Chapter 6
Isaac Uber’d home in the fog, the swirling June Gloom making for a comfortable companion for the tempest that was his thoughts. He would need his car to track down the cat unencumbered, but he needed to be quick about it. Time was of the essence. According to the A&E TV show The First 48, Isaac had 48 hours to find Captain Flapjacks before his chances to close the case were cut in half. This wasn’t good news, considering he had already wasted all 48 of them only to learn that Anne had misplaced the cat last week. Using the First 48 theorem, Isaac calculated that the odds of saving this cat were near zero. He smiled to himself. This was the perfect set-up for a good underdog Save the Cat story.
Isaac’s first lead was Beverly Hills, the city. He had to hit the bricks, knock on doors, and gather clues. This was turning from a hero’s journey story into a detective story, a neo-noir, and Isaac would be playing the gumshoe. It wasn’t an ideal development since bodily harm to the main character was a genre trope of detective stories. Still, he tried to feel good about it, wondering if he had already met his femme fatale in Anne... but those usually came in white.
Stop it, Isaac. He was getting ahead of himself. Time to focus, fucker. Perhaps someone in the neighborhood witnessed something. No strangers go unaccounted for in Beverly Hills, feline or otherwise. Those security systems were no joke. He felt confident in that assessment. Of course, it was impossible to know how many security cameras were in the area, but they probably out-populated the residents by a 6:1 margin, at least.
Isaac was disappointed when he returned to his apartment. Unfortunately, Seth wasn’t there to greet him. He would have liked to enlist Seth’s help in the case of the missing cat. It seemed like a clever idea to cover twice the ground in half the time. Hopefully, Seth’s selfish rescue of the Amber alert girl would end sooner rather than later.
After crossing to the east side of Centinela and out from underneath the cloud cover, Isaac was shocked to find it was near night. Without the sun, his internal clock had been thrown off. He kicked himself. Rookie mistake. Instead of the expected smooth sailing to Beverly Hills, he sat on Santa Monica Blvd for 30 minutes at a stop-and-go pace. While idling, he contemplated the significance of the Nuart’s midnight movie showing of Super Jesus. Incredible, Isaac thought. The movie was released two years ago, yet it was already featured on the nostalgia circuit.
Other contemplations he considered while caught in traffic were the current state of the homeless population and the cost of gas at the Chevron station. The price had exploded due to a recent refinery fire out by Long Beach. Isaac made a mental note to grocery shop at Von’s. He was usually a Ralph’s or Peterson’s guy, or maybe even go to Albertson’s or Gelson’s in a pinch, but it would be well worth going to Von’s from now on. Sure, it would mean foregoing self-checkout as a sacrifice, but he couldn’t pass up the 20 cents gas discount he’d receive from using his loyalty card. His trust fund was generous, but it wasn’t that generous.
He rolled up his window and stared at the homeless, not wanting to risk airborne transmission of their condition. They scared him real bad. His homeless-phobia was seeded, cultivated, and tended to by Dr. Rousseau. That, Dr. Rousseau repeatedly suggested, was the fate awaiting Isaac if he ever left his practice. Isaac examined the homeless for any signs of similarity between them and himself, and he was not reassured. Their strained eyes and pinched, dirty faces, illuminated by the blue light from their smartphones, matched his. Moreover, he was confounded by the logistics of this phone arrangement. He couldn’t figure it out. Where did they charge them? Who was their cell provider? What was their billing address? It was a strange world. Luckily, the traffic advanced to the next stop light before he had to philosophize any further.
Beverly Hills at night was a ghost town. Without the support economy of nannies, landscapers, dog walkers, and prostitutes around to fill out the place, the streets were still. Isaac was all alone except for the dark and the smooth sound of his bald wheels against the road wet with sprinkler water. There were no streetlights, and any house lights were blocked by the high, high hedges surrounding each estate. He flicked on his high beams, and his eyes scanned the headlight horizon in search of Captain Flapjacks. He rolled his window back down, hoping to catch a “meow” on the wind.
