XXIX.
Vincent, with stomped-on orange fright wig and other touches that made him resemble a life-size dummy, sits on a stool facing the camera. On a stand beside him is a single box with the lid in place. A muffled sound comes from within the box. Moving jerkily, Vincent removes the lid. Within the box is a dummy of Colin, only it is an extremely muscular version, a Hercules-like version. Vincent lifts Colin out of the box and places him on his knee. But instead of placing his hand inside Colin to manipulate him, Vincent positions Colin’s hand behind him to give the impression Colin is doing the manipulating. Colin looks all around. “Dad, when I said we needed a bigger place, I wasn’t expecting anything this big.”
“This isn’t our new apartment.”
“Then where are we?”
“In a television studio. This is a set.”
“Yeah? Looks as crummy as the comedy clubs you play.”
“This set is designed to look like a comedy club.”
“Just like you are designed to look like a real person?”
“We live in a world of illusion.” During this and following exchanges, Colin sits perfectly still perched on Vincent’s knee, while Vincent moves jerkily with exaggeration.
“The world I set you up in is real,” Colin says. Vincent hangs his head. “Don’t go all ooey-gooey on me. You know I’m right.”
Vincent raises his head and looks around. “Should we be talking about this now?”
“Why not? The relationship between performer and audience is privileged.”
“It is?”
“Of course. Have you ever heard of a performer convicted of murder by something he disclosed during a performance?”
“Maybe there’s never been one that stupid before.”
“Are you calling me stupid?”
“No, Colin, I…”
“Because of me, because of my brilliant planning, we are now financially secure.”
“Yeah, but I miss Mom’s ravioli.”
“When is the last time she fixed ravioli for you?”
“Yeah.”
“Because of me, we no longer have to sneak around, we are now living together.”
“But don’t you miss your Mom’s stroganoff?”
“Dad, it was Hamburger Helper.”
“Yeah.”
“Because of me, you no longer have any hangers-on demanding free tickets to your shows.”
“Theo hardly ever saw my show.”
“Good thing. You still have a gash above your right eye from that time he hit you with a glass.”
“He was drunk. If he’d been sober he never would have come close.”
“That’s beside the point,” Colin says. “We are together, you are free now, and financially secure. Because of me.” Vincent hangs his head, nodding in resignation. “Why so glum? Have the police been knocking at your door?” Vincent shakes his head no. “Of course not. We got away with it.” Vincent nods his head yes. “Then why so glum?”
“I have dreams.”
“Of course you do. So do I. That’s why we’re here.”
“No. Nightmares. I have nightmares.”
“Would you like Burple? Sleeping with Burple helped me when I had nightmares. When you and Mom split up.”
“You had nightmares then?”
“I was still a kid. When you and Mom split up.”
“They are still in my head.”
“Burple?”
“No. Mom. Andora. Theodore.”
“Impossible. They would have to be in my head. For them to be in your head. And they are not in my head. So they can’t be in yours.”
“It gets confusing.”
“Yeah, but…” Vincent speaks in his mother’s voice. “At least I get to spend more time with my grandson now. Vinnie never brought you to see me, Colin.”
“I was busy, Mom,” Vincent answers his mother’s voice.
Still with his mother’s voice, “You weren’t too busy to murder me.”
Vincent’s head jerks up as he stares worriedly into the camera. “Let’s not talk about that right now, Mom.”
Vincent switches to Andora’s voice. “What’s the matter, Vince? Are you feeling pangs of guilt?”
“The only pangs you ever caused me were in my ulcers.”
Still with Andora’s voice,” Is that why you murdered me? To soothe your ulcers?”
“I didn’t want to murder you.”
Vincent switches to Theodore’s voice. “I see what this is. You’re building an insanity defense.”
“I’m not in control. It was Colin.”
Still with Theodore’s voice, “A ten-year-old kid murdered his grandmother, his mother, and a grown man? I don’t think so. You’re going to fry, Vin.”
Vincent glares at Colin. “See what I mean? They won’t shut up.”
“Give it time, Dad. They’ll fade away. In the meantime, I’ve got some more names.”
Vincent reacts with horror. “NO!”
“Just a few. If we terminate Marsh, think of all the money we’ll save from paying his percentage. And what do you need an agent for now? You’ve made it. You’re on TV.”
“No.”
“And John. Think of all the money you owe him for the dummies he’s made for you. We could wipe that debt off the books.”
“Please.”
“And my teacher. Jennifer is getting suspicious. She’s not dumb.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can. We could become the most famous ventriloquist and dummy mass murderers in history. Even more famous than Bonnie and Clyde.”
“Yeah? Which one was the dummy?”
“You have to ask? The way Warren Beatty acts?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s either that or kill yourself.”
Vincent hangs his head again. “I’ve thought of that.”
“You’d be the first dummy to off himself.”
“That’s an archaic expression.”
“Archaic?”
“Old fogey.”
“Right. How about turn up the thermostat to attain room temperature?”
“Yeah. Limbaugh. Russshhh Limbaugh. That’s good.”
“It could be spectacular. Remember the climax to Fargo?”
“Where that big dummy, I can’t remember his name, shoves Steve Buscemi’s body into the wood chipper?”
“Yeah. Except this time there would be no blood and guts. Only sawdust.”
Vincent considers it. Off-stage, the sound of a wood-chipper revving up. The rest of the conversation is yelled, to be heard over the wood-chipper. “You brought one!?”
“Just on the off-chance!” Vincent looks off-stage, toward the roar. “Are you ready!?” Vincent nods. “Great! Let’s go!” Vincent rises, placing Colin sitting up in his box facing toward the sound of the wood chipper. Vincent walks off-stage in that same direction. A moment later, the wood chipper bogs down as a large amount of wood feeds into it. Wood chips fly onto the stage, covering up Colin, as Hall and Oates’ “Maneater” plays and the lights dim.
XXX.
The doorbell to Vincent’s apartment insistently rings until Vincent plods up to the door in undershorts, looking as if just awakened from a sound sleep. He opens the door to Jennifer. She appears distraught, not even seeming to register his lack of pants. “You’re not going to murder me, are you?”
“How can I? I’m dead. I went through the wood chipper.” Vincent steps back. As Jennifer hurries in, he asks, “Is that the way you usually ring the doorbell?” Jennifer stares at him dumbfounded. “Probably not. You’re upset. Would you like some coffee?
“It’s ten o’clock.” Vincent leans back to find a window. “P.M.”
“Yeah? Come in the kitchen with me. I need some coffee.” Vincent sets off through his small cluttered apartment.
Jennifer follows, glancing around in curiosity. “You were asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t watch it?”
“No.”
Vincent walks into the closet of a kitchen. Jennifer remains in the doorway watching as he pours old coffee from the coffee maker carafe into a cup, which he puts into the microwave, which he starts. Vincent holds up the carafe, sloshing around thick sludge. “Sure you don’t want a cup?” “I’ll take a beer.” Vincent sets the carafe down and turns toward the refrigerator, but Jennifer stops him. “I can get it myself. Why don’t you go put some pants on?”
Vincent glances down at himself, shrugs, then steps over to the sink, from which he produces a wadded pair of pants. As he flaps them out then steps into them, Jennifer opens the refrigerator. Its interior is foul-smelling and shadowy, with the bulb burned out. She picks up one of two cans and pulls it out into the light to look it over. It’s beer, as she suspected, and the can doesn’t look deformed. As she buffs the lid with her shirttail, she looks back to Vincent. He is still struggling with getting his second leg into his pants. “Never thought of keeping my clothes in the kitchen sink,” she says. “Don’t they get wet?”
“I never use my sink.”
“Does it leak?”
“I don’t think so.” He finally succeeds with his second leg, then pulls his pants up. “Why do I need a kitchen sink? I’ve got a dishwasher. My refrigerator dispenses drinking water.”
Jennifer shrugs. “That makes as much sense an anything else in your life.” As he fastens his pants, Jennifer pops open the beer. “I thought there’d be a party going on here.”
“Glass?”
