IV: An Elvis Carol

Chichay Milano, the Malaysian terror-assassin, was dressed all in black and piloted a gigantic silver and blue classic convertible toward the security checkpoint of an austere and imposing correctional facility. Snow capped peaks rose above the buildings in the distance. Chichay hated mountains, and silently cursed them. She stopped at the gate, just next to a small booth. A heavily armed guard with a face like a horny minister stepped out. He leaned slightly toward her.
“I’m here to pick up some parolees,” she said. The guard looked skeptically from her to the car, then back. It was the middle of winter, and she was driving the convertible with the top down. She was only wearing black jeans and a sweater. Meanwhile, despite the bright sunlight, it was cold enough that all of the guards were wearing heavy parkas, hats and gloves. The guard stepped toward the back seat of the car and noticed a large, military-style duffle bag sitting on the seat on the driver’s side. 
“Anything interesting in the duffle bag?” 
“Just a jetpack, a few pounds of C4, some hand grenades, a mini swarm drone, a couple of rifles... you know, the usual.”
“Excuse me?” He snapped his head around to stare at her. Chichay flashed him her most charming smile and laughed. 
“Just a few things to help my friends get a fresh start. Clothes and stuff.” She shrugged. The guard blushed and looked at his feet. Who was this woman? 
The guard returned to the booth, and after a few formalities, including a check of her driver’s license (bearing the name Addison Bonaly), she was waved through. She made her way to the visitor parking lot where she was told to wait until the prisoners were released. She sat quietly in the car, her eyes on the prison doors up ahead. 

***

Inside the prison, the shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks were standing in a line of other prisoners being released that afternoon. The processing area was bathed in brutal fluorescent lights. Buzzers and alarms sounded, metal gates and doors clanged open and shut.  
They both wore orange jumpsuits and had their hands shackled behind their backs. They were slightly singed, but otherwise looked no worse than they had going in. Mormon jail had given them a much needed detoxing and each had clearly benefited from the months of having their respective “prison wives” at their disposal. While the constant cheer, positivity, sing alongs, square dancing, and bible study, all hallmarks of Mormon jail, had been a drag, having someone waiting on them hand and foot had been a luxury that these two hard-scrabble disaster artists weren’t used to, and they had grown to like it. Even if the only thing they were ever being served was orange soda and compliments. 
So it was with mixed feelings that the two waited to be released into the outside world. This had been a nice, though inconvenient and shockingly irritating, break from their day to day responsibilities of running a successful global enterprise, they told themselves. They would miss their prison wives, who each wept forlornly in the common areas of their gender-specific side of the prison, but it was time to get back to doing what they did best. 
Finally they were called to the glass-covered windows. Dixie and Johnny glanced at one another and stepped forward. 

***

Nearly an hour later, a buzzer sounded. A light above the door to the prison began to flash. The door opened and a small group of now former-prisoners emerged, each escorted by a guard. They all wore standard grey sweatsuits and carried plastic bags of their belongings. Chichay watched as the group entered a corridor constructed out of a tall chain link fence. The gate behind them closed, and they walked forward toward the next gate, which would take them to the parking lot and to freedom. 
By this time, other people waiting in the parking area began to get out of their cars and approach the outer gate. Chichay remained seated and grew concerned as, one by one, all prisoners exited the gate, greeted friends, loved ones, or weird religious cult leaders, and were driven away. Finally, there were only guards remaining. 
“Of course they fucked this up,” she thought to herself. She was about to get out of the car and ask the guards what had become of her friends when another buzzer sounded. Two figures emerged, followed closely by at least ten guards, plus a man in a suit and tie that Chichay took to be the warden. The guards and the warden hastily herded the two prisoners to the outer gate, and before the sliding gate was fully open, practically shoved them outside. 
Dixie and Johnny stood in the parking lot of the prison, blinking in the bright winter sunlight. Johnny was still wearing his prison jumpsuit, while Dixie was wearing only what appeared to be a kitchen apron. Chichay stepped out of the car and waved. 
“Hey assholes! Over here!” They turned and saw Chichay. Johnny waved back, holding a black book in his hand. 
“Chichay you glorious, secular mirage! You’ve come to get us the fuck out of here!” Dixie shouted as the two made their way across the parking lot to the car and got in, Johnny in the front seat and Dixie in the back. Chichay got in, started the engine and drove slowly out of the parking lot. As they cleared the final checkpoint, Chichay glanced over at Johnny. 
“What’s with the book?” 
“Fuckin’ Book of Mormon,” Johnny replied, turning the book over in his hands. “Mormon jails, man. They give you one when you check out.” 
“Supposed to remind you to keep your shit together. Stay on the righteous path of the lord, or whatever,” Dixie chimed in from the back seat. 
“Is that right?” Chichay asked, smirking. 
“Uh huh,” said Johnny, as he tossed the book out of the car. 

***

Once they hit the highway, and the duo had been oddly quiet for a while, Chichay glanced in the rearview mirror at Dixie. 
“So uh…” She paused. “Apron, huh? That cause you burned your clothes before you got to jail?” Dixie looked down at the apron that barely covered her and smiled. 
“Actually, they gave us sweats before we got processed out,” Dixie said. “But we set ‘em on fire while we were waiting.” 
“Yeah, so then they gave us these jumpsuits instead,” Johnny added. “But Dix set hers on fire on the way to the door.” Chichay stared at Dixie in the mirror. 
“Why?” 
“Why what?” Dixie asked, innocently. Chichay sighed and shook her head.
“That what happened to your Book of Mormon?” Chichay asked. Dixie just grinned from the backseat. 
“Well, anyway, I wasn’t sure what you’d be wearing when you left, so I brought you both some clothes. They’re in that duffle bag in the back seat.” Dixie reached into the bag and pulled out two pairs of black pants, and two sweaters. More or less identical to what Chichay was wearing. She handed a set up to Johnny and started trying to wiggle into her pants. 
“And Johnny,” Chichay continued, “if you open the glove box, there are two bottles of Beam in there. I figured you’d be dry, what with it being a Mormon jail and all.” Before she had even finished speaking, Johnny had ripped open the glove box and removed the bottles. Dixie had abandoned her efforts to put on her clothes and had practically climbed over the seat to get to her liquor bottle. Once she had it, she wrenched open the cap, took a long pull, and then curled up in the backseat with the bottle, stroking it lovingly and murmuring softly. Johnny leaned back, put his feet on the dashboard, and took a drink. 
“So Chich. What’s been going on out here in the real world while Dix and I have been inside? You guys get the death ray?” 
“We did. But then Sweaty time jumped to pre-Atlantis days and got in a fight with this engineering robot thing… some kind of chinchilla? Anyway, that obviously altered things a bit. When he made it back to present, the death ray worked, but only at half strength.” 
“You know, for as long as I’ve known him, Sweaty has had problems with authority figures. He never seems to know when to just play the game.” Johnny took another long drink while Chichay temporarily took her eyes off the road to stare at Johnny in disbelief. 
“What the fuck happened to you in there?” 
“Huh?” Johnny looked at her. 
“That’s… the most insightful and accurate thing I’ve ever heard you say, Johnny. Forced sobriety and reflection really seems to have had an impact on you.” Johnny swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and belched. 
“Don’t get used to it, kid,” he said. Chichay smiled. 
“Anyway, it’s fine because now the death ray is the perfect weapon for certain… political work that I’m quite good at. Speaking of which,” Chichay stopped talking as she pulled the car off the road. They were about an hour away from the prison. 
“Sweaty and I have a thing in motion that I need to get back to. I figured you guys would need to go on a bender after all those months of orange soda and sexual repression, so take a week or so and get it out of your systems, then meet us in Bolivia at the presidential palace in La Paz.” She got out of the car and leaned into the back seat, lifting the duffle bag out and placing it on the ground. Dixie and Johnny watched with something almost like interest, occasionally taking sips from their whiskey bottles, as Chichay unpacked a small arsenal and began strapping it to her person. It was the exact items that she had joked with the prison guard about having. 
“Clover and Doris are already there.” 
“Who the fuck are Clover and Doris?” Dixie asked. 
“Your loyal orangutan chauffeur and his weird and annoying human girlfriend. Rex was there for like a minute, but a tour bus full of seniors came through and he disappeared.” Dixie and Johnny both looked disgusted. Chichay continued, “Anyway, if you really can’t find a way to get there, send us a telegram and we’ll arrange to have Clover come and get you. But honestly, his services infiltrating the president’s inner circle are really valuable right now. Plus he’s immune to syphilis.” Dixie and Johnny nodded blankly. 
After strapping several guns to her thighs and back, and clipping grenades to her belt, she removed a small jetpack from the duffle bag and put it on like a backpack. 
“We’re about three hours from Vegas right now. We’re also eight hours from Reno, and five from that weird tourist ghost town in central Nevada that you guys like so much. Pick your poison.” She powered up the jetpack. It roared to life, blasting heat into the ground below. “Keys are in the ignition and there’s another case of hootch in the trunk. Godspeed, freaks!” With that, Chichay blasted off into the late afternoon sky, leaving Dixie and Johnny alone in the idling car, sipping whiskey. 