Isaac had to start somewhere, so he pulled up a driveway and parked alongside a call box adjacent to a wrought iron gate. There were no more of Anne’s missing posters to guide his way, and this was his best guess of where he was when Seth picked him up. He remembered a house from his previous (drug) trip. The landscaping was memorable, a topiary cut into the words “live,” “laugh,” “Lucifer.” The hedges at this house, however, spelled “live,” “laugh,” “love,” which couldn’t be a coincidence. Very clever. It was a good attempt to throw Isaac off the scent, but they wouldn’t fool him with a shoddy landscape re-design. He punched the call button, and a voice answered on the second ring, but Isaac couldn’t get three words out before the line went dead. The story was the same for the next three houses he tried. No one wanted to hear his sob story about a missing cat, but Isaac would not be deterred. He even tried to disguise his voice, but that failed, too. He didn’t find any more sympathy whether or not he pretended to be a census worker, a Mormon missionary, or a Thin Mint-pushing Girl Scout. Frustrated, Isaac spent the rest of his time cruising the streets, getting lost. He thought about giving up, but that wasn’t an option. He was trapped. There was still another hour or so to go before rush hour died down.
Then, by the grace of God, a clue! Isaac couldn’t believe his eyes. Emerging from under the cloak of darkness, at his biggest moment of need, was just who he was looking for. The key suspect was caught in the spot of his victim’s last know location. Wrapped in long, flowing red, white, and blue robes was the man, the myth, the messiah, in the flesh. Super Jesus. He was walking down the sidewalk, simple as that.
Isaac was awed, star-struck. This was old Hollywood magic at work. Chance encounters with celebrities were an everyday occurrence in LA, yet the novelty never wore off. In fact, that was the appeal. It’s why an LA address was a status symbol. It’s why people worldwide were willing to leave their comfortable and cheap small towns for the privilege of sitting in traffic, paying exorbitant rent prices, and eating at communal tables in restaurants. It was worth it for the life-affirming validation and the rush you received when occupying the same physical space as a celebrity. Because at that moment, they were no better than you. You were peers. You were together, walking in each other’s shoes, feeling the same sun, choking on the same smog. With their wealth and power, celebrities could do anything, but for at least this moment in time, they chose to do what you chose to do. You’ve made it. Both you and Pierce Brosnan woke up and decided to go to the Malibu Starbucks! This is what gives Sugarfish waitresses, the ones living in two-bedroom apartments with three roommates, the audacity to look their noses down on the neurosurgeons who call North Dakota home.
Isaac pulled his car over until two wheels ran over the curb. He got out of the car, yelling, “Mr. Super Jesus!”
“What’s up?” Super Jesus’s Spanish accent was as silken as the red sash wrapped around his waist. He was dressed in his full superhero regalia, not the off-the-clock uniform of his alter ego, Jesus Ornelas.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Not much, Super Jesus. How have you been? Staying busy, I hope.” Isaac surprised himself, unexpectedly beginning his interrogation of his suspect by playing the good cop. He wished Seth was here to see his very un-Slytherin-like behavior.
“Oh, yes. The devil doesn’t take a day off. Now how can I hashtag bless you?”
“I need some advice.”
“Say no more. I got you.” Super Jesus stared at Isaac for a long time, sizing him up. “You’re lost. Spiritually, physically, and emotionally. All of the above. You need to stop listening to others. Don’t even listen to me. Stop minding your mind as well. Your thoughts are the fruit of the poisoned Tree of Knowledge. ”
“...”
“Listen to this instead.” He stuck a finger to Isaac’s chest. “Bah-bump. Bah-bump. Bah-bump-bump-bump. Bah-bump.” Super Jesus mocked a heartbeat before transitioning into a bumping beatbox. He rapped,
“The good dude above created you
That’s true, that’s true
You’re eager, you’re bold, you’re dope
Heart beating so hard you don’t need no stethoscope
Still, you’re told you’re this, you’re that, you’re no good
But you’re made in the image of your creator, understood?
(You’re the man in the mirror)/
You, too, are that good dude.
(Man in the mirror, the man in the mirror).”
When it was clear the impromptu rap was over, Isaac responded, “I’ll take that under advisement, but I was really hoping you could tell me where Captain Flapjacks is.” He presented Anne’s flier to Super Jesus, who took it and looked it over.
“Never seen him.” Super Jesus gave the flier back to Isaac.
Isaac stared blankly at him, disbelieving. “I saw you with him in my dream.”
Super Jesus cringed and started looking for the exits.
