The Field Trip Part IX - The Final Chapter

“Mr. Vancouver, if you collected all these people for revenge then why did you let the crack head go?” Ginny asks.

“That crack head was my other brother,” I say.

There are oohs and ahs from the class. Statically four in ten of these little bastard will get hooked on something during their adulthood. I’d like to be around to ooh and ah them.

“You were going to kill your brother?” Billy asks.

I smack Billy on the back of his head. “No, I wasn’t going to kill my brother. I was going to save him. He never did anything wrong. He was a victim just like me.”

“A victim of what?” Amber asks.

I look at Mr. Bunion and scowl. “Nothing…something long ago. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Did Mr. Bunion do something?” Ginny asks. “You said he was just a substitute. What did he ever do to you?”

“Mr. Bunion,” I say and point accusingly at him, “has been the janitor here for thirty years. Haven’t you Mr. Bunion?”

Mr. Bunion looks at me with his tired, red rimmed eyes and nods.

“He used to take young boys down into the furnace room…”

“Is that what happened to your brother?” Ginny asks.

I nod. The children in the room gasp.

“That’s fucked up,” the whore says. She’s got spunk and I like that. Maybe she’ll live an then again maybe she won’t.

“It is fucked up,” I say. “Mr. Bunion, I want you to go up to the chalk board and write ‘I am a pathetic piece of shit child molester,’ ten thousand times on the chalkboard.”

“Then Mr. Bunion really wasn’t a substitute?” Ginny says.

“No, he wasn’t,” I say. “Mr. Bunion, did you hear me? I asked you go up to the chalk board and write.”

“I can’t write. My hands are handcuffed behind my back.”

The old man begins to cry. Greasy tears run down his saddle bag like cheeks.

“Use your fucking teeth,” I say.

Ginny shoots up from her desk like a hydrophobic woodchuck runs from a sponge bath. “You can’t just go around and kill everyone that has done bad things to you.”

“Maybe I can’t but Peter can. Peter, I want you to shoot Mr. Bunion,” I say.

Peter reaches for his backpack and then stops.

“What are you waiting for?” I say. “Shoot him. Shoot him now!”

“I’ll shoot him,” Billy says, running towards me.

I rear back and backhand Billy hard across the face and he falls to the ground. He lies on the floor and begins to cry.

“I didn’t tell you to shoot him, Billy. I told Peter to do it. Now, shoot that piece of shit, Peter.”

Peter looks at Mr. Bunion and then to Ginny and then to me. “I uh, I don’t want to shoot him, Mr. Vancouver,” he says.

I walk over and backhand Peter hard, knocking the pistol out of his hand. Peter hits the ground and the guns squirts out of his hand.

The kids are all screaming and crying. The end is near. I walk back up to my desk and get the can of gasoline that I put there this morning and pour it over my desk.

“Stop it Mr. Vancouver you’re scaring us,” Ginny cries.

I set the can of gasoline down and remove another pistol from the pocket of my suit coat. I hold it to Mr. Bunion’s head.

“No, don’t kill him,” Ginny cries. “If he did bad things then the police will arrest him. I will tell them what he did.”

“Please don’t shoot me,” Mr. Bunion cries.

“Are you sure about that, Ginny? Child molesters are horrible people,” I say.

“Believe me I know they are but if you kill him you’re going to really screw up all these kids worse than they already are.”

“Fuck them,” I say and pushed the gun up against Mr. Bunion’s head.

CRACK!

A bullet hits me in the chest and I fall. The pressure in my chest is incredible but I still manage to pull the trigger of my pistol. Don’t fret, it’s a cigarette lighter. A flame shoots out the end and my gasoline soaked desk catches on fire.

Ginny rushes up to my side. “No, Mr. Vancouver, don’t die. You made mistakes. You were hurt but you can make things better.”

I see Billy standing behind her with the gun in his hand. I knew he had it in him.

“Ginny, I need you to get everyone out of the classroom.”

I hand her the keys to the handcuffs so she can release what remains of the city dwellers I rounded up earlier in the day. I really had nothing against the Korean store owner either. I had really gone in the store to buy cigarettes and got a little overzealous.

“Ginny, get everyone out except Mr. Bunion. He stays here with me. Hurry now. There is a bomb set to go off in two minutes.”

“But you’ll die, Mr. Vancouver,” Ginny says.

“Everyone dies, Ginny. Now go, hurry. You can save them.”

“Get out, get out,” Ginny cries. “Everyone out.”

The children are running out of the room as the flames quickly spread. I see Peter standing there staring at me. He takes the backpack filled with the various guns and devices we’ve used throughout the day and throws them onto my burning desk, turns and walks out the door.

I smile. That kid’s going to be all right.

Ginny runs gallantly about the room gathering the other students. My little Florence Nightingale. I know she’ll be a big shot someday.

When everyone has cleared the room she hurries to the door but pauses there in the doorway before she leaves. The flames soon become too much to bear and she is gone. All my students are safe and I’ve saved three of them which is more than most teachers can say. Oh, yeah and I’m leaving you the reader a final note. It is in the mail and will arrive in your mailbox in two days. Please, read it. Goodbye…for now.

* * *

Dear Reader,

I bet right about now you’re feeling bad for Mr. Bunion or then again maybe you’re not. Maybe you figure a child molester deserves to burn to death and well, you might be right about that. I’m not going to argue that point but I am going to tell you that Mr. Bunion is not a child molester and he’s not dead and either am I. I was wearing a bullet proof vest when Billy shot me and you see Mr. Bunion is a good friend of mine. Obviously we didn’t burn to death and were long gone before the bomb we planted went off, erasing our tracks. You see we’d built a trap door under my desk and easily escaped into the basement and out a tunnel we’d dug which led to the cornfield and a waiting SUV. We were actually a couple miles down Interstate 81 when the bomb went off. Everything went down according to plan, according to our plan.

So how did this all start? Let me tell you. You see, after my wife left me for that jockey I would often stay late at school grading papers and drinking whiskey mixed with Diet Coke. It wasn’t long before Mr. Bunion and I--being the only two in the building—began to share drinks and the stories of how our lives had gone wrong. After months of stewing in our own regrets it occurred to us both, one night after finishing off two fifths of Jameson, that we should take revenge on those that had fucked up our lives. Why not? We reasoned. We had nothing to lose. So we came up with the plan that you have just read about.

I guess you’re also wondering why I chose the students I did to be part of our little revenge scheme and I will tell you why. I chose Peter because he came from a bad home and had propensity for violence. By the time he was sixteen he would have been in jail, probably for life or maybe dead. I saw something good underneath his coarsened exterior though and I knew that if I gave him purpose and then made him make a final choice, to either join the dark side and commit his life to crime or do the right thing that he would chose the latter. He had to because I forced his hand in the face of the one thing that mattered most to him…Ginny. That’s right, he had a secret crush on her. One day I found after school I leafed through his notebook and it was filled with poems of his unrequited love for her. Unwittingly, Ginny saved Peter from a life of crime.

I chose Ginny to join in my revenge plot because Peter had a crush on her and also because Ginny was molested by her neighbor several years ago. She’s tried to commit suicide several times during the school year and I knew it was only a matter of time before she succeeded. On the outside she was obnoxious and a know-it-all, on the inside she was slowly dying. I needed for that strong girl to emerge again and she did. Ginny is going to make it. I will be sorely disappointed if she becomes a Republican.

I chose Billy because I saw a kid that just wasn’t making it in the world. I needed to get his ass in gear. If Billy wouldn’t have made that final decision to shoot me, if he hadn’t finally stood up in the face of danger then he never would. Billy will one day be a success and I’d like to think like any good teacher that I played a part in this success. Good luck Billy and forget about the marble penis it’s in police custody.

So, that is that. Mr. Bunion and I are probably drinking cold beer on a warm beach surrounded by beautiful women about now. Don’t come looking for us because you’ll never find us. A word of caution though, if you were someone that once fucked Mr. Bunion over you’d better go into hiding because sometime, somewhere Mr. Bunion and I will come back to revenge those that fouled up his life and we will succeed.

Sincerely,

Mr. Vancouver

P.S. My brother is well and in rehab outside Philadelphia. Mr. Bunion and I rounded him up before we took off. They tell me he’s doing well. Stop by and see him if you have the time. I know he’s going to make it, the Vancouvers are survivors….

The Field Trip Part VIII

“Mr. Vancouver, I didn’t drink any Kool-Aid,” Billy says.

“I know that, Billy. You were outside with me. As for the rest of the class that did drink the Kool-Aid. I am very disappointed in you--”

“Mr. Vancouver,” Ginny says.

“Yes, Ginny, what is it?”

“You have a piece of pimp on your cheek…no, the other side…there you got it.”

I toss the piece of pimp that was stuck to my cheek in the wastebasket.

I slump down in my desk. “The world is better off without that pimp.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says.

“No, not yes sir, Peter. You don’t have to agree with me. Tell me what you really think.”

“I think the best pimp is a dead pimp,” Peter says.

“That’s my boy,” I say.

“You won’t get away with this,” the cop says, pulling at his restraints.

His face is so red it looks like he’s been crouched over a cauldron of boiling water. I get up from my desk and remove my cheap suit coat. It’s a polyester/wool blend that the salesman said would protect me from inclimate weather just like a poncho.

“You don’t remember me do you?” I ask the cop.

