“But,” Mandrake continues, “the show must go on. With the help of the Sea Haven Police Department, who have beefed up security around our Fun House, we will complete our exciting summer season, despite the heinous death threat leveled against Soozy with a special, two-night season finale spectacular next Thursday and Friday.”
Somebody applauds. My guess? Mandrake brought along his script girl Grace, the lady with all the stopwatches around her neck.
“You know,” Mandrake continues, giving the cameras an awshucks shuck of his head, “it was Soozy K, herself, who, just this morning, came to me and said ‘Marty, we can’t quit now. If we do, the bad guys win. And then what was all our sacrifice for?’”
Ceepak is shaking his head slowly. I think he’s heard this argument one too many times. He has also seen its consequences. My partner spends a lot of his vacation days and holidays visiting Army buddies in VA hospitals or, worse, cemeteries.
“And it isn’t just about winning the quarter-million dollars for Soozy,” says Mandrake, “because, in the finale, our two remaining contestants will also be playing for their favorite charities. Whoever wins, their charity wins too! Ten thousand dollars!”
The assembled crowd of reporters and assorted Borough Hall hangers-on applauds, even though it sounds like the charities are kind of getting stiffed.
“Soozy has already picked her charity: SPF!”
“Yes!” says Becca, pumping her fist in the air. “Whoo-hoo!”
Okay. I have no idea what an SPF is or why it makes Becca so happy.
Then Marty Mandrake explains:
“The American Skin Cancer Prevention Fund wants to make sure everybody tans safely.”
“I’m president of the local chapter,” says Becca.
Of course she is. Tanning is her life.
“Mike, Vinnie, or Jenny will also be playing for a favorite charity,” says Marty Mandrake. “That is, if your votes put them through to the final round.”
I wonder what charity Jenny Mortadella picked. The Italian Deli Meat Anti-Defamation League?
“Now, to play it safe,” Mandrake says, “the network and I have reached a unanimous decision: Soozy K will receive immunity in next Thursday night’s show. She’s going straight to the Friday finals, which will be broadcast live from the Sea Haven boardwalk behind a ring of steel; the tightest security ever thrown up around a network TV show! We’ll make it fun, but we’ll keep it safe!”
More applause.
I shake my head.
Mandrake sounds like a condom commercial.
30
“They’re putting her through?” says this guy who just walked into the motel lobby, toting a cardboard carton.
“Yeah,” says Becca.
“That means only the other three compete next Thursday?” The guy puts his box on the counter.
“And two of ’em get cut,” says Becca who, apparently, watches Fun House religiously. “Because they already did that immunity deal for the funeral show, so two heads have to be on the chopping block.”
The guy nods, pulls out his cell phone.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Tomasino,” says Becca with a big, bright smile. “Mike’s going to make it to the finals, too. He’s got my vote!”
“Thanks, Becca.” Now he looks up from his phone, realizing that there are two police officers in the room with him. “You two with the SHPD?”
“Yes, sir,” says Ceepak.
“Thanks for all you’re doing to keep our kids safe and the show on the air.”
“Actually,” says Ceepak, “I had recommended that the show be cancelled.”
Mr. Tomasino shakes his head. “You heard the mayor. We do that, the terrorists win. Thanks again for your service.”
He heads out to the parking lot where the cell reception is better. As I watch him walk into a sunny spot of asphalt, I glance over to Eric Hunley, who’s still sitting on his bike, eyes closed, holding open the sides of his vest so his chest can soak up the sun.
“You guys seen enough?” asks Becca, remote aimed at the tiny TV.
“Roger that,” says Ceepak.
Becca presses the “OFF” button. Marty Mandrake and his smiling goatee shrink down into a tiny white dot.
“That was Mike Tomasino’s dad,” says Becca. “They live in Philly, so Mr. T rented a room with us for the show’s final week.”
So, I guess even The Mussel Beach Motel is making money off Fun House.
“Are you guys gonna like bring me more suspects to check out?” Becca asks, flicking her blonde head toward the window and the biker outside. “Is this what they call a line-up?”
“Actually, Mr. Hunley is here to help us conduct an experiment of sorts.” Ceepak gestures at the five-foot-tall stuffed Batman propped up against the front window. “Becca, if you don’t mind, we’d like to borrow your Batman doll.”
“Um, okay. Oh, can you ask Mr. Tomasino what he wants me to do with his inflatable Ab Balls?”
“Come again?”
“Mr. Tomasino and his son, Mike, they’re marketing these inflatable Ab Balls. I guess if Mike wins, they’ll be huge.” She pulls a limp orange, white, and yellow striped beach ball out of the box. On the white panels there’s a screen-printed logo: “Mike Tee’s Hard Body Ab Ball.”
“Is that a beach ball?” asks Ceepak.
“I guess. Mr. Tomasino calls it a ‘prototype.’ He’s been sending them out to investors. Very important people in New York and Hong Kong and Las Vegas.” Becca puts the floppy vinyl wad back into the box. “The cool thing about this kind of exercise equipment? Extremely portable. You can like put it in your purse and exercise anywhere you go.”
I just nod.
Ceepak, on the other hand, wraps his arms around Batman and hoists the caped crusader up off the floor.
“What’s up?” I ask as he lugs the doll out the front doors and heads past the NO VACANCY sign for Hunley and the motorcycle.
“One minute,” he says when we reach Mr. Tomasino.
“Don’t worry,” we hear him say to whoever is on the other end of his phone call. “Call China. Up the order. Mike’s going to make the finals. It’ll be him and Soozy. They have like a pact.”
Finally realizing that we’re standing right there, Mr. Tomasino cups a hand over his cell. He also sort of sizes up Ceepak, who is standing there hugging a giant Batman snuggle toy.
“Can I help you, officers?”
“Yes, sir. Ms. Adkinson asked us to remind you that you left your box in the office.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.” He glances at Ceepak’s gut, even though it is partially obscured by Batman. “You guys work out?”
“Some,” says Ceepak.
“A little,” I add.
“You want a free Ab Ball? I can hook you up.”
“No, thank you,” says Ceepak.
“They retail for $29.99 on TV.”
Really? I think, because, at Wal-Mart, cheap inflatable beach balls cost like three bucks.
“It’s against our code of conduct to accept gratuities of any kind, no matter how generous the offer,” says Ceepak, giving Mr. Tomasino the best two-finger salute he can without dropping Batman on his padded butt.
Mr. Tomasino nods like he gets it, returns to his phone call, and strolls back into the office.
“So, what exactly are we doing with Becca’s Batman?” I ask.
“Something has been bothering me, Danny, ever since I watched the CSI team lower Thomas Hess’s body out of that lifeguard chair.”
Ceepak adjusts his grip on the dummy. Hikes it up a couple inches.
“Mr. Hunley?”
The sun-worshipping biker snaps to.
“Yes, sir?”
“Would you mind dismounting?”
“Sure. No problem.” He swings his leg up and over, hops off the scooped seat.
Ceepak lowers the Batman doll onto the back of the bike.