***

Two hours later, finally dressed in their post-prison clothes, the shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks were cruising down a highway through the middle of the Nevada desert. The sun was setting and the road was empty. They had the case of whiskey between them on the old convertible’s bench seat. There was only one bottle left. 
“You know what pisses me off?” Dixie asked. 
“Hmm?” Johnny said, passing the bottle to her. 
“Cereal names today.” Dixie spat angrily out of the car. 
“You said it, sister,” Johnny replied. “Whatever happened to the good names, like Malt-Ho or Orange Meat?”
“What kind of disgusting loser wants to eat something called Cheerios? I mean, besides Mormons. I’ll take Hello-Billo any day of the week, perverts.” 
“Yeah, keep your bowl of scabby vaginas, you ass glasses!” Johnny screamed as he almost veered off the road. 
“You know what they served for breakfast in the ladies’ clink?” Dixie asked. Johnny raised an eyebrow. Dixie continued, “Puffed rice!” She followed this up with some fake vomit sounds. 
“Shit,” Johnny said, looking genuinely disturbed by this. “I’m sorry, Dix. That’s fucking torture. At least on the men’s side we got saltines and surplus cheese.” 
“Orange or white?” 
“Orange.” 
“Jealous.” They drove in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Johnny spoke again. 
“My ancestors would be fucking livid to know that someone was ‘puffing rice’ and not even giving it a good name.” 
“Bastards,” Dixie whispered. She drained the whiskey bottle she was holding and tossed it out of the car. 
“If you had to name it something instead of puffed rice, what would you name it?” Dixie asked. She was starting to slur her words. 
“Abamaneyshan Vorms,” Johnny said, without hesitation. 

***

A half hour later, Johnny tossed the final whiskey bottle out of the car. Dixie followed by throwing the box that the bottles had come in, along with their prison clothes and the empty duffle bag. They rode in silence for a few minutes. 
“This sucks. We need more booze. Why didn’t Chichay leave us more?” 
“Yeah,” Dixie said. They were still very much in the middle of the desert. “Let’s go to the liquor store.” 
“Ok,” Johnny replied. They drove for a few more seconds. “Where is it?” 
“I don’t know,” Dixie said. 
“It should be right up here.” They were quiet for a few minutes. 
“Why is this taking so long?” Dixie asked. 
“I don’t know,” Johnny said. “What kind of shitty place is this that there aren’t any liquor stores? Are we still in fucking Utah?” 
“I don’t know,” Dixie said again, “But I can’t take it anymore. Pull over. I’m gonna eat whatever that is growing on the side of the road.” 

[Let the record show that they have just passed the sign for a nuclear dump site.]

“Good idea, Dix.” With that, the car careened off the road, spraying dust and rocks as it went, and killing the remaining spider of an almost extinct species. Before the car had come to a complete stop, Dixie and Johnny jumped out, leaving the doors open and the car gently rolling away from them until it bumped into a large boulder. They both dropped to their knees and began ripping a strange, glowing plant out of the ground by the roots and stuffing it into their mouths. 

Ten minutes later…

Dixie and Johnny had once again burned their clothes. They had also burned the car, leaving the smoldering remains, and wandered off into the desert. Johnny wore nothing, while Dixie had wrapped a dead buzzard around her body for warmth. The night was extremely dark. 
“Man. Who would have thought there were so many good looking people at this salamander rodeo?” Dixie smiled and waved her hand seductively at nothing. “Hey boys! Want to come for a ride over here?” 
“I don’t know about you, Dix, but I think I could get used to this cowboy life.” Johnny approached a cactus and stroked it lovingly. 
“Listen, baby,” he whispered, “no need to be alone now. Your velour prince is here.” He fell to the ground, humping the air wildly. Dixie stared straight up at the stars. 

***

Still hallucinating, Dixie and Johnny walked on, seeing a world that didn’t exist. Although, if two wandering adventurers are tripping balls in the desert, and no one is around to see it, are their hallucinations not real? 

***

Dixie and Johnny were sitting cross-legged in the desert, near a small stand of scrub. They were having a very serious conversation with a kitten that wasn’t there. 
“But you see, Frank,” Johnny was saying, “It’s not that your mother and I don’t love you. It’s just that you’re such a tremendous disappointment.” 
“Yeah, buck up, little fella. Someone will love you again someday.” 
“Someone that doesn’t think calico is the height of mediocrity,” Johnny added. Dixie nodded in agreement. 
“It just won’t be us.”
“Blimey!” A voice nearby shouted, in a terrible fake British accent. Dixie and Johnny leaned closer to their invisible kitten. 
“You aren’t going to charm your way out of this, Frank,” Dixie said, angrily. 
“That accent isn’t even good!” Johnny raised a large rock above his head, as if to crush the invisible kitten to death. 
“No friends,” the voice said. “Over here.” Dixie and Johnny looked around, scanning all 360 degrees, and saw nothing. They took a second pass and suddenly, right in front of them, was Elvis. He was wearing his white sparkly suit and sitting casually on the hood of his famous pink Cadillac. Even though it was the middle of the night and pitch black out, he was wearing his iconic sunglasses. 
“ELVIS!” Dixie and Johnny gasped in unison. 
“Thank you,” the King replied. “Thank you very much.” 

***

They were seated on the ground in front of the King’s Cadillac, like children waiting for story time. Their eyes were wide. Probably mostly because they were still hallucinating. For a long time, no one said anything. Dixie and Johnny looked up at the King in awe. The King stared off into the distance. 
“Dix,” Johnny whispered, but loudly, “It’s THE KING.” 
“I know!” She replied, not really bothering to whisper. “Do you think he has any beer?” The King cleared his throat. Dixie and Johnny leaned forward. 
“You are on a quest,” the King said. 
“Yes,” Dixie replied, “for beer.”
“No, your quest is deeper than this. It is profound and I'm here to guide you.” 
“Actually, I think Frank was our guide animal, and we just crushed him with a rock,” Dixie said. 
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “Because he’s boring and he didn’t have any beer.” 
“Your quest is deeper and more profound than the search for beer,” the King said. 
“Listen King, we just spent the past eleven months inside listening to the Mormons tell us how disappointed some con man angel is and all we had to drink the whole time was orange soda. We're looking for beer or bourbon or tequila, so if you don't have that, just give us the keys to that Caddy and get the hell out of our way.”
“Yeah!” Johnny added. 
“Johnny, I’m here to guide you on a quest into your past that will reveal all of your life’s secrets and show you the right path for your future.” 
“Does my future have beer?” Johnny asked. The King sighed loudly. 
“Sure. Your future will have beer. Fine. Now are you ready to listen?” Dixie and Johnny looked at one another. 
“Ok,” Dixie said, “but make it fast. It’s beer o’clock and we’re not in jail anymore.” 

***

“What do you know of your birth, Johnny?” The King started off asking in a soft voice. Johnny looked confused. 
“Who the fuck remembers their birth?” 
“No, I just mean-”
“What do you remember about your birth, King? Your mom screaming? You come out with that pompadour?” Dixie interrupted. “Give your mom rhinestone burns?” 
“Yeah, and then the doctor was like, ‘Oh Mrs. Elvis we’ve never seen such a strange looking baby! Why he looks like a monkey right after you shav-”
“STOP!” The King yelled. “Will you two just let me talk?!” Dixie and Johnny started giggling uncontrollably. This went on for ten minutes. 

Ten minutes later...

