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+---- Thread: RICH E FLORIDA (/showthread.php?tid=42960)
RICH E FLORIDA - Vin - 02-20-2022
The coffee cup with DAD on it was covered in scattered drips of coffee that were the rings of a tree but for coffee. Seth Berlinger’s mustache was long and it soaked up quite a bit of java every time he dipped in for a drink. He’d wipe it away on the sleeve of his blue shirt and move on with the next case waiting for him. Being a parole office in Florida was difficult. Almost like being a coroner in Texas or a therapist in California or Mickey Rourke’s plastic surgeon.
There was always work to be done.
None more so than for the folder, thick as a high school text book but one based on the shit they don’t teach you. The name on the front was blurred out, and over it the new name ‘RICHIE FLORIDA’ had been written across it. Had this man’s alias been used once, or thrice, it would be listed within. But with this man, and the amount of times he appeared before his parole officer, the only purpose using his real name would serve was one of confusion. His real name was barely known. His alias was feared.
Seth gathered himself before standing, and walking across the cluttered office, almost knocking over a pile of documents that he was going to file tomorrow (always tomorrow), and calling out for Richie Florida, annoyance the undertone for every syllable.
Seated at the bench just across from the office, a pale man in a tattered flannel shirt and cargo shorts sits barefoot, his black and white checkered vans in his hands, sniffing them and not at all displeased by the scent. Hearing his name, he slips his feet back in, and jogs into the office excitedly.
“So Richard, why are you here this time?” Seth says with the kind of expectations one has at the dentist. (Painful)
“I need you to lift my travel ban.” Richie declares expecting a smile and agreement right there on the spot.
“Are you out of your fucking mind? What makes you think I’d wanna set you lose on the rest of this country? Bad enough we keep paroling you.”
“Hey man, You don’t call me Mr. Misdemeanor for nothing.”
“I call you many things but that ain’t one of them. Now explain to me what the fuck made you think this was gonna happen for you so I can say no.”
“Alright. So see, what had happened was…”
It was as moist a night in Florida as any Richie could remember. He was standing on the bank of a small river which could be called a creek, but small river sounds more impressive. A rope in one hand a flat coors light he found nearby in the other, he tugs on the rope and finds its stuck to something. Pulling it slowly toward him while he hums ‘Roar’ by Kathy Perry, who is a friend who does karaoke nearby, he finds a rather large magnet at the end of the rope and a rather large object, made of metal obviously, stuck to the magnet.
Richie picked up the object and removed it from the magnet. A small piece of it remained on the magnet. Richie bent down and tried to wash the item off so he could see what it was but the light was far too dim to see and he didn’t have his lighter since he let it to Kathy Perry outside of the karaoke place. Searching his surroundings like the Boy Scouts taught him, or would have if they had accepted the aplicatation of a 30 year old man, he found the solution to his problem in the distance. The light of the star of Florida.
An Arby’s.
Walking inside, Richie examined the object a bit more, but it was still covered in mud and muck. Ducking inside the bathroom, Richie argued with the auto faucet for a good few minutes before he found that sweet spot that would keep the water flowing, and began to wash the object off.
“Huh.” Richie thought to himself. “That’s a grenade.”
Richie was confused about why someone would throw a perfectly good grenade into the small river, not a creek, like that when they could show it off to their friends? Grenades are cool! Who doesn’t think grenades are cool? “Omg” he thought to himself, “are grenades not cool?”
No. No they had to be. In fact, he was going to prove it by taking a poll of everyone in the artisanal eatery of Arberts aka Arby’s.
Ten minutes later the entire restaurant was surrounded by SWAT and other officers in those full body suits that make them look like robot gorillas. Richie was behind the counter at this point eating slices of roast beef with his free hand while everyone outside discussed how to deal with the issue. A negotiator in full body gorilla thing came in and started to talk to him.
“Sir, my name is Tony Belamoni, I’m the spe-“
“Bro you got named Tony Bologna in school, yeah?”
“…yes I did.”
“That sucks!”
“It was not fun.”
“Bet you became a cop to fucking teach them a lesson, huh? But wait! You’re also like mad sympathetic so you became a negotiator, yeah? Like you were all ‘I can be powerful because gun and shit but then you were like…wait. I have the feels, too.”
“…that’s pretty accurate actually.”
“I got a gift, it’s people, you know.”
“So, lets talk about the hand grenade. What are your demands?”
“Man, I ain’t trying to demand nothing of nobody. Just live your life, you know?”
“Ok but you’re holding this entire place hostage, no?”
“Wait, is that why they all ran into the freezer?? I thought they were just like, cliquish.”
“…no. They called and think you’re holding them hostage. Why did you bring a grenade in here anyway?”
“Ok so I was walking along the small river.”
“The creek outside?”
