PORTER
Based Upon Shakespeare’s
MACBETH
“Stay out of it,
Sparky.” ~ A drunk to Sean Penn at the Shade Hotel, Manhattan Beach, California
July 2014
Porter walked along
the Redondo Beach Pier. He was headed towards the international boardwalk to a
little waterfront bar where his friend Edison was waiting for him. He kept his head down and his hands in his
pockets. It was a cold, gray Christmas
Eve and there was a nip in the air. Christmas lights twinkled on some of the
boats nestled in their slips, but for the most part it was a ghost town. In fact, Porter was surprised Naja’s was
still open.
A down-on-his-luck
musician trembling from cold turkey sang WHITE CHRISTMAS in front of The Fun
Factory arcade, which like most of the shops and bars, had closed early for the
holiday. Porter dropped some spare change into the boy’s open guitar case.
Naja’s was a popular waterfront
hole in the wall. It was a beloved dive bar famous for its 777 beers, 77 of
which were on tap, as well as its location under the boardwalk and its laid
back atmosphere. On hot summer nights it
was packed with locals and tourists who loved watching the sunsets and each
other while live bands gave the evenings a lively pulse. But this was a dreary night and a holiday
where folks gathered in their homes and Porter wondered why Edison wanted to
meet here.
Edison was seated
with a pitcher of beer on the window sill that served as the primo people
watching location of Naja’s. He looked
as if he was well on his way through the 77 drafts.
The barkeep brought
another glass without being asked. There was no one else in Naja’s.
“I saw Dewitt. When my shift was over I just came down
here. All I could do was run. My car is still up there.” Edison worked as a
security guard at the condos that overlooked King Harbor.
“Dewitt’s been dead a
week now,” Porter said.
“He smells like it.
He’s still dealing drugs. I think it’s Stickman,” Edison remarked, pouring
another beer.
“I thought you didn’t
believe in that stuff,” Porter leaned in.
“I didn’t, but what
else could it be? Do you think it’s caused by DNA from aliens who crashed in
the Malaga Cove canyons or could it be the byproduct of agricultural
engineering gone wrong, human DNA mixed with corn creating one pissed off
plant?” Edison speculated.
“I don’t know,”
Porter felt a combination of relief and growing anxiety. It felt good that a friend confirmed that he
wasn’t insane, but on the other hand, it felt pretty bad.
“How did he act when
you saw him,” Edison asked.
“Like a crazy
man. At first he came to my house three
o’clock in the morning saying he worked for the cable company and needed to
come inside to show me the new channel lineup. The flesh was falling off his
face. It wasn’t Dewitt,” Porter rubbed his forehead.
“DeWitt kept asking
me to open the gate and let him in. He
vanished at the end of my shift when Charlie showed up to replace me. I got the hell out of there. I didn’t dare go to my car because I figured
DeWitt was decomposing in my back seat, just waiting for me,” Edison was still
badly shaken. All the color had drained from his face.
“It’s not
DeWitt. It’s that creature that lives in
the trees. It’s Stickman. He lives
inside the trees and when he wants to torment people he sends roots into the
grave and uses a dead body to drive his victims crazy. Last night he came to my
house at the same time as always, 3:00 AM, but this time in that dog we
poisoned. I shot Sparky five times but he just stood there barking until the
police arrived. Then he backed into the peppertree in my backyard and disappeared
inside it.”
“You called the
police! You have the weapon and two
million dollars in your garage and you called the police?!” Edison was shocked by Porter’s stupidity.
“I didn’t call the
police. The neighbors called the
police,” Porter didn’t realize how ridiculous he sounded.
“What does it matter
who called them? What about all that
flying under the radar you preached about?
We have to leave town now!” Edison declared.
“We can’t. If we leave now, the drug cartel will know it
was us. We have to wait. We have to wait.” Porter was beginning to look a bit wild eyed
“Well, what did the
police say? What happened? What did they say? For God’s sake, Porter!”
“I told them it
wasn’t me. I told them I heard it too,
but it wasn’t me,” Porter answered.
“Where did you put
the gun?” Edison asked.
“I put it with the
money,” Porter said.
“Oh, we have to move
it now. We have to move it to that cave
in the cliff that you can only reach by boat during high tide,” Edison
insisted.
“That’s too
dangerous. We’ll get bashed into the
rocks.” Porter objected.
Edison stared at
Porter as if he’d never seen him before.
"Ok, then, give me
your credit card. Mine is maxed
out. Give it to me,” Porter demanded.
“What? What for?
You’re going to call that psychic?
You gave her all your money and now you want to give her mine?” Edison protested.
“She knows everything.
We have to find out what to do next. Give me the card,” Porter held his hand
out.
“You didn’t tell her
we are millionaires?!” Edison gave Porter the credit card.
“I had to. You can’t get a real reading if you withhold
the truth. I had to tell her Connie left
me and I got fired and,” Porter began listing the recent events of his life.
“Oh man! You told me
Connie left but you didn’t say you got fired.
