The Estate/Part 1

How y’all doin’ this fine afternoon?

''Name’s Vinnie. That young man over there, pacin’ like some bad shit’s about t’go down, is Rick. Y’can say he’s a younger version of me, since we kinda look alike. That, an’ I hired him not too long after I started this job. Gelled-back brown hair, the suit… y’can call ‘im Andy Garcia for all I freakin’ care.''

''Oh. My job? Bodyguard. I’m a bodyguard, for a really rich basterd. Look around ya. Don’t the mansion speak for itself? Boss bought it about three years ago. I mean, if ya see him, you’ll think this house is too modern for this old coot. Just look at the… cream-white, bare walls. Curved freakin’ furniture. Some kind of bull “minimamilistic” approach or somethin’. Boss told me to just roll with it.''

''Y’know, I’m actually talkin’ here because o’ my boss. Harold Burrough, rich millionaire inheritor. He was featured in some magazines. No? Made some good investments. Still don’t ring a bell? How ‘bout the time he bought everyone in his neighborhood a bottle o’ wine? Yeah? Ring a bell?''

''He may seem normal on the outside. But when he’s at home, when he’s around us, he’s all… “kooky”, an’ shit. Well, for one, ya wouldn’t see someone like him—oh, here he comes down now, wearin’ a pink buttoned suit and some white-ass pants. And brown dress shoes—anyway, y’wouldn’t see someone like him buyin’ this kind o’ house. You’d see some rich-ass rapper, or some good-lookin’ fuckin’ athlete who can’t play for shit, buy this kind o’ house.''

''Oh, right. Y’lookin’ at me all… weirdly now. Harold’s 64. Six-tee-fore. Y’don’t see that kind o’ old man doin’ this young people shit. But if y’got all the damn money he has, y’can. Y’just can.''

''In Harold’s case, he’s been actin’ all young. About… forty-years-young. I know, I know… he’s rich, he can do whatever he wants. I got no say. But I do. I got a say. Harold was my best friend.''

''He hired me about twenty years ago, when I was down in the dumps. My uh…. Let’s just say “former boss” got cracked down, now in jail an’ shit. I had to let everythin’ I had go, just like that. Start from scratch. And I didn’t know where the hell t’start.''

''And that’s when Harry came into my life. Save for the gray hair and wrinkles, he din’ look too different back then—was pretty damn handsome, much like me. Heh. Anyway, this middle-aged millionaire comes in, buys me a drink, and afore y’know it, he hired me.''

''Now, I haven’t seen lotsa action, but what I did see was a friendship. I was pretty much Harold’s buddy when we go out. I’d be half-lookin’ out for him, half-enjoying whatevah the hell we was doin’. I was a bodyguard, but I wasn’t his… how can I put this? His dog. You… y’get me, right?''

''As the years passed, shit got worse for ‘im. Now, money can only take y’so far… but if y’put the pressure of fraud, risk of bankruptcy, possible divorce, an’… well, the times a-changin’, then you’d get messed up, eh? All that pressure, that damn 500-ton pressure, dropped on Harold’s back. Now, you’d think he woulda died, but… the man’s a trooper.''

''All this crazy shit messed him up. Made him the kookoo we know t’day. I mean, he started treatin’ me more like a bodyguard, but… not often. He wouldn’t f’get. But… he never let me help him. He thought he could handle this himself. But things only got worse for my friend.''

''His wife eventually got sick o’ him. He… he’d get drunk without us expectin’ it. He’d go off without… us, his bodyguards, at certain nights. He’d sell paintin’s and buy new ones. Wear bathrobes on a regular basis, laugh it up randomly, all that crazy shit. The friend I once knew was … it was like he was losin’ it.''

''Now, it’s just startin’, but now he’s got us buying all this crazy shit. Yesterday I had to break my back buyin’ ‘im an antique designer display closet, or… whatevah. Rick, my second in command—nice ring, eh?—had to bid for a bust of… an ivory Ronald Reagan. Can y’believe that shit? He just—he comes up with all this random shit day by day, and we don’t know how.''

