It's funny how life sometimes imitates art.
But in the Gutter, art is a relative term.
But in the Gutter, art is a relative term.
Dead Presidents by Chase Whale
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Charlie loves Point
Break. I swear he owns 18 copies on VHS. His favorite character is Bodhi
because the dude surfs, skydives, and robs banks. A real tough guy. My favorite
is Johnny Utah because he’s an honest cop who goes undercover to infiltrate
Bodhi’s crew. You’ve seen the movie. Keanu Reeves’ best role.
Last Monday, Charlie
had me, Andy, and Lee over for a viewing. After, he gave us each a copy and
told us to watch it religiously for a week. Said he was going to quiz us on it.
Said it was for a big project he was working on. Nobody thought much of it.
***
Once the weekend hit,
I headed to Charlie’s, as usual. When I got there, Andy and Lee were in the
living room laughing their heads off. “What’s
so funny?” I asked.
“You’ll…” Andy said with
a stupid grin, “Charlie
has planned an adventure for us.” Shit. I hate when Charlie has an “adventure for us” planned. It always
means trouble.
Relax. Shit. Shit.
Shit. Relax. Shit.
Out of the bathroom
and into the living room came Charlie. “Hey,
President Reagan finally made it.”
“Huh?” I wasn’t
following.
“Sit down, man. Did you
study the movie like I asked?”
“Of course. Watched it
every day.” I lied but have seen it enough to recite every damn line.
A maniacal smile that
I’d never seen before split open Charlie’s sun-burnt face. It frightened me. “Awesome,” he said. “Let’s get down to it.”
I pretended to not be
entirely lost in translation. The big project became clear when Charlie said
these horrifying words: we’re going to rob a bank. A pang of dread lit
up inside me.
Now I kn0w why Andy
and Lee were laughing their heads off. Those two half-brained goons would do
anything for Charlie. I would too…but this? This was foolish.
“I’m not robbing a bank,”
I barked. “I don’t even own a gun.”
“I’ve got that covered,”
said Charlie with that evil grin. “C’mon,
dude. Look how easy it is in Point Break: they execute a well-planned robbery
and rack up a fat loot.”
“That’s because it’s fiction,” I hissed. “It’s not real. Also, they all die at the
end. ‘Ja forget?”
“Not real? What about
Bonnie and Clyde? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? They’re real.”
“Do you know what
happened to them?” I snapped back.
Charlie knew I needed
convincing. “Yeah,
they became legends!” He high-fived Andy and Lee.
I couldn’t say no.
Charlie has gotten me out of hot water many times. I owed him. I’m fucked.
Pros. Money. Lots
of money. Cons. Arrested and possible death. “All…all right,” I said. “I’ll do it once, that’s it.”
“Yes!” Charlie howled. “Trust me; this is going to be a blast.”
It turns out, the
week we were supposed to be watching Point Break on repeat, Charlie was
staking out a bank, blueprinting our in and out. Boy, he has a bit of a wild
side. There are always stories circulating about him but I’ve never seen it
first-hand. I heard three no-goods tried to rob him at a city bus stop once.
Word has it Charlie lit them up, plunging his switchblade into any flesh they
had to offer. Charlie takes pride in that moment. Nobody has tried to steal
from him since.
As Charlie was going
over the plan, I knew it wasn’t going to end well. A plan is just a list of
things that never happen. Especially in Charlie’s world. He may feel
invincible, but he’s got a death wish.
***
We met up at noon, as
planned. Charlie showed up with two large bags: one empty and the other
containing three small guns and one giant shotgun.
“I’m taking the shotgun,”
Charlie said. “You
three can fight over the rest.”
I grabbed what was
left from the pile.
Charlie managed to
get the infamous president masks from the movie, which kind of impressed me. He
tossed one at each of us. “Andy,
you’re Nixon.” Andy laughed
and threw up peace signs. “Lee,
you’re Carter; I’ll be Johnson. And here’s yours,” Charlie said, tossing a mask
at me. Ronald Reagan. Great, I thought, the president who got popped
in real life.
“Let’s go over the plan
one more time,” Charlie yapped.
My anxiety was on
fire.
***
Charlie put the plan
in motion and we followed. Into the bank we went.
“Everybody freeze!” Charlie
wailed. “This is a robbery!” Instead
of the panic and screaming you see in the movies, everyone turned, looked at
us, and then went about their business like we were invisible.
“I said freeze!” Charlie
reinforced. He walked up to a bank teller, shoving the customer aside. I
followed and tossed the empty bag to the teller. Charlie demanded him to fill
it up to the top.
The teller balked. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “What are you, twelve?”
“Thirteen, motherfucker.
Vaya con Dios.”
That's all it took.
Charlie turned and looked at me. Through that droopy Johnson mask, I could see
the madness in his eyes — it cut right through my soul.
And that’s when Charlie
pointed the giant shotgun up at the teller and pulled the trigger. Where the
man’s head used to be was now red mist. His skull decorated the back wall.
When the 437.5 grains
of lead from the slug exploded the man’s head, it felt like the world stopped.
You never really think about death until it sprays you right in the face.
Once the panic set
in, my numb brain caught up with frenetic energy from the horrified crowd.
Instead of dropping to the floor, they all ran straight towards the two
swinging front doors, shoving one another to get out. Zero compassion for each
other.
Andy and Lee didn’t
seem to know how to use their guns because they were smacking them with their
palms, looking stumped as to how to get them to shoot. I just stood there, slack-jawed
in my stupid mask. There wasn’t talk of shooting people. Charlie said if they
wouldn’t give us the money, we’d leg it out.
He lied.
Charlie started
firing away, plugging as many people as he could. He was a natural. This was
not his first time shooting a real shotgun. This was not his first time
shooting a real giant shotgun at people.
“What are you doing?” I
yelled. “This isn’t we talked
about.”
Before Charlie could
say anything, an off-duty cop lying on the floor buried four bullets deep into
Charlie’s chest. He fell to the ground, screaming.
I had dropped my gun
minutes ago and never realized it, but I threw my hands up anyway. The man told
me not to move. I stood as still as the dead air and pee started to trickle
down my leg. I began to cry, hard. Everything was blurry; I didn’t see Andy and
Lee sneak up behind the man and stab him to death in the neck with a couple
bank pens. The man bled out where he lay.
Leaving this place
safely became a dream.
Within minutes, the
place was surrounded by cops.
I didn’t hear Charlie’s
screams anymore, and that’s because he was dead. Andy and Lee took off out one
of the front swinging doors, masks on, and all I heard was gunfire. I guess
they’re dead, too.
I don’t want to die.
I took off my Reagan
mask, kept my hands up high like in the movies, and walked out slow, yelling, “I’m unarmed!” Didn’t matter. Some
trigger-happy yahoo popped me in the chest as soon as I got outside.
I splayed on the
ground as if I were making a snow angel as my shirt drank up the blood pouring
out of me. The shock stole the glory from me feeling anything, from me hearing
the policeman who was holding my wound tell me to breathe, that I was going to
be OK.
I just looked up at
the sky, watching a flock of birds fly over.
What a day.