“Please.” Vincent takes a glass from the shelf, looks it over, places it back on the shelf, takes another glass, looks it over, then hands it to Jennifer. The microwave dings. As Vincent gets his cup of coffee, Jennifer looks over the glass, then sets it on the counter. She drinks from the can. “Why didn’t you watch it?”
Vincent takes his coffee to the small table for two. Jennifer joins him with her beer. “Too painful.”
“How is that?”
“I’d see everything I did wrong.”
“Wouldn’t that help?”
“How? It’s filmed live. It’s not like I can watch the rushes and do it over, or edit out mistakes. I get one shot at it.”
“For the next time, then?”
Vincent shrugs. “If I did it right, it might not be as good.”
“You’re afraid of becoming self-conscious.”
“Something like that.” Vincent gulps coffee. “Are you hungry?”
Jennifer gazes doubtfully around his kitchen. “No.”
Vincent frowns as he stands to refill his empty coffee cup from the remains in the carafe. “I’m starved.” He puts the cup in the microwave and starts it.
“How long have you been asleep?”
Vincent goes over to gaze at a wall calendar. “What day is it?”
“Are you ill?”
“How do you mean that?” Vincent opens his refrigerator and gazes forlornly into it.
“Sick?”
“How do you mean that?” Vincent pulls out a half-eaten, poorly-wrapped fast food sandwich. He peels back the wrapper to look it over.
“Physically sick. Like you’ll be if you eat that.”
Vincent lifts up the bun and sniffs. “This is okay.” He steps over to the microwave. “I don’t sleep like most people. I’ll go weeks with very little sleep while I’m working on something. Then when it’s over, I’ll collapse.” The microwave dings. Vincent exchanges the left over half-sandwich for the cup of coffee, then restarts the microwave.
“Sounds like you could be bipolar.” Vincent stares dumbly. “Never been diagnosed? Or even talked to a doctor about it?”
“I don’t go to doctors. So how was it?” It is Jennifer’s turn to stare dumbly. “The show.”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t watch it either?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“It was confusing. Did you actually murder three people?”
The microwave dings and Vincent retrieves his food. With coffee and sandwich in hand, he motions toward the hall with his head. “I’ll show you something.” Jennifer rises, draining her beer. “Want another beer?”
“Yes. In your presence, it helps to be slightly intoxicated. Things make more sense.”
“Can you get it yourself again? My hands are full.”
Jennifer looks around. “Do you recycle?” Vincent glares at her. “Dumb question.”
“Just set it on the counter. I’ll recycle it later.”
Jennifer sets the empty can down, then opens the refrigerator and extracts the last beer. With her shirttail, she buffs the top of the can to a high gloss, same as she had done the other. Glancing up, she finds Vincent staring at her. “Are you studying me? For new material?” Vincent walks out. Jennifer opens her beer and follows.
Vincent leads Jennifer into his converted second bedroom workroom. Arrayed on the workbench are three closed boxes and one open one. Jennifer steps up to look into the open one. Colin stares lifelessly back at her. “Why is he so muscular?”
“That’s what he wanted.”
“Did you really discuss murdering six people with your son?”
“Sort of.” Jennifer scowls back at him. “I discussed it with his dummy. Which has his personality.”
“A twisted version of his personality.”
“It’s difficult for me to keep them straight. The real person and the dummy.”
“So you’re saying you have a hard time distinguishing reality from fantasy.”
“Don’t we all? Besides, that’s what makes the show work. Blurring the boundaries.”
“So you really didn’t murder your mother, your ex-wife and your best friend?”
“I did murder them.” Jennifer steps back toward the door. Vincent sings a line from the Beatles’ “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.” “Bang bang.” Jennifer is now in the open doorway, poised to flee. Vincent stops singing. “Open the boxes.” He motions toward the three on the workbench. “Go ahead. It’s safe. All I’m holding is a cup of coffee and a mystery sandwich. No silver hammer.”
Jennifer cautiously approaches the workbench, keeping a wary eye on Vincent. She removes the lid from one. Inside, Theodore, minus his ball cap, is posed in sodden clothes as a corpse in a casket, with arms folded across his chest and eyes closed. Also in the casket are several dead goldfish. She looks up questioningly at Vincent.