“Ok, are you done?” Dixie and Johnny nodded, wiping tears from their eyes. 
“Johnny, you were conceived on the set of my movie, Viva Las Vegas. Your mother is Ann-Margret.” Dixie and Johnny gasped in unison. The King continued, “No, I’m not-” 
“Holy shit, Dix!” Johnny yelled. “Did you hear that?!” 
“Sweet piss eating groundhogs, Johnny! The King is your dad!” Dixie leapt to her feet, clutching the buzzard with one hand just before it slipped to the ground. 
“No, Johnny-” 
“DADDY!” Johnny yelled, jumping to his feet and starting to walk toward the King. Instantly, the King and the pink Cadillac disappeared. For a moment, everything was dark and even the stars dimmed. 
“Papa?” 
A moment later, the Cadillac and the King reappeared again, this time behind Dixie and Johnny. The King cleared his throat and the two whirled around. They were unsteady on their feet and Johnny fell to the ground right away. He stared at the King. 
“Now, if you could just listen to me a minute here.” The King attempted to continue, but by now Dixie had worked herself into one of her rages. 
“No, you listen, King, you fairweather crotch antelope! You think you can just pop in here and talk to us? And we’re supposed to just believe everything you say? If I had my pearl handled revolver I’d show you a thing or two! Johnny, get your axe and show this cheese farmer what we do to people who try to tell us stuff!” While she ranted, the King took off his sparkly cape and twisted it into a rope. Without Dixie realizing it, he circled behind her and just as she finished her outburst, he slipped the cape-rope over her head, into her mouth, and gagged her. 
Johnny Go sat, silent and staring, the entire time. 
“Now, let’s try this again. Miss, I just need to finish up here telling Johnny the story of his birth. Once I’m done, if you’re still mad, you can attack me all you want. I’m a ghost, so it won’t matter anyway. Now if you’ll have a seat next to your friend, there, we can continue.” Dixie obediently took a seat next to Johnny. She started working her teeth back and forth on her gag, but eventually gave up and stretched out in the dirt, her head on a small pile of tumbleweed. 
“Now where was I? Oh yes. As I was saying, Johnny, you were conceived on the set of my movie, Viva Las Vegas. Great movie. The script was,” he did a chef’s kiss. “Your mother is Ann-Margret. Now at the time we were madly in love, even though I was engaged to be married to my Nungen. And I loved Nungen, I really did. But there was something about Ann-Margret that made me… well, you know. I didn’t nickname her Thumper for nothin’. 
“Anyway, come to find out that I wasn’t the only one with a heart in two places. You see, Ann-Margret was also thumpin’ with another fella. Never did catch his name, but he’d been in the war and she’d known him for some time. Started coming around toward the end of filming and she would disappear into her trailer with him. We’d all hear lots of hollerin’ and wailin’ then. Also some gunshots and that sound a rabbit makes when a dog gets it. The crew used to stand around and take bets on how many times they’d hear Ann-Margret scream “i mitt öga!” That used to make me real mad, you know, on account of my Thumper didn’t deserve to be laughed at like that by a buncha Teamsters, but also because I was the one who should be putting it in her eye. 
“So this fella, he came around for a few weeks toward the end of filming, never talked to no one else. Then one day he disappeared. Ann-Margret got real quiet after that, but we’d just wrapped, so I didn’t mind. I went back to Priscilla. Ann-Margret’d filmed a lot of movies that year, so I figured she wanted a break. I didn’t see her again for more than a year, although she did send me a few telegrams there at home which upset Nungen and made me really wish I was filming another movie with her. In fact, I asked Colonel Tom to get us something else together, but we know how that turned out. 
“Anyway, later I found out that thereabout nine months after we made the movie, Ann-Margret had a little bundle of joy. That baby boy, Johnny, was you. And your father was her shell-shocked lover.” Johnny slowly opened his mouth to speak, but the King continued. “Ann-Margret had certain… tendencies, if you will, that were not conducive to the care and raising of children. So shortly after you were born, she booked a flight from Burbank to Santa Fe. Just before boarding the plane, she left you in the airport ladies room.” Johnny gasped.
“Ammamarrma waahhwwa bmma iwwa ampa?” Dixie exclaimed. The King nodded his assent, and Dixie removed her gag. 
“Ann-Margret abandoned a baby at an airport?!” 
“A baby?” the King replied, “try six. Three of them were mine. Not you, though.” 
“So wait,” Johnny Go said slowly. “If that’s how I was born, then why did I end up in China?” 

Burbank, California - 1964

It was a bright winter day in Southern California, just before Christmas. Many wealthy Hollywood types with money to burn were heading out of town for the holidays. Chartering planes was all the rage, and the Lockheed Air Terminal was there to keep them safely out of reach of the riff raff. Inside the airport’s only terminal on this day, a commotion was happening around the door to the ladies room. 
A middle aged woman was standing in the doorway, holding a tiny baby wrapped in a soft yellow blanket, and screaming at the top of her lungs. The baby slept soundly. A crowd gathered around her, including a cleaning lady wearing an eye patch and some airline staff. When they finally got the woman to stop screaming, they learned that she had discovered the infant in the ladies room. He had been tucked carefully into the sink. 
A ticketing agent ran off to call the police while the woman and the cleaning lady briefly squabbled over who would hold the baby. Finally the cleaning lady was forced to go get coffee for everyone while they waited for the police to arrive. 
The police finally arrived in the form of two dog-faced patrolmen who’d done so badly at the academy that they’d been assigned to the airport beat. They both decided immediately that they would solve this mystery themselves and not call their sergent. They questioned the woman, but ultimately believed her when she told them that she hadn’t seen anyone else in the ladies room, and that she wouldn’t be screaming if it was actually her baby. She was reluctant to leave, but the officers assured her that someone from the child welfare division was on the way, and that she could go. Get on your plane and enjoy your vacation, they said. We’ll find the monster who abandoned this sweet child, they promised. You can count on us.  
The woman never forgot that day at the airport, and in her later years, as dementia set in, often confused her own part in the story with that of the police. She was frequently arrested for abducting babies at the grocery store, believing she was rescuing them. Her family eventually put her in a home. 

Meanwhile…

A rabbi was checking in for a flight. He had no luggage, just a large black leather attaché case, which he held or kept near him at all times. He was a huge, imposing man with the kind of intensity that the ladies were equally drawn to and terrified of. Like Charlton Heston in the Ten Commandments, but more rumpled and with a face like an antisemitic etching. 
“Here you go, Rabbi Rosenwald,” the ticketing agent said, smiling. She handed him his boarding pass and returned his passport. “If you follow the corridor to your left, you’ll find the gates. Your plane will be boarding through door three in about an hour.” The rabbi nodded and took his documents, placing them in an inside pocket of his jacket. He picked up his case and walked away from the counter. 
As Rabbi Tigerlion Rosenwald made his way along the corridor, he felt something almost like relief. While this trip was his most dangerous to date, it had also turned out to be his most profitable. His attaché was loaded with unmarked bills, gained from the sale of opium. The rabbi had been producing the opium at his facility in China for years, and was one of the most feared and respected traders in the business, an unusual feat for a foreigner. Recently, he had considered expanding his operation to produce heroin. 
Yes, the rabbi was just about home free. All he had to do was make it onto his plane bound for Mexico. Once he touched down in TJ, no one would care who he was or what he did. Then, it was a series of flights over the Pacific until he reached home. He was looking forward to getting back to his opium farm in southern China, near the Burmese border. He knew he wouldn’t truly be safe until he was back on his compound. 
Once the rabbi found the boarding area for his flight, he wandered over to a small newsstand and picked up that day’s Times. He used the opportunity to scan the terminal for anyone who looked like a federal agent. He didn’t see anyone, but he gradually became aware of a commotion at the other end of the terminal. He stepped away from the newsstand to see what was happening, and as he did, a man in a newsagent’s apron appeared behind him, pressing a gun into the small of his back. 
“Hello rabbi,” the agent said softly.  The rabbi stood perfectly still, his brain racing to comprehend what was happening, then immediately racing to find a way out. He was angry at himself for letting someone get the drop on him. 
“Agent, to what do I owe this pleasure?” the rabbi asked. The agent started moving the rabbi away from the newsstand to an area that was away from any travelers. They passed the woman who had been screaming. She was quiet now, and holding an infant. Some airline employees stood around her, looking concerned. 
“Don’t get smart with me, Rosenwald. This has been a long time coming and you know it.” The agent snarled. He pushed the rabbi against the wall. The rabbi cooperated, knowing that he’d be able to keep his hand on his attaché case if he did. Now all he needed to do was reach his other hand into his jacket and retrieve the small gun he kept in a holster in his armpit, and he was sure he could make a break for it. Where he’d go from there was anyone’s guess, but one less FBI agent was a good place to start. 
“Agent, I’m happy to answer any questions you might have, particularly those that relate to Judaism, but my flight leaves in less than an hour. You don’t want to delay a poor rabbi on his way back to his kibbutz, do you?” The rabbi gave an exaggerated shrug. Mostly to try to shift his gun out of the holster. 
“Oh yeah, you’re just a regular mentsh, aren’t you, Rosenwald. Cut the crap. You’ve been using the phony rabbi shtick as a cover for years. We’ve been watching you. You’ve done more damage to innocent Americans by flooding the streets with drugs than any other epidemic. You’re going down.” 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, agent! I was in the United States meeting with the Conference of American Rabbis! We had important matters to discuss regarding this war. Terrible things are happening and this nation should want no part of it!” The agent bristled at the mention of the war. He shoved the rabbi into the wall again. 
“Listen, asshole. The war is just and necessary. Unless you want to add treason to the list of charges Uncle Sam is about to hurl at you, I’d shut my mouth.” The agent released his grip on the rabbi’s jacket and stepped back. “My partners will be along any minute. When they get here, we’re going to cuff you and take you out that side door onto the tarmac. A car is waiting.” He gestured to a door at the very end of the terminal. The rabbi nodded but said nothing else. He looked back toward the direction he had come and noticed that the woman was gone, but now two half-assed looking cops sat in chairs in the boarding area where she had been standing. Great, he thought, another logistical challenge. The agent took a step back, as if sizing up the rabbi. 
“You know, Rosenwald, you would have gotten away with this if you hadn’t stopped at Canter’s. The shipment you dropped off in the barrio caused such a circus that we couldn’t make it out of the neighborhood for over an hour. We had no idea where you were headed next, and honestly didn’t expect you to go to the airport. Not to Lockheed, at any rate. If we’d decided to check the airport, we’d’ve been staking out LAX. But one of the boys pulled into Canter’s for a pack of smokes and there you were.” Damn his stomach and its love of pastrami on rye, the rabbi thought. No matter. 
“It’s a good sandwich, agent. Had it?” He asked casually. 
“I don’t eat that shit, Rosenwald. I’m a Derby man. Steak, well done, with ketchup and fries.” The agent stepped back again and fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He kept his eye on the rabbi until the moment he needed to bring the match to the tip of the cigarette. Then, in the split second he looked down to ensure that the flame was connecting, the rabbi struck. 
He lifted his attaché case in one smooth, lightning fast, upward movement, catching the agent under the jaw. The force knocked the man’s hat and glasses off as his head snapped back. He twisted sideways while stumbling backward, hitting the ground on his right side. In one step, the rabbi freed the tiny gun from his armpit holster and stood over the agent as he writhed in pain. The rabbi knelt down until his face was inches from the agent. He pressed the gun into the agent’s temple. 
“Well done steak is an abomination, agent,” he whispered just before firing the gun. The noise echoed in the terminal, but to the rabbi’s relief, didn’t sound as obviously like a gunshot as he’d feared. He stood, muttered a quick El Maleh Rachamim, and strode down the terminal. He still needed a plane, and the only way to the plane was past those police officers. 
A plane was boarding two doors down from where the officers were seated. The final passengers were just stepping through the doorway. Next to that plane, the ground crew had just wheeled the stairs over to another. The pilot and first officer were doing their walk around inspection. That was the one. He made it just alongside the officers when, around the corner from the check-in counter, came the rest of the FBI agents. There were three of them, dressed identically. They paused to take in the scene, noticing first the rabbi, then, in the distance, their fallen colleague. They instantly drew their weapons. 
“Freeze!” one agent ordered. Nearby, several passengers screamed. A few ducked down to the floor, but the dumber ones remained standing, gawking at the spectacle. All three agents had their weapons drawn and trained on the rabbi. A second agent attempted to avert a crisis by advising the remaining passengers. 
“Federal agents! Everyone in the terminal who is not Tigerlion Rosenwald, please remain calm and get down on the floor. This is for your own safety. Mr. Rosenwald, slowly place the weapon and the briefcase on the ground and put your hands on your head!” Pretty much no one moved except the police officers, who stood up and placed their hands on their guns. In the instant that the FBI agents were distracted by the cops, the rabbi lunged to his right, intending to grab the nearest civilian to use as a human shield. He found no one except the tiny baby, still wrapped in a blanket and asleep on the chair. It would have to do. The rabbi grabbed the baby. 
“Ok listen,” the rabbi raised his voice, but still came across as calm and in control. When interviewed later, several passengers remarked that we seemed charming. The terminal was silent. He lifted the baby in front of his chest. Being a tiny baby, he wasn’t an effective shield, so the rabbi relied on the decency of everyone in the building and pressed his gun to the baby’s head. A woman nearby fainted. 
“You’re all going to take a step back and lower your weapons and I’m going to head out the door and get on my plane.” The FBI agents didn’t move. One of the police officers started to lower his gun, then looked at the FBI agents and raised it again. 
“Lower your weapons now, or I will shoot this innocent child in the head.” Another lady fainted. The rabbi cocked the gun. The agents slowly lowered their weapons. The rabbi backed toward the door to the tarmac. 
“Ok friends, that’s better. Now. I’m going to head out the door to that waiting plane, and you’re all going to stay here until I’m safely on board. If I see anyone come out of this building before the door of the plane is closed with me inside, not only will I shoot this sweet baby, but I will dropkick its corpse across the tarmac. Am I clear?” When no one replied or moved, he asked again, louder. “AM I CLEAR?!” The agents nodded, and one started to speak. 
“Mr. Rosenwald-” But the rabbi was lifting the baby up to get a better angle on his head with the gun. 
“Agent, we’re not negotiating here. Either I leave right now and you all wait until I’m up in the friendly skies before moving, or I murder this child, and probably a few more of you.” The agents were silent then, and the rabbi made his way out the door. 
Outside, he walked sideways toward the plane so that he could keep the baby between himself and the terminal building. He reached the plane and crab-walked up the steps. At the top, he kicked the steps away, then disappeared inside. A moment later, a terrified looking captain and first officer appeared in the doorway with their hands in the air. In unison, they both jumped to the ground. 
The first officer’s ankle snapped on impact with the ground. The captain fared better, rolling away from the plane. He stood up and started running toward the terminal while his partner began to crawl away from the plane. The rabbi appeared and closed the door. The first officer crawled faster as the engines roared to life. 
Moments later the aircraft was speeding down the runway. Narrowly avoiding another taxiing plane, it lifted off and disappeared into the sky. It was the last time the rabbi ever flew commercial.  

