The Imguraffe Story

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
funnylikeImaclown (henceforth FLC)
ThePelican (henceforth P)
FLC: Excuse me for asking, but are they an interracial couple?
P: I love you. Yes, yes, they are!! They are also from the 1930s and enjoy jazz dancing and bootlegged wine!
FLC: I knew it!! She did some jazz singing as well, didn’t she, that’s how they met, right? :)
P: He stood in for the pianist in her band a few times. They fell madly in love.
FLC: Exactly. They did have to keep it a secret for a while. It was the 30s you know… Only the bartender knew.
P: Then they ran away and got married, and when they returned to the New Orleans jazz scene they laid low.
FLC: But she couldn’t take it anymore. Singing in the bathroom wasn’t enough. She knew she was better than all those other giraffe vocals.
P: THEN WHAT HAPPENED?!
FLC: Well, first they had to ask the bartender to let them come after hours and rehearse in secret. Little did they know that the bartender was in fact the famous Big Jim, the best harmonica player west of NYC ever to live. Yeah, and being a hippo, Big Jim had amazing lung capacity which helped him play longer than anyone else could.
P: I bet I know why they called him BIG Jim, amirite?
FLC: It’s an urban myth, no one has ever confirmed it, except for maybe… nah, she wouldn’t.
P: *gasp* Not Lottie the Leopard? I always knew she was a temptress!
FLC: Yep. The one and only. Big Jim knew there was trouble ahead as soon as that dame first came into the bar.
P: But when she eyeballed him from under those long lashes, he poured her a drink anyway.
FLC: “Bourbon. Hold the rocks,” she would say every time and blow a cloud of finest cigarette smoke straight to his face. Big Jim was going crazy.
P: He held the rocks, although from that first moment he resolved to get her holding his own, no matter what it took.
FLC: He enjoyed their little silences. Just a hippo and a leopard, exchanging glances. But then, she began telling him her story…
P: Lottie wasn’t always the self-assured predator that Big Jim knew. Before she strolled onto the jazz scene she was someone altogether different.
FLC: Her parents were killed in the ’24 zoo raids. Alone and helpless, she ended up on the streets. The cruel streets of the Big Easy.
P: She swept floors, ate from skip bins, and turned tricks just to survive, until one day she stumbled onto stage at a burlesque audition.
FLC: It was like a dream come true. The stage was the world and she was the wind fondling it. She knew. The audience knew. A star was born.
P: And sitting below the stage, the harmonica player watched, and played, and made plans.
FLC: For him, she was a symbol of something he never had. Purity. She was his way out of the bootlegging business he went into a year ago.
P: She loved his solid dependability and his easygoing laugh, and together they set out to carve their own little piece of paradise.
FLC: Until he showed his real face. His name was Frankie Four Fingers, the Big Easy pimp number one.
P: Our little Lottie was properly duped, and she paid the price for her naivety. Under Frankie’s oily controls, she sank lower than ever.
FLC: A single tear went down Lottie’s face. “So, Frankie, it seems we will see each other again…brother,” Big Jim whispered.
P: He wiped the last glass, threw a meaningful nod toward the doorman, and, fitting his fedora on his head, he slipped into the night.
FLC: Ms. Imguraffe, sitting at the last barstool, went to the payphone. “Operator, 2911.” “It’s time,”
she said to the man on the other side.
P: She stepped casually across the smoky room, then turned to offer  a sly wink to the handsome guy at the piano. He slowly smiled back and began a loud and attention-grabbing solo on the instrument, fingers flying. Gladys nodded once, approvingly, then slipped behind a curtain. In the back room she swiftly strapped a deadly-looking stiletto to her thigh and picked up her parasol. Tonight, the Imguraffes would look after their own.
FLC: Meanwhile, Big Jim was walking through the rainy streets of the Big Easy, thinking, “That’s why she came to me. I reminded her of him.”
P: The Imguraffe trailed him silently, closing in on the bulky form until he fell in step, quietly murmuring, “All good, big guy?”
FLC: From the sides of the dark alley they started appearing, one by one. Tommy Gun Bill, the cat pianist.
P: Awkward Joe, king of the misfits, and his never-absent nephew, Sappy.
FLC: Finally they stopped, as in front stood Charlie the Blade. Mr. Imguraffe himself. “You rascals thought you could have all the fun without me?”
P: His face was dark under the brim of his foppish top hat, and a toothpick dangled from his lip. He smiled grimly at Big Jim.
FLC: He walked to Ms. Imguraffe slowly, then all of a sudden grabbed her around the waist, making her helpless in his arms.
P: “Hello, Charlie.” She spoke a little breathlessly, and scrambled a semblance of dignity. Then she pulled out the stiletto. “Let go.”
FLC: They walked on, not noticing a silhouette standing under the lantern. In a rain coat, with a heat tucked over his eyes, stood detective BARTELS.
P: The gang continued down the rain-slick street, each lost in their own thought, moving with quiet determination, led by Charlie and Gladys.
FLC: The rain was subsiding over the New Orleans docks, while drunken sailors and ladies of the night emerged from their outdoor love nests.
P: No one paid the group any heed as they moved along the docks to a warehouse with a lock on the door and a man with a violin case outside.
FLC: Inside the warehouse, on a skull-labeled crate, sat Frankie Four Fingers surrounded by his crew. “Can any of you schmucks get her back?”
P: Peering in through a high window, Sappy the penguin watched as Frankie raged at his henchmen.
FLC: “Frankie, I told you from day one: that dame is trouble,” said Bugsy the hyena. A slap on the snout quickly reminded him who was boss.
P: Big Jim let out an audible growl at the mention of “that dame”. This startled Awkward, who bumped into a steel trash can, making it clang.
FLC: “What was that?” whispered Vinny, the one-eyed coyote. “Go check it out,” he ordered Jimmy the weasel.
P: Dodging past Charlie, Gladys threw her shoulders back and stepped out of the shadows, strolling up to the weasel with a sultry stare.
FLC: “Say ‘Everything all right out here’, weasel, or I will make you feel sorry you were born,” muttered Gladys, pulling back the revolver handle.
P: Jimmy the weasel swallowed hard, but the giraffe’s eyes were uncompromising, and the butt of the gun was cold. He stammered out the words.
FLC: “Thattaboy,” whispered Charlie. “What do we do with this piece of scum?” “I have no business with him,” said Big Jim, charging his gun.
P: “Get going, weasel.” Gladys gave him a hard shove away from the warehouse and glanced up at Charlie. Jimmy’s footsteps died away in the dark.
FLC: Putting the last bullet in the barrel, Big Jim sighed. “Wish me luck, doll,” he said, as if addressing a guardian angel.
P: Before anyone could stop him, he strode through the warehouse door. He came to a standstill in front of his brother. “Frank.”
FLC: Frankie’s life flashed in front of his eyes. He remembered two boys, James and Frank Woods, identical twins raised in Memphis, Tennessee.
P: Two boys who did everything together: memories of school days and summer days and rainy nights like this one washed over Frankie Four Fingers.
FLC: They would play their harmonicas all day long. So much that even good ol’ Miss Daisy, their old cheetah neighbor, got tired of their racket.
P: And then… then came the disagreement. The night when everything changed and Frankie and Jimmy lost each other forever.
FLC: The night of their eighteenth birthday. They were spending it in the backyard enjoying their two passions. Harmonicas and Wendy…Wendy Smalls.
P: Big Jim stood watching Frank, and he judged the moment just right. “Remember Wendy, Frankie? Remember that sweet laugh? That trusting look?
FLC: I should have taken from you a lot more than just one finger for what you did that night.”
P: “You’re a low-down, filthy coward, and this menagerie”—Jim spat the word— “ain’t fit to look Miss Lottie’s way.” He leveled the gun. Anger emanated from Frankie like heat from a whiskey still. His teeth were clenched. He was completely still, his eyes focused behind them.
FLC: But the cautious blood of the Woods ran through his veins as well. He was prepared. Ten rats, his execution squad, emerged from the top floor.
P: Frank stood up. His bulk seemed to fill the warehouse and he grinned evilly as he bit the end off a fresh cigar. “And so, brother dear…”
FLC: “Not so tough now, are ya? Tell your small town band to put their guns down. I am the bandmaster around here,” he said with a smirk.
