The New Black Mask (No 4)

Mike Handley Psychodrama

Mike Handley characterizes his mystery fiction as “eccentric hard-boiled.” He has been a professional writer for five years, writing mystery fiction and contemporary horror stories, mostly for small-press magazines. He cites film noir as a primary influence on his work and has tried his hand at teleplays. He is currently working on a feature-length horror filmplay and a mystery novel.

“Psychodrama” is a fictionalized version of a holdup that occurred in Oakland, California, in August 1983. Mr. Handley has written a teleplay from the story.

Hey, let me tell you, it started out playin’ like the dream come true, I mean, blueprint beautiful, textbook perfect. I was thinkin’ we were ready to talk Major Method, give workshops and whatnot.

We’d parked a street away where we could see the station across this rubbled lot. I was wheelin’, Oakly sittin’ shotgun. He had what he called “No Wave” music goin’ in the tape deck, which he was usin’ to psych up on, real militant stuff, all axe-edge rhythm and ambulance melody that shot straight to the nervous system, even at low volume.

We let the sun set so the night could work for us, sure, for cover and all that, but the way we were playin’ it, atmosphere was one more factor to be exploited in our favor.

“Let’s do it!” Oak snarled.

See, we always diced at the beginnin’ to cast the main role, and Oak had won this round, so he was directin’ the stop and go signs.

So I took the cue and rolled us around to Shelburne and on into the station, pullin’ it up in front of the full-service pumps, right next to the office. Oak he jumped out and met the attendant in the doorway, just a kid, sixteen or so, you know the type, gone a little goofy over some certain flag twirler from school he can’t get outa his head, standin’ there all gangly in this greasy uniform with his name sewn over the pocket, Biff, or Buddy, or somethin’.

Well, Oak he slips the blade outa his sleeve and puts on his best crazy face. Let me tell you it was most effective. When the face was on him, he looked like nobody you’d ever want to see, ’cept maybe in a B movie where you could watch him terrorize somebody else.

I’d seen him back off this grizzly biker one night in a bar and once even a trio of Street Beaters, a much-feared local teen gang, real id kids, who’da just as soon as doused us with fuel and warmed their hands on our fire as wear gloves. But when the Oak flashed the face, flarin’ the nostrils, bulgin’ big with the eyes, showin’ his teeth, well, it’s just like they say, don’t nobody mess with a crazy man!

And this kid, he knew that immediately. He must’ve just hit the bathroom ’cause he showed all the symptoms but the wet pants. Oak filled his fist with green and was back in less than a minute. I threw it in gear and gunned it, spinnin’ the wheels purely for the sound effect.

It was that easy; a finger-snap green-light grab, hit and run without even a blow thrown, just bluff and burn ’em!

See? That’s all it was. Sure it was still a heist, a criminal act, I ain’t denyin’ that. What I’m sayin’ here is that we were doin’ some street theater, fuckin’ performance art!

What the Method was, was this. It wasn’t no strong-arm at all; it was nuthin’ but acting all the way, technique and talent right there on the line. That blade? Strictly a prop, like they use on TV. Any pressure on the blade pushes it back in the handle, not an ounce of deadly force involved at all, pure psychodrama. And Oak had pulled off an Oscar’s worth of performance; it was up to me to pull off the getaway.

And I was doin’ just that, takin’ time for a quick look in the mirror to admire the roll of rubber smoke and hopin’ to catch the expression on the kid’s face. But he was yellin’ an’ pointin’ at us to some guy who’d just pulled up in a car.

I accelerated us outa there across two lanes of traffic, whippin’ a one-hand ninety-degree right that triggered a three-car fender smash.

“You see that car?” I asked the Oak. “Think it’s a cop?”

“XLM 846?”

“Didn’t catch the plates.” That Oak, he’d detail ya to death.

“You just didn’t look. That’s it all right, and he’s comin’ after us!”

If I could’ve zagged a quick left at the next corner I’d’ve lost him for sure, but I knew it was a wrong-way street so I punched it for the next block. The light blinked red. There were cars blockin’ both lanes. Before I could get out an’ pass ’em on the right this sporty lookin’ foreign job carryin’ some pretty boy and the dream girl of his choice pulls up to my bumper and I was boxed.

Suddenly the dude in the car appears right next to us and jumps out.

Oak hit the lock as the light turned green.

But this guy, hey, he was red, glowin’ in the dark, screamin’ somethin’ that didn’t sound like any words I know.

“Who the fuck is that?” I yelled, hittin’ the pedal hard, then slammin’ the brakes to keep from runnin’ up the rear of the Gray Panther in front of me who was travelin’ her own sweet pace.

“It’s the owner! The fuckin’ station owner!”

The shrill of his voice made me look over at the Oak. Hey, he was truly spooked, retreatin’ across the seat toward me.

That guy’s face was fillin’ the window; he was runnin’ right along with us, five maybe ten miles an hour, even swung his fist against the window, but the safety glass held. Well, that was all the encouragement I needed. I swung the car over, forcin’ him outa the way, then gunned it into that lane.

“He’d’ve shot me! If he’d had a gun, he’d a shot me! I’d be splashed all over you!” Oak was bawlin’. “That face! You see that face!”

I’d seen it all right, this guy’d gone bent round the bend, stark blazin’ berserk. This was crazy incarnate! If he’d been a dog, they’d’ve shot ’im on the spot.

I was tryin’ to weave us a way outa there, but the traffic was all clogged.

