They exited the airport, the doors opened and introduced them to the outside heat. It had rained earlier, and the sun was evaporating the water on the asphalt, adding a new dimension of humidity that only Florida could do. No mariachis here, only mambo......

‘Dude, flight? LAX to Denver to Houston to Miami? The fuck man, I thought we were friends?’

Knox was annoyed, but hid it well. ‘Hey, I paid and you agreed, OK? Just because the meth head Elvis impersonator on Hollywood and Vine beat you with your guitar doesn’t make you a martyr, ok? You were fucking with the man’s turf brah. And that means fucking with his money, which means fucking with his supply.‘

Steele had to agree. Knox’s suggestion that he perform music and street poetry to raise funds was a good one, but he’d chosen the wrong corner. ‘Whatever, it reminds of the time that me and the anthropologist went to Amoeba, dude, Ben Folds was playing a set, but he didn’t get assaulted. Fucking people everywhere got it out for me, they know a threat when they see one.’ He paused, the TJ hair plugs were itching like an ant colony in the humidity. Fucking Mexican MD’s, they were all in on it too.

Knox turned and spoke, a band of sweat forming around the band of his frayed Cal State Northridge cap, a souvenir of a happier time, ‘Seriously mang, did those TSA women give you Reverse Bukkake flashbacks? Fucked up shit...’

Suddenly his phone buzzed. He checked the screen, and said ‘it’s on, Mike’s almost here.’ No sooner than the sentence was spoken that a windowless, crusty old Econoline van pulled up to the curb. Mike rolled the window down, and said ‘Get in.’

Knox called shotgun with the enthusiasm of a 12 year old, and jumped into the front. Steele, once again, had to take a backseat. ‘Bukkake Mieeeeke’ Knox said, holding his fist up for a bump. Mike eyed him coldly. ‘Pauly Shore wasn’t funny twenty years ago dickhead, and you not funny now.’ He let the fist hang mid-air, watching as Knox lowered it slowly. ‘You two numbnuts finally got here. How did you come up with the money?’ he said as he got the van moving.

‘I told my parents I was going to rehab, and Jeremy was my sponsor. My mom bought us two one way tickets, no baggage, with two stops’

Steele piped up, ‘and we had to pay for carry on luggage. Jokes on them though, we don’t have bags. Is there a Goodwill nearby where we can buy a change of clothes?’ He would remain silent no longer. ‘All this being around airports is bad man, I mean the TSA is one thing, but chem trails are everywhere here man, it’s the source, and I ain’t feeling too well. It reminds of the time I was hanging around the set of...’

Mike pulled the van over. He looked over the seat and said ‘Steele, you believe in the moon landing?”

‘No way man, total fake. If you look at all the documented evidence on You Tube you can see for yourself.’

The irritation on Mike’s face couldn’t be hidden. ‘OK. I’ll make you a deal. You don’t spout off any conspiracy theory bullshit, and I won’t take you to Cape Canaveral and shove you into a methane rocket headed to the sun. Agreed?’ Knox’s eyes glinted greedily at the thought of a meth fueled rocket. Steele lowered his head and nodded. Nobody cared about the truth.

All of a sudden a voice piped up from the rear of the van “Mike, are these the two mufuckas supoosed to help us dawg? I could have gone to the homeless shelter and got me a couple of dudes that would have worked this job for a pack of Newports.’

Steele and Knox turned around to be greeted by the sight of a black man laid out in Dodgers gear. ‘Who are you?’ Steele asked, his Spidey sense tingling along with the hairplugs.

‘Don’t you mind’ Mike said. ‘He comes recommended by the man in Lancaster. Robbing porn sets is this guys specialty. He’s quick and clean and knows what he’s doing.’

‘But dude, Dodgers? In Miami? That’ll stand out. Like this time that I introduced the anthropologist to Belladonna, who I never tried to kiss.’ His senses were screaming “PATSY” in big red letters. Something wasn’t right.

‘Listen, dipshit, just do what you’re supposed to do. We’re pulling over for lunch, then we’re going to the job. I’ll explain what you have to do, you two retards listen and do it, and then we’re done. Everyone’s happy. Don’t worry about his outfit. You think we haven’t thought of that? Huh? You fucking buttplug, I oughtta....’ he leant back to slap Steele, but Knox stayed his hand.

‘Dude, save that hand for cranking it bro, how you gonna count your strokes if your shits all bruised up?’

Mike saw his point and lowered his hand from Steele’s face, the other hand steering the van into the parking lot of a sketchy burger place. Mike asked the black guy ‘Dodger, you coming in?’ ‘Nah man, I’ll chill here, don’t want too many people seeing me with these two fuck stains.’ ‘Fair enough. All right you two, let’s get some chow.’