boots on the ground. Turns out some newshound named Rentworthy at the New York Times got wind of the blog’s popularity with the brass, checked it out, and became a daily viewer.’
Up came Sergeant Fallon’s iPhone shot of me looking like something that had crawled out of the ground in a Hollywood horror movie.
‘The press saw your photo on the blog, read Fallon’s account, and made a few calls confirming the event. This photo has since been around the world several times. You’re right in the middle of your fifteen minutes, buddy. And that’s kinda why I’m here.’
‘You want my autograph?’
‘Funny.’ He opened another window on the browser, dropped his ‘favorites’ folder down and stabbed a key. ‘No, strange as it may seem, this is not all about you. Park your trailer for a moment while I bring up Part B – the website for a rap artist by the name of Twenny Fo. You know this guy?’
‘Not personally,’ I said. Twenny Fo was up there with Snoop Dogg and Fiddy. I didn’t like the guy’s music, but it was impossible to escape his publicity machine.
‘Well, you’re gonna,’ said Arlen. ‘He read the article in the paper and wants you on his PSO team.’
‘What PSO team?’
‘The one escorting him to Africa.’
‘Africa?’
‘Yeah, You know, lions, zebras, hyenas.’
‘And he asked for me?’
‘The guy thinks you have mojo.’
I gave a snort. Twenny Fo lived his life in the gossip columns and, from what I recalled, it was a train wreck – a former gang member who promoted his tough guy roots by being pro-automatic weapons, pro-drugs, pro-misogyny and anti-everything that wasn’t antisocial. ‘Wasn’t he the guy who got arrested at an after-party for donging his girlfriend with a Grammy?’
‘You remember that, huh?’ said Arlen.
‘I never forget a great moment in assholery. Why’s he going to Africa? And why are we offering to chew his bullets?’
‘We’ve got a training base in Rwanda, at a place called Cyangugu – Camp Come Together.’
‘Camp Come Together. A worthy goal,’ I said. ‘I usually get there too early.’
‘Vin, the Pentagon wants to put on a show for our people there. Twenny Fo released a single called “Fighter”, a tribute to US Forces. It went to number one and a recruitment surge followed.’
‘So getting a bunch of tone-deaf morons to shoulder M16s wipes the slate clean.’
‘The job is to entertain our training forces – who, as it happens, are all African-American.’
‘Are you telling me that we’ve got a training outfit based on something other than aptitude? And that Twenny Fo got the gig because he passed the color test?’
Arlen shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I said, “As it happens” – pure coincidence. And Twenny Fo’s girlfriend is coming along, too.’
‘You mean, his bitch .’
Arlen looked pained.
‘Hey, you let the anti-PC cat out of the bag, pal.’
The look didn’t waver.
‘So who’s the lucky girl this week?’ I continued.
‘Leila.’
‘ The Leila?’
‘The one and only.’
Leila was the star of the moment. You couldn’t turn on the TV without seeing her, the radio without hearing her, or go to a newsstand without her pouting back at you from half a dozen magazine covers. I gathered she was originally from Cuba and of mixed parentage – a black Cuban father and Argentine mother. Or maybe it was the other way round. She was the color of honey and very tall and, unless it was all done with retouching, had eyes that burned like fire opals under lights. I’d read somewhere that Twenny Fo and Leila had met in the singles bar for celebrities – rehab. I caught a few of her music videos from time to time, and they seemed to focus on the fact that her ass was double-jointed.
I wanted to ask what she was doing with a deadhead like Twenny Fo, aside from the usual reason: that he had money. He also had a cabinet full of awards and one of them was bloodstained. Instead I asked, ‘So what’s
Up came Sergeant Fallon’s iPhone shot of me looking like something that had crawled out of the ground in a Hollywood horror movie.
‘The press saw your photo on the blog, read Fallon’s account, and made a few calls confirming the event. This photo has since been around the world several times. You’re right in the middle of your fifteen minutes, buddy. And that’s kinda why I’m here.’
‘You want my autograph?’
‘Funny.’ He opened another window on the browser, dropped his ‘favorites’ folder down and stabbed a key. ‘No, strange as it may seem, this is not all about you. Park your trailer for a moment while I bring up Part B – the website for a rap artist by the name of Twenny Fo. You know this guy?’
‘Not personally,’ I said. Twenny Fo was up there with Snoop Dogg and Fiddy. I didn’t like the guy’s music, but it was impossible to escape his publicity machine.
‘Well, you’re gonna,’ said Arlen. ‘He read the article in the paper and wants you on his PSO team.’
‘What PSO team?’
‘The one escorting him to Africa.’
‘Africa?’
‘Yeah, You know, lions, zebras, hyenas.’
‘And he asked for me?’
‘The guy thinks you have mojo.’
I gave a snort. Twenny Fo lived his life in the gossip columns and, from what I recalled, it was a train wreck – a former gang member who promoted his tough guy roots by being pro-automatic weapons, pro-drugs, pro-misogyny and anti-everything that wasn’t antisocial. ‘Wasn’t he the guy who got arrested at an after-party for donging his girlfriend with a Grammy?’
‘You remember that, huh?’ said Arlen.
‘I never forget a great moment in assholery. Why’s he going to Africa? And why are we offering to chew his bullets?’
‘We’ve got a training base in Rwanda, at a place called Cyangugu – Camp Come Together.’
‘Camp Come Together. A worthy goal,’ I said. ‘I usually get there too early.’
‘Vin, the Pentagon wants to put on a show for our people there. Twenny Fo released a single called “Fighter”, a tribute to US Forces. It went to number one and a recruitment surge followed.’
‘So getting a bunch of tone-deaf morons to shoulder M16s wipes the slate clean.’
‘The job is to entertain our training forces – who, as it happens, are all African-American.’
‘Are you telling me that we’ve got a training outfit based on something other than aptitude? And that Twenny Fo got the gig because he passed the color test?’
Arlen shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I said, “As it happens” – pure coincidence. And Twenny Fo’s girlfriend is coming along, too.’
‘You mean, his bitch .’
Arlen looked pained.
‘Hey, you let the anti-PC cat out of the bag, pal.’
The look didn’t waver.
‘So who’s the lucky girl this week?’ I continued.
‘Leila.’
‘ The Leila?’
‘The one and only.’
Leila was the star of the moment. You couldn’t turn on the TV without seeing her, the radio without hearing her, or go to a newsstand without her pouting back at you from half a dozen magazine covers. I gathered she was originally from Cuba and of mixed parentage – a black Cuban father and Argentine mother. Or maybe it was the other way round. She was the color of honey and very tall and, unless it was all done with retouching, had eyes that burned like fire opals under lights. I’d read somewhere that Twenny Fo and Leila had met in the singles bar for celebrities – rehab. I caught a few of her music videos from time to time, and they seemed to focus on the fact that her ass was double-jointed.
I wanted to ask what she was doing with a deadhead like Twenny Fo, aside from the usual reason: that he had money. He also had a cabinet full of awards and one of them was bloodstained. Instead I asked, ‘So what’s
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