“Theo got drunk and fell in the river. His cap was never recovered.” Jennifer moves on to the next box and removes the lid. Inside is Mother, posed same as Theodore. Included with her are a half-dozen empty pill bottles. “Mom was on a lot of strong medication. With the apparent onset of dementia, it was fatally easy for her to get her dosages confused.” Jennifer tries to open the third box but fails. She looks questioningly at Vincent. “Andy’s casket is sealed. She’s not a pretty sight. The late-night car wreck and resultant fire on a deserted country road left her a mess. Luckily, no other vehicles were involved. Alcohol is suspected to be a factor since an empty fifth of whiskey was found in the front floorboard.” Jennifer stares with growing horror at Vincent. “The murders had to be planned out; they had to have a realistic chance of succeeding, without me being caught, in order to seem real.”
“They seem very real. What do your victims think of this?”
Vincent flops down onto his stool, setting his coffee and sandwich on his workbench. “I haven’t heard yet. The show just aired. Right?”
Jennifer drinks deeply. “How do you plan to murder me?”
“I never intended to murder you. I only needed to kill off the dummies.”
“Why?”
“To go on with my life. I’d used up all the material I had for the three. I could see nowhere else to go with them. But with their deaths are new possibilities.” Jennifer stares at Vincent in fascination. “Maybe Mom didn’t die. Maybe she’s on life support. There’s a lot of humor there. Maybe Theo didn’t drown. Maybe he pulled himself out of the river and now seeks revenge. Maybe Andy comes back to haunt me as a mangled crispy ghost.”
“You are so twisted.”
“I’m also dead. I haven’t worked that one out yet.”
“And your son is an accomplice to mass murder, with muscles like Arnold.”
“Hercules. Like Hercules. He asked for Hercules.”
Jennifer sets her empty beer can on the workbench. “You could be doing serious damage to Colin.”
“I think I’m liberating him. Opening his mind up to creative possibilities.”
“Murder?”
“Merging fantasy with reality to create something new. The way Pokémon Go overlays the real physical world with an augmented reality, merging the two into a new realm.”
Jennifer shakes her head as she walks toward the door. “I don’t know.” Jennifer walks out.
Vincent contemplates the Colin dummy while he eats his sandwich and drinks coffee. “Maybe we do need to kill her.” But Colin stares back at him without replying.
XXXI.
The doorbell to Vincent’s apartment rings and rings. Vincent plods in, clad in the same undershorts as the night before. He opens the door to Marsh. “Did I wake you up? It’s ten o’clock.” Vincent leans back looking for a window. “A.M.”
“What’s up?”
“Your show is up. It was on last night.”
“And?”
“It looked good on TV. Better than at the studio.” Vincent nods, walking away. Marsh follows him in, closing the door behind him. Vincent plods into the kitchen. He goes to the coffee maker, lifts up the empty carafe and stares at it, as if not remembering he had finished it the night before. Marsh stops at the doorway. “The ratings were okay. And CC liked it enough that they’re going to keep running it.” Vincent begins making a new pot of coffee. “Which means more money. But what are you going to do for an encore? You’re dead. And chipped up. And Colin. Man, the kid is one cold-blooded bad seed.”
Vincent looks up from the coffee maker. “Colin is just a reflection of me. He is what I made him to be. Like any parent.”
“It’s okay for you to be a cold-blooded bastard. But a ten-year-old kid? Where are you going with him?”
Vincent returns to work on the coffee maker. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me yet.”
“Yeah, that’s right, he’s pulling the strings. That’s pretty funny. A ten-year-old kid running your life.”
“Just like any family.” Finished, Vincent flops down into a chair to await the coffee.
“I don’t know, Vincent. Yours seems seriously messed up.” Marsh eases down on the edge of the countertop. “You need me now more than ever. A good agent. You shouldn’t be thinking about murdering me.” Vincent produces his woodcarving knife seemingly from mid-air. Marsh jumps up and backs away. “My percentage isn’t that much! It’s the standard take!” Vincent smiles as he flourishes the knife.
XXXII.