“I’m not suggesting you’ve done anything untoward with the cat, sexually speaking, and I can assure you I won’t pry any further into your personal life once I’m in possession of him. This is a safe space-”
A car with a glowing pink Lyft sign on the windshield pulled up alongside Isaac and Super Jesus, interrupting them. Several tourists spilled out and rushed towards them, except the one in the passenger seat pleading for their driver to wait a minute. As they approached, Isaac struck a defensive position, but Super Jesus accepted them with open arms. Before Isaac could process or protest, a tourist pushed his iPhone into Isaac’s chest.
“Horizontal, please. No flash.” The tourist directed Isaac before he could tell them no.
“¡Dios Mio!” the group shouted while posing with Super Jesus instead of the customary “Cheese!” Isaac snapped photos of the happy group, some serious and some with funny faces.
“Tips are appreciated,” Super Jesus suggested as the group disbanded. The tourist who negotiated with the Lyft driver slipped a folded twenty into Super Jesus’ sash before they all piled into the Lyft and sped off.
“Godspeed,” Super Jesus called out after them.
It took until the car disappeared down the street for Isaac to find his voice. “You’re not the real Super Jesus! You’re a common whore.”
Super Jesus looked bewildered. “Of course not. Why would I be?”
“What am I supposed to think? Why are you dressed up like that, then? Do the words ‘identity theft’ mean anything to you?”
“I’m an actor.”
“You’re Manny Ortega, then.”
“I’m not the actor. I’m an actor. This is my side gig. I dress up as Super Jesus and take pictures in front of the real Super Jesus’s house for tourists,” he pointed across the street to a grandiose estate guarded by a pair of impressive pearly gates. “Sometimes I do birthday parties.”
“Great. Thanks for nothing,” Isaac huffed, not waiting for a response nor taking the business card handed to him.
“Good luck finding your cat!” Super Jesus called out to Isaac, who was already making his way across the street to the actual Super Jesus’s home. Unfortunately, St. Peter wasn’t there to greet him, but another call box was. He pressed the button, and a woman answered. This time he had the right magic words, claiming to be a delivery driver from Postmates.
The gates opened to grant him admission. Isaac breathed a sigh of relief and walked up the long, meandering driveway lined with Italian cypress that led to a bright, red front door. He pulled the ornate door knocker and didn’t have to wait long, which he appreciated. His nerves were frayed to the point of shredding his synapses.
“You’re not from Postmates.” A blonde woman in her 30s, adorned with severe facial features, greeted Isaac. She looked much more like Margot Robbie than Anne, but she still wasn’t the real deal. Isaac was getting warmer, though. Perhaps the next woman he met...
“You’re not Super Jesus,” Isaac countered.
“He’s not on the premises.”
“Will he return soon?”
“No, he’s off performing miracles,” the woman stated plainly, referring to a promotion program for the upcoming Super Jesus sequel where Super Jesus went around the city performing marketing stunts/miracles for the benefit of the masses. Previous miracles included returning water to the LA river for a weekend of fun in the sun and bringing Arrested Development back from the dead.
“Where is that at?”
“I would encourage you to follow our social media accounts if you’re interested in attending a miracle, or you can look to the head apostle at your local Disciple chapter. You can subscribe to the newsletter.”
“I’m not a member.”
“Yet,” the woman corrected.
“Yet,” Isaac submitted, breaking the woman’s terse facial expression. The thaw was on with this ice queen until the receiver for the callbox rang, causing Isaac to jump from fright. It was the delivery driver, the real one, and that was it for Isaac’s stay at the Super Jesus compound. The woman did not say goodbye.
It was time to go home. Isaac had failed in his quest for the cat. He mashed the pedal as he pulled his car away from the curb. It felt good, letting his frustration out and allowing the wind to whip his hair back, freeing him from his thoughts, but the peace was not meant to last. Instead, the car squealed when its wheels locked, fighting for traction. Isaac was too late to the brakes. The car swung in a violent fishtail. His stomach dropped as he felt the driver’s side wheels lift up as they ran something over. The vehicle stopped. Once it did, Isaac leaped out and ran towards the cat-shaped lump in the road.
Isaac had found Captain Flapjacks, but he never thought he’d have to save the cat by giving him CPR. So in between rounds of mouth-to-mouth, Isaac gave Captain Flapjacks chest compressions and sang the Bee Gees.
Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother
You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'
And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive