Behind The Mask

Somebody suggested the couch. Instantly, Patrick sent the cushions from the three-seater flying into the air. Nothing there either. The two seater and the corner sofa had already been investigated in vain. They were screwed.

- "Guys, we need to think."

Patrick, Sunny and Tommy rarely deployed any mental effort for whatsoever task. They could go for days without food - but not without cigarettes.

- "Dude, if I had to choose between a cig and a bitch on her fours, I think I'd go for the cig," said Tommy.

Nobody laughed. The three guys sat down on the stripped sofa's hard wood and started to explore the various possibilities available. The lack of money certainly posed a problem.

- "D'you think Jean-Claude would let us have a few ones on credit?"
- "Can't do that. We already owe him two packets dude."
- "Well, I could give it a shot. Lemme go and talk to him. I'll be right back."

At 1 o'clock, Jean-Claude was the only hope for those in need of cigarettes or instant noodles. His shop was on Flic-en-Flac's main road, fifteen minutes away. As Tommy closed the door and walked away, Patrick turned to Sunny with an evil grin on his face.

- "Dude, I have this idea, but it's like real gross you know."

Of the three guys, Patrick was the first one to explore evil possibilities. His plans rarely failed, but usually landed them in trouble a few days later.

- "Can that be worse than the time you stole Shampoo from the Spar supermarket and got caught?"
- "Nah, nah, nothing like that."
- "Spill it dude."

Patrick took in a huge breath. He always did that before explaining extremely evil schemes.

- "We can get a free pack of twenty and a huge bottle of whisky for free, but I think Tommy won't like it."
- "Like, get it right now?"
- "Ya dude, I know a fuck-sure way."
- "We're not going to rob Jean-Claude's, are we? Coz I doubt he'd let us have anything on credit after that."
- "Nah, nah, nothing like that."
- "Are we going to land into trouble?"
- "Yeah, if we screw it up, maybe."
- "Go on, I wanna know."

Patrick folded his arms.

- "D'you remember Roy?"
- "The tramp? That moron died last week dude."
- "Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

Sunny's expression brightened.

- "Shit, you know where he hid his stuff?"
- "Nah, nah, nothing like that."
- "What is it then?"
- "Turned out that his family felt bad about kicking him out of the house and all. They sent him off to the other world with a pack of twenty and bottle of whisky in his coffin."
- "What the fuck man?"
- "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about."
- "Fuck you! You're crazy!"
- "T'was Johnny Walker, the whisky. The black one. In the coffin."

A silence suddenly fell in the room, like a curtain closing after the first act. For Sunny, "Black Johnny Walker" was indeed a strong point, but "coffin" represented an appropriate counter-argument.

An unsuspecting Tommy popped into the room a few minutes later. He stood at the door with a sad look on his face.

- "Guys, bad news. Jean-Claude says we gotta pay him for the two packets we already owe him and..."
- "Nah, never mind about that," said Patrick.
- "We have a plan," explained Sunny.
- "Wow, great guys, I was feeling like we'd never see the end of this."
- "You might not like it though," Patrick announced, while throwing inquisitive looks at Sunny.
- "You tits, I'd do anything to get my hands on a cigarette right now," said a grinning Tommy.
- "That's good news 'cause we're going to dig up a grave," said Sunny in a matter-of-fact voice.

Tommy laughed for a few seconds before getting back to serious mode.

- "No shit, guys, what's the plan?"
- "We're going to dig Roy up, coz there's a pack of cigarettes and a Black Johnny Walker in his coffin."

Tommy's stood frozen, unsure of whether his best friends were serious or not. Patrick got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

- "What? You serious?"
- "Yeah dude, we're going for it," said Sunny.
- "Are you even sure there are cigarettes in his coffin? What if we get caught? Isn't there a cemetary guardian or something? What the fuck guys? How are we going to do that?"
- "Don't worry man, we're gonna be just fine. It's going to work, really," Sunny said in the most convincing tone he could find.

Tommy didn't sound convinced at all. He had his hands on his waist, and looked like he was about to go nuts.

- "Are you fucking out of your minds? I'm not digging Roy up, what the fuck? If we get caught..."
- "That's why you'll stand guard. Stop being a bitch Tommy."

Patrick had reappeared, holding a rope and two shovels.

Flic-en-Flac is a happy town, with vividly-coloured buildings and illuminated hotels. Waiters smile at you when they serve your food, and beautiful bar-tenders always wink when rich, drunk old men ask them out. However, beneath the smiling masks of all happy places lies human sadness, and sometimes lurking evil.

Evil which our three protagonists had already engaged in as the three of them stared at Roy's grave.

- "Guys, I can't believe we're doing this. This is so fucked up."
- "Shut up, Tommy and stand guard. Just whistle if somebody comes round."

Tommy didn't protest at Patrick's command and walked away. His two friends began digging without any idea of how it would all turn out. Fortunately for them, the grass did not seem to pose a big problem on Flic-en-Flac's sandy cemetery ground. A pale moon guided their sweating arms, the both of them looking like mysterious dark demons digging up a long-lost treasure.

Sunny's shovel finally hit wood. It was Roy.

To be continued...