FFFF Undercover Surveillance Unit Digs Deep, Strikes Gold!

At least they said they did. We will certainly forgive you if you have your doubts. The boys in The Van were given an extra allocation of medicinal mushrooms after their last supposed Ackerman phone call coup, and, well, that’s an ingredient that could produce almost any kind of weird hallucination.

Anyway, here’s what the Undercover Surveillance Unit claims to have captured. Make of it what you will.

(phone ringing)

Dick Jones: Ahhm a comin’ (heavy panting noises) Hello?

Dick Ackerman: (a grunt) Dick Ackerman here.

DJ: Dick! (wheezing sounds) Sorry, ah’m a little winded. Long way from the privvy.

DA: Quit talking and listen. That asshole Nygren did a poll. Roski’s pulling out. Two goddam miserable weeks left and that punk Roski’s pulling out on me. They’re all out to get me. No respect. Goddammit I’m Dick Ackerman. Okay, look, I’m outta dough. We’re outta dough. Linda’s outta dough. Hitting up all my Fullerton friends. Our Fullerton friends. Linda’s Fullerton friends.

DJ: A poll (wheezing and coughing). What kinda poll? (coughing)

DA: (several guttural noises) Don’t worry about that. Forget about it. I need some dough. We need some dough. Linda needs some dough. We gotta keep hitting that bastard Norby. Right up ’til the end. At the end. After the end (distinct snarling sound followed by an apparent bark).

DJ: That Norby, boy, he’s a real troublemaker. A real Brutus. Et tu Brutus? (unattributable sputtering sounds)

DA: What?

DJ: Huh?

DA: (a series of staccato grunts) Shut up and listen. What can I put you down for? The limit, right?

DJ: Ahhumm. Well, ah ain’t gonna hide the fact, Dick. S’been a tough year. Reeeal tough! (two phlegmmycoughs)

DA: (a snarl) Why you ingrate, if it wasn’t for me you’d just be another loud-mouthed Rotarian. You’ve got more money than Croesus. Sell one of your thirteen cars and pony up, goddammit!

DJ: There was a poll? (more asthmatic wheezing)

DA: (a bark) Goddammit you jackass, forget about the poll! I’m putting you down for $1200. A guy’s coming up to Fullerton today to wash my car at Dolan’s place. I’ll send him over to pick up the check.

DJ: Norby. That sumbitch tried to stop our Redevelopment expansion. That’s a brilliant plan. He’s a trouble maker. And he’s buddies with Bushala. Suin’ his own city! Got a name fer boys like that back in Galveston: sumbitch.

DA: Yeah. I tried to shut up that punk too. Didn’t work. Everybody’s useless. Out to get me. Get us. Get Linda. (several low growling sounds) But forget about that.

DJ: (a long wheeze) Heh-heh, did ah ever tell ya about the Eye-talian family that used to run Galveston?

DA: What? Shut up and listen. My boy will be around for the check at ten or eleven. His names’s Mike. Or Matt. Or Milt. Something like that. Won’t do my tires right (a snarl).

DJ: Huh?

DA What?

DJ: There was a poll?

Unidentified Female Voice in Background: Dick, that white van is back behind the statue garden wall!

DA: Hell. Damn peacocks are gonna go off again. Okay. Get off the line you idiot. And write that check. Now.