***

“The rabbi eventually made it back to China. He was halfway across the Pacific before he realized he still had you, and at that point he just decided to raise you as his own. You were one hell of a sleeper as a kid, Johnny.” 
“He still is,” Dixie said. “Slept through a riot at the prison.” 
“It’s true,” Johnny said. The King looked at him intently.
“So you really didn’t know that the rabbi wasn’t your real father?” 
“It never came up,” Johnny replied. “He wasn’t around a whole lot when I was a kid. I spent most of my time with the farmers and foot soldiers on our compound.” 
“Is that why you use the name Johnny Go instead of your given name?” the King asked. 
“Yeah, that’s what the crew called me. I was a fast little fucker. Plus Goh is a pretty common name in China that means gateway to heaven or something. For a while, some of the farmers thought I was a god. Also, Itzak Yochanan Rosenwald was hard for them to pronounce.” 
“The rabbi’s employees raised you?” 
“I guess. I mean, it’s different there. Everyone’s your family, you know? It was cool. Plus, like, I learned most of the useful shit I know from them.” 
“Yeah, that’s how come Johnny can fly a helicopter,” Dixie added. 
“And use a flamethrower, butcher a water buffalo, print fake passports... And I make a mean Qi Guo Ji,” Johnny said. The King nodded. 
“But where was the rabbi during all of this?” The King asked. 
“He traveled a lot for work. When he was home, it was usually because he needed to lie low, and then he mostly focused on my Hebrew lessons. Sometimes we would travel to see family in the Philippines.” Johnny Go gasped. “Fuck me.” 
“What?” The King asked. Dixie already knew what he was thinking. 
“Oh shit, Johnny,” she said, softly. 
“If the rabbi isn’t my father, then that means Shasta isn’t my cousin.” 

***

“Itzak! Get your things. Wheels up in ten minutes,” the Rabbi Tigerlion Rosenwald called toward the door of his son’s bedroom. He grabbed a small suitcase and his leather attaché and headed for the door of their small, traditionally built house. He crossed the well-kept courtyard without looking back. His son knew better than to dawdle. 
He headed down the rough cobbled path which branched off to other smaller paths leading to the homes of the collective of workers who lived on the compound, tended the fields, processed the poppies that the Rabbi did a brisk worldwide trade in, and who were willing to defend the operation with their lives. The main house, while modest, was larger and more modern than those of the workers, although the Rabbi had no problem with any improvements his workers wished me to make to anything on the compound. They had constructed a recreation hall and a school for the worker’s children, which his son attended, in addition to the tutoring he provided the boy himself.  
Eventually, a fork in the path offered two options: right to the fields, which surrounded the residential area of the property and stretched all the way to the mountains, or left to the small air strip, which was one of only two ways residents could reliably leave the compound. The other was a craggy path through the mountains, complete with sheer drops and crumbling roads. It was best traversed on horseback or mule, but could accommodate the compound’s two military surplus jeeps if necessary. Most of the time when the Rabbi needed to leave, he did so either by his small personal plane, a newish twin prop which was hardy and had surprising range, or a helicopter, another military number, stolen during a raid on the Imperial Army three years prior. 
The Rabbi headed toward the airstrip, arriving to see his chief mechanic, a grizzled man named Guan with teeth like a jack-o-lantern, doing his final walk around. They nodded to one another, then the Rabbi performed his own inspection of the plane. Satisfied, he and Guan exchanged a few words in Yi before the Rabbi climbed the steps and disappeared inside. 

***

Itzak raced down the cobbled pathway, his embroidered slippers slapping the uneven ground with every step. He held a small suitcase in each hand, and his brightly colored tunic was partially unbuttoned, as if he’d suddenly realized he didn’t have time to change. He was wearing a grimey pair of army issue pants, which were a size too big and threatened to fall down as he ran. 
He burst onto the airfield in time to see Guan reach up and give one of the propellers a pull, spinning it downward. He quickly stepped aside as the motor caught and roared to life. Itzak waved to Guan, hefting one of his suitcases into the air, before darting up the steps into the plane. The man nodded, his expression not changing, and walked around the plane to start the other propeller. 
“I’m here, Papa!” Itzak called as he stepped into the plane, his suitcases thumping carelessly into the walls of the small galley in the bulkhead, then the seats - there were only four - as he made his way toward a cargo compartment in the rear.  
Itzak stowed his suitcases alongside the Rabbi’s, which were tucked securely under a cargo net. Behind them sat four large crates of poppy seed pods, the most recent harvest from the compound. After securing his bags, Itzak walked to the cockpit, The Rabbi was already strapped in, his headset placed over his wild hair. 
“Itzak, pull up the airstair,” the Rabbi commanded, without looking at his son. Itzak obediently returned to the doorway of the plane and started to turn the crank, pulling the stairs and door closed. Guan came around the side of the plane again. 
“Goodbye, Guan!” he called. The man didn’t hear him over the roar of the engines, but probably wouldn’t have cared even if he had. He stared up at the cockpit window, waiting on the signal from the Rabbi. When Itzak had secured the door and taken the seat beside his father, the Rabbi gave a curt wave out the window, which Guan returned as he disappeared out of view to remove the blocks under the plane’s front wheel. A moment later, Guan was visible again, holding two blocks attached by a rope. The Rabbi worked the controls and the plane moved forward, bumping slowly over the rough ground until it was in position at the edge of the airstrip. 
A moment later they were bounding down the crude runway of hard packed dirt, jolting roughly as they hit ruts and bumps, and just as Itzak began to feel his breakfast broth threatening to leave his stomach, the small plane lifted off the ground. 
The Rabbi was silent as the plane climbed higher. Itzak watched in awe as his father monitored the controls, making minute adjustments, his eyes darting between the interior of the cockpit and the world outside. Itzak had flown with his father many times and never failed to find the experience impressive. Even though he himself had recently learned to pilot a helicopter, there was something altogether more majestic about flying a plane. He hoped, now that he was thirteen, that the Rabbi would agree that he was old enough to learn to learn to fly. After all, he was about to have his bar mitzvah. He was a man! 
After they’d navigated through the valley and over the steep mountains that marked the boundaries of the province, the Rabbi brought the plane up to its cruising altitude, checked the controls again, and then finally looked over at his son. 
“Why are you wearing your work clothes?” he asked. “You were supposed to change into your new suit. Your ceremony will start as soon as we arrive.” 
“I know, Papa. But I was working on my gift for Shasta when you said wheels up. I didn’t have time to change. I have my suit so I’ll put it on when we refuel in Ranong.” 
“And so you’ve balled your new suit up and crammed it in your suitcase?” 
“Um...” 
“Go back and get it out. Drape it over one of the chairs so it doesn’t get creases.” 

