyes. Anyone who knows better avoids staring at this feature.
CAT, a big guy, stands behind Cecil. GRAPE, Cecil's right-hand man, slouches in a chair.
FAVOR HUTT KENNY
HUTT KENNY, overdressed for this joint, in a blue shirt sporting a white collar, a tie and tasseled loafers, leans across the table toward Cecil.
HUTT
What we can do, we got stuff going through Houston up to Big D.
This is maybe week, week after next.
CECIL/HUTT
CECIL
Through Houston.
HUTT
Through Houston up here.
We let you know when.
CECIL
This is a week.
HUTT
Week, week after next.
We offload a partial here, hold the rest till we---
Cecil holds up a restraining hand.
CECIL
