Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down (13 page)

 

You idiot slob, I didn't come here to kill the Loop Garoo Kid, I came to draw him out, to talk to him. If you think you can do away with him then you Americans are stupider meatheads than the rest of the world gives you credit.

 

Onward! The Pope snapped his fingers and his caravansary started to roll towards the mountains on its way to the dock.

 

Drag's face was long and glum.

 

Cheer up, Drag, Skinny McCullough said putting his arm about his boss's shoulder.

 

Well at least he came to visit. But I guess I'll have to change my deodorant. He behaved as if…well as if my armpits had bad breath.

 

Loop Garoo was led from the jail a few hours later. The townsfolk were too cool to jeer.

 

Drag climbed to the scaffold and, swaying with a bottle of 3X's in his hand, shoved the part-time trainer and hangman aside. The hangman shrugged his shoulders and removed his black hood. He checked in the time clock on the ground next to the steps and then started home. As long as the execution was performed the Union would see that he got paid. Plus they'd give him a bonus for his suggestion—the guillotine that he had imported to spice things up a bit. He was a typical American worker—what's in it for me was written all over the guy's face.

 

Drag was reading the instructions on the brand new device while the men held Loop Garoo on the platform. The treacherous swine behind the scaffold were tying linen around their necks and held forks in their hooves, so eager were the foul beasts for the poor devil's head to fall.

 

Drag swaggered about the scaffold with drops of liquor dripping from the bottle, and some of it running from the corners of his mouth.

 

Aw this is taking too long. Let's go home and get high, said one citizen.

 

Yeah this is corny old fashioned junk anyway, another one responded.

 

What did you say? Did my ears hear me right? Drag yelled, reeling about the platform as he threw the bottle into the onions, mustard and pickles which littered the area in front of the platform where the Pope had refused his gift.

 

You want to abandon American institutions, huh!! When you give up your institutions, you ain't got nothin someone once said. Get back here and watch this good old killing. Make em get up their hands, boys.

 

The cowpokes stared at the crowd behind their sunglasses and menacingly placed their hands on their holsters.

 

Where are my servants? I want them to be in on this too, Drag shouted.

 

They ain't here, Chief Showcase called from behind the crowd, just me and my blankets. The chinaboy was seen heading towards the lake last night with an armful of blueprints of your tomb. There was a neck topped with a huge revolving eye protruding from the water.

 

Well I don't need no tomb anyway, now that I've been clued in by the Pope on what was going down in me.

 

Loop, what you got to say, Drag said holding the blade's brake as his men shoved Loop's head to the chopping block.

 

How do you like this parody on his passion, you old Codger, Loop said staring skyward.

 

Everyone got a chuckle out of that and even Loop smiled as Drag started to send the blade to split his head from his torso. The hogs behind the scaffold began to pant loud and rude.

 

All at once the white Chicken Delight truck pulled up to the rear of the crowd with two surviving Yellow Back children swinging from its doors. Their mouths were full of drumsticks. Hey come on, we found it, the Seven Cities of Cibola! It's as far as you can see from where you're standing now.

 

The common folk turned away from the scaffold and sure enough there in the distance could be seen rising a really garish smaltzy super technological anarcho-paradise. The people began to trot in slow motion towards the blue kidney shaped swimming pools, the White Castle restaurants, the drive-in bonanza markets, the computerized buses and free airplanes, the free anything one desired.

 

O no, Loop complained, not another medieval morality drama with me getting the wooden paddle in the tail at the end.

 

Hold on, grab them Drag, the lush shouted to his gang.

 

The cowpokes blocked the people's progress. Some of them drew shooting irons, others squirted the townsfolk with mace.

 

If there's some kind of Cibola place what's got exploitative possibilities I'm going to be the one to get the coin. Why I'll be a squillionaire.

 

Aw come off it Drag, one of the children swinging from the Chicken Delight truck yelled, act normal will ya?

 

The townsfolk booed Drag, some of them giving him the razzberry, others the bird.

 

Throw the bum out, they screamed pinching their noses.

 

A cavalry charge sounded. It was the Government arriving in an invasion fleet of taxis around the bend and into the town.

 

Theda Blackwell leaped from the lead auto and was about to read a hastily written decree to the crowd when he saw Drag looking robust and swaying on the scaffold. He nervously glanced at Showcase to the rear of the crowd for an explanation but Chief Showcase shrugged his shoulders giving the Theda a what-do-you-want-from-me-already type stare and returned to munching on an ice cream sandwich one of the children had given him.

 

Very well, Theda said. Drag Gibson in the name of the Queen I place you and your men under arrest.

 

The Field Marshal was dressed like a Dresden Doll. His wig had been curled dressed and talcumed. His cheeks and lips were tinted. He wore a tiny patch of black court plaster on his face. Gold lace decorated the sleeves of his wine colored frock coat. He wore white stockings which reached his knees and evening pumps.

 

All of Drag's bulldoggers rolled about in the dust, they were laughing so at this tenderfoot coming out of the blue.

 

Theda's earrings shook slightly as he summoned the rest of his party: Pete the Peek and his sleuths who wore trench coats and black slouch hats.