***

They flew in silence for a while. Itzak sat with his feet up on the front of the plane, carefully avoiding any controls. He flipped through a comic book. 
“Itzak, you should put that funny book away and practice your verses instead. You’ll be reading the Haftarah.” Itzak turned to his father, eyes wide. 
“I am? But I thought…” 
“I think you’re ready.” Itzak dutifully got up and went to the rear of the plane, where he took a worn Bible from his suitcase and replaced it with his Savage Sword of Conan #16, which he’d already read anyway. He returned to the cockpit. 
“Is Shasta going to be allowed to read, too?” he asked. 
The Rabbi sighed. “I believe women should be allowed to lead prayer services.” 
“Even when there’s a minyan?” Itzak asked. 
“I believe that women can make up a minyan,” the Rabbi said simply. 
“But Tia Remy doesn’t?” 
“Your Tia is old fashioned,” the Rabbi replied. “And she’s been influenced by your Tio’s family, which is far more conservative than we are.” 
“But Tio isn’t Jewish.” 
“Yes, but he’s the head of the household, so your Tia adheres his values.” 
“Then Shasta doesn’t get to have a bat mitzvah?” 
“Oh, she’s having a bat mitzvah. It’s going to be a joint celebration just like we planned. She might not be reading from the Torah, though. I’ve told Remy many times that, in my studies and interpretation, it is acceptable, but she may opt to have Shasta do a different reading, instead. I’m not the leader of this congregation so that’s the best I can do.” Itzak felt bad about this. He wasn’t sure he totally understood the situation, but he believed his father. He picked up his book and began to read aloud. At a few points, the Rabbi stopped him to correct his pronunciation, or to explain things. Itzak worked hard to match his voice to his father’s. 
“We’ll be landing in a few minutes,” the Rabbi told him later as they approached Ranong. “We only have time for a short stop over, so I want you to change your clothing immediately. You can come out onto the tarmac, but don’t wander off.” 
“Ok, Papa.” 
True to his word, the Rabbi had them landed, refueled, and back in the air in under an hour. They would fly straight through until they reached the small island in the Philippines where the Rabbi’s sister lived with her husband and daughter, in a compound similar to that which the Rabbi lived with Itzak. They were partners in the drug operation, and Nestor, the Rabbi’s brother in law, was a key player in processing. 
“I’m glad that I get to hang out with Shasta,” Itzak said. “I haven’t seen her since Passover.” 
“Well, we aren’t staying long.” 
“Why not?” Itzak asked, disappointed. 
“Because socializing with your cousin isn’t the purpose of our trip, Itzak. Once you have your bar mitzvah, you’ve become a man, and that means it’s time for you to start taking on a role in our business. Remember that someday, our whole organization, everything I’ve built, will be yours. It’s important for you to start learning now.” 
“So we’re leaving the Philippines right after the ceremony?” 
“We’ll stay a day while we have the plane looked over. You’ll also tour Nestor’s processing facility to learn how our seed pods are turned into opium.” 
“Tio Nestor does that?” 
“His workers do, just as our workers grow and harvest them.” 
“What is opium for?” 
“It has many uses, but we turn it first into morphine, and then into heroin. Tio Nestor makes the opium in the lab on his compound, then sends it on to a lab he owns on another island to turn it into morphine. We’ll stop by there after we leave,” the Rabbi paused to give Itzak time to ask questions. When he didn’t, he continued, “After that, we’ll follow our product on its journey by going to a lab that my cousin Ofir owns in Thailand. That’s where our poppies finally become heroin.
“Our last stop will be Shanghai, where you can see how we distribute the finished product to our worldwide network. Eventually all of our product ends up in America, but it doesn’t all go there together.”  
“Why is everything spread out?” Itzak asked after a long pause. 
“It’s the safest way,” his father replied. “We keep them separate so that if any one portion of the business is compromised, the others will be safe.” 
“Who would compromise it?” 
“Oh, anyone really. There are competitors who would love to take over our share of the market. Also the government of any of those countries, especially America.” 
“The American government? Why?” 
The Rabbi sighed. “Because our product isn’t legal, Itzak.” 
“Oh.” Itzak turned this information over in his mind for a while, staring out the window of the plane at the blue sky, merging seamlessly into the ocean below. “If it’s not legal, how come we sell it?” he asked finally. The Rabbi had been expecting this question. He’d asked himself this question, too, many times, but had long since come to terms with his justification. 
“Look son, I’m not going to tell you that there aren’t certain moral dilemmas that we face in our line of work. But at its core, I feel that what we do is ultimately a mitzvah.” 
“How?” 
“Well, the prioritization of pleasure is deeply embedded in the American identity. It’s one of their founding principles. The Declaration of Independence enumerates the divine right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I believe, and Americans obviously do as well, that we can choose which one of these acts is our priority, even at the expense of the other two. Does that make sense?” 
“I guess,” Itzak replied uncertainly. His father was a great man and a wise rabbi, so Itzak believed him. He just wasn’t sure he really understood. Maybe he needed to study his Torah some more. 
“Anyway, I also believe that God gave man free will, and so it isn’t the place of any government to regulate vice. Man must do that himself.” 

***

It was mid-afternoon when Itzak and the Rabbi touched down on the airstrip at the Ramierz’s compound in a remote section of a small outer island in the Philippines. Several of Nestor Ramirez’s workers were on hand to guide the plane into a large clearing next to the airstrip. 
Itzak lowered the airstair and rushed to the rear to get his suitcases while the Rabbi made his way down to the ground. From the far side of the clearing, Nestor Ramirez stepped from a large military-style jeep and gave a generous wave, then started toward them. The Rabbi met him halfway, and the two men embraced. Tio Nestor called to two of his men, giving instructions in rapid Tagalog. The men immediately headed back to the plane to unload the cargo. 
When Itzak reached his father and Nestor, his uncle pulled him into a fierce bear hug, then pushed him away to look him up and down. 
“Itzak! You already look like the man you’re about to become!” he exclaimed.  
“Thanks, Tio.” 
“Let’s get moving,” Nestor said, ushering them toward the waiting jeep. “We have just enough time for you to get settled before guests start to arrive.” 
They drove along a bumpy road, barely more than a trail at times, through a lush jungle. Nestor’s workers were constantly having to hack away at the vegetation, which was never more than a few days away from reclaiming the trail. Itzak was occasionally brushed by leaves and branches that reached in through the open sides of the jeep. 
They arrived at another clearing, this one featuring the large home of Nestor and Remy Ramirez. The house was grand, in a sort of jungle-Spanish style with a wide green lawn, whitewashed walls and a bright red tile roof. A veranda ran the length of the house on both the first and second storey. Nestor turned off the rutted path and into a smooth gravel driveway, stopping beside the house. A worker arrived to take the Itzak’s bags from the jeep, and a moment later a voice called out across the veranda. 
“Achi!” They turned to see Remy Ramirez, the Rabbi’s sister and Itzak’s aunt, gliding across the tile floor in an elegant, floor length dress. Even wearing his new suit, Itzak felt shabby compared to her, and wondered if his father felt the same way. The Rabbi climbed the few steps to the veranda and embraced his sister. She then turned her attention to Itzak. “My boy!” she exclaimed. He stepped up on the veranda and hugged her. “This is such a momentous occasion. Go inside and freshen up. We’ll meet in the back garden in about an hour. You’ll do your readings in the Grotto, and then we’ll have dinner and dancing on the lawn.” 
“Where’s Shasta?” Itzak asked. 
“She’s in her room getting ready,” Remy told him. Then she looked over at the Rabbi. “Despite being bat mitzvah, she doesn’t seem quite ready to be an adult. She’s been throwing an absolute tantrum over everything. The dress I got for her, my suggestion for her hair, her makeup - oh! So much makeup! You’ll see her down there, honey,” she told Itzak. She then took her brother’s hand and pulled him toward the back of the house where they could talk more privately, leaving Itzak by himself on the veranda. Tio Nestor appeared. 
“Same room as usual, Itzak,” he told him. “Miguel has taken your things up.” He, too, disappeared. Itzak sighed and headed into the house, climbing the grand staircase to the second floor. He paused at the top of the steps, debating on whether he should knock on his cousin’s bedroom door. What would he say? 
Then the thought struck him. He could give her the gift he’d brought for her. He’d been dreading the thought of giving it to her in front of their family, anyway, although he wasn’t sure why. This was the perfect opportunity. He rushed down the hall to his room. 
Inside his room, he tore open his suitcase, which had been placed on top of a heavy teak dresser, and rifled through it until he found the gift, wrapped carefully in layers of old newspaper that he’d decorated with colored pencil. He was about to leave again when he caught sight of himself in the mirror and gasped. He couldn’t see Shasta looking like this! His hair was askew and puffy from the humidity. His dress shirt was crooked, and he realized that in his haste to dress on their refueling stop, he’d gotten the buttons misaligned. Worst of all, there was a smear of sauce on his face from the batu maung satay he’d eaten while they were refueling. Why had no one told him? 
Itzak rushed into the adjoining bathroom and splashed water on his face. He searched frantically for his comb and tried to get his hair under control. Next he took off his suit jacket and redid the buttons on his shirt. He flapped the jacket around a bit, hoping it didn’t smell, then put it back on and, grabbing his gift and stuffing it into his pocket, raced from the room. 
He slid to a stop in front of his cousin’s bedroom door and took a deep breath, then knocked softly. There was no reply. 
He tried again. “Shasta?” he called. Nothing. Itzak knocked a third time, and when he got no response, he tentatively tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, so he pushed the door open a crack and looked in, then pushed a bit more. 
“Shasta?” Finally, he opened the door all the way and stepped inside. The room was empty. Itzak sighed, closed the door, and headed out onto the lawn. 

***

The back lawn of the house looked fantastic. A small corner, in what his Tia called the Grotto, had been set up with chairs and a small lectern up in front. On it sat the large scrolls from which Itzak, and hopefully Shasta, would read. Across from the Grotto was an open area, set with tables, a large buffet, and a raised platform where a band was tuning their instruments.  
Itzak looked around, noticing now that guests were milling about. He recognized some as members of Nestor’s family, and others from the tiny nearby synagogue, which existed in the village solely because of Tia Remy. 
“Hey,” came a voice behind him. He spun around to see his cousin leaning out from behind a stand of potted shrubbery that made up part of the Grotto. Itzak’s heart skipped a beat and he gave an involuntary gasp, as he always did when he saw his cousin. He then immediately blushed, which he also always did when he saw her, knowing that it was a hata to have these kinds of feelings for your own cousin. Shasta gestured for him to come closer, and when he walked over, she pulled him behind the shrubs and threw her arms around him. “Hi Itz,” she whispered in his ear. 
“Hi Shasta,” he replied, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack. She broke away from him then, and not a moment too soon. 
“Nice suit,” she said, looking him over with a smirk. “You look like a total square.” 
“Thanks,” he replied, confused. 
“It’s not a compliment, Itz,” Shasta told him, “But also I was joking. You look good.” For the first time, Itzak really noticed Shasta, and almost gasped again. She looked beautiful in a pale blue dress that reached to a chaste length just below her knees. It had flowing sleeves and a square neckline that revealed just enough. Any more and Itzak might not have been able to do his reading. 
“You look incredible,” he said, blushing yet again because he’d meant to play it cool. Or at least cooler than this. Shasta snorted. 
“Please, I look like those ridiculous pillows my mom has in the living room. I can’t believe she’s making me wear this. We had, like, a huge fight about it right before you got here. Anyway, I’m planning to change as soon as we finish our ceremony. Check it out.” Before Itzak knew what was happening, she reached down to the hem of the dress and lifted it up. For a split second, he was sure he was going to throw up or pass out. But as Shasta lifted the dress, she revealed that underneath she was wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes and a tight, low cut tank top in a bright rainbow stripe pattern with delicate thin straps. “My mom’s gonna freak out, but I figure by that time, I’ll officially be a woman and she won’t be able to control me anymore.” 
“Wow,” was all Itzak could say in response. Shasta beamed, flattered. 
“I know, right? I mean, why would anyone want to wear all this material when they’re dancing in the jungle, anyway,” she said, letting the dress fall back into place. They looked at one another for a moment, neither sure what to say next. 
“So,” Itzak said finally. 
“So,” said Shasta. Just as the awkward silence became too much, Itzak remembered his gift. He reached into his pocket and grasped the small parcel. 
“Oh,” he said, “I got you-” But before he could finish, the voice of Tia Remy called out across the yard. 
“Shasta! Itzak!” 
“Ugh,” said Shasta, rolling her eyes. 
“Itzak!” came the deep voice of the Rabbi, “It’s time!” Itzak immediately turned and made his way out from behind the bushes, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt. 

***

At the conclusion of their joint ceremony, Itzak and Shasta stepped away from the lectern and were engulfed in the arms of friends and family. When the throng of well wishers had finally started to drift over to the buffet table, and the band had started to play some music, the two finally found themselves alone once more. 
“Mazel tov, Shasta.” 
“Mazel tov, Itzak,” Shasta replied. She reached over and looped her arm through his. “Wanna get something to eat? I’m starving.” 
“Sure,” he said, enjoying the feeling of her arm in his, and hoping it would be seen by the others as companionable, rather than romantic, even though in his heart he was positive that it was meant to be romantic. 
They started to stroll across the lawn when Itzak stopped, remembering his gift. He reached again into his jacket pocket for the parcel. 
“Oh, I got you something,” he said. Shasta stopped and turned to face him. 
“You did?” 
“Yeah, like a bat mitzvah gift,” he replied, trying to pull the gift from his pocket. He wasn’t able to get it out with one hand, and so reluctantly extricated his arm from Shasta’s grasp. 
In the next moment, everything changed. 
The angry chop of helicopter blades came on suddenly, and before any of the guests realized what was happening a massive, jungle green Huey was descending into the tranquil garden of the Ramirez compound. 
Plates and cups stirred from the current of the copter’s blades, eventually blowing off the tables. Guests held their yarmulkes on their heads, looking up in surprise, but assuming this was part of the party. Only the Rabbi, Nestor, and Nestor’s muscle realized what was going on. They sprang into action, but it was already too late. 
The Huey hovered over the lawn just to the side of where the guests had gathered, which cut them off from the Ramirez’s house and its numerous safety features. As the copter dropped down to just above the heads of the guests, a figure stepped into the open doors. 
She wore only a pair of army pants and boots. She was naked from the waist up, tattoos blazing over every inch of her chest, arms, and neck, including, if one looked closely, her own self portrait on each breast, with the nipples as her nose. Her hair stood on end, blowing wildly in the swirl of the helicopter’s rotors, like a straw colored Medusa. She had an M-16 clutched under each bare arm, and her face was contorted into a look of pure rage. 
It was Pat Nixon. 
“PREPARE TO BE CANCELED OUT!!!” she screamed, and before any of the guests could react, she opened fire, her guns waving back and forth over the crowd to ensure maximum impact. 
As the gunfire erupted, Itzak instinctively threw Shasta to the ground, covering her as best he could with his body. He reached up, tipping a nearby table over to shield them. 
“What the hell is happening?” he asked. Shasta pulled away from Itzak and carefully lifted her head above the table. She ducked back down as the sound of gunfire intensified. 
“It’s Pat Nixon,” she said. 
“Pat Nixon? Like the American First Lady?”  
“Yep,” replied Shasta. “My dad says she’s completely unhinged now.” They stayed behind the table for another moment. “I think there’s more than just her, though.” 
“Sounds like at least three guns,” Itzak replied. He loved learning about guns from the workers on the compound, and had a good ear for identifying them by their sounds. Together, he and Shasta peered over the side of the table just in time to see a tall, rail-thin man in black, skin tight clothing and dark glasses hop down from the open door of the Huey, reloading his gun as he did. 
“Oh shit,” Shasta whispered. “She’s working with that assassin!” 
“Who?” 
“Clobber Spotchick.” She turned to look at Itzak. “Listen, Itzak, this is bad. We need to get out of here. Like, now.” 
“We should get to my dad,” Itzak said. 
“Last I saw him he was over there by the food, we’d have to go through them. We’ll be killed.” 
“But they’re also between us and the house. Where else can we go that’s safe?” 
“Behind the Grotto,” Shasta said after a short pause. “There’s a trail that leads through the jungle. We’ll come out at the wall to the compound opposite the airstrip. We can scale that wall and head into the jungle.” 
“We shouldn’t leave the compound!” Itzak said in a panic. 
“Itz, I have a bad feeling that we’re about to be surrounded.” Just then, a scream could be heard across the yard. A small group of guests who had been trying to flee through the thick jungle on the other side of the lawn suddenly found themselves face to face with a group of Pat Nixon’s generic foot soldiers, who stomped through the vegetation and opened fire at point blank range. Itzak needed no more convincing. 
Shasta got to her feet, staying low behind the table. Itzak did the same. 
“Ok, on three we’re going to run toward the Grotto. Go behind those shrubs where we were before the ceremony. I’ll lead us from there, ok?” He nodded. “One… two… three!” 
Grasping hands, Shasta and Itzak made a desperate dash toward the Grotto where, moments before, they’d undergone a significant right of passage into adulthood. They slipped around behind the potted shrubs and paused. Itzak peered around the bushes. 
“There’s a lot of those guys out there,” he said. He was trying to sound confident, but when Shasta looked over at him, she could see fear in his eyes. 
“I’m sure the Rabbi is ok,” she said. She sounded as terrified as Itzak looked. “Come on, Itz. Let’s get out of here before they find us.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the carnage. She pushed aside some of the vegetation, feeling around for the path, and eventually located it. Holding the leaves out of the way so that they could pass, she pulled Itzak along behind with her. 
“I don’t think they know all the paths into the compound,” Shasta said quietly as they walked, swatting at bugs and ducking under low hanging branches. “This path doesn’t really lead to anything useful, so if they were trying to intercept people escaping, they’d go for the other side.” 
“How do they know so much about the layout of the compound?” Itzak asked, looking over his shoulder, praying that no armed foot soldiers were following. 
“Who knows,” Shasta said, “You know how this family business is.” 
“I don’t really. My dad was supposed to be showing me on this trip.” 
“Well, when we find him again, maybe he’ll change his mind.” They kept walking. 