“How much we get?” I asked Oak, to get his mind off the immediate for a minute.

The money was still in his hand and he was turned around on his knees lookin’ out the back. “I don’t know.”

“Well, why doncha count it. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You just get us outa here!”

Well now, I was doin’ the best, believe me. I took an alley detour that got us into a side street that was just as jammed. There musta been some disaster around there somewhere and all the vehicles were gettin’ funneled into this one area.

“A hundred and eighty-four.” Oak called out.

That guy was still doggin’ us. So far I’d been able to keep some cars between us, and I was thinkin’ fast, rankin’ our priorities in case the worst came and it got to be decision time. Survival of course took precedence. After all, the money wasn’t the thing, strictly a small-time snatch, just icing. It was the act itself that was important, and the getaway.

That’s when slow flow stopped up. The light had just gone green and I had got us almost all the way across the intersection, which left plenty of room for our two-car cushion to turn right to avoid the jam.

Well, that guy, he got himself a runnin’ start and used our ass end to brake his momentum. The force impacted us into the car in front.

“Maybe if we refunded him half?”

“Give him all!” Oak screeched, shovin’ the cash in my hand.

Well, I must confess, I did have to think about it, but I knew the whole instant that I had to do it; so I got out and started back toward him.

His car was stalled and a bit of smoke was leakin’ out the hood. He was watchin’ me with wide, almost all-white eyes, while grindin’ ’way at the ignition.

Me I was makin’ no sudden moves, keepin’ the cash out there in fronta me like a shield. Trip this guy’s wire and he’d go off in my face; so upon reachin’ the door, I very carefully motioned for him to roll the window down.

He opened the door.

I had to kick it shut in my best firm but non-threatenin’ manner. Not an easy trick, in fact outright artful, but hey, for security’s sake I wanted to keep at least that bit of barrier between us.

“No need to get out,” I reassured him. “We deliver.”

He was givin’ me a real authentic-lookin’ old-country evil eve.

I held the money to the glass. That got the window down.

“Here you go. It’s all there, so just relax; everything is all right, justa simple mistake for which my friend and I offer our deepest heartfelt apologies.”

Yeah, I know, it even sounded dumb in my ears, but shit, I didn’t know what to say, and I don’t think he was really hearin’ me anyway.

So, I just made the switch without touchin’ him. Whatever this creep had I certainly didn’t want to catch.

He snatched it up and tried to get at me again.

Oak hit the horn, but I was already on the way with that loon on my tail. I leaped in the seat and threw the car in gear. Traffic was crawlin’ forward, so I creeped away with it. That’s all I could do, ’cept watch him get his car rollin’ again right for us.

“Hold on.” But Oak was already embracin’ his seat. I read his face like a crossword puzzle, doom across the eyes and despair down the cheek. There was nuthin’ reassuring I could say.

He hit us so hard my forehead bounced off the windshield. Oak tried to bail out then and there, but I got hold of his sleeve and held on.

Hey, I’da split myself, but you see, it was my car. We’d dressed it in hot plates, but it was still the only car T had. Couldn’t just leave it there, and I was not about to stick it out by myself. I knew if things ever got down to the mano y mano with this maniac, we were gonna have to use tag-team tactics to survive. So I kept one hand clamped to the wheel, the other anchored to the ol’ Oak.

“Lemme go!”

“Halfway home, pard, might as well ride it out.”

Oak was squirmin’ like a hooked fish outa water when we got hit yet again. It jerked the wheel right outa my hand and we jumped the curb, headin’ right for this store window where I caught a fleeting glimpse of these well-formed female mannequins sportin’ the latest in lacy bed wear.

It was only my sound instincts that kept my head clear of the panic, and I managed enough muscle control to steer us clear of the store and down the sidewalk into the alleyway and across, ’cause I just couldn’t pull off the turn. So we hit the wall next door.

What can I say, the fuckin’ physics was against me. I did what could be done, which was take the wheel in the gut.

I knew right away it was a sinkin’ ship-type situation. We’d been truly torpedoed, and it was time for the rats to race the women and the children to the lifeboat. But hey, I was dazed to a glaze, fogbound in my body, treadin’ the dark. I’m tellin’ you, my head hurt one place, my body somewhere else.

Oak was yellin’, and eventually it seemed I took his advice and got my door locked before that guy could pull me outa the car.

He was jerkin’ the handle and rockin’ the whole car while I tried to get it started again, but it was like tryin’ to raise the dead by telephone.

He suddenly turned and ran for his car. I tried to prepare myself for another rammin’. Through the window I could see a crowd was gatherin’ to catch some on-the-spot entertainment.

He didn’t disappoint them. He raced back to the door wavin’ a tire iron which he wound up and swung smack into my window.

I couldn’t believe it! The way this guy was actin’ you’d a thought we’d kidnapped, raped, then murdered his wife, daughter, and dachshund! It was only money, fer Christ sakes!

So there I was, sunk so low I was actually hopin’ somebody called the cops and they’d show up on cue like the cavalry, which they did.

I’ll tell you, there’s nuthin’ worse than gettin’ taught a painful lesson you learned thoroughly the first time. So let me be the voice of experience here for you and talk a little common sense, call it folk wisdom if you like. Just remember to remember, never mess with the crazy — whether man, woman, or animal.

And me? Just doin’ my time, thinkin’ of maybe writin’ some plays. Believe me, from now on I’m confinin’ my theater to the stage.