P: Charlie nodded once, and slowly lowered his weapon to the floor. The others followed his lead, grumbling about their bad luck.
FLC: Bill couldn’t take it. “Bandmaster? Sure. But tonight we only play… RED HOT JAZZ!” he yelled, spraying a round of bullets at the rats.
P: Amid the pandemonium that followed everyone scrambled for their weapons. A long, sharp knife appeared in Charlie’s hand. He wasn’t called Charlie the Blade for nothing.
FLC: Sappy the penguin, whom everyone forgot, shouted from the top window, “Charlie, the nets!” With the speed of a cheetah he threw the knife.
P: It whistled through the air and sliced a rope. Frankie Four Fingers gave a shout and tried to run, but it was too late.
FLC: Helpless, Frankie’s gang was under heavy cargo nets shooting aimlessly in the air. Big Jim aimed at Frankie. “Don’t!” shouted Gladys.
P: “He’s a mongrel, Gladys,” growled out the hippo. Gladys reasoned with him. “He’s not worth that. Leave him here for the cops.”
FLC: “Listen to him, Big Jim,” said Detective Bartels calmly. He was standing at the door with ten uniforms. “Don’t be foolish.”
P: Charlie dropped a hand onto Jim’s shoulder. “It’s sorted. Why don’t you go find Lottie?” He reached an arm around Gladys and smiled at Jim.
FLC: “Okay,” said Jim. “But if I ever see him anywhere near Lottie, Bartels, I will hold you responsible and I WILL come knocking. Deal?”
P: The detective nodded grimly. “With what’s in this warehouse, we’ve got enough to put your brother away for a long, long time.”
FLC: Big Jim kicked the tangled bodies of Frankie’s gang, muttered “I will make sure prison welcomes you the way you deserve,” and dropped the gun.
P: Gladys grinned up at Charlie. “You’re quite masterful when you take charge,” she murmured. “Why don’t we go celebrate this little success?”
FLC: “I know a guy who can get us a scotch or two,” said Awkward Joe, winking jokingly. “I hope the boys in blue won’t mind. To the bar, Jimmy boy?”
P: Tommy Gun Bill gave a satisfied flick of his tail and opened his mouth to speak. A voice from the window interrupted him. “Uh, a little help?”
FLC: Laughter echoed through the warehouse, as Sappy nervously waited to come down. Charlie stood on a crate, stretching his long neck upwards.
P: Reunited on the ground again, they gathered on the dock. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east and the air was full of petrichor.
FLC: While Frankie’s handcuffed crew was being placed in cars behind them, they stood in line, still holding weapons, and gazed at the sunrise.
P: Detective Bartels approached Charlie and held out his hand. “You’re lucky nothing worse happened here today,” he grunted.
FLC: “We held it under control. Two years of trench battles against the Kaiser back in ’16 teached you a thing or two about tactics and discipline.”
P: They thanked the man for his help and walked slowly back to Big Jim’s Jazz Club. Lottie was waiting when they arrived.
FLC: While Jim was still pouring Awkward’s best bootlegged Scotch, the sound of the piano filled the room. Charlie started playing.
P: Gladys began to sing. Lottie gave Big Jim a speculative look then dragged him, protesting, onto the dance floor. The boys stamped and whistled.
FLC: Gladys winked to Charlie, thus suggesting him to play “Smoke gets in your eyes”, the slowest of the slow love songs. The scene was set.
P: Unexpectedly, Awkward Joe’s voice joined Gladys’ in a pleasant baritone. “When your heart’s on fiiire, smoke gets in your eyes…” and it sounded a little like this: http://ww.youtube.com/watch?v=R_OkmVtUaAO
FLC: Lottie looked straight into Big Jim’s eyes, and, before the refrain was over, she kissed him. The kiss lasted until the end of the song.
P: Laughing, Charlie joined Gladys by the piano and settled his hands on her waist. “Well, baby?” he asked. “Should we make it a double wedding?”
FLC: “I thought you’d never ask,” she whispered in his ear. She placed his hand on her stomach. “Imgunior? Really?” She nodded with a smile…
P: …and started to sing again, softly. “Fly me to the moon…” The strains of Jim’s harmonica joined Bill’s piano, and they danced.
FLC: THE
P: END.