***

They reached the outer wall of the compound a short while later. Unlike the walls that bordered the more accessible areas, this one was lower and lacked the razor wire top. The jungle was so thick on either side that it was hard to see. 
“I’m not sure how we’re gonna get up,” Shasta said as they stood, looking at the rough brick visible through the peeling stucco coating. 
“Think you can boost me up?” Itzak asked. 
“Why do I have to boost you? Shouldn’t you boost me?” 
“It’ll be easier for me to pull you up than for you to pull me.” 
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Shasta admitted. After several awkward attempts, Itzak managed to make it to the top of the wall and pull Shasta up after him. They dropped down on the other side and continued along the path, which was getting harder and harder to actually see. Eventually, they stopped to take a break. Itzak, not used to the jungle humidity, was sweating profusely. He pulled off his suit jacket, and his white dress shirt was soaked all the way through with sweat. 
“I can’t believe you wore that as long as you did,” Shasta said. She stood up and in one quick motion, pulled the pale blue dress over her head. Itzak watched, eyes wide. And even though he’d already seen what she had on under it, he still felt his blood rush to his face. He was glad he was sitting down. 
He recovered a moment later when he remembered that he still had his gift for Shasta in his jacket pocket. He reached in and pulled it out, handing it to her with a smile. 
“I almost forgot,” he said. “This is for you. Happy bat mitzvah.” 
“Itzak!” she cried, taking it from him. “No one told me we were doing gifts! I don’t have anything for you!” 
“We weren’t doing gifts. But I wanted to give you something. It’s ok, I don’t want anything in return.” 
Shasta slowly unwrapped the small parcel, which fit in the palm of her hand. When she pulled the paper back, she held a piece of amethyst, intricately carved into the shape of a satyr. She gasped. 
“This is beautiful. Where did you get it?” 
“I made it,” he said, proudly. 
“Oh my god, Itz, that’s incredible! How did you learn how to do this?” She turned the piece over in her hand. 
“One of the guys on the compound showed me how to use the tools. And I used a picture from my Greek mythology textbook as a guide. It’s a satyr.” 
“What’s he do?” she asked. 
“Uh, he’s, like, a nature god who’s lustful and likes to party and drink wine.” 
“Lustful?” Shasta asked with a sly smile. Itzak blushed all the way to his chest, visible through the open collar of his shirt. “Well, I love it. Thanks, Itz.” She planted a kiss on his lips, lingering perhaps a second too long. Or had he imagined that? 

***

“So how do you know so much about the family business?” Itzak asked as they picked their way deeper into the jungle, getting further and further away from the compound. 
“Eavesdropping on my dad, mostly,” Shasta replied. “He doesn’t ever want me involved in the business, but I figure I can convince him if I learn a lot about about it.” 
“Why wouldn't he want you involved?” 
“I’unno. Cause I’m a girl?” 
“Really?” 
“Yeah, Itz. That’s how it is here. Like, we might be Jewish, but we’re still Filipino.” They came to a section of the trail that was blocked by a fallen tree. Itzak scrambled up, then reached back to help Shasta.
“Well, when I’m in charge of my dad’s part of the business, you can come and work with me. We’ll be partners.” 
“I’d like that,” Shasta said as they jumped down the other side of the tree. “Can we live someplace other than the Philippines?” 
“We can live anywhere you want,” Itzak replied. 

***

It was late afternoon, almost evening. It was summer, when the days were the longest, which was lucky because they’d had plenty of daylight for their escape. They sat down on a rock to take a break. 
“Any idea where we are?” Itzak asked. 
“Nope,” Shasta replied. “I’ve never been this far from the compound.” 
“I think we need to figure out a place to spend the night. There’s no sense in walking all night if we don’t have any place we’re trying to get to. We should try to find some water, too,” Itzak said. 
“I wish I’d done one of those survival courses,” Shasta said. “My mom wouldn’t let me.” 
“I read a book once about a kid who gets lost in the wilderness. He found water just by listening for it.”
“I bet he wasn’t in the jungle with all the bugs and birds making a racket.” 
“Yeah, no, he was in Alaska.” 
“Real helpful, Itz.” 
“Well, we can try it as we walk,” he suggested. “We’ll make sure to stop every once in a while and listen.” They were both quiet, then, trying it out. 
“Actually, I think I do hear something,” Shasta said. 
“Me too,” said Itzak, “But I don’t think it’s water.” They listened again, and sure enough, the unmistakable sound of people could be heard, forcing their way through the jungle in a way that only those who don’t have to fear for their lives could. 
“We should go,” Shasta said, getting to her feet. 
“But they could be our people,” Itzak said. “Maybe it’s your dad’s workers out looking for us.” 
“Itz, I’m not feeling too hopeful that there are any of my dad’s workers left,” Shasta said, pulling Itzak to his feet. They heard a shout, then, and a reply, followed by footsteps. At least two people were running toward them. Shasta pulled on Itzak’s arm. 
“But they could-” He was interrupted by a crack of gunfire. They wasted no more time, taking off down the trail as fast as their tired legs could carry them. Itzak again kept watch over his shoulder. Every now and again he could see the men chasing them. They looked like Pat Nixon’s foot soldiers, all right, and they were gaining on them. 
Rounding a bend, Shasta suddenly grabbed Itzak and pulled him off the trail. They dove into the jungle vegetation, trying hard to keep moving forward as vines and branches wrapped around their arms and legs. 
“What are we doing?” Itzak whispered. 
“Getting off the trail,” Shasta replied, fighting forward. She stopped then, and crouched down, hoping the jungle could conceal them. They listened and heard the men come to a stop on the trail. 
“Come on,” thought Itzak, “Keep running.” But a moment later, they heard the unmistakable sound of armed men crashing through the bush. 
After what seemed like an eternity, as their clothing ripped and their skin scraped, they came a small clearing. It was growing dark under the jungle canopy, but here the sky was finally visible. They could that the sun hadn’t set just yet. They raced forward, but slid to a stop when confronted with a sheer drop off to a wide river below. 
“Well, I guess we found water,” said Shasta. 
“Yeah, but how do we get across?” 
“Let’s walk upstream and look for a way down.” 
They started to pick their way along the cliff, but weren’t able to see anything resembling a way to safely descend. A moment later another crack of gunfire rang out and they saw that the men had burst into the same clearing. Without the brush holding them back, they raced toward Shasta and Itzak, who looked at one another, frantic. 
“What do we do?” Shasta asked. 
“Jump,” Itzak replied. He grabbed her arm. Without another word, the pair took a few running steps and, hand in hand, jumped as far out over the river as they could. 
They hit the water with a loud smack, a sound not unlike the gunfire, and were pulled under by the swirling current. They were washed downstream, but still holding Shasta’s hand, Itzak began to fight his way over to the bank. Shasta surfaced briefly, gasping for air, but Itzak pulled her down again so the men above couldn’t see them. 
They reached the bank and climbed up, dragging themselves through the mud. They caught their breath as quietly as possible. Above, they could hear the men calling to one another from different points, their voices getting softer as they followed the river downstream, assuming that Itzak and Shasta had been swept away. 
“You up for swimming?” Itzak asked. Shasta nodded, and they plunged back into the water. They headed upstream until finally they felt the current soften, even as the rushing sounds of the water intensified. A few minutes more and arrived at a small pool, filled continuously by a huge waterfall. Itzak looked up to the top of the waterfall and noticed that the sun had started to set, and that the sky was awash in colors. 
At that moment, everything seemed perfect. The ceaseless drone of the jungle was drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. The cloud of bugs stayed high above the water. The light from the sunset, pink and orange, red and yellow, reflected down on them. When Itzak looked at Shasta, she seemed as if she was swimming in a bowl of rainbow sherbert. Her dark hair was pushed back off her forehead and all the makeup she’d had on earlier was gone, leaving only her flawless skin, taking on the colors of the sky. In the back of Itzak’s mind, he knew he should be wondering about the fate of family, wondering what would become of them. He watched that thought drift away, like a fan palm leaf floating on the river. 
Wordlessly, he and Shasta started to swim toward the waterfall. They worked their way around the side, trying to see what, if anything, was between the rushing water and the cliff. To their delight, they spotted the opening of a cave, which was cool and dry when they climbed in. Exhausted, they collapsed on the floor, side by side, and stared at the rocky ceiling in silence. 
“Hopefully they’ll assume that we drowned and give up,” Shasta whispered, not wanting to be heard, and not wanting to break the spell she was sure they were under. 
“We should wait here until tomorrow,” Itzak suggested. Shasta held his hand. 
“Or as long as it takes,” she said, rolling over onto her side. Itzak rolled over onto his side, too, so that his face only inches from Shasta’s. 
“Forever,” he said. And they kissed. First soft and quick, then longer and with more determination. Shasta rolled onto her back, pulling Itzak with her. He looked into her eyes and felt the voice of reason, the one that pointed out what was right and what was wrong, the one that his father had told him was the voice of God, he felt that voice receding into the background, lost in the white noise of the rushing waterfall. 
“We’ll never be forgiven for this,” Shasta said, reaching up and unbuttoning the few buttons still left intact on Itzak’s torn dress shirt. 
“At least since we already had our bar and bat mitzvah, god won’t punish our parents for what we’re about to do,” he replied as he started to lift Shasta’s tank top up. 
“Eh, honestly I think my mom could stand to be held accountable for something for once,” replied Shasta, reaching for Itzak’s belt buckle and kissing him again. He laughed, then, started to wriggle out of his soaking wet dress pants while Shasta abandoned her Daisy Dukes to the cave floor. 

