Broken Piano for President (50 page)

BOOK: Broken Piano for President

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A string of sour notes play through Dean’s head, similar to the guilty urges that ripped him apart as a teenager. These burn hotter, though, knowing he is actually to blame this time.

The cosmonaut/terrorist/restaurateur peps up: “Not only did we save your can, but we’re giving you the career of a lifetime. Penance through health food. You’re the best in the biz and we need you.”

He doesn’t have a hangover, but Dean’s head is a nuclear test site. Black gas clogs his mind. “But you can’t offer me a record contract, can you? You can’t offer me a career as an artist. All my work with Lothario Speedwagon is ruined if I take this job.” Dean smashes the seat in front of him. His knuckles are skinned back and bloody.

“It’s still ruined if you don’t. Sorry,” Wally says.

“Soy-based vegan egg substitute, dude,” Keith says.

“Just relax. We’ll talk about that once we’re back at headquarters and you’re in a new, comfy office.”

“Won’t people wonder about me? Why I’m working for you guys now?”

“That won’t be a problem, buddy,” fake-Keith says, putting a gun to the Deshler Dean lookalike in the front seat. “Meet the solution to your hit-and-run issues. Sorry, Rodrigo, but these aren’t the fake Hollywood bullets some people get.”

In the back seat, Yuri and Pavel high-five each other and whisper: “That was awesome, dude.”

Wally Dayton speaks lovingly: “See, we had Rodrigo impersonate you on
Nightbeat
a while back. Pretty good likeness, huh? I mean, yes, he took some artistic license with the script, but we were happy.”

“Clear your calendars and your colons,” the imitation Dean says, sheepishly.

“Yes, Rodrigo, you’re a wonderful improviser.”

Dean takes in a breath and tries to calm down. “Thank God. I didn’t remember doing that show. I thought I was crazy.” He blows across rapidly bleeding knuckles.

“Not crazy, but if you turn down this offer, you might be. See, we’ll plant
somebody’s
body back at the Club.” She nods toward Rodrigo. “Make it look like Deshler Dean expired in the flames. And you’re a free man.”

“Goodbye jail time,” Keith says. “Can’t convict a dead man for running over Clifford Findlay.”

The guilt crushes Dean’s temples, but he is interrupted by the fake Deshler. Rodrigo stiffens. “So wait, we’re not going to the tofu factory?”

“The tofu factory in the sky.” Keith wallops the back of his skull with a karate chop and the Deshler Dean imposter dangles limp into his seatbelt.

“It’s a no-brainer, hon,” Malinta says, pulling the van around the block and back in front of the club.

Dean can’t concentrate.
Hon
.
Hon?
HON?

“I need some time to think about this.” Bits of Beef Club rain on the metal rooftop, sounding like a drum roll on Pandemic’s Konkers.

“Sorry. Not a luxury I can afford. The Moscow Four and I have some massive cosmetic surgery to be removed. I need to get out of the underground and run a successful restaurant. Good gosh, I will
not
miss these silly teeth.” She flicks a gross incisor.

The other fake cosmonauts mumble, griping about bad haircuts, awful dentures, uncomfortable contacts. Something wet splatters the van roof.

“So, Dean,” Dayton says, confident and pleased. “You’re either in…or you’re in. I’ll toss in some free plastic surgery if it helps. God knows your nose will thank you.”

Dean leans forward and rubs his eyes. When vision shines back, he glances at the hotel. The front doors burst open in a cloud of soot and three men crawl out. Hamler and his boyfriend lead the pack, while a skeleton-thin Pandemic follows close behind.

Dean realizes for the first time in a long time that he is in control. People are listening. His knees punch together realizing who has been at the wheel all along. “What would Deshler do?”

Several people helped keep this book going for many years. None more so than:

Cameron Pierce.

James Greer.

Thank you.

Patrick Wensink is the author of the novel
Black Hole Blues
and the story collection
Sex Dungeon for Sale!

His humor writing has appeared in Groupon. His music journalism has appeared in Willamette Week, Skyscraper, Smalldoggies, and others.

He is the recipient of the Patrick Wensink Foundation’s 2011 Nobel Prize for Good Looks.

He lives in Louisville, KY with his wife and son.

Discover all things Wentastic: www.patrickwensink.com.

Thank you for purchasing this Lazy Fascist original. Without your continued support, independent publishers like us would cease to exist. I hope you enjoyed
Broken Piano for President
and have an opportunity to discover some of the other wonderful titles in our ever-growing catalog.

If you’re just now joining us, we want to welcome you aboard and offer a brief explanation of what we do: Lazy Fascist publishes authors who, through careful exploration of unique linguistic landscapes, create monstrous, unclassifiable fictions. We value explosive language over explosive weapons, but we think it’s best when we can have our Bruce Willis with our Borges.

We’ve published everything from minimalist dark comedies to meta-fictional SF, along with historical fiction, fairy tales for adults, and hybrid plays. We seek out books that are emotionally hard-hitting, critically engaging, and exhibit crisp, original prose. These books tend to be difficult to pigeonhole under any one banner, but together they form a complex mosaic of the disenfranchised, the poor, and others who are struggling to survive—and make an impact—in an increasingly bleak world. However, we’re not all about doom and gloom. We like to laugh, demand the absurd, and love great storytelling above all else.

We also love zombies.

If you’ve been following us for a while, then you know how exciting 2012 will be. Several of last year’s releases—
The No Hellos Diet
by Sam Pink,
Of Thimble and Threat: The Life of a Ripper Victim
by Alan M. Clark, and
A Plague of Wolves and Women
by Riley Michael Parker—appeared on prominent year’s best lists and this year, we’ll be publishing even more of today’s top authors. Here are a few of the Lazy Fascist titles you can look forward to in 2012: