Part III: We are the plan and the plan is good
CHAPTER 7Hello everyone. My name is Rudy. I never knew what I was in for. I'm a trained musician, for Christ's sake, and not fucking around! I could be out making money and not sitting in some chicken joint in a B-city slum in a C-grade state, famous mostly for the people who moved away from it: New Brunswick, New Jersey.
If you were to look at me, you wouldn't notice. You might note the saxophone case if you were a musician yourself, but otherwise, I blend: youngish, comfortable—in short not the kind of guy you expect to be in a cult. But I am. Oh they don't call it a cult but if you take a step back from it, it's pretty easy to see. I was describing to my mother in fact when it struck me.
"Yeah," I was saying to mom, "I'm playing with these kids, a whole gang of them, and we travel a lot, and no, there's no money. In fact, I have to pay money, and it makes me miss work and we rehearse so often that I hardly ever see any of my other friends and they've given me a new name. . ."
Every mother's worst nightmare: My son's moved to New York and joined a fringe group. Mom is quick, too. She's like, "You say you don't see your other friends so much Peter? Have any of your other habits changed since you joined this band?"
"Its Rudie now, mom." I said, "My habits? I guess so, I'm drinking a lot more than I used to and we don't like being called a band, by the way. Do you want a beer, Mom?"
"No, dear. It's not a band, you say? You're dressing differently now as well, I notice."
"Yeah, we all wear suits. I don't know why. Did you say 'dear' or 'beer,' Mom?'
"Dear,' dear."
"Not Beer?"
"No."
Mom wanted me to stay in CT for a few days after that, but I had rehearsal and had to leave. Thinking over the conversation on the train back to town after the police explained to Mom that they couldnt arrest me for not listening to her, I realized she was right! I'm part of a cult! Me! Pete Hess! Fallen in with a cult! This is great! I'm in a dangerous, mind-controlling, city-dwelling, parent-scaring fertility cult masquerading as a rock band! This is so cool! Just think how that'll look on the resume! Shit!
I was walking on clouds that day, I tell you. But that was a couple of months ago, and as Halloween approached, the band's work load doubled, which is fine if your talking about playing gigs, but I'm not. There's been a lot of skulking around, phone call making, ritual dancing. It still actually sounds pretty glamorous, now that I hear myself saying it. But why, for Christs sake, am I sitting in a greasy chicken joint in urban nowhere on Halloween? The biggest night of the year?
I'm here to burn down a house.
One thing I like about The Inferno is the amount of metaphors we throw around. People outside the collective never know what we're talking about. Literal giant cat or figurative? Is the singer actually Jewish? Flip who now? Unfortunately, sorry mom, this is one of the rare cases where we are being entirely literal. I will not be 'burning down the house' with my masterful saxophany, not tonight, but with lighter fluid and matches.
And why? Why is The World/Inferno Friendship Society incinerating an innocuous-looking-two-family dwelling at 17 Jones St. in New Brunswick, New Jersey, tonight?
To watch it burn.
Crazy, right?
OK, I'm being a little flip (who now?), because I don't like my assignment tonight. We're not really burning the place just to see it burn. Exactly . . . we're doing it to look into the flames. There's a difference.
Not that I'll look into them—I won't even be there. I have to sit here until 5:49 tonight—just dusk—and place a phone call to the upper dwelling of 17 Jones St. to tell them to get the hell out. The kids on the ground floor don't need to be warned; they're in on it. They've known about it for months . . . they come to all the shows. Good kids.
How did I get the chump job? Did we draw straws? Vote? No, the Cat just waved his paw at me, said, "You, fatty, make the phone call!"
Nobody really likes that cat, except the girls. The girls always stick up for him. Stupid cat.
Well, the sun is almost down. Excuse me while I make this phone call.
"Hello, Steve? Hi, Rudy Hess, World/Inferno Friendship Society. Remember I stole some propane gas from you about a year ago? Exactly a year ago, that's right! Yes, from the Bar-B-Que! Yeah, uh-huh. Listen, listen Steve—get out of the house, it's about to catch on fire! Yes, I'm serious. Oh, yes. Oh, heavens yes! No, you don't have time to grab anything, no. What's that? I don't know, but you should leave, O.K.? No, probably not, Steve, no. O.k.? Bye."
Well that was fun. Perhaps I will have some chicken.
A change of venue.
