Dick by Law (16 page)

The
Royal
Hotel.
Simon sighed with relief when he saw the sign
and realized he was about to get out of the van.
He was lucky; his hotel was the shuttle's first stop.

"
They
don't want me expressin' nothin
'," said
Poppa Free
. "But I keep on testifyin' to people like you. And then
you
go home and express it far and wide."

The van rolled around the enormous pink
hotel and pulled up to a row of doors under a huge black awning. A
young
bell captain in a red coat marched up with a brass-framed luggage cart in tow.

As soon as the van stopped, Simon nudged Ishi and pointed at the door. She hopped up and swung it open before
Poppa Free
was even out of his seat.

On his way out after Ishi, Simon glanced at the rest of the passengers
. All but the
dark-haired
woman
with the head cold, who seemed taken with Poppa Free,
looked back at
Simon
with weary, longing expressions.

Please take us with you
,
they seemed to say.

At the back of the bus,
Poppa Free
unloaded Simon and Ishi's luggage and handed it off t
o the bell captain. Simon tipped
Poppa Free, who then
slipped Simon something in return.

It was some kind of flyer, printed in black ink on white paper. As Simon looked at it,
Poppa Free
flicked it with his index finger.

"Come see me while you're on the island
," he said. "Live in concert
every
Monday."

"Right," said Simon.

"You'll hear some testifyin' you won't forget," said
Poppa Free
. "I swear I'll change your life."

As the bus pulled away, Simon looked at the flyer in his hand.
Poppa Free's name was scrawled across the top; under that was a
photo
of Poppa Free playing an electric guitar with what looked like high intensity, wearing
sunglasses and a leather jacket
and
smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.
"Live at HogPenny Pub," read the text below the photo.
"Monday Nights at 9."

Ishi read
the flyer
over Simon's shoulder. "I wonder how he is in concert?"

"I don't plan to find out," said Simon. "I hope I never see Poppa Free again."

 

*****

Chapter 3
3

 

Hamilton, Bermuda

The Hamilton
Royal
Hotel

Hours after checking in and getting settled at the luxurious Royal Hotel, Simon
went downstairs alone.
H
e crossed
the cathedral-sized, air-
conditioned lobby
, strolled past the people having afternoon tea in the nooks along the windows,
and pushed throug
h the glass back doors into the
heat and sunshine.

As soon as he emerged outside, he heard the noise of the crowd on the back lawn.
H
undreds of people
were
gathered around a stage near the hotel's private dock on the harbor
, clapping and cheering as someone on stage spoke
. Everyone
but the
tall
man
in the black track suit
on stage faced away from Simon
, toward the water, so they wouldn't be watching his approach.

He disguised himself anyway.
Putting on sunglasses and a baseball cap, he amb
led
toward the crowd, hoping no one realized who he was
.
He
tried his best to
act like he belonged there, like he was just another dick in the middle of the most high-profile gathering of dicks in the world.

The
kickoff reception of the
First International
Dicklympics
.

According to what Simon had read on the Internet and seen on TV, dicks had come from all over the world to compete in the Dicklympics. Sure enough, as he mil
led through the crowd, it seemed like no two people were speaking the same language or had the same accent.
Simon heard French, Spanish, Russian, Japanese, I
tal
ian, Chinese, and many more
languages
he couldn't identify. He saw black, blonde, brown, and red hair...every color and shade of skin...every age and
physique.

The one thing they all had in common was the emblem on the back and left breast of their track suits--
the P.U.D. logo, embroidered in the shape of an erect penis.

As Simon walked among the dicks, he was amazed there were so many
of them from so many places.
He couldn't believe
s
o many people
were
willing to declare themselves dicks and travel all the way to Bermuda to compete for the title
of
"World
's Biggest Dick."

And it was all because of him. He'd started it
, though
he hadn't anticipated it.

How much fa
rther would it go?
Would it just keep getting
worse
and
worse
? Would dicklike behavior take over the
world
?

Or was there still hope? Maybe Simon could slow down the movement by staging some kind of surprise attack at the Dicklympics.
..s
ome kind of crazy stunt like when the dicks had dumped cat litter all over him at Belle Mere College.

As Simon
wandered through the crowd on the
Royal
Hotel's back lawn, he
considered the possibilities.
He looked around at the sprawli
ng grounds
, sizing up the different locations where events would be held. He observed the organizers and officials in their tuxedoes,
armed with leather folders and
stopwatches
.
He watched the cheering competitors
with their
sneers
and beer cans
, each country's team wearing a different color of track suit.

He watched
and waited, considering options...realizing he had to choose the perfect
place and time, the perfect moment, or everyth
ing would backfire.

A waiter handed Simon
a can of beer
, and
he
cracked it open
.
Just then, t
he
tall,
black-track-suited
man
on stage
, the master of ceremonies,
whooped into
his
microphone and raised his
beer high
. "
That's right, people! That's what
the
Dicklympics
are
all about
!"
He shook the can, and beer flew out. "Making the world a
di
ckier
place!"

The crowd hooted and howled with glee. Everyone
shook their beer cans in the air,
and Simon did the same
.

"This is to
all
of you for
being here
!" said the master of ceremonies
. "This is to
every
dick in the
world
, for carrying the torch onward!"

Again, the crowd hooted and hollered.

"And this is to whichever one of you wins the title
of
World's Biggest Dick
!" The
master of ceremonies
raised his
beer
higher.
"May the biggest dick win!"

The crowd went wild.

"And now, speaking of the biggest dick," said the master of ceremonies
,
"
m
ay I introduce our
founding father
and
dick extraordinaire
, the
one and only
Horne Shaw
!"

Suddenly, there was a boom and a flash to one side. Simon and everyone else looked in the same direction.

Sparks were shooting from big black pots on either side of an archway at the edge of the lawn.
Purple velvet curtains hung from the arch, and someone flung them open from behind as Simon watched. When he saw who'd done it, his heart hammered with rage in his chest.

As the crowd roared and
clapped,
Horne
Shaw
charg
e
d
through
the
archway
and pumped his fists in the air
.
"Hail to the Chief" played over the speakers as
he
trotted in front of the crowd
like a quarterback
, grinning and waving.
He wore a white tuxedo with the word "BIGGEST" in black letters on
one
side of the chest and the word "DICK" on the other side.

Simon wanted to run up and throttle him. The
beefy, ruddy dick had never looked beefier or ruddier.
Success and stardom agreed with him.

He looked like a winner.

Leaping up the three
steps
onto the stage,
Horne
snatched the microphone from the master of ceremonies and pressed it to his lips. "This...,"
he said in a
drama
tic voice from deep inside his barrel chest,
"...is a
dick-up
."

Everyone
but Simon
howled and laughed and applauded.

Horne
pumped the mic overhead as if it were a trophy. His
red,
grinning face
had a glossy sheen, as if it had been dipped in wax.
Instead of a full beard, he had a goatee like an Egyptian
pharaoh
, grown out long
, squared off at the end,
and stiffened
in wavy ripples with some kind of styling product.

As Simon watched, he was
suddenly
sorry he'd come
to Bermuda
. As
pissed
as he'd been about
Horne
's unjust
rise
to the top
and his own fall from grace
,
seeing his antics up close sent
Simon
spiraling
in two directions at the same time:
toward white-hot rage and
dark depression
.

That fucking grin.

After reveling in the cheers and applause,
Horne
spoke into the mic again.
"We're makin' history here, folks.
" He stroked his
pharaoh's
beard thoughtfully.
"
You know that, don't you?
This is the start of something bigger than we can
imagine
.

"A hundred years from now, at the opening ceremonies of the
one
hundredth
Dicklympics, they're gonna talk about
this day
.
They're gonna thank
us
for bringing the dream to life. For making it not just
good
, but
great
to be a
dick
!"

Yet again, the crowd went wild. People were taking photos of
Horne
with cameras and cell phones. Someone up front had a baby
in a P.U.D. t-shirt
bouncing
on his shoulders.

There was no question about it. Simon was in Hell.

"They'll
worship
us!"
Horne
marched from side to side
in his white tuxedo
, pointing and
gesticulating like a TV preacher. "
Especially
the
one man or woman
who takes home the title of
World's Biggest Dick
!
Which one of you wants to
be
that
dick
?"

This time, the cheering and applause were louder than ever, on the brink of deafening. Simon winced and put his hands over his ears
, but it did no good.

Then, suddenly, a roaring bellow erupted over everything, and the cheering dissolved into cries of surprise and alarm.

The purple curtains behind the
arch
swirled
open
again
, and
a man in a tan khaki military uniform bur
st through like a bull. His beret
was red, his epaulets gold, his skin the color of
spoiled
raw chicken--an unnatural
, splotchy
shade of pink.

"
I
am that dick!" The giant
in the uniform was enormous
in all proportions
. His barn wall of a chest made barrel-chested
Horne
look like a stick figure.
Both
of
Horne
's arms could have fit into
one
of the
uniformed
giant's
.
He was almost
two
full heads taller than
Horne
.

As the
big man
stomp
ed toward
the stage
,
Horne
backed away. "What the hell's going on?" He sounded worried.

"You will
give
me the
title
of
World's Biggest Dick
," said the giant.
"I, General Omoo Mobai,
demand it
!"

Simon frowned. He recognized the name.

"Hey now."
Horne
raised his hands, palms out, toward Mobai. "Easy does it, pal. I can't just
hand over
the title
.
We're just getting
started
with the
competition
."

"But I have
proved
my biggest dick
-mak
ing!" Mobai
bolted up the steps onto the stage and
swatted
Horne
's hands aside with one swipe. "
Who
else
is the actual
dictator
of
a
hell-on-Earth African shit-nation?
Who else
thunders up ahead of all pussy-dicks and
demands
his
frightful prize?"

Simon was amazed as he watched the scene play out. Not only did he recognize General Mobai's name, but he'd seen him on the news
. In fact, Mobai
did have
a rep
utation as a ruthless dictator...and a
dangerous
nut. He ruled the tiny West African nation of Tashteg
o
an
d was known for a combination of loony stunts
,
human rights violations
, and secret massacres
.

So what was he doing here?
How could he even get on the island?