''Just—just today I gotta go buy ‘im a small replica of Han Solo’s falcon uh…. shit-thing. He says it gotta be “museum-condition, or unopened from the box” or somethin’. I don’t—I don’t know, y’know? I feel like I should just phone a doctor or somethin’.''

''Well, whatevah it is, I know it’s a phase. A really weird, child-like phase, but I know my friend’ll brave the hell out of it. Sure, he went through a divorce. Sure, he’s just disownin’ his son. Sure he nearly lost millions—but—but I know he can do this. I hope. I hope he can do this.''



“Old man! Old man. Hey!!”

Vinnie snaps out of his daydreaming; he was just sitting on a comforter in the living room, watching Rick pace. He hadn’t realized that Harold was already present, reciting their next order of business.

“What—what I miss?”

“Jesus Christ, old man… thought y’got a stroke or somethin’.” Rick smiles.

“Oh, sorry…” Vinnie strokes the scalp of his gray hair once. “What—what’d Harold say?”

“Eh, well… I’m off to Monterey tah get ‘im a vintage can of anchovies. You…” He points at him with his index finger and shakes it, trying to recall his memory. “You uh… yer supposed to go to a ten o’clock auction and get ‘em a… a…” Rick pauses for a second, then snaps his fingers.

“Ah, get ‘em a Victorian-style phone. Or… or somethin’.” Vincent gives him an unimpressed look, then sighs.

“Alright. Alright.” He stands up from the comforter, and takes out his wallet. “Y’got his credit card, right?”

“Yeah,” Rick says, nodding his head and tapping his pockets.



''This is ridiculous. I’m supposed’tah be at the bar right now, meetin’ up with some o’ my pals. Or, at least, I’m supposed to be lookin’ after Mr. Burrough during a… really important, private event or somethin’. He’s—he’s like the president, and I’m a secret service agent. But this… this is kinda demeanin’.''

''Richard Trombotta, but call me Rick, f’short. Was hired by that old man Vinnie, or… Vincent Adal—adal…berto. Yeah. Early 90’s. Says they needed more than one bodyguard.''

''I dunno what I was doin’ ‘afore this. Vinnie says I was as bad as him before I had this job. That old man… that old man’s kinda like my father. Knows what’s best for me, knows what’s bad… I mean, my real pops is dead. He’s as good as it gets.''

[Rick enters the jet-black Cadillac, and starts the ignition.]

''I never really got close to Harold, as much as him. I only see ‘im as my boss. Vinnie’s my friend. I felt pity f’him when he was sufferin’ through all this crap. But as he just got more ridiculous, I just… I just got real sick of it.''

''This shit ain’t worth the effort. I mean, I gotta drive all the way to Monterey, to get the fool a can o’ sardines. He even says this shit’s “one o’ the originals”. C’mon, now.''

''We’ve actually been buyin’ ‘im a bunch of shit as of late. Well, just the other day, I had tah go to the skating rink to buy off an old Zamboni. What’d Harold do with it? Look at it for about five minutes and got sick o’ it. I had to get some guys at the towin’ place to pull that shit, all the way here. Wait… I mean, even a Zamboni in itself is ridiculous. What the he’lls goin’ on in this man’s head?''

''I don’t know why I haven’t quit yet. Quit, follow my wife to Vermont to see her mom and pops. But I can’t. I need the money. Everything going good in my life… he pays f’all that.''

[Rick, after realizing the silence in his car, turns the radio on.]

And when shit can’t get any worse, the news tops it off.

''“…--homa. A few schools in Dallas and Shreveport have been closed today, after a possible “virus scare.” New Mexico has responded to this by closing their borders…”''

''Oh. Can’t even start with that crazy “virus” shit. It all started all the way east, then it just started crawlin’ its way west… luckily there’s a “miracle drug” out there that’s helpin’ ‘em cope with it. But on the other side o’ the coin, there hasn’t been any mention of the states east. Whatevah it is, it looks like just one o’ those virus scares.''

''World’s still just as fucked up, as always. It doesn’t help my job, but… it’s always been like this. Now I just gotta finish this damn road trip so I can get closer to nabbin’ that plane ticket, plus a honeymoon for my wife…''