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T-shirt out of a shopping bag. “Step down from the Skee-Ball machine, sir,” is printed in neon green letters across the chest.
“It’s going to be huge!” says Mandrake. “We have a tie-in with Kmart. Going national this weekend and-you’re gonna love this-we’re going to donate two percent of the net profits to your Widows and Children Fund. You guys have one of those, right?”
“Sure, we do,” says the mayor. “Right, chief? We’ve got Widows and Children?”
Baines nods grimly. “Yeah.” He doesn’t add that Ceepak has just started a scholarship fund to help take care of the late Dominic Santucci’s family. Santucci died working security at that Rolling Thunder roller coaster. It’s a long story. Remind me, I’ll tell you sometime.
“Your offer is very generous,” says Ceepak, “but, Mr. Mandrake, I am most concerned about making certain that Mr. Braciole and Ms. Kemppainen appear in court to face the charges pending against them.”
Soozy K? Her real name is Susan Kemppainen. Figures she’d take the rapper route and go with the initial-for-a-last-name.
“Assault with a deadly weapon is a very serious offense,” Ceepak continues.
“It wasn’t a weapon, John,” says Mayor Sinclair sarcastically. “It was a Skee-Ball.”
“Made out of solid wood,” I toss in.
“And,” adds Chief Baines, “it was thrown at an off-duty police officer who had clearly identified himself.”
The chief tugs a few more hairs out of his lip caterpillar. The man is conflicted. His boss, the mayor, wants the SHPD to roll over and play nice with the TV people. But people can’t chuck projectiles at police officers and not suffer the consequences, which, in New Jersey, would be a maximum sentence of five years. And our state prisons don’t have tanning beds. I think the new governor cut them out of the budget, along with everything else.
“Look,” says Layla, calming the whole room with her sparkling brown eyes.
Okay. Maybe I’m exaggerating. We’ve dated a couple times. I’m biased. Let’s just say she’s a refreshing change of pace from Mandrake and his Italian leather briefcase.
“Everyone at Prickly Pear Productions wants to see justice done,” she continues. When Layla speaks, you can tell she went to college-the real deal with ivy on the walls, not Junior College, like me. “Paul and Susan must answer for their actions.”
Heads start nodding around the room.
“We only ask that you hold off a few weeks; delay their indictments until after Labor Day.”
Which would be after Fun House finishes filming in Sea Haven.
“This show is very good for us,” says Mayor Sinclair, using his public-servant-looking-out-for-the-little-people voice. “I don’t have to remind anyone in this room that these are tough economic times. Our local merchants are suffering-especially after you two scared away so many potential tourists with your shootout at the O.K. Corral.”
He flips a hand toward Ceepak and me. I think the honorable Hugh Sinclair is referring to us saving a bunch of lives when things turned ugly at the grand opening of the Rolling Thunder.
“Heck,” he continues, shifting into his Ronald Reagan aw-shucks mode, “five point three million Americans seeing these fun-loving college kids having a sunny, funderful day every Thursday night?” Now the mayor is biting his lip like he’s choking himself up. “Chief, it’s summer in America again.”
“Ceepak?” Chief Baines peers at my partner.
Ceepak sighs. “If the county prosecutor agrees to delay processing formal charges until-”
“Excellent!” says Mandrake. “And I agree with Officer Ceepak. We need to keep our cast on a shorter leash.”
Um, Ceepak never mentioned leashes, long, short, or in-between.
“Chief Baines, I want to work closer with you guys moving forward. These two officers, Ceepak and Boyle, are already linked to the show.…”
Layla shoots me a wink. I think she’s the only thing linking me to Fun House, even though, for the record, we have not actually “linked up.” Not yet, anyway. Our third date is slated for later tonight. After she wraps. That’s a movie term. Has nothing to do with sandwiches or flour tortillas.
“How about they head up an SHPD Fun House security detail? You have people with us 24/7.”
“That’s a major manpower commitment,” says Chief Baines.
“It’s in our budget,” says Layla. “We’ll pay overtime rates. Officers Ceepak and Boyle set up the security team. Assign officers. The LAPD does this all the time. In fact, they even have a special Film Unit.”
“Interesting idea,” says Chief Baines, smoothing what’s left of his mustache back into place. “We could reach out to some of our retirees. Guys like Gus Davis and Alex Smitten who could use a little extra income.”
Mandrake claps his hands. “Bingo. I like it. What size T-shirt do Davis and Smitten wear?”
“I’d, of course, work closely with you guys,” says Layla, sweetening the deal for me, if not the happily married Ceepak.
“The show needs you, men,” says Mandrake, pacing around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. He’d look like a general in his tent the night before a big battle if he weren’t wearing the goofy baseball cap and neon-colored shoestrings on his Nikes. “We’re on an extremely tight, almost live, production schedule. Most reality shows shoot for months, edit for months, go on air half a year after they finish filming. Us? We shoot Friday through Tuesday, edit all day Wednesday into Thursday morning, satellite the finished show up to the network on Thursday afternoon, go on air Thursday night at nine. Keeps us fresh. If we can keep the cast out of trouble.…”
“And out of jail,” jokes Mayor Sinclair, even though, as always, nobody’s paying attention to him.
“If we can avoid any future speed bumps, it’ll help me guarantee an on-time product.”
“I’m not sure,” says Ceepak. “As you stated, Chief, this ‘security detail’ would put quite a strain on the department. It might adversely impact our ability to provide police services during the peak of the township’s summer season.”
“Not if we deal with it on an overtime-only basis with everybody but you two,” suggests the chief.
“But we’d still pay you two the overtime rates,” adds Mandrake. “That’s part of the deal. Definitely.”
“This isn’t about the money,” says Ceepak.
Mandrake laughs-derisively, I think they call it. “Officer? It’s always about the money. Am I right?”
The mayor laughs. Layla chuckles. Hey, the guy’s her boss. She has to.
Me, the chief, and Ceepak? Statues on Easter Island smile more.
Ceepak repeats himself. “It is not about the money, Mr. Mandrake.”
“Okay. Forget the money,” says Mandrake, reaching into his briefcase yet again. “You guys should do it to protect my kids.”
Ceepak arches an eyebrow. “Protect them? From what?”
“Drug dealers.”
He holds up a tiny glass vial, the kind doctors use when giving you a shot. There’s a small sticker glued on the front. Instead of the usual medical mumbo-jumbo, I see a comic-book illustration of a purple muscleman in a hood and loincloth. His head is a skull.
“Might I see that ampule, Mr. Mandrake?” says Ceepak.
Mandrake hands him the small glass container. “The crew found a bunch just like it when they had to move a couple mattresses in the house to set up a shot.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Anabolic steroids,” says Mandrake, striking a bodybuilder pose, pumping his chicken wings, pretending he has muscles.
“From Skeletor,” adds Ceepak.
3
Last summer, Ceepak and I almost died when this boarded-up ride called the Hell Hole started burning down around us. Despite the dilapidated old ride’s name, the blaze, or, to quote the newspapers, the “roiling inferno,” was caused by an arsonist, not Beelzebub pitchforking up brimstone from the basement. We had crawled into the shuttered ride to rescue a couple of junkies shooting up something called “Hot Stuff Heroin,” which was being sold by a homegrown Sea Haven drug dealer who calls himself Skeletor, because, according to our sources, he has a thing for the villain from the 1980s “He-Man: Masters Of The Universe” cartoons. Skeletor, in the animated episodes-and action figure aisle at Toys “R” Us-was a purple muscleman in a hood and loincloth who had a skull for a head. The cartoon on the steroid bottle? It’s him. And branding his drugs with cartoons? That’s- 1
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