“What in the Hell are you talking about you whacked out son-of-a-bitch?” the cop asks and grinds his teeth together so hard they squeak.

I walk towards the cop and stand directly in front of him; my nose but an inch or two from his. “You don’t remember ruining my life do you?”

“I didn’t ruin your life,” the cop says. He’s so angry that spit flies from his mouth and hits my forehead.

“He doesn’t remember ruining my life class. How can that be?” I say turning from him.

“You’re mistaking me for someone else,” the cop says.

“No, it was you. Do you think it was a coincidence that I captured you?” I say.

“But I was Carl’s backup. You killed him at the donut shop. What if I hadn’t ever shown up?”

“I didn’t kill Carl but that’s not the point. I know your schedule. I knew you were working today. Even if I had captured Carl do you think I wouldn’t have waited around for you? It’s you I wanted.”

“You’re a Goddamn nut job. What did I ever do to you?”

“Let me refresh your memory. Seven years ago. You and a certain blonde in an apartment over on 12^th Avenue, fiancé walks in, confronts you, you beat him with your nightstick; leave him for dead.”

The cop’s head drops, his big chin bouncing off his chest next to his badge. “You had a beard then.”

“Yeah, I did. I also had a fiancée which you stole.”

The cop looks scared and it invigorates me. It feels like tiny tin soldiers are dancing merrily about in my empty heart.

The cop’s eyes dart left and then right. He looks scared, like a like a feral weasel trapped under a brandy snifter. “I’m sorry. I was young and dumb. I can make it up to you.”

“No, you can’t. You can’t make it up to me,” I say.

“So, everyone in here has done something to you?” the cop asks.

I nod.

“What did the pimp do to you?” Ginny asks.

“That pimp shot and killed my brother ten years ago. The only thing he did was stop at a 7-11 after his shift to buy cigarettes and that fucking pimp blew him away.”

Ginny stands and runs a hand through her blond hair. “I thought we were just going to observe these city dwellers and then release them. You didn’t tell us you were going to kill them.”

“Would you have gone along with me if I had told you what I was doing?” I ask.

“No,” Ginny says. “After we read A Country Bumpkins Guide to the City I thought these people deserved for us to look them over. They all seemed so nasty but they’re not, they’re just people.”

“Bad, dirty, filthy people,” I remind Ginny. “Peter, would you have stuck with me had I told you my true intentions?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says.

“Me too,” Billy says.

“Very good, Billy. I must say I’m impressed with your transformation. How about the rest of the class? Who here would have helped me right the wrongs in my life had I told them the complete story?”

Roughly half the class raises their hands. I expected this and have made plans to deal with those that refuse to see the light.

“Peter, get the super glue, the sniper rifle, and one of my suites out of the closet.”

“Do you know that I am personal friends with the president of the United States?” Senator Rantorum asks. “If you harm one hair on my head he will come down on you with the force of a sky diving elephant.”

“Let him,” I say.

Rantorum starts to cry. “Dear God, you have a death wish.”

“I don’t know if I want to die but I don’t see any way around it now.”

“You’re a fucking sicko,” Rantorum cries.

“Billy, give Mr. Rantorum a glass of Kool-Aid,” I say. “All the talking has probably dried out his whistle.”

“I don’t want any of that fucking Kool-Aid,” Rantorum says.

“I don’t think I asked you if you did,” I say. “You’ll drink because I say you’ll drink.”

“Mr. Vancouver, I don’t feel so well,” Ginny says.

“How much of that Kool-Aid did you drink?” I ask.

“Three or four glasses,” Ginny says.

“Well, it’s no wonder you’re not feeling well.”

“Mr. Vancouver,” Peter says, “The police officer is in your suit and here’s the other stuff you asked for.”

I pat Peter on the head. “Good boy. Now, get the pot of Super Glue out of the closet and smear it all over the gun.”

Peter obeys and thoroughly drenches the gun in glue.

“Now, Mr. Policeman, hold the gun like you’re going to shoot it,” I say.

“Don’t hurt me,” the cop says.

“Just do as your told,” I say. The cop takes the gun in his handcuffed hands. “Finger on the trigger, chin on the stock…that’s it. Now glue his mouth shut.”

“What about his mustache?” Billy asks.

“You’re right, Billy. I nearly forgot,” I say. “There’s an electric razor on my desk and since you were astute enough to remember the mustache you may have the honor of cutting it.”

“That’s not fair,” Amber says.

“Life isn’t fair,” I say.

Peter looks extremely disappointed that he wasn’t asked to cut the cop’s mustache but I need to gain Billy’s complete confidence. He could be very useful to me.

“Mr. Vancouver,” a cop yells over the bullhorn. “We know that we shot the pimp and not you. We ask again for you to come out with your hands in the air.”

“All in good time,” I yell.