***

“So what happened?” the King asked, staring at Johnny. 
“We were two sex-crazed teenagers lost in a jungle of dreams,” Johnny replied. “The fuck do you think happened?” 
“No, no, I mean how did you get out?” 
“Oh, well we spent the next five years wandering around in the jungle.” 

***

Itzak and Shasta hid in the jungle, waiting for the coast to be clear so that they could return to their lives. But as time went on, it occurred to each of them that waiting for the coast to be clear was an excuse, and that neither one wanted to return. 
And so, they spent the next five years living in the jungle. Their clothes disintegrated and they spent most of their days naked, swimming in streams, climbing trees, and tumbling to the ground whenever the mood struck, which was often. Occasionally they would come upon a small village, and they would sneak in, stealing food and sometimes laundry from clotheslines hanging limply in the thick jungle air. Mostly they ate fruit from the trees and fish that they caught. 
Sometimes they would venture out for several days at a time, but mostly they returned to their cave each night. They sat, side by side in the entrance, where they could catch a glimpse of the sky as the sun set, casting it’s magical glow over their jungle paradise. They took turns picking the leaves, sticks, and other debris from each other’s thick, wild hair, then fell asleep, limbs entwined. 
They became one with the jungle. Shasta noticed that, when the birds sang, she understood their songs. One day, Itzak found himself deep in conversation with a local tarsier. They were thrilled with this new ability, but soon found that conversing with anyone besides each other had a downside: it made them miss their family. 
“Itz,” Shasta said to him one day, “Do you think we should try to go home? I’m sure if anyone in our family survived, they’re worried about us.” 
“I do kinda miss my dad,” he admitted. They were sitting on a rock above the river, their feet just grazing the surface of the water. “Do you know how to get back?” 
“No. It’s an island, though,” she said. “How far off can we be?” They thought about it for a while, and were startled when they heard a voice speak out from the water below. 
“I can help,” said the voice. Itzak leaned over, looking to see which jungle creature had offered assistance. Below, slithering up the embankment, was a smooth brown cobra. It came to rest a few feet from them, it’s head bobbing back and forth. 
“You do?” asked Itzak. 
“You know where my family’s home is?” Shasta asked. 
“I know a lot of things,” the snake replied. “Including where the Ramirez family lives.” His tongue flicked in and out as he spoke. 
“Are we far from there?” Itzak asked. 
“About a half day’s walk,” the snake replied. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.” 
“What do we have to do?” Shasta asked. 
“Simply follow me,” said the snake. He began to uncoil himself. Itzak and Shasta stood, and the pair followed him as he began to slither away. 
As they walked, Itzak found himself a few paces ahead, closer to the snake than to Shasta. 
“You seem worried,” the snake said to him. 
“I am,” he admitted. “I’m worried that our family won’t accept Shasta and I. You know, together.” 
“Perhaps I can help,” said the snake, seizing this opportunity. 
“How?” 
“As I said, I know things. I can do things, influence them. But I must warn you that if I help with this, I’ll require something from you in return. Not now, but one day.” 
“Well,” Itzak turned this over in his mind for a moment, “You really think you can get our families not to care that Shasta and I are cousins?” 
“Absolutely.” 
“Ok. Then whatever you need later, I’ll do it.” 
True to his word, the snake led them back to the Ramirez compound. They found that it was in a state of disrepair, and they didn’t recognize any of the vehicles parked haphazardly on the lawn. 
Itzak and Shasta crossed the lawn and made their way up the veranda, but before they could enter the house, they felt the cold metal of  large caliber gun barrels pressed against their heads. 

***

“A guerilla faction had moved in after Pat Nixon and her cronies slaughtered everyone in our family,” Johnny Go told a stunned King. Even Dixie, who had heard this story before, and who usually didn’t experience normal human emotions beyond rage, was transported by Johnny’s story. 
“So that snake took you back there, but didn’t realize that your family wasn’t there anymore,” said the King. 
“Yeah, or he did,” Johnny shrugged. “Anyway, it all went south from there.” 
“What happened?” 
Johnny groaned, “I really don’t want to get into the details,” he said. “But suffice to say that we were not equipped to deal with these guys, and I was worth a lot less to them than Shasta. She…” he trailed off. 
“Johnny?” 
“She agreed to marry this warlord in exchange for them letting me live,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want her to do it, but she said she’d rather live the rest of her life knowing I was alive, even if we were apart, then live one minute longer if I died. I’unno. Doesn’t seem like a fair trade.” 
“But they agreed?” asked the King. 
“Yeah, they tied me up, drove me someplace and threw me in a shipping container. I ended up in Balhaf with no money and no idea what to do next. I got a job as a stevedore to try to get enough money to make it back, but eventually I realized it was useless. Even if I made it back, I wasn’t going to be able to find her. And what if I did? Was I going to take on a whole rebel army?
“I convinced myself that it was ok. That we never could have had a real future together, on accounta that we’re cousins, you know.” 
“Except now you know you aren’t,” Dixie said.  
“Yeah. Fuck.” Johnny Go sat there for a while, staring off into space. Finally, he looked back at the King. “So what do I do now, King?” The King just shrugged. “Come on, King. Tell me what happens next.” 
“Johnny. I can’t do that and you know it,” the King replied. 
“Well what the fuck was the point of that story if all it was going to do was make me realize that Shasta’s not my cousin, and you can’t tell me how to save her? Why are you even here?” 
“Well for one thing, you two fools were lost in the desert in the middle of the night, in the middle of the winter, with no clothes, and under the influence of something so powerfully toxic that we bury it in a mountain.” Johnny stood up, then leaned over and pulled Dixie to her feet, as well. They both gave the King a look like, yeah and? 
“For another thing,” the King continued, “I don’t give advice, I just point things out. I’m a ghost, not a fortune teller. How would I know what’s going to happen in the future?” 
“Fine,” Johnny said. “Then can you point out where we can get some booze? The edges aren’t swirling anymore and I have no intention of seeing straight for the next week.” 
“That I can help you with,” the King said. He gestured over his shoulder. Behind him, the horizon glowed faintly in the dark. “You’re about a forty-five minute walk from the Strip.” 
“Wow…” Dixie and Johnny said softly. Maybe the edges were still swirling, after all. “How’d you do that, King?” Johnny asked. 
“Do what?” 
“Make Vegas appear like that!” 
“I… you know what? Never mind. It’s my only other ghost power. Let’s just leave it at that.” Dixie and Johnny, in almost a trance, started walking toward the light. The King reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He handed it to Johnny. 
“Here. You might need this.” Johnny looked down at a white and gold casino chip. Instead of a casino name, or an amount, it was covered in strange symbols. 
“What…” Johnny looked up, but the King was gone. He and Dixie looked at one another, and walked off, keeping their eyes on the light. 

***

The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks walked in the front doors of Cesar’s Palace and straight onto the gaming floor. They were still naked, and Dixie still clutched the dead buzzard around her for warmth. As they made their way to the roulette tables, people stared. Immediately, various casino employees jumped into action, following the protocol for situations like this, where the goal was to get rid of the problem without drawing any attention to it, or distracting any of the gamblers from their games. 
Two men, wearing the kind of suits that are designed and made only for men in the security field, began following the two at a not so discreet distance. They sent commands to those up ahead via earpieces. 
Dixie and Johnny made it to a roulette table with a $500 minimum bet. They sat down, and several others shifted away from them. They had already placed their bets, so they had to see this through. Johnny held out the chip. The croupier took one look at it and seemed genuinely shaken. He signaled to the pit boss, who arrived at the same time as the security guys. Seeing the chip, the pit boss silently signaled for security to back off, and spoke quickly and quietly into his own earpiece. 
Within seconds, casino staff appeared with trays of drinks and hor-d'oeuvres. A woman from the spa arrived with hot towels and began cleaning their hands. Two more staffers brought expensive hotel robes and covered them, while gently coaxing the buzzard from Dixie’s grasp. 
Dixie and Johnny took the chip and placed the whole thing on black.