A Story by mark slade

Of course, he couldn't fit 2.4 million in his suitcase. Sam buried most of it in an empty corn field. He only had ten thousand with him, ready to hit the crap tables. Sam was a notoriously bad gambler


To the Bellboy's surprise, the man that stood in front of him at the service desk was barely four foot tall with flaming red hair, a long red handlebar mustache. The man was wearing the largest cowboy hat he had ever seen in his life. Of course the Bellboy was a little strange looking to the small man. After all, were pigs allowed to work in a public place such as the Grand Prix hotel?

“Where in tarnation is your pants, boy?” Sam said.

“I-I-I c-c-c-can't wear pants,” The Bellboy said. “Th- th- th- they chafe my balls.”

Sam looked at him, raised an eyebrow.

Sam. That was the name he was using this time in case any paparazzi was around wanting to take pictures and ask about his divorce from that kindly old lady that had that crazy yellow bird. That stupid cat that kept trying to eat that yellow bird. Sam wanted to put a bullet in both of them. The old lady got on his nerves, too. The old lady made Sam sign a contract saying if he stayed with her a year, Sam would get 2.4 million. He did it. He stayed just one year and one day.

Sam didn't trust banks. He carried the cash in a cow hide suitcase and loved flashing all that money under everyone's noses. Of course, he couldn't fit 2.4 million in his suitcase. Sam buried most of it in an empty corn field on his newly acquired ranch. He only had ten thousand with him this time, ready to hit the crap tables down at Longhorn's Silver moon.

Sam was a gambler. A notoriously bad gambler. He once took two thousand dollars from that kindly old lady's bank account and blew it on a street corner crap game. He was just left with a twenty hidden in his left boot. Sam took that and bought a bottle of Jack at Nick's bar. Drunker than hell, Sam had sex in the men 's room with a female black cat with a white stripe down her back. Sam wasn't too proud to do what he felt. Screw anybody who didn't like what he did.

The Bellboy followed Sam close behind carrying two suitcases. Sam talked the whole elevator ride to the fourth floor. He talked about everything from his divorce from that kindly old lady, to his hatred of a certain rabbit that lived next door. He spoke about Texas, oil, and women.

Oh, yes, Sam loved women. He loved women almost as much as he loved money. But, as he piously stated, he loved his women dirty.

The Bellboy sighed. He knew what Sam was going to ask for. A friend must have told him about Red. She was definitely dirty enough for Sam. Red and the Bellboy had history together. The Bellboy had promised to take Red away from the Wolf. He hadn't gotten around to it yet.

That meant he had to go see the Wolf. The Bellboy hated the Wolf. The Wolf smelled of rotten turnips and that reminded the Bellboy of his childhood on the farm. His family was dirt poor, couldn't grow anything on that damn farm but turnips. The Bellboy was just one of eight piglets who ran around without shoes and mud on their faces.

The Bellboy showed Sam into his room. He placed the suitcases on the huge canopy bed. Sam laughed and slapped him hard on the back. He told a fast story of how he won a night in the Queen of England's bed from her husband in a card game.

“Gawd!” Sam screamed in vain. “She was butt ugly. Luckily I was carrying Uncle Sam 's banner. I wrapped it around her face and did it for old glory!” Sam screeched and nearly knocked the Bellboy down with another slap on the back.

“Alright, friend. You skedaddle and bring me my hooch and that cute little gash with the picnic basket. I'm gonna have a lie down.”

Next door a wild party was causing the walls of the rooms to pulsate from the driving bass of the Hip Hop and people laughing and/or screaming at the top their lungs.

Sam gave the pulsating walls a cold stare. His little black eyes shifted to the Bellboy. The Bellboy sighed, rolled his eyes.

“I"I--I--I'll t-t-t-Do something about it, Sir!” The Bellboy said.

Sam smiled malevolently at the Bellboy. “If you don't,” Sam reached inside of his huge stetson and produced a Colt six gun. “I'll fill 'em full of lead!”

The Bellboy pushed the barrel of the gun from his face. A few drops of perspiration fell from his forehead.

“N-n-n-no need for that, Sir. I-I can handle it.” The Bellboy told him.

Sam dropped a ten in the Bell boy's open hand and the Bell boy slip it down the front of his uniform. The Bellboy tip toed out of Sam 's room, quietly shut the door. He went next room and rapped on the door harshly. The door swung open and a bottle hurdled past the Bellboy's head. He ducked just in time. The bottle exploded against the wall around him.

“G-g-golly!” The Bellboy said.

A voice shook the earth exclaiming: “We don't want any!”

With that, the door slammed shut.

The Bellboy bolted upright. He straightened his uniform, fixed his bellboy hat on his bald pink pig-skinned head. He bawled up his fists and took a step to the door.

“Oh n-n-n-no, you d-d-didn't!” The Bellboy pounded on the door once more.

The door swung open more violently than before. A squirrel poked his head out. On his t-shirt were the words in bold black SCREWBALL. He had two large black eyes and two long buck teeth protruding from his fat lips. His large bulbous nose sniffed the air.