 

O funny huh, said Theda. Yes I know that you in the West think we're panty-waist style and we may be by your standards, but don't forget we're the ones with the Industrial Revolution. Take em, boys.

 

The sleuths behind them turned their rat noses and meat cleaver jaws towards the Skinny McCullough and the rest of the men from the Purple Bar-B.

 

Ray Guns!!!

 

The cowpokes tried to draw but they were no match for Harold Rateater's latest toy. Sheath after sheath of strange lights flashed on their bodies and they melted slowly into a pile of goo.

 

Drag was pop-eyed, standing on the scaffold and tottering.

 

We'll settle this your way, we'll show you that we're gentlemen, Drag Gibson.

 

Suits me fine, Drag said. I may be a little rusty but I'm sure I can outdraw you.

 

The Field Marshal and Drag began to pace backwards but suddenly Drag's arms were moving like windmills as he tried to balance himself on the edge of the platform. He disappeared into the little yard behind this grim stand.

 

Noisy and much munching was heard from the greedy and unnatural animals who dwelled there.

 

The Field Marshal flanked by Pete and his stooges started once again to read the decree annexing Yellow Back Radio to the East.

 

Suddenly spears flew from the summit of the Mountain overlooking Yellow Back Radio.

 

The sleuths, Pete the Peek and Theda, groaning, tried to remove the spearheads deeply buried in their chests. Soon men lay wasted in the streets. They resembled the scribblings of little children—sticks for arms and circles for heads.

 

Wow! said the cabbies.

 

Gee whiz! said the townsfolk. The Government is been wiped out.

 

That's what we've been trying to tell you all along, said the children. Come on, let's go, the late late late show is about to begin on the boob toob and we can watch eating Pooped Out Soggies.

 

Everyone arm in arm started bopping towards the gleaming Cities in the distance. Some even slopped, and a few solid sender old timers who could remember broke out into some very heavy trucking. Theda's page trailed along doing the camel walk.

 

Big Lizzy shared a two-seated bicycle with Chief Showcase.

 

They all ignored the Loop Garoo Kid left standing on the scaffold and cheated out of his martyrdom. He watched the crowds disappear in the clouds of dust. He climbed down from his prospective punishment ignoring the hogs, whose jaws were swollen with Cattleman à la carte.

 

He rode rapidly over the Mountain and off into the distance in an effort to catch up with the Pope's ship.

 

At the summit of the Mountain husky women with stubs for left breasts were putting their remaining spears into pouches made from hides of oxen.

 

The Amazons watched the mob working out joyfully towards the futuristic scenes in the distance. All along the way black flags furled in the breeze. They sat on their horses and some prepared the dayglo paint which circled their eyes. You would think that these women, barefooted and clothed in leopard skin, having just left the neolithic, would be more than glad to go off to where machines were servants and could do everything from dig irrigation ditches to baby sitting—where even old people were free to watch the movies since machines would from now on change diapers, where engines punched in instead of men.

 

The Amazons preferred their own thing. It was a big world wasn't it? And who cared as long as no one starved and everybody could swing the way he wanted.

 

The Amazons rode back to their forests. Having disposed of certain biological accidents they would have a celebration tonight. There would be much wine drunk, dancing and messages to be sent out to other liberated tribes.

 

Hey Matthew, said one pig to his greedy and carnivorous companion who was nibbling the plumes of a Napoleon hat.

 

What do you want Waldo?

 

Pretty good week here for us pigs ain't it?

 

Yeah guys. First that tomato topped with the rose and then this fat head we just et was sho nuff good child.

 

Yeah that guy was real tasty, especially the bull's sperm on top of his jughead. Wow, that dish was better I'll bet than those heads we got cheated out of they stole for that traveling lecture room.

 

Yeah Matthew, the other pig said. You know that guy's got me running.

 

Well there's a piece of paper over there in the mud, maybe you can wipe with that.

 

Waldo made it on all fours to the piece of paper lying in the mud.

 

Hey it's a note that dropped out of the guy's pocket we just made mincemeat of. O an imperial note from the Pope. It looks important.

 

The two pigs placed their right hoofs to their chests.

 

Think I could use it? Nobody in this town; it's becoming a ghost town. Besides ain't no Pope suppose to be visiting the States until New York 1966…

 

The startled pigs looked at each other.

 

Hey, this creepy town, let's get out of here.

 

The two pigs with tails curled hoofed it towards the Black Forest surrounding Yellow Back Radio and the sun began to set as it rained on the note in the swinepit behind the gallows:

 

Loop Garoo, whiplashing the green horse, galloped furiously to a cliff overlooking the sea. He could see the Pope's ship heading towards the horizon, oars rowing in steady rhythm and the shields of his guard reflecting the dim rays of the setting sun.

 

Loop hesitated on his horse for a moment then, still in the saddle, plunged in. With his rider fastened to him the animal swam towards the Pope's ship which was heading back to its point of origin.

 

Man and horse overboard! came a cry from the crow's nest.

 

The Pope chomping on a havana rushed to the ship's railing. Well I'll be damned, and hallelujah, here comes the Loop, the Pontiff smiled. Thomas Jefferson was out of a job but that was O.K. too.

Oakland, California, June 1968