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Authors: Kinky Friedman
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his flowing robes and hair and a more than usually wild-eyed expression on his face, looked more like a mental patient than he did a shrink. He was carrying, I noticed, a small briefcase.
"Are we green-lighted for wig city?" he asked Clyde.
"I called the hospital early this morning," said Clyde. "Dr. Fingerhut is definitely not coming in today."
"Ain't that the truth," said Fox. "Did you tell Walter that we might need him on the inside?"
"Tell him yourself," said Clyde.
"We might need you on the inside," said Fox. I looked to Clyde but she appeared to be studying a nearby pigeon on the sidewalk.
"What'll I do?" I asked, a bit warily.
"If you can't handle it, just tell me," said Fox.
"He can handle it," said Clyde, taking my hand and giving it a quick little squeeze.
"I can handle it better if I know what it is," I said.
"Simple diversionary tactic," said Fox. "It's easy enough to get into a mental hospital. Believe me, I should know. But getting out is a different matter entirely. So once I'm in, I'll need at least some of the security in the place to be focused elsewhere. In other words, we'll need a diversion to siphon some of them to another wing."
"How do I do that?"
"I'd say the more basic the better," said Fox, handing me a small paper bag. "Smoke bomb in the linen hamper will probably do the trick. Give me about a ten-minute lead, though. It'll take me that long to get into my shrink outfit and locate Teddy. Meanwhile, Clyde will be in charge of the getaway car. That'll be a taxi. The plan should be workable as long as Teddy cooperates. By the way, can I bum a smoke?"
I gave Fox a cigarette and this time handed him the lighter. Then Clyde wanted a smoke. Then watching the two of them smoke made me want to smoke. So we smoked on the corner just across the street from the hospital, coolly eyeing the fortress we were about to assault. Standing there with Fox and Clyde, strangely enough, I did not feel nervous at all about the little operation that would soon occur within those walls. Maybe in a certain way, I was already more a part of that small Gypsy band than I realized, because what we were plotting was at least as crazy as what most of the patients inside the hospital were probably thinking and planning at that very moment. At the time, however, I didn't really see it that way. It sounded fairly easy. It even sounded like it might be fun. It did not seem like dangerous or addictive behavior at all. Such was the peculiar nature of the almost magical influence each member of our little trinity appeared to exert upon the others. Maybe it wasn't merely cigarettes we were smoking together on that sidewalk. Perhaps it was the smoke of life.
Before we'd split up at the corner, Fox had given me a bit of a pep talk about how what we were doing was all for the greater good. It was only to lower the odds of springing Teddy, which, he conceded, were not that great. We had to have a diversion and I was the one who'd been chosen to create it. Perhaps he'd seen it as a test of some kind. Maybe I had, too.
Clyde, for her part, was unwaveringly committed to the endeavor. The only advice she'd given me was of a practical nature. If I happened to be questioned by anyone, ask an immediate question of my own in return: "Where's the toilet?" She also suggested that I get out of there quickly after setting off the smoke bomb. I told her I hadn't just fallen off a rose truck.
It was only after we'd separated and I had crossed the street on my own and was standing in front of the building itself that I began to experience a few qualms about joining in on this little hobby. The uneasiness didn't last long, but it was there all right. For one thing, I hadn't even seen a smoke bomb since I was about eleven years old, and the idea of setting one off in a mental hospital, if you stopped to think about it, was just about the height of insanity. It was important, I told myself, not to think about it.
And so I entered the building
"Are we green-lighted for wig city?" he asked Clyde.
"I called the hospital early this morning," said Clyde. "Dr. Fingerhut is definitely not coming in today."
"Ain't that the truth," said Fox. "Did you tell Walter that we might need him on the inside?"
"Tell him yourself," said Clyde.
"We might need you on the inside," said Fox. I looked to Clyde but she appeared to be studying a nearby pigeon on the sidewalk.
"What'll I do?" I asked, a bit warily.
"If you can't handle it, just tell me," said Fox.
"He can handle it," said Clyde, taking my hand and giving it a quick little squeeze.
"I can handle it better if I know what it is," I said.
"Simple diversionary tactic," said Fox. "It's easy enough to get into a mental hospital. Believe me, I should know. But getting out is a different matter entirely. So once I'm in, I'll need at least some of the security in the place to be focused elsewhere. In other words, we'll need a diversion to siphon some of them to another wing."
"How do I do that?"
"I'd say the more basic the better," said Fox, handing me a small paper bag. "Smoke bomb in the linen hamper will probably do the trick. Give me about a ten-minute lead, though. It'll take me that long to get into my shrink outfit and locate Teddy. Meanwhile, Clyde will be in charge of the getaway car. That'll be a taxi. The plan should be workable as long as Teddy cooperates. By the way, can I bum a smoke?"
I gave Fox a cigarette and this time handed him the lighter. Then Clyde wanted a smoke. Then watching the two of them smoke made me want to smoke. So we smoked on the corner just across the street from the hospital, coolly eyeing the fortress we were about to assault. Standing there with Fox and Clyde, strangely enough, I did not feel nervous at all about the little operation that would soon occur within those walls. Maybe in a certain way, I was already more a part of that small Gypsy band than I realized, because what we were plotting was at least as crazy as what most of the patients inside the hospital were probably thinking and planning at that very moment. At the time, however, I didn't really see it that way. It sounded fairly easy. It even sounded like it might be fun. It did not seem like dangerous or addictive behavior at all. Such was the peculiar nature of the almost magical influence each member of our little trinity appeared to exert upon the others. Maybe it wasn't merely cigarettes we were smoking together on that sidewalk. Perhaps it was the smoke of life.
Before we'd split up at the corner, Fox had given me a bit of a pep talk about how what we were doing was all for the greater good. It was only to lower the odds of springing Teddy, which, he conceded, were not that great. We had to have a diversion and I was the one who'd been chosen to create it. Perhaps he'd seen it as a test of some kind. Maybe I had, too.
Clyde, for her part, was unwaveringly committed to the endeavor. The only advice she'd given me was of a practical nature. If I happened to be questioned by anyone, ask an immediate question of my own in return: "Where's the toilet?" She also suggested that I get out of there quickly after setting off the smoke bomb. I told her I hadn't just fallen off a rose truck.
It was only after we'd separated and I had crossed the street on my own and was standing in front of the building itself that I began to experience a few qualms about joining in on this little hobby. The uneasiness didn't last long, but it was there all right. For one thing, I hadn't even seen a smoke bomb since I was about eleven years old, and the idea of setting one off in a mental hospital, if you stopped to think about it, was just about the height of insanity. It was important, I told myself, not to think about it.
And so I entered the building
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