[Tyrana]: 64.Striped Bandits

Us three were all sitting around Fred’s tiny city apartment the day after the party. It had been an all-nighter, but we eventually ended up stumbling down the sidewalk to crash at Fred’s place, though I’m not sure when. We had nothing to do, and no money to spend. This lack of money led to lack of troublemaking, which in turn caused a looming boredom. Through the slight haze of cigar smoke, we gazed at the flickering screen of Fred’s crappy ol’ TV set. It picked up only one channel. Right now, this channel had the local news on it. Apparently, something about these two guys… they call ‘em… the striped bandits; or something equally as ridiculous. From what I could hear through the static, and Jim’s violent, Heimlich-like snoring, these… bandits… dressed up in goofy striped zoot suits, and robbed liquor stores. A crime in itself, I think… alcohol abuse, if you will…
The police were offering some exorbitant amount of money for a candid video.
“Apparently, the police wanna make ‘dese guys local celebrities, or summin’,” Fred laughed, then gave Jim a good whack, causing him to spill his drink in his lap. He cursed, soaked up as much of it as he could with the cuffs of his sleeves, and promptly fell back into his temporary coma. “For datamounta money, though… I’d almost consider buyin’ a new camera… hell… a couplea new cameras. Set ‘em all out side the booze holes.” Needless to say, there was no shortage of liquor facilities around here.
We sat for a while longer. Jim in his unconscious state (which could have been due to laziness or drunkedness. But with Jim, it usually didn’t really matter), me sitting with my legs along the counter, and Fred in the big chair. Well, technically, I should say on the big chair… or even overlapping the big chair. Fred was a big guy.
We had been just sittin’ for quite some time. Drinking and smoking and whatnot; this is when Fred began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Asked Jim, his eyes still half-closed, ready to shut again if what was so funny to Fred turned out to be less amusing to him.
“Well… heh… I was thinkin’…” He paused. Fred wasn’t too bright. His brain doesn’t tick very often, so when it does, it takes a substantial amount of oiling. “I was thinkin’… It would be a good time… Yous two should dress up like ‘dose two pansy-ass striped clowns, and wander around down to Carl’s… You know… pull one over.” Carl’s was one of the many liquor stores in the area. Incidentally, the owner, Carl, was vague acquaintances with Fred. And Fred, being a wily fellow…
“Yeah, I dunno. Dressin’ up like a pansy-ass stripe-clown ain’t exactly what I had planned for this evening,” I said, hoping that Fred wouldn’t point out that I didn’t, in fact, have any plans for the evening.
“Aww, c’mon. Jim’ll do it! An’ you’ll be in and outta there in no time. Carl’s a sport! It’ll be a good time!” At the sound of his name, Jim’s eyes half-opened again.
“What am I doin’, now, Fred?”
“You’n’ Bill are gonna pull one over on Carl down to the booze shop.”
Jim gave a faint grunt.
“What if they think we’re the real thing, though?” I asked. “I mean, if we get arrested…”
“Oh, no worry about that,” Said Fred. “You two ain’t exactly professional. Besides, the cops obviously don’t want anything to do with it. They’re sendin’ the people out to take pictures of the two clowns…”

Well, after some persuasion, and quite a few more drinks, I agreed to play along with Fred’s joke, however overrated, and Jim agreed to… well… get out of the chair, at least. Which was a start.
Being intoxicated as we were, making striped suits was only a matter of painting stripes on the suits we wore last night to the party.
“If this gets out, maybe it’ll show those two crooks how goofy they really look,” said Fred as we walked out the door. “Especially if Carl catches you on tape. It’ll be all over the news… Hey… if he does catch you on tape, and the police bite, maybe Carl’ll be good enough to gimme some of that prize money!” At this, we all had a good laugh. Although Fred wasn’t prided in his intelligence, he could come up with some pretty funny junk sometimes.
The two of us walked… um… or staggered; call it what you like; down the apartment stairs and onto the sidewalk. I know the story isn’t particularly humorous as I tell it to you now, but I’ll let you know: we were downright giddy as we stepped out onto the street in our bizarre threads.
Jim turned around when we reached the sidewalk, and looked up into Fred’s window to wave. I saw Jim look, and, stopped in a half-wave, as his smile faded, and he shook his head.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “I just can’t freaking believe it.”
“What is it?” I asked. I looked up at the window and saw Fred just as Jim said:
“The damned bastard’s got a camcorder.”