Hello. Yula, me. I play bass in The Inferno. I am friends with the Giant Cat. We have no Giant Cats in Israel so I was very interested to meet him. His fur is shiny and black. Hey! The Giant Cat is a liar; he lies all the time. When he said we had to go to NJ to burn down a house I was very interested but didn't think we would really go.
The Giant Cat is a bad driver. He has no thumbs. I don't discriminate against him because of the thumbs but his driving, terrible. But he drives the van, and he backs it into a police car bothering Ban Dailey and the Police chase us and it is unbelievable and the equipment is banging around in the back where Rudy and Benjy, Lucky and Terricloth are and I'm worrying about my bass and Maura is next to me saying "oh, blah blah blah," something in stupid German she speaks to the Cat. And Cat says, "Shaddup, Shaddup," like he is trying to speak Hebrew—my ancient tongue, Terricloth calls it. And Semra is laughing and poking Maura in the ribs going, "Maurie!, Maurie!", and we drive through NJ and don't get caught. "Because Giant Cats never get caught!", The Giant Cat yells.
"And always lie," I say.
"And always lie," he says.
We all smile at the Giant Cat.
He dances in his seat and sings a song about never getting caught.
I fall asleep against the window.
CHAPTER 8
When the truck stops, I wake. We are on a dirty street in a small city. Giant Cat bounces around the truck, opens the back and calls Rudy a fatty. Rudie is not a fatty. Giant Cat can be mean. Rudie carries his saxophone case to a corner store and sits in the window next to a payphone. We drive down the street, Giant Cat squinting at street signs.
Semra says "Oh, wine! Must get wine!", and we stop at a liquor store. Inferno drinks a lot.
Giant Cat is still boogying behind the steering wheel, singing to himself. "Burn, burn—gonna burn a house, burn a burn-burn. . ." and Maura says "Ohhhh," again because she is worried.
"We burn, yeah?' I say
"Oh yeah," Giant Cat says, doing a small hand dance with his hand paws.
"Do we have to?", Maura asks.
"Oh heavens yes," Giant Cat replies.
Semra gets back in beside me with a brown paper bag full of wine bottles. "Liquors," she says.
We drive off. The houses get smaller and further apart, more grass, more trees. We drive slower.
"Jones Street!", Giant Cat yells.
"Yeah!", Semra says
"Nooo, Maura says.
"Oh yes," replies the Giant Cat.
We turn the corner and see a large crowd down the street. The crowd is all wearing costumes and makeup over punk rock clothing. We pull up and the crowd moves toward us. I wave, Hello, Hi. I see many people I know from World/Inferno shows. The truck stops and I get out.
"Where are you guys playing? In that house?", a boy asks me.
"No, not playing here, just burning house," I answer.
"Cool," the boy says.
Giant Cat opens the back of the truck again and Terricloth's smile jumps out with a suit and a megaphone. Behind him Lucky and Benjy climb out from around our musical equipment that is all fallen over inside the truck.
"Whew," says Benjy
"Benjeee," I say.
"That was a bumpy ride," he says.
"Shaddup, shaddup," Giant Cat says, moving his paws threateningly at Benjy. "Always complaining, scum!"
"Which one we gonna burn?", Lucky asks.
Terricloth jumps up on a parked car. "People!", he yells through his megaphone.
"People!"
There are 50 or 60 people in the street. They have candy and beer in bags. "Yaa!", someone yells, other cars pull up.
"It is Halloween!", Terricloth yells.
The people in the street start screaming and throwing candy; people from houses around us start to come outside. "People!", Terricloth yells again, "TRICK OR TREAT!"
"Treat! Treat!", I yell back.
"No, no, no," Giant Cat sneers at me, "Trick, trick, we're here for the trick. The treats later."
I want my treat now, but I don't say anything. He is a good cat.
"There are," Terricloth yells at the crowd, "too many bungalows being built for my liking!"
More people come walking up the street. "This is Great!", Benjy says.
"Where are we playing anyway?" Lucky asks.
"We don't know yet. That's why we're here, remember?"
"Naw, I wasn't paying attention," Lucky says, nodding.
"Never paying attention," The Giant Cat mumbles, throwing things out of the back of the truck. "How do I get anything done with nobody paying attention?" A drum flies out of the truck.
"Hey! My drum!", Benjy yells.
"Shaddup! Shaddup!", the Cat yells back, flicking his tail around. I wish I had a tail.
