Cabo Diablo, Part One: Spring Prison Break

At an undisclosed location somewhere near the equator...

"Welcome to picturesque Cabo Diablo, the all-inclusive resort for the extra special, otherly-moraled individuals who work hard, and are ready to play harder!" the perky attendant ("Kelly" judging by her name tag) greeted them as they filed off of the bus.

"Otherly whatsis?" a thuggish brute in a jersey that read "Bronx Bomber" grunted, tossing his dufflebag down and wiping his brow.

"Supervillains, my middling Mr. MENSA" replied the next passenger off of the bus, sweeping his dark cape aside with a flourish. "She means Nightmarish ne'er do-wells, Maleficent malcontents, Devilish doers of dastardly deeds: the Cabo club's corrupt clientèle."

"Well, why didn't she just say so?" the muscled man grumbled "Fer that matter, why didn't you just say so without alla that fruity stuff tacked on?"

"As to the initial inquiry, I would hazard to hypothesize that our helpful host hesitated to hoist upon our happy horde harmful headings which have historically had hostile heroes haul us to the hoosegow. And additionally, as for your asinine inability to ascertain my appellation..."

"He's the Alliterative Anarchist already!" A woman in a green, yellow and black jester outfit hollered over her shoulder as she struggled to pull an overstuffed suitcase through the folding doors of the bus by putting both feet on either side of the exit and pulling with all her might. "Ehn! And he apparently talks his victims to death... Urg!... or to freedom, or whatever it is he does other than yammer...Jeeze! You'd think he'd... Eeep !" She let out an undignified squeal as the obstinate luggage gave way, tumbling bag and owner into the lushly manicured bushes flanking the driveway. A belled head popped back up out of the tropical foliage as if nothing had transpired. "Listen, Allie... It's none of my business, but have you considered another shtick? I only ask 'cause your odds of being shanked in the shower are really high with this current bit. And as someone who has done a fair deal of couple's counseling, I don't even mean in jail."

"Aw, cripes... I've heard of you" the brute with the dufflebag groaned as she somersaulted out of the flowerbed. "Yer that wacko Mary Prankstar. As if being trapped on this island with this certifiable nutjob wasn't enough..."

A middle-aged man in a loud shirt was the next to disembark. "You're all... villains? Like, super-villains?" he asked, wide eyed. "Why are you here?"

"Well, we were going to have the big 2007 Villain expo at Disney World..." the clown girl noted, "...but the Southern Baptists convinced us it was too unsavory."

"Villain Expo?" the man gulped.

"Sure!" the bubbly woman replied. "Every year the mid-range adversarial types have a big to-do with meet-and-greets, product demonstrations, seminars, the whole she-bang. Gotta keep up with the industry, you know. Although, mostly I come for the free schwag."

"Wait... So this isn't Hedonism II?" he asked, looking over the resort grounds in a panic. "Do they still have a nude hot tub?"

"Depends if Velcro Vixen is here yet" she replied, shrugging. "Or if the Evil Monkey has gotten enough drinks in him yet."

"What're ya telling him all of this for?" the Bronx Bomber grumbled. "Lookit him! He ain't one of us."

"Which means he can appreciate some good exposition, almost as if he were some everyman that others could identify with, allowing them to better know and understand the events that were about to unfold." Mary Prankstar sniffed. "What? You want I should let Wordy McWordsworthson fill him in on the plot?"

"Invariably, I invoke intricate and informative invective in impeccably illustrating..."

"Shut-up, nerdlinger" the bomber growled succinctly, then thrust a meaty finger into the tourist's chest. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Duane... Duane Hoffman. From, uh, Minnesota? I... I'm supposed to be on my vacation... I just asked my travel agent to book me for a stay at one of those "anything goes" resorts for my 40th birthday! I don't want to die!" he pleaded. "I just got my hair plugs!"

"Er... Fine job on those, Duane. Nice and bristly" Mary noted with encouragement. "Not many people think to save money by combining their choice of outpatient surgical hospitals with nearby Latin American resorts..."

There was a crunching squeal of protest from the vehicle's springs as the last of the notable passengers stepped from the bus onto the driveway. This behemoth of a man straightened up, his tattered and rotting clothing parting to show off a chiseled physique that shone with an unhealthy green glow. "This unseemly blubbering offends the Abyssal Luminosis" the monstrous ghoul announced. "Quiet your meat pet, or I shall be forced to do it for you."

"Hey!" Mary Prankstar complained, stepping protectively in front of Duane. "Get your own meat-pet to slap around! 'Sides, I don't cotton to taking orders from dead guys. Especially ones from Chernobyl."

"You... resort chattel!" Luminosis called, pointing an undead hand at Kelly the hostess who had her clipboard hugged protectively to her chest ever since the first of the passengers stepped down. "What is your pet policy?"

She blinked. "There is a $15 per night room charge for all pets, which must be properly vaccinated and spayed or neutered."

"Very well. Check to see that this one is compliant."

Kelly and Duane exchanged alarmed looks. "I have a reservation!" he croaked.

"Duane, Duane..." Mary sighed. "With that hair, you probably weren't going to get a better opportunity."

"Um... allow me to orient you on your stay at the beautiful Cabo Diablo..." Kelly segued back to her script and started walking briskly. "As an all inclusive resort, we offer a great many recreational activities for you to enjoy day or night, whether it be para-sailing on the beautiful bay, or scuba lessons along our famous coral reef. All of your meals at our many fine dining rooms are completely free, while drinks may be acquired in exchange for beads, which were provided to you at the airport as part of your vacation package..."

"Wait... hold up!" the Bronx Bomber noted in alarm. "Those little plastic beads work as money here?" he choked.