The doorbell to Vincent’s mother’s condo rings. She walks over to look out the peephole. “Murderer!”
“It’s just a show, Mom.”
“Why do you want to kill me?”
“For your money.”
“Humpf. How much do you think there is?”
“You’re broke? Then what am I wasting my time for?”
She throws open the door. “Vinnie! Come back here!” Vincent walks up to the open doorway. He is back to wearing his usual nondescript clothes. His mother backs off. “How did you do it?”
“Tricked you into overdosing.”
“You think I’m that stupid?”
“No. Just old. And trusting.”
“Not anymore.”
As she retreats to behind the couch, Vincent walks in and closes the door behind him. “The show’s getting good reactions, I hear.”
“But you’re through with me. I’m dead. No more jokes about your mother.”
“I’m thinking of putting you on life support.” His mother collapses on the couch. “Mom. It could be funny.”
XXXIII.
Vincent sits at the bar staring at the beer in front of him. “You are one sick bastard.”
Vincent looks over his shoulder to find Theodore standing behind him. As usual, he looks pissed. “Was it funny?”
“That’s beside the point.” Theodore sits next to Vincent, who motions to the bartender to bring them beers. “Jake says it’s gone viral. Whatever that means.”
“On the Internet? Really?”
“YouTube? What the fuck is YouTube? Sounds like something a woman ties to keep from having babies.” The bartender serves two beers. “Why do you want to kill me?”
“Not you, your dummy. You should be glad.”
“Why’s that?”
“Now you’re dead.” Theodore glares at him. “Okay, your dummy is dead. So no more jokes.”
Theodore considers this. “You had me down pretty good.”
“Are you telling me you don’t mind? Now? After I’ve killed you?”
“Some of those lines were better than ones I come up with.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, because I might bring you back.”
Theodore glares murderously. “How’s that?”
“You survive the murder attempt.” Theodore glare transforms from murderous to skeptical. “People come back from the dead all the time. J. R. Ewing, John Snow. Hell, how many times has Penguin been killed in Gotham? I’ve lost track. But he always comes back.”
“So I come back. Now what?”
“So now you’re out for revenge.”
“You mean now I’m trying to kill you?”
“Yeah.”
Theodore laughs. “Sounds great! Go for it!”
Vincent frowns. “You don’t have to be so enthusiastic about it.” Theodore laughs even louder.
XXXIV.
Vincent walks into John’s workroom to find him straightening up his workbench. It and the entire room look spotless. “No projects going on?”
John pauses to glance up. “Are you here to kill me?”
“Am I wearing black?”
John resumes cleaning. “I suppose that means something to somebody in some universe. Are you really so worried about what you owe me?”
“I’m making some money now. I’ll share the wealth.”
John stops working to glare at Vincent. “I’m retired. This is a hobby. I enjoy working on my dummies. The money is incidental.”
“I had to come up with some motive for murdering you.” John scowls darkly as he returns to his task. “Did you think it was funny?”
“It was confusing.”
“Confusingly funny?”
“Does it have to be so dark?”
“I’m dark.”
“You betcha.”
“What, do you think I should do Charlie McCarthy?”
John glances, then quickly returns to work. “Just tell me that wasn’t one of my dummies you sent through the wood chipper.”
“It wasn’t. Just some scrap wood. It was a good effect, wasn’t it?”
“Colin looked good, if I’m allowed to mention him now.”
“I know how weird I am. You don’t have to remind me.”
“You are way beyond weird. Can you explain to me now why I couldn’t talk to you about the dummy you instructed me to make?”
“I can explain. Doesn’t mean you’ll believe me.” John stops cleaning, to give Vincent his full attention. “I had to get into a mental state.”
“You’re in a mental state, I believe that. Just tell me Colin is okay.”
“Colin? I didn’t kill him, or put him through the wood chipper.”
“Your son. The real Colin.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the show.”
“Afraid?” Vincent nods yes.
XXXV.
A few moments after Vincent rings the doorbell to Andora’s apartment she calls out from behind the door. “Why a car wreck?”
“Who told you?”
“Why make me look like an alcoholic? Irresponsible enough to drive while so drunk I wreck and kill myself?”
“Who told you about this?”
“I don’t drink that much. And I never drive while drinking.”
“You do drink. And you’ve had a wreck.”
“A fender-bender! And I wasn’t drinking at the time!”
“It seemed plausible.”
“You’ve got me in a sealed casket!?”
“Who told you? Jennifer? It has to be, she’s the only one who’s seen the caskets.”
“You’ve got all the dummies in caskets? You are so sick.”
“Why is Jennifer talking to you?”
“She came to see me about Colin.”
“I want to see Colin. Will you let me in?” Vincent can hear Andora walk away. “Andy! Let me in!”
Two sets of footsteps approach the closed door. “Are you going to kill anyone else?” Jennifer asks.
“Yes, if you don’t open this door.”
The door is unlocked and opened. Andora and Jennifer present a united front. Vincent glares at Jennifer. “What are you doing here?”
“Discussing whether your visiting rights should be restricted,” Jennifer answers.
“Colin enjoys being involved with my act! Ask him!”
“We have.”
“And?”
“He’s confused.”
“Bullshit! Colin is the least confused person I know.”
“That’s not saying much,” Andora says.
Vincent looks to his ex-wife. “Can I talk to my son? Nothing’s been restricted yet, has it?” The two women look to each other. Jennifer nods yes. “Thank you.” He barges between them into the apartment. They follow in his wake.
“Come in, Dad.” Colin is sitting on the edge of his bed with his feet propped up on the box on the floor beside his bed when his dad enters without having knocked.
“You freak me out, way you do that. My hand was an inch away from knocking.” Andora and Jennifer step into the open doorway behind him.
“You’ve taught me to be observant,” Colin says.
“And you’ve taught me to keep it simple.”
“Simple?” Andora asks in disbelief.
Vincent looks back in irritation. “Can I speak with my son? Without chaperones?”
“I don’t know.” Andora glances to Jennifer.
“Mom! It’s Dad!” Rolling his eyes, Vincent closes the door, forcing both women to step back. “Mom doesn’t understand.”
“She’s afraid I’m harming you.”
“It’s like video games, Mom!” Colin calls out. “Just because I blast a gazillion aliens doesn’t mean I’ll massacre real people on the street! Will you get away from the door and let us talk?”
“Okay, Colin,” Andora answers from the other side. “We’re leaving.”
Vincent and Colin stare at each other, waiting for the footsteps to fade. Vincent glances down at the box. “What have you got in there?”
Colin smiles, feet firmly planted. “You don’t get to know everything about me.”
Vincent nods in agreement. “So what did you think?”
“I was buff. And you made me really menacing.”
“Without being creepy. Too creepy.”
“Yeah. I liked it.”
“So what now?” Vincent asks. “If Comedy Central wants another show.”
“You’re dead and I’m alive,” Colin says, mulling.
“How do we work that?”
“How about you dress up like me. A ten-year-old boy. Since I’m the one that’s alive.”
Vincent considers. “And?”
“You need a new dummy.”
“What kind of dummy?”
“Something a ten-year-old boy would think of.”
“Such as?”
“A character from a video game.”
“Yeah?”
“A shooter, with a ray gun, who kills all the aliens he sees.” Vincent considers. “Who he sees sitting in the audience. He could blast people watching the show. It could be very interactive.”
“The dummy would pick out odd-looking people in the audience who look like they could be aliens and blast them.”
“It could be fun.”
“Yeah. What else?”
“Another dummy? How about my teacher?”
“Jennifer?”
“Yes. IF SHE WOULD ALLOW IT!” Colin hops up off the bed and charges to the door to fling it open. Jennifer stands just outside it. “Might as well come in.” Jennifer looks sheepishly at Vincent, who smiles. “He’s very observant.”
Colin returns to his bed as Jennifer enters. “Is it okay?”
“What would be my role?” she asks.
“A restraining influence on the video game dummy,” Colin says. “You’d try to keep him from killing so many people.”
“Yin and Yang.”
“Which would I be?”
“Does it matter?”
Jennifer looks to Vincent. “You’ve talked to Colin about Yin and Yang?”
