Stephen Cannell - Three shirt deal

I don't know how long I was forced to endure this punishment, but sometime later Brian Devine walked into the paint bay wearing jeans and a police windbreaker. He took the riot gun out of Mike's hand and smiled. "You really love this thing, don't ya, Churchy? If you behave, maybe I'll let you keep it."

He checked the clip, looked over at my bruised body, then smiled. "Man, this may be the new American record. How many did you fire at him?"

"Lieutenant, this is coming apart," I croaked. "The department knows about everything. You can't be dumb enough to partner up with these idiots."

" 'Cept I'm not the idiot taped to a chair," he said.

"They got fifteen million. I hope you got a fair cut of that," hoping to produce some trouble. It didn't work.

"Nice try," he said. "But I'm a very happy citizen. Got my boat all stocked and ready to go in Mexico. Right now, we're just in the loose-end business. Pisses me off I didn't close your account years ago. Would've saved me a lot of trouble." Then he turned and fired the Arwen at me from ten feet away. The hard rubber round hit my forehead and I was out. I never even heard the riot gun's retort.

"Colossus is still the largest dual track wooden coaster in the world," Mike Church was saying.

"Yep. That's one sweet ride, homes," somebody on my right agreed.

As I came to, I realized my hands were bound. My shirt was back on, but blisters were starting to form on my chest and, of all places, under my arms. My forehead throbbed where the rubber baton had knocked me out. I sat in agony playing possum.

"They built that monster way back in the seventies." Church was speaking again. "It was already old school by the time I started banging out here. When I was a TG, I sold seeds and stems in the midway. I was just eleven. When I was fifteen, I even got a summer job here and worked the maintenance shed. I learned where the underground service tunnels are, how to sneak on rides. Still got my old park maintenance badge." Through slits in my eyelashes, I saw him hold up a plastic-encased ID card dangling from a cord around his neck. "Ever since that summer I don't never even have to pay to get in this place, 'cause I know where the old drainage culvert opens up that runs under the park."

I opened my eyes a bit wider. I was in the back of somebody's big SUV. A Cadillac Escalade. Gray leather. Lots of video extras. I didn't move, trying to scope out the car without turning my head. The same three were in here with me. Tyler Cisneros and Jose Diego were on either side of me in the back. Church was driving, spinning out happy memories from his banging days at Tragic Magic.

"You won't believe how it was back then," he went on. "Back before these dumb park fucks realized they had a youth violence problem. This place was supposed to be a gang demilitarized zone, but there were asesinos out here, so you better believe bad shit went down every weekend."

Church put on his blinker, then turned off the highway into a parking lot. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed acres of parked cars. We pulled up to a booth to get a parking ticket. I kept quiet, looking for any chance to alter the odds.

"Busy out here tonight," I heard Church say to the booth operator. I knew they had good radio communications between all park employees and was about to try something when I suddenly felt a knifepoint press between my ribs. I looked right and saw Tyler Cisneros shake his head sadly.

"No lo hace," he said softly.

"Lot Four. Follow the yellow line," the ticket taker instructed.

"Thanks," Church answered. The Escalade started moving again. "Fuck Lot Four," he said. "I want to go to the north end of Six, way over by the fence."

"This guy's awake," Cisneros said.

Church turned and looked back at me. "Don't go cowboy on us, Scully. Keep it cool, dude."

We drove in silence for a minute before Church craned his head and looked up at Colossus. "Man, look at that cbingada/" The giant coaster loomed a hundred and twenty-five feet above us. Occasionally, a trainload of joyriders would streak past, screaming in delight, as the wheels rattling on the hardwood tracks set up a thunderous roar.

Church pulled out a cell and dialed while he drove. "We're here," he said. "We're gonna take him in through my special way. You got your guys ready?" There was a long beat. "I'm just asking. Don't have a fucking aneurism." He closed his cell. "What an asshole." There were a lot of assholes in this equation, but I figured he had to be talking about Lieutenant Devine.

I tried to come up with an alternate plan. It felt like my hands were secured with plastic riot cuffs. I was in such pain that I had to fight not to cry out every time the Escalade lurched or bounced over one of the parking lot's speed bumps.

"The last drop is one hijo de puta," Church enthused. We were cruising the north lot while Church looked for a suitable parking space. "Hundred and fifteen feet, straight down. Hey, Scully, hope you like coasters, man." I didn't answer. Church laughed as he nosed the Escalade into an empty slot. We were at the far end of the new north lot and there were very few cars.

"Get the wheelchair," Church ordered.

Diego got out of the Escalade and started to unload a wheelchair from the back luggage area.

"Hey, Scully. Check it out," Church said happily. "This fucking coaster goes over sixty miles an hour. It's not quite as fast as Goliath or Viper, but those two run on pipe ramps. You gotta appreciate retro when it comes to the great coasters. You feel me, homes?"

I didn't answer.

I felt the back door open and then Diego pulled me out of the SUV. My blisters were killing me, my body bruised and broken. When they yanked me, I let out an agonized scream.

Somebody shoved an old sock into my mouth and the next thing I knew, I was being loaded into the wheelchair. A smelly red blanket was thrown over me and tucked under my chin. I was starting to shiver and hoped I wasn't going into shock.

Church pulled out his cell and hit redial. "We're here," he said. "Get Juan and Ramon to check the refit shed under the ride. It's usually empty after six. We'll be in the park in a few."

He hung up, then took the handles on the wheelchair and began to push me across the parking lot. "Man, I love this place," he rambled. "Put in my first real work here. Shanked two North Hollywood Razas under this bitch. My 'blood in' ritual. After that, I was bueno por vida." He tapped the back of my head. "You know por vida, Scully? Means 'for life.' Once I shanked those two dirtbags, nobody in my set ever had the balls to fuck with me. From then on, I was a designated hitter."

We stopped in front of a chain-link fence, which had been pre-cut. Diego and Cisneros pried it open and bent it back, then the three of them picked up the chair and handed it roughly through the opening in the fence with me still sitting in the damn thing. Then they lifted the chair over the curb on a concrete drainage sluiceway and set it down again. Church started us rolling and suddenly we were moving way too fast down the sides of the steep drainage ditch.

"Whooooeeee!" Church sang out as the chair picked up speed, rocketing down the forty-five-degree side of the culvert with him, riding the back, holding the handles.

I could hear the heels on his cycle boots scraping on the pavement as he skidded along behind, holding on, trying to keep the chair from tipping over. I almost fell out twice, but Church kept me upright as we finally rolled out and came to a stop on the mossy, weed-choked floor of the decommissioned spillway.

"You know, back when I was a TG I used to think if I hadda die, it should be on this fucking coaster. Ride one of those new California-style PTC fiberglass cars right off the track and out into space. Take a hundred and fifteen foot drop to the ground. What a cool way to cross the border, know what I'm sayin'? All these years later and you're gonna get to live my dream, homes."