A Perfect Getaway Page #3

that you deceived us.

Every man's got a pack

of lies in him, right?

It's just that you thought we

was foolish enough to buy it.

I'm sorry, I don't...

What did you think,

anyway?

Just 'cause we choose

to look a certain way

that makes us,

what, desperados?

No, I don't think...

Jesus, man.

You know, sometimes it feels

like the whole world's just

spitting in my face.

Excuse me.

Look. I thought you said you

were going to Lumahai Beach.

"Going to that area.' '

That's what we said.

Well, you didn't say you

were doing the trail, so...

Well, neither did you.

Look. We offered you a ride. You

didn't want it. You didn't take it.

So, I don't really understand

what the issue is between us.

Kale?

Joy and happiness here?

No, I think we're good.

Outstanding.

How far you going,

Hot Wheels?

Playing it by ear. You?

Probably the next beach.

What's it called?

Hanakapi'ai.

That one, yeah. Maybe

there, maybe further.

Need permits to go further.

Should have

given us a ride, man.

Come on.

So, after a $45 taxi ride, we

wind up at the Ocean View Hotel.

Sounds nice, doesn't it?

Problem is it hadn't actually

had an ocean view since 1987,

when these high-rises

went up across the street.

Jesus. Everyone's like,

"Waikiki is so great!"

Honestly, it's getting

on my last nerve.

Are we okay?

Yeah. Let's keep an

eye on our time, okay?

Yeah, but do those packs belong

to who I think they belong to?

Yeah, they said they were

doing the trail all along.

I don't know,

maybe they were.

Sh*t, it's 1:
30 already.

Come on, let's go.

Hey, baby,

you want to break this down?

We should be

clackalacking, too.

Okey-dokey.

Thank you.

So, you guys don't

mind if we tag along?

I mean, we're all

going to the same place.

It's fine with me.

Yeah. Are you kidding?

Did you take the permits?

No, I didn't touch them.

Well, I put them right

here in this brochure.

Did you leave

them at the store?

No. I'm pretty sure I put...

No, I'm positive I put... Sh*t!

While we're

still young, Cliff?

Yeah, one sec!

We leave no man behind.

These are some hard yards.

Guess you can't have rainbows

without a little rain. Right?

You hear that Cliff here

is a big screenplay writer?

You write for the movies?

Whoopty-tah.

Yeah, we say

screenwriter.

He's on the prowl for

a new story. Sorry.

You know, I could tell

you sh*t you ain't seen

in no Hollywood movie before.

You watch yourself now.

What?

What, what?

You know what.

Maybe Cliff here can change

the names to protect the guilty.

You guys do that

in movies, right?

Yeah.

You know Johnny Depp?

He knows Nic Cage.

You see him playing me in some movie?

Baby, you know Nic Cage?

Yeah. Yeah, I do now.

No. See, me, myself, I like

that Johnny Depp better.

I mean, he is just dreamy. I

mean, the way he looks at you.

Jesus Christ. Honey!

It all starts with story.

Am I right, Cliff?

Yeah.

You know, I once made a surprise

visit in a certain dictator's palace

on the Tigris River?

Newly evacuated. Still

smell the Havana tobacco

hanging in the air.

We were tasked with finding

perishable intel, computer dish,

sh*t like that.

But in the master bathroom,

about the size of f***ing

Ethiopia, by the way,

there's golden

dolphins for faucets.

There was this lock box

bolted to the floor,

had his initials

engraved on top.

We started beating on

that f***ing lock...

Wait, Iraq?

You were in Iraq?

Yeah, first in.

Me and my wolf pack.

F*** those pictures you saw of

the 4th Infantry. That was later.

What I'm giving you now

is God's real sh*t.

He is not supposed to be

talking about this stuff.

So, inside this box,

I figured maybe cash,

maybe a set of

pearl-handled pistolas.

Hell, maybe some damn fine

presidential-grade hashish.

We finally burned it open

with a 50-grain det cord.

It's a handy tool, det cord. Yeah.

Wrap it around a tree,

three-feet thick.

Drop it across a trail when

someone's hot on your ass.

Remember that trick.

Yeah. A det cord.

That's a nice detail.

Well, you gotta get

the details right, Cliff.

Otherwise, we're just making

another big craptastic movie.

So, we opened this thing.

What do we find?

What do we find?

What do we find?

Iron Man. Avengers. Dude was

a Silver Age Marvel freak.

And you know what he had most

of in his own personal stash?

I don't know, Nick.

I wasn't there.

Sub-Mariner.

All in French What?

For some reason.

Namor, prince of the deep?

Yeah.

Why Sub-Mariner? Isn't that,

like, one of the sh*t titles?

One theory,

tug-job material.

Mr. Presidente had a thing

for French-speaking fellows,

little Speedos and

big spears. One theory.

So, you were,

like, Special Ops.

What were you?

Seals? Rangers?

Officially,

I'm only allowed to say

that I've been

a sworn officer

participating in a tactical

phase of certain missions

that would make most

men want to crawl up

and hide inside

their own a**holes.

And unofficially?

I'm a goddamn American Jedi.

Possible title

number one, by the way.

Hey. See this?

Took a frag from a Bouncing

Betty. It's an antipersonnel mine.

Caved in the back

of my f***ing head.

Medevaced out to Germany.

Got my skull rebuilt

with space-age titanium.

Can't go through a metal

detector without ringing cherries,

but that's cool.

Lets me travel with Gilligan

just about wherever I want.

Gilligan?

My little buddy.

That's some toothpick.

Here's the kicker, though. When I

took that shrapnel, I never felt it.

I mean, I felt the impact and

I felt my backside go all wet,

but no real pain.

Now, maybe I don't

recall events in full.

They did scoop out a little gray

Spam back there, but get this.

My wolf pack? They will

swear that I was ambulatory

for more than 17 minutes

before they forced me

to lie down. Tackled me.

Even then I was looking to

monkey-f*** a Marlboro Light.

There's no nerve endings

in the brain, Cliff.

Remember that when

you write the scene.

Yeah. There's some

really good details there.

Yeah, he's really

hard to kill.

Hey. Y'all make it

to the beach?

Yeah, it's great.

Just keep going.

Hey. You see any rangers up ahead?

None that I saw.

It's only, like, three

miles to the beach, we hope?

Yeah, but lots of

twists and turns ahead.

Hey, the further we go, the

fewer people on the trail.

And your point is?

Back there.

Pretend you gotta pee.

Pretend?

The cops in Honolulu released

a photo of the killers.

Apparently, they didn't know

they were on camera.

Come on.

Sh*t.

What?

It could be anybody.

Are you sure about that?

They don't look

familiar to you?

Y'all good or what?

Having a bathroom break!

You are freaking me out!

It could be anybody.

I mean, what do we really

know about these people

aside from him

and his stories?

Which, I might add,

are starting to sound

more and more

bullshitty to me.

Next thing we're

going to find out

he's got the heart of

a baboon or something.

I think he's just

trying to impress.

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