Just then Pearly drives up in his green car. Pearlys a new guy, piano player. "Whoa," he says, "Wow, hey, whats going on?" he cracks open the window of his car. "Are we really going to burn down that house? I mean, wow thats intense. Are we?" Inside his green car are our friends Jerry and Star and Luckys sister Amy. Amy smiles widely and throws her arm out of her window waving. "Hi Lucky!", she yells. "Hi!"
Lucky smiles and nods.
"Ah ha!" The Cat bounces back out of the truck, holding a large yellow container of lighter fluid with both his paws because he has no thumbs, and would drop it otherwise. He looks at Ben and says "AH!", then at Lucky and says "HA!", and runs toward Terricloth on the car.
"Im sick of that cat, man," Lucky says.
I look at him and smile, nodding my head, ëno.
"I like him too, Lucky!", his sister yells.
"Oh, yes," Star agrees.
Jerry shrugs his shoulders.
"Its weird the way you girls like that cat," Lucky says, squinting his eyes in suspicion.
"Hatul, hatul, anak hatul haviv al kol habaanoc," I sing, "haviv al kol habaanoc!"
Lucky smiles with just his top teeth, eyes following a girl walking by. "Hey," the girl says, "Whats that kid in the cat outfit doing over there?"
"Huh?", says Lucky.
I look over; the house is beginning to burn!
"Oh man," Pearly says, getting out of his car. "My Dad ritually burnt a house down once to find out where the Devils Ball was going to be that year."
"Burn the bungalows, burn the bungalows, burn the bungalows, burn!", Terricloth has started the crowd chanting, "Burn!"
17 Jones Street is really starting to go up. The jocks from the second floor are running around trying to find out whos responsible, but the crowd has grown to about 150 people and everybody is laughing and ignoring them. One jock comes up to me, "Hey! Freak! Ive seen you around; you live here, whos burning my house? What the fuck?"
"Suck a dog dick!", I reply. "Fuck a cat baby! Goo your pants!"
My name is Ryan; Im what youd call a Circus Punk. "Pierce your scrotum, scrotum!"
Just then The Giant Cat comes over and boxes the jock in the ear from behind. "Ah Ha!", the cat yells, ìgot your propane, sucker! Werent you warned by telephone? Get out of here!"
The jock reels, holding one side of his head. The cat trips him.
That kids house is on fire, man.
"People!", Terricloth yells from his pulpit of a parked car, "Now is the time! Now we must do what we came here to do!
Go to the flames, my friends! Go to the flames, and look into them!"
The crowd cheers and rushes to the burning home, knocking over the jock Steve who has just regained his footing after being tripped by the Cat.
"Go!", Cloth yells, "Go!"
At the front of the crowd are the rest of The Inferno, soon joined by Dan Bailey and Lorre on Baileys Scooter, who now lead the pack. Someone has thrown fireworks into the burning house and they now shoot off in different colorful directions.
"The Devils Ball!", Terricloth yells. "Look into the flames and see where it will be! The Devils Ball is tonight!"
He blows a ball of flame from the back of the crowd and looking into it I see that there, too, an image has started to form. Looking back towards the house now engulfed, I see the same image getting clearer and clearer—two stories high.
In the flames I see a small street, an alley almost, flanked on one side by a large uniformly battleship Grey building with gated shop windows open to the night. The interior is stark-white lit like an art gallery.
"Its The Good/Bad!" I hear someone say. Its Benjy. "The Good/Bad? We drove all the way out to New Jersey to burn a building just to find out were playing tonight in our rehearsal space?"
The crowd has gotten silent, though the house roars on with the Brooklyn scene swaying gently within the flames. "Oh right," The Cat says. "Oh yeah, I think I knew that, that makes sense."
"You Idiot!", Ben yells. "We didnt even have to move our equipment! I could still be asleep! Why didnt you tell anybody?!"
Terricloth starts laughing through his megaphone. "Alright! Ok everybody! Back to Brooklyn! Load up the cars! Start the convoy! Get me a beer!"
The crowd starts to move away from the burning house and the image fades as less people look at it. The Giant Cat is in a rarely conciliatory state. "Well," he says, tail between his bowed legs, "I knew everybody wanted to burn Steves house down, and I didnt know for sure the ball would be in Brooklyn, and look at all the fun the kids are having. I mean, if you want to be mad at me for making people happy, I guess you can. But thats certainly no way to be—I mean, its pretty selfish, dont you think? I mean, really."
Benjy is unmoved, but the rest of the band and crowd is. I climb with The Inferno into the back of the U-haul where we sing Misfits songs all the way back to Brooklyn.