When did you get fired?” Edison couldn’t believe how fast things were
falling apart.
“She left me because
I got fired. All she cares about is
money. If she only knew what she walked
out on,” Porter said bitterly as he dialed the psychic’s number. He hunched over the phone like a mamma bear
protecting her cub, mumbled in a low voice and then hung up.
“What did she say and
what did it cost me? I noticed you did most of the talking,” Edison asked
without hope in his voice.
“Gloriana said we are
safe. We have nothing to fear,” Porter said with newfound confidence.
“Those were her exact
words?” Edison asked.
“She said nothing can
harm us until time stands still. Time
never stands still. We are home free. She said Stickmen have no power at
sea. When the tide comes in, we’ll move
the money to the cave like you said.
When it’s time to go to Mexico, we’ll go by sea so the Stickman creature
cannot follow us,” Porter said.
“Why can’t she just
speak in normal English? I don’t like riddles,” Edison complained.
“She was right about
the money and my new position in life,” Porter answered.
“Are you referring to
your new position as an unemployed person?”
Edison said on his way to the bar to get another pitcher of draft beer.
“Very funny. Our focus now should be on how to deal with
Stickman until it is time to go to Mexico,” Porter said with a serious edge to
his voice.
“Maybe we will get
lucky and never see him again,” Edison said from the bar.
“That would be nice,
but DeWitt’s body is here now. He’s selling
drugs to that musician by the Fun Factory,” Porter informed his friend.
“Mercy. Did Gloriana
say why Stickmen torment people? Why do they do this? What do they want?”
Edison was exasperated.
“She can tell us
more, but it will cost a lot,” Porter replied.
“Of course it will.
Let me guess. Say about two million dollars, perhaps?” Edison suggested.
“Dewitt’s gone. He vanished.
The musician is headed this way.
Let’s offer him a beer and pump him for information,” Porter stared at
the musician who was slowly approaching with an uneven gait.
The musician stopped
at the bicycle stand in front of Naja’s and began attaching his guitar to a
custom rack on the back of his bike.
Porter and Edison stepped out and approached the young man.
“Would you join us
for a beer? It’s a terrible night to be out and about,” Porter asked the young
man.
“Yes, join us for a
drink at Naja’s. It’s Christmas Eve
after all,” Edison chimed in.
“I would, if Naja’s
was open, but it’s not,” the young man continued to fiddle with the bike rack
without turning around to face the men. His hands were green and pebbly like
the skin of an avocado.
Porter and Edison
spun around and sure enough, Naja’s was closed.
There was no sign of the bartender inside. There were no glasses of beer on the counter
where they had just left them. Porter and Edison spun around again and almost
ran into the two huge poles of bamboo that were where the boy and his bike had
been. They heard sickening laughter from
above and looked up into face of Stickman towering over them. His eyes were like limes with olives embedded
in them.
“Someone is in there!
I saw movement!” Edison pointed next door at Lou-e-Luey’s. They rushed over and banged on the window.
“Help us! Let us in!” Porter cried. He picked up a
garbage can and threw it through the window.
He started to climb in but backed up when he saw that the movement was a
dead man swinging back and forth. A flash of lightning revealed it to be
DeWitt’s rotting corpse hanging from the rope. By chance Porter looked at his
watch and saw it was 3:00 AM.
Almost as if on cue,
Dewitt’s dead dog Sparky came barreling down the stairs from the boardwalk and
chased Porter and Edison along the waterfront, growling and barking loudly as
he nipped at them.
“Stay out of it, Sparky!”
Porter yelled at the dog.
The mad dog tried to
herd Porter and Edison into the path of Stickman’s legs which were now like
pillars of giant sequoias trying to stomp the men flat. The halyards on the boats joined the frenzy
and began to clang wildly as bad weather turned worse. A dislocated Christmas
wreath blew down the sidewalk like a tumbleweed.
They jumped the fence
and broke into one of the sailboats. The
barking immediately stopped but they took her out to sea just to be sure.
The lights of King
Harbor grew smaller as they drifted out to sea in the stolen vessel. After a few hours the men finally spoke to
each other again.
“This is out of
control. Let’s just go to Mexico now. Forget the money. Just go and get a fresh
start,” Edison said.
“I was afraid you
would say that,” Porter pulled out a gun and shot his friend.
“I thought you said
you left the gun with the money,” Edison said with his last breaths, “How will
you manage the boat alone?”
“This is Dewitt’s
gun. I’ll manage. Nothing can happen to me. Gloriana says I’m safe,” Porter
said maniacally as he dragged Edison to the edge of the boat to push him into
the sea.
“Have you looked at
your watch lately, my friend?” Edison uttered his last words as he slipped into
the dark sea.
Porter looked at his
watch. The face was cracked. It was still 3:00 AM. It should be 5:00 AM.
The gray sea growled
and swallowed Porter whole.
A 24 Hour Plumbing van
pulled up at Porter’s house. The two million dollars vanished.
~ the end ~
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