ride to our hotel was crowded. Fictional characters, it turns out, take
up just as much room in a limo as real people. And with Kilgore Trout along
for the ride, fiction outnumbered reality 4 to 3. William, Scott, and Dirk
were used to this by now, of course, having watched their, what could only
be charitably described as, lives be completely overwhelmed by their own
Before The Unknown, I never would have imagined touching a limo, much less
riding in them as often as we do, Dirk muttered, to no one in particular.
Not that Im complaining, but what good is
a limo if you have to sit with your knees caressing your cheeks! And wheres
the fucking mini-bar anyway?
Did someone say bar? William asked groggily. Prostrate on the floor
of the limo and being used as an unconscious footrest by the rest of us,
William vainly attempted to sit upright, only to flail helplessly amidst
the legs and feet that imprisoned him. Excretion is the wetter fart of
. . . of val-, of valium, he mumbled before passing out again.
Did someone say bar? Scott asked, taking up the cause.
Yeah, wheres the bar? Kilgore Trout chimed in. My author never puts
me in such plush surroundings. Better take advantage
while I can!
After a quick search, it was determined that Dirk was sitting directly
in front of the mini-bar. He moved out of the way by sitting in Williams
lap and Scott and Kilgore tried to open the bar. It was locked. Scott
rapped on the window to get the drivers attention.
Hey, you got a key for this mini-bar, pal? Scott yelled through the
The driver pretended he hadnt heard the question.
Hey! Wheres the fuckin key, man? Scott was really pounding on the
glass now and everyone mentally prepared themselves for another Unknown
fiasco, except maybe for Kilgore, who was new to this type of thing, and
also William who was still unconscious.
Scott wouldnt stop yelling or pounding, despite entreaties from the real
and the fictional alike, and finally the driver of the limo pulled over
to the side of the road, got out of the car, opened up the back door, and
dragged Scott out into the night air. Dropping him unceremoniously on
the curb, the driver shut the back door, climbed back into the front seat,
and drove off. A few seconds later the drivers voice crackled over the
The bars locked because the lady who ordered the limo wanted it locked.
That damn Marla, Dirk chortled, Mother Hen strikes again.
. . . I aint got the key and I wouldnt give it to you if I had one because
all of you are a bunch of fuckin whackos and I dont get paid enough to
put up with drunk fuckin whackos, o.k.?
And I suppose that same lady gave you permission to dispose of unruly passengers?
Yep. She warned me. Said I didnt have to take shit. And as you see, I
That you dont, William said, as he slowly returned his one-hitter to
his coat pocket.
The rest of the ride was silent, except for occasional groans from William,
but at least there was a little more room to stretch ones legs.