“Nah man, don’t be so negative about sizes of things, it’s very telling and not at all cool. Anywho, I was walking along and there was this rope, and it was next to a beer, so i was like ‘that’s cool. I like ropes. I like beer.’ So i grabbed both and started drinking, the beer. And started pulling the rope, and this came out. I didn’t see what it was until I got it in the bathroom. And like, are grenades cool?”
“No. They are not ‘cool.’ They are dangerous.”
“But see you’re thinking of like, ‘hey is it cool if i bring this grenade into an arby’s’ which is…oh shit. I just brought a grenade into an arby’s. Yeah, I see this clearer now, def not cool, my man. Shit.”
“…but also grenades are cool in the other sense.”
“RIGHT!?”
“They blow stuff up that is always cool.”
“Ok, as long as you know. Like, everyone else was all ‘oh no he’s got a thing’ and I was way too distracted by the cool factor to really…hey am I gonna die?”
“This is probable, yeah. So since you didn’t mean to take any hostages, is it ok that we get them out of here?”
“Oh no doubt, yeah. Let ‘em go. No one wants to die in an Arby’s.”
“I like Arby’s.”
“My man, who don’t. It’s like the prime rib of fast food.”
Within 15 minutes the freezer was freed of several employees, an equal amount of customers, and a box of French fries by a particularly sticky fingered police offer. Richie stood in the dining room, trying different flavors of sprite from one of those cool machines that have the syrups. As the bomb squad came in, one of the officers had the pin from the grenade in his hand, having pulled it from the magnet out by the small river which was not a creek.
“Sir, is this the pin from the grenade in your hand?”
“Sure.”
“I am asking you.”
“I said sure.”
“I need you to be very specific about this. Yes or no.”
“Of course.”
“…so yes?”
“Sure.”
“IS THIS THE FUCKING PIN FROM THE GRENADE?”
“I mean, sure. But could it not be? Possible.”
“…Jesus fucking Christ. Let me see the grenade.”
“Betcha. Whatcha thinking?”
“…sir have you ever seen a grenade before?”
“Nah, this is a big day for me to say the least.”
“Ok, Usually they aren’t pink or blue and don’t usually say ‘boy or girl’ on them. What you have is a gender reveal explosive.”
“…i thought that was like a ‘greetings from America’ thing like they did with the bombs for Sadam, ya know? Makes sense I guess.”
“Ok, We’re gonna put the pin back in, Take a slow walk out to the big silver robot out there, and then you’re gonna just drop it into the container, and then we’re all gonna run away, just to be sure, ok?”
“Ok, but there’s something you gotta know…”
“…what?”
“I’ve eaten about 15 pounds of meat and I might not run that fast. I could be caught in the explosion and I could be killed since I can’t get away fast enough.”
“…that is a chance I’m willing to take.”
“Solid. Let’s do this. Also did you know grapefruit sprite slaps because it SLAPs.”
Seth Berlinger had heard enough. He’d heard enough the second Richie started talking, but it was better to let the guy go on for a bit at least, otherwise it just made things worse. Way worse.
“Jesus, Richie! What is the point of this?”
“Ok so we did the whole bomb thing and sure enough it was just a grenade for like babies genital parties which is odd as shit but whatevs. BUT. The cops dragged the lake and found the necklace of a missing kid in it. Kids been missing for awhile too. They picked up one of the other coors cans and tested the dna and it came up a match for the Gardner of this really rich family who also happened to be the family the kid belonged, too. They went to his house and found the kid in like a cage or something. So the family were like, we would have never found our son without the grenade guy. So they owed me one. And I’m cashing in.”
“Richie, we don’t owe you a favor, The people whose kid you found do. What does any of this have to do with your parole?”
“Ah nah, see. The thing is these people got deep and mad connects in the wrasslin badness and they got me a spot on this invite only shiz hosted by that Dennie Ports. And as you know the parole board can not hinder one Richie Florida from making a living. So you gotsta sign my pass.”
“I don’t ‘gotsta’ do anything. I can deny you by saying you can make money here.”
“…But if you do, I’mma come up here erryday to say ‘yo what up mtv raps how you doing’ and-“
“Where is this tournament, Mr. Florida?”
“Not so much a to-“
“Where.”
“…California.”
“I feel like you’re leaving something out but I just want this over with. Enjoy your trip and by all means, feel free to stay out there forever.”
“You know Imma be back. Richie ain’t Florida without Florida, ya know? I’m gonna stay sober, ‘cept them silver bullets, and then I’m bringing back the gold!”
Berlinger pinched his nose by the bridge and sighed out of both nostrils, flaring them and making the hairs that extended past dance in the breeze of his annoyance. He hoped when he opened his eyes, Richie Florida would be well on his way to never being seen again.