"Bet you wish you hadn't thrown 'em out the window at those nuns on the ride in, screaming "Show us your tits!"..." the clown girl noted.

"I wish that Mother Superior hadn't obliged..." Duane shuddered.

"Er..." Kelly blinked, then hurried back to the safety of the script on her clipboard. "After a short orientation, you will be paired up with your roommates before..." She flinched reflexively as she heard 5 sets of luggage hit the pavement in unison.

"Whaddaya mean..." a Bronx accent asked slowly and dangerously, "...Roommates?"

"Sir, I must again protest!"

Roni Y. Avis rolled his eyes from the confines of his office within the grand hotel as he finished buttoning up his silk Hawaiian shirt. The tip of his tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he was being careful not to snag the Tommy Bahama original on the polished steel hook that served as his hand. The work of an entrepreneur was never done, it seemed. "Really, Butterfield? Must you? What's crawled up your nether regions this time?"

"The class of our guests, sir!" the resort manager huffed in exasperation. "When I invited you into this venture, I never..."

"You mean when you came begging for me to save this dump from going under by investing oodles of cash in it?" the businessman corrected. "Warren, Warren...Surely you knew there would be some adjustments made, right? I mean, you managed to run this place into the ground doing things "your way", which would seem to pretty much prove "your way" sucks. Meanwhile, I've made bazillions in everything from internet spam to reality television, and even some less high-class ventures, so I think we'll be sticking with "my way" for a good long while." He doffed a white hat to complete his island look. "So the new clientèle is a little rough around the edges. What's the big deal?"

"What's the "big deal", you say?" the stuffy islander replied, shocked. "It was bad enough when the guests poolside were paying inappropriate attention to the wait staff's derrières, but this latest incident goes too far! We simply cannot stay in business if such liberties are taken with the evening's talent!"

"What? Did someone ask for an autograph on an unusual piece of anatomy?" Avis shrugged. "That's not so odd. I hear you don't want to ask the Appalling Appendage Man to see his collection of signatures. To think he never washes those..."

"Rather a bit more problematic than that, sir!" Warren Butterfield sputtered. "The headliner for tonight's welcoming gala has been devoured whole!"

This was enough to make the billionaire pause. "Um... Janet?" he asked, depressing the intercom button on his mahogany desk. "Did somebody eat Jimmy Buffett?"

"I believe so, sir" his personal assistant answered calmly in her nasally voice. "During rehearsals. It appears to have been "Gromm the Living Flatulence", from most reports sir. It's possible he was confused by the name."

"Well, there you go!" Avis addressed his resort manager. "A simple misunderstanding. And I wouldn't worry too much... Things go right through Gromm . It'll be okay... we'll just have to set up the stage downwind from the beach, is all. Still, Janet... see if you can get Harry Bellefonte on speed dial just in case. Oh! And the poolside wait-staff need new uniforms. Something with a prominent "Avis Amalgamated" logo on the rear. Possibly in braille." He looked to Warren. "Anything else?"

The impeccably dressed man clenched his fists and tried again. "Sir, when my family founded this resort, it was as a respite for the upper class... royalty, leaders of industry, heads of state. We offered a quiet and dignified setting, where those that shaped the world could unwind from the unbelieveable pressures that such an existence exerted upon the upper crust."

"Yes, and it's still a playground for the moneymakers today, so I don't see what you're griping about" Avis countered. "Do you know what that "Girls Gone Wild" guy pulls down in a year? Which reminds me..." He pressed the intercom once again. "Janet? We do employee psychological screenings, don't we? Go ahead and put together a list of the girls on staff with low self esteem and send it on out to the camera crew in Cabana 12." He tapped his hook to his lips. "What was I saying? Oh yes! You have to roll with the times, Warren... This is where the money is today! Look at the tabloids... All the rich and famous have three things in common..." He ticked them off on his good hand. "No scruples to speak of, nothing but the most wasteful plans for the money they make, and one crazy-ass fashion sense. Now, what other segment of society shares those same traits?" He gave a winning smile and held up a 2007 Expo in Villainy brochure. "C'mon... work with me Butterfield... you're the one who didn't want to go with the Bermuda Triangle theme park I proposed..."

"We are nowhere near the Bermuda Triangle!"

"Who studies geography any more? And the whole point is that people get lost in it anyway..." he waved it off. "Forget it... I'm not having this argument any more. Look, these guests are just as refined on the inside as anyone you've welcomed here in the past. They're just looking to have a good time on an island with no extradition treaties, and have been S.O.L. ever since that ferny little guy took over Badripoor. Besides, you want upper crust?" He pulled up the convention attendee list. "Look at these names... Dr. Moo, Dr. Loveray, Dr. Krotch... why, there are more doctors on here than your average pharmaceutical junket. And you want royalty? Count MacFrugal, the Discount Count? Check. Princess Uuuukulele of the Sea Monkeys? Check. And look at this... "the Queen of the Universe"." He tapped the clipboard solidly. "She probably needs 5 rooms for her retainers alone. Talk about adding class."

"Is that last one added in crayon?"

"Probably a typo."

"How is crayon a..."

"Butterfield... Warren... relax." He put an arm around the hotel manager and patted him on the back, causing him to wince as the hook prodded between his shoulder blades. "You have a resort filled to the brim with guests for the first time in years, and all they want is to have a good time." Roni Y. Avis gave him his most reassuring smile. It was the same one he gave his mother when he offered to take her for that "ride in the country". "I ask you... What could possibly go wrong?"

to be continued by Lisa

Post By Visionary Wed Apr 04, 2007 at 12:45:33 am EDT	Subject Cabo Diablo, Part One: Spring Prison Break

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