Chapter Six: The Coach Revisited

Just want to point out that all this stuff is first-draft. There's a lot of cleaning up to do, especially with the course language. What can I say? I find dumb people swearing at each other to be funny. I can't help it.

Chapter Six
The Coach Revisited

Mickey Mouse arrived at the lobby, exiting the stairwell. He was sweating and his black dual-spheroid ear-do again lay crooked. People rushed to and fro, looming over him. He smacked a briefcase out of his way as a businessman rushed by, not noticing the mouse below. “Jackass,” said Mickey. The man looked back in brief horror.

Mr. Mouse emerged onto the street and whistled. A brilliant white and chrome 1954 Rolls Royce with windows tinted near-black then hummed to life and advanced to pull up in front of the clothed rodent. The rear door opened seemingly on its own and Mickey climbed aboard. Immediately the sparkling auto pulled away.

In the rear seats, a black-suited man with goatee sat facing Mickey, while beside the mouse sat a young rabbit in tight red dress and high heels. She immediately grabbed his hand. “I missed you Mickey baby! Gimme a smooch!”

Mickey rolled his large googly eyes. “Bunny, grow up for a minute, will you? Philbert, pour me something bubbly and cut some gouda, will you?”

“Come on, Mick. Smoochey smoochey!” Mick ignored her.

The man opened the mini-fridge. “We’re all out.”

“Dammit. Some Swiss then. Or provolone. Something whiffy.”

“Of cheese, I mean.”

“What! I’m not in the mood for a Monty Python sketch, Philbert. I want some cheese!”

“Well, you ate like an ornery raptor the whole way here this morning.”

“Yeah, and then you finished it off the moment I left, didn’t you? You know you’re putting on a few pounds there Philly. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Of course, if we took a bigger limousine, we’d have a bigger fridge,” said Philbert.

“I pay for your protection among other things, lest you’ve forgotten.”

“Bigger fridge; more cheese.”

“You gonna be quick on the draw when I need you to be?”

“Bigger car; bigger fridge; more cheese…”

“Eh tubby?”

“Simple relationship when you think about it.”

“Do I need to put an ad in the classifieds?”

“Cause and effect, really.” said Philbert.

“Of for fuck sakes,” said Bunny. “Here we go again; you two.”

“Strawberry cheesecake sir!” barked the driver suddenly.

“What the hell are you on about!”

“That sign in front of the Queen O’ The Dairy. Something about a strawberry cheesecake blitz! Do you suppose there’s real cheese in that?”

Mickey looked for a moment like he would explode. “What the..! Do I look like a fucking ice cream aficionado here! Do I look like a - like a - a polar bear or something..! I pay you fuckers to know these things..! Where’s my bubbly!”

Philbert took a bottle of champagne and began tearing at the gold foil. Bunny selected a flute for herself.

“Should I turn around sir?” said the driver.

“Yes! Turn around! We’re gonna have to go find out, aren’t we! Jumpin’ butt crickets! Where do I find you people? I thought you were from Mexico!”

“Yes sir; Guerrero.” The driver slowed and made a sharp u-turn. Philbert was cast to one side as the cork he’d struggled with blew off. Foam gushed onto his dress pants.

“I thought you Mexicans were all about the ice cream! What the..? And I’m not your Guerrero, hombre! You call me sir or Mr. Mouse. Got it!”

“Yes sir, Mr. Mouse!”

“Sack him tomorrow,” Mickey said lowly. Philbert nodded.