Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

95 - MEDIA WARS

With dreams of sugary confections dancing in our heads, me and Deputy Whitey and the Kachinga Indians and the Silver Ghost kept relighting the bowl and passing around my chicken claw pipe.

Sashimi and Maggie was off to the back of an Escalade seeking the kind of privacy required for binding up a woman’s wounds.

Through the smoky haze a rhythmic siren was growing and approaching our position fast.  Flashing red lights drew closer and closer.  The Silver Ghost and the Kachingas dove for cover behind one of the many piles of rubble.  The ladies just poked their heads up from their work and peeped out from around the corner.

Dusty ash blew up in a thousand tiny tornadoes blinding everyone as sand, shattered glass and debris stung our skin, and a whirlwind rose up and tore at our clothes.  A big red fire truck came flyin’ into Broken Heart Park and was the center of a new ruckus, accompanied by other officious Fire Department vehicles.  Uniformed men rushed out.  And right behind the fire truck came a news truck.

Simultaneously, Whitey and me turned our sandblasted faces up to the sky to see the emerging form of the Eyeball-in-the-Sky helicopter for “Good Morning, Bakersfield!”

The chopper landed in yet another big ol’ cloud of dust to deposit local reporter, Kookoo Chew.  Once Kookoo and crew unloaded cameras and equipment and stuff, the blasting sandstorm over our mobile home community continued as rotors whirled overhead.

Meanwhile, a skinny young man hopped out of a news truck, microphone in hand, and he came running over to my side.  “Simon Dickson here,” he shouted at me, “from KWTF News Radio.  Where it’s:  News, News, News…All News, All The Time!”  He got real busy talking and shoving that damn mic in my face.

“What happened to Randy Felcher?” I asked, taking a cautious step backwards.

“Yesterday’s news,” Simon said.  “Randy’s got a morning gig in Phoenix, real sweet deal.  So!  You’re in charge of Broken Heart Park, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” I was forceful.  “Could you please remove your microphone from under my nose?” I asked as polite as possible.  But Mr. Dickson just shoved that microphone a bit deeper into the personal space reserved for my face.

“So!  Wha’cha think about the piss-lizards coming home to Broken Heart Park?”

“Well,” I was feeling the full-effects of the peace pipe, “since it looks like I’m now out of a job and evicted, I’ll take that $1.75 bounty for every piss-lizard I can get my hands on.  I just pray there’s still a reward on any of the damn things left.”

Kookoo pushed her way past the radio guy.  “Kookoo here,” she shouted above the roar of her helicopter.  “And good afternoon from ‘Good Morning, Bakersfield!’”

“Hey, Kook,” Simon pointed up to the chopper, “remind you of old times back home?”

“Beat it, air-jock,” Kookoo flashed an annoyed yet shimmering smile Simon’s way as she cut in, “How do you feel about the sanctuary being established here for the Three Horned Piss Lizard, on the grounds of what was once Broken Heart Park?”

“Huh?” I replied.

Sashimi Luckyfeather suddenly appeared, dragging Maggie alongside.  “What did you say?” the Kachinga’s legal counsel asked.

Deputy Whitey intervened, “Like I was try’n to tell you, Lucky.  Them boys at that RobbinsYUZ Corporation just sold this parcel to somebody.  You Kachingas and everybody else have gotta clear out of Broken Heart Park.”

“That’s right,” the radio reporter Simon Dickson chuckled.  “This is now protected piss-lizard country, on account of that piss-lizard charity.”  Then he stuck his damned microphone directly into Maggie’s face, “Do you have anything to say?”

Maggie shot him a genuine ball-bust’n look.

Kookoo pushed past Simon, “The Fanny Luscious Kartone Foundation for the Preservation of Three Horned Piss Lizards is not a charity,” she sniffed.  “It is a heavily endowed trust and 501(c)3.”  She looked down her cute little nose at Simon.  “Where did you get your journalism degree, Simon, from drawing pictures off matchbook covers?”

“So what if I did?” Simon responded.  “At least I know the proper time and place to use a phrase like heavily endowed,” he sneered back at Kookoo.

Maggie pointed up the driveway.  “Lookit!  Bulldozers!”

(I got a sinking feeling there was gonna be a whole lot more digging going on.)

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