“Heyyyy....” He said, looked the Bellboy up and down. “What's the hub-bub, bub?”

“You're j-j-just too d"d-darn l-l-l-l-loud... SHUT-UP WILL YA!” the Bellboy screamed.

They locked eyes, the tiny dots that were the pupils danced up and down. The squirrel smiled, gently closed the door behind him. The squirrel wiggled his finger and the Bellboy came closer. The squirrel made a gesture as if he were going to whisper in his ear. The Bellboy waited.

“SURE THING, BUB!” The squirrel screamed. With a few blurred lines as his little legs kicked the air, he was back in his room, slamming the door behind him. A few seconds later, it reopened and a bottle zipped past the Bellboy's head, exploded against the wall behind him.

The Bellboy picked himself up from the floor. “You r-r-r-rotten so and so.”

It was the third night taking Red home was when she asked the Bellboy about what they had discussed the night before. She was still dressed in her Little Red riding hood outfit and wearing heavy blue eye shadow. That look always did something to the Bellboy. She touched his knee and tiny drops of sweat formed on the Bellboy's forehead. His tiny ears twitched.

“You remember what you said after that last bottle of scotch?” Red fluttered her long lashes and pursed her lips.

The Bellboy adjusted his collar, hit the breaks at a stop sign. “I-I-I remember.” He said.

“You think you can do it tonight?” Red ran her warm blood red lips across the Bellboy's cheek.

“It seems a l-l-little c-c-crazy.....”

“You promised!” Red hit the dashboard with her fists.

“N-n-now look! I might g-g-g-get caught!” the Bellboy pleaded.

Red folded her arms and sulked.

He couldn't handle that. Anything but the silent treatment. The rest of the way home, the Bellboy tried to entice Red into a conversation. News, food, how much they both hated the Wolf. Even last night's game between the Browns and Bengals. Nothing.

The car came to screeching halt in front of a three story apartment building. Red opened the car door and he broke down.

“All right!” The Bellboy shouted. “I'll do it.”

Red looked at him surprised. She slammed the car door shut, leaped on the Bellboy, showering him with kisses. He began to giggle. Then he begged her to stop.

“Oh, you wont regret this!” Red exclaimed.

“Yeah,” The Bellboy rolled his piggy eyes. “I b-b-b-bet I will, sister.”

“You get the money and I'll be out here waiting on the stoop in front of my building. We'll blow this town, sugar.”

Geez,the Bellboy thought as he drove back to the Grand Prix hotel. I have to go inside the man's room after he's passed out and steal that suitcase full of money. Piece of cake. No problem. Peachy smooth.

Yeah. Right.

He will kill me. I just know it, the Bellboy thought.

The first part of the plan went almost exact. Sam was passed out on the floor of his bedroom. The place as in disarray. The Bellboy even found a pair of Red's monogrammed panties on Sam 's pillows. Sam was fast asleep, his mouth wide open, drool ran down his chin.

The cowhide suitcase lay next to Sam, the lid open, a few hundred resting by Sam 's legs. The Bellboy tip toed to the suitcase. He closed the lid as quietly as he could. He heard rustling at the door. The Bellboy swooped up the suitcase and headed to the closet. He shut the closet just as the door was opened and shut.

Through a crack in the closet door, the Bellboy saw it was that loudmouthed squirrel in a trench coat and fedora.

Sam sat up, wide-eyed, confused about his whereabouts. “What in tarnation...?” Sam said.

The squirrel took a .45 automatic from his coat pocket. He grinned, licked his evil buck teeth. “Foghorn says nuts to ya!” the squirrel said.

“You ain't gonna use that---” Sam started.

The squirrel's .45 sounded off. Two bullets found their way to Sam 's face. Blood and brain particles mixed in an unnerving Rorschach on the hotel room's carpet. Sam 's body made a dense thud as he fell back in permanent sleep.

The Bellboy gasped. His eyes widened. He watched the squirrel leave quickly and quietly. He was stuck in that closet. The Bellboy couldn't move. Not even when the police came in to collect Sam 's cold, dead body.

© 2012 mark slade

Author's Note

mark slade
A satire of animated cartoons, what if Jim Thompson wrote for animated cartoons of the 1940's.

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heh, ya gotta love these things. Fractured Warner Bros. meets Sin City.... I can see a part two to this piece.... I'll just be getting popcorn

Posted 8 Years Ago

mark slade

8 Years Ago

thanks for the review, Roarke.
I feel I've been conked over the head with a thick, coffee table edition of "The History of Warner Brothers Animation" during an acid flash back. I may never think of Yosemite Sam the same way again - and without pants is way more than I would liked to think of him at all.

Deranged brilliance, my man - and there may even be hope for you.

Give this thing five stars or a hundred points or whatever it is they give around here. I'm gonna go take a cold shower - VERY cold.

Posted 8 Years Ago

mark slade

8 Years Ago

Thanks for the review, Chuck.

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2 Reviews
Added on October 9, 2012
Last Updated on October 9, 2012


mark slade
mark slade

williamsburg, VA

a writer of horror and dark fantasy more..


A Story by mark slade

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