Heaven, INC: Chapter 53: BORN UNDER A BAD SIGN

No one knows what it's like to be the bad man
To be the sad man behind blue eyes.
No one knows what it's like to be hated
To be fated to telling only lies.
— Behind Blue Eyes,
THE WHO

SWEETWATER ROAD,
BONITA
1:28 P.M. PDT

ZEPPELIN GAVE WAY to the Who and the Who to Ozzy Osbourne, but the traffic gave way to no one and nothing and Mick found himself in one of those awful inching affairs where road is bought car-length by tortured car-length. Sitting there, hearing the radio without listening, Mick reflected on the situation of the missing karaoke tape and his options. Seriously, what’re the chances of the original tape ever turning up?

Mick got an answer when the DJ followed Zeppelin with Clapton singing about being Born Under A Bad Sign.

If the tape shows up in Mona’s house, at George’s or under Bivo’s pillow from the flipping tape fairy, anywhere, and it fucks up Bivo’s shot at American Popstar, he’s liable to have you whacked, nephew or not . . . Crap, you need to find the goddamn tape.

MICK SAW FLASHERS, ROAD-FLARES and police cruisers gathered along the shoulder of the road. A cop was directing cars. Going by, he tried catching a glimpse of a body but saw nothing but cops and detectives roaming the tall grass.

But then, out of nowhere, maybe ten or twelve cars ahead, suddenly saw a white Rolls being waved on by the cop directing traffic, the Rolls still visible when Mick was waved ahead by the cop, and he jumped on the gas a little, getting close enough to see any turns but not close enough to be seen—

Just like that, brother, lay back and play the Invisible Man.

— as the Rolls turned north onto Eton and Mick ran a couple just-turned red-lights keeping up—

What the hell? Wait a minute, wait . . . The Norcestor Arms is just up ahead.

— before the Rolls turned right on Division, went a block and turned onto Valencia—

What the . . . Whoa, whoa, whoa . . . Something ain’t right.

The Rolls slowed and pulled over the side of the road and Mick cruised on by, trying his best to look nonchalant as he got this weird, tingly feeling crawling up the back of his head.

That’s when a black Lincoln Continental came hurtling around the corner in a wicked swerve and lurched back on line before heading at Mick like a torpedo . . . then suddenly swerved to block the road as Mick hit the brakes. Immediately, the Lincoln’s doors flew open and men jumped out, pointing UZIs and shouting as Mick threw the transmission into reverse. But he knew it was too late when another Lincoln swerved and came to a sliding halt and more men in suits piled out, government-looking fucktards pointing little machine-guns over open doors and shouting.

Shaking his head, Mick killed the engine, calling out, “Okay, I’m coming out, you assholes, and I got my hands in the air . . . Nobody shoot, I’m coming out . . .”