“Of course.”
“We talk about everything.”
Jennifer looks to Vincent. “You wouldn’t dress me indecently? Like you do Andora?”
“Of course not.”
“You’re my teacher.” Jennifer falls silent, considering.
“I don’t know about John,” Vincent tells Colin. “Two more dummies. He’s mad at me.”
“He’ll do it for me.”
“He’ll do anything for you. We’ll have to go visit him.”
“And see Grandma.”
“Yeah. Fences need mending. And she’s been complaining about not seeing you enough.”
“So? Is it okay?” Vincent and Colin stare at Jennifer, who still considers it.
XXXVI.
Colin and Jennifer sit with Vincent at his workbench. Colin and Jennifer are dressed normally, while Vincent is made up to look like a ten-year-old boy. On the workbench are the two new dummies, Blastro and Jenny. Blastro is designed to be a soldier-astronaut with a wicked-looking ray gun, while Jenny is a prim elderly school teacher holding a wicked-looking wooden ruler. Vincent picks up the dummies, placing one on each knee. Blastro fires his ray gun, which shoots a laser light onto Jenny. “MICRO ALIEN TERMINATED!”
Jenny smacks Blastro’s knuckles with her ruler. “That was a brooch!”
“And I got it before it killed you!”
Jenny smacks his knuckles again. Blastro aims his ray gun at her. “Stop doing that!”
Jenny knocks the ray gun away with her ruler. “Aim that at me again, young man, and you’ll be staying after school to clean erasers.”
Blastro fires off to the side. “Ha! What erasers?!”
Jenny raises her ruler to strike again, but Blastro dodges, blasting it as he does. He is surprised his ray gun accomplishes nothing. “I didn’t destroy it? What is that ruler made of? Vibranium?”
“Nun-tested Catholic school wood.” Jenny smacks him again on the knuckles.
“STOP THAT!” Blastro looks up to Vincent. “Colin! Make her stop!”
“Colin?” Jenny asks. “Do you want to stay after school and wash the chalkboards?”
Blastro fires off to the side. “Ha! What chalkboards!?”
Jenny raises her ruler above her head to deliver a disabling blow. Blastro cowers. “Dad!” Vincent looks to Colin, his expression going blank. “Don’t make Blastro so Buzz Lightyear. He should be darker.”
“And I have never struck a student in my life,” Jennifer exclaims. “With anything.”
“Okay, okay. It’s a project in development. We’ll work on it.” As Vincent starts to place the dummies on the workbench, both Colin and Jennifer stand. Suddenly, Vincent lunges at them with both dummies. Blastro fires his ray gun into Colin’s face. “Ha! Popped that pimple!” Jenny swings her ruler, smacking Jennifer on the butt. “That will teach you to turn your back on me, young lady!”
Jennifer and Colin look at each other, then they attack. Blastro and Jenny fight back, but Jennifer and Colin overwhelm them and hit Vincent, who tries to cover up. “Don’t hurt the dummies!”
“That’s what we’re trying to do,” Jennifer says.
“Yeah, Dad, hurt the dummy.” The five of them continue to wrangle until the phone rings. They untangle themselves so Vincent can answer. “Yes, this is Vincent the ventriloquist speaking.” Pause. “Who is speaking? Really?” Pause. “You were nominated for an Oscar for that movie? For best actor? For real?” Pause. “Hey, I’m sorry, it was just a joke. I’ll lose it.” Pause. “Yes, I know it was an excellent movie. But what about Bulworth? The screaming coming from the phone becomes very loud. Vincent hangs up.
***
For all installments from Dummy’s Dummies, click here.
Previous installments:
Mike Sherer lives in the Greater Cincinnati area in southwest Ohio. His screenplay Hamal_18 was produced in Los Angeles and released direct to DVD. It is available to purchase at Amazon or to rent at Netflix DVD. His mystery/fantasy novel A Cold Dish was published by James Ward Kirk Fiction and is available at Amazon in paperback and digital format. Mike has published ten short stories and two novellas. Links to his published works are available on his web page, where his completed blog Flanging can be found along with his new ongoing travel blog, American Locations.