Billy hastily hacks at the cop’s mustache with the electric razor, cutting his lip in the process.

“Watch it you little fucker,” the cop says.

Billy takes the butt of the razor and hits the cop on the head. I didn’t think the boy possessed such balls. I figured the years of being picked on have toughened him considerably.

“Peter, tape the CD player to Mr. Policeman’s back. The duct tape is in the top drawer of my desk.”

It isn’t long before Peter has the CD player taped to the cop’s back. I chuckle. He looks so ridiculous with the gun glued to his arms.

“What are we learning here today class?” I ask.

“Don’t fuck with Mr. Vancouver?” Billy asks.

“You’re damn right. Billy, lead Mr. Policeman to the doors and when I say “NOW” you open the doors. Peter, hit play on the CD player.”

Peter obeys and obscenities start pouring out of the CD player.

“I’m going to kill you all you cocksucking mother fuckers,” my voice says coming from the CD player.

“Now, Billy,” I say.

Billy thrusts the doors open.

“Die mother fucker’s,” comes from the CD player in my voice.

The cop stands in the doorway, the gun super glued to his person in the firing position. Peter reaches out from the side of the door with the cattle prod and shocks him and the cop shoots forward out the door and onto the sidewalk.

“You’re all pigs,” comes from the CD player and then the shots begin.

The policemen outside gun down the cop who is dressed in my suit and holding the gun. They of course think its me gone mad. The doors swing shut and momentarily the shooting stops.

Most of the children in the class are sobbing uncontrollably. The hostages are struggling like crazy to break free.

“You’re bad, Mr. Vancouver,” Ginny says.

“History won’t see it that way,” I say. “Am I bad Billy?”

“No, sir, you’re my hero.”

“What about you, Peter?”

Peter nods but doesn’t say anything. He seems to be losing enthusiasm for our little game. Perhaps he’s jus tired.

“Mr. Vancouver?” Billy says.

“Yes, Billy, what is it?”

“I think Ginny is bad,” Billy says.

“I’m beginning to think that too, Billy. I’m beginning to think that too.”

The Field Trip Part VII

“Mr. Vancouver, come out with your hands raised in the air,” the police officer says over his bullhorn.

“Could you hand me the pimp's hat, Ginny?”

“Thank-you my dear,” I say, taking the hat. “Mr. Pimp this really is a very fancy hat.”

“Fuck-you,” the pimp says and spits on me.

I rear back and kick the pimp in the crotch and then punch him in the mouth. A single gold tooth goes squirting across the floor. Billy follows the tooth across the room, picks it up and eyes it carefully. “You won’t be needing that where you’re going,” I say to the pimp who is now doubled over on the floor. “Peter, please duct tape Mr. Pimp’s mouth shut.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Vancouver,” Peter says.

From his backpack Peter removes a roll of duct tape and goes about taping the pimps mouth shut.

The whore struggles and kicks at her restraints. “When I get outta here I’m gonna put a cap in your ass,” she screams.

“Your stockings have a runner in them,” I say.

The whore claws and kicks at me but it does no good. Peter comes up from behind her and jabs her arm with a syringe and she nods off.

Larry Cutler’s hand shoots up. He’s a product of the American fast food industry, as wide as he is tall with halitosis that would fell a full grown Bull elephant.

“What is it Larry?”

“Mr. Vancouver, you have funny underwear,” Larry says.

The students laugh.

“My wife gave me these before she left me,” I say.

“Why did your wife leave you?” Amber asks.

“Mr. Vancouver, we will ask you again to please come out with your hands above your head,” the police officer yells through the bullhorn.

I walk up to the window and pull the curtain back a smidgen. Outside there are police cars, ambulances, worried parents and of course the media. I let the curtain slide shut.

“My wife left me because she wanted more out of life. I don’t make that much money you see. She wanted to travel and have fancy clothes. She left me for a famous jockey.”

“You mean one of those little skinny guys that ride horses?” Ginny asks.

“Yes, one of those skinny guys that rides horses, Ginny...Billy take the pimps tooth out of your mouth. It’s dirty and in this case we do know where it came from. I wish we didn’t and then I wouldn’t have to worry about you catching a communicable disease.”

“Sir, I have given every student a cup of Kool-Aid,” Peter says.

“Did you mix it just like I asked you to?” I say.

Peter salutes me. “I sure did. It’s got all the special ingredients you wanted.”

“Good boy. Now, I’m going to take Mr. Pimp here and release him,” I say.

“You sick bastard,” the police officer says. “You won’t get away with this.”

“I already have. Now, you just sit back and relax before I jam this cattle prod into your nut sack.” I push the pimp forward, threatening to light him up with the cattle prod if he pulls a fast one. Billy runs up to my side. “What are you doing, Billy?”

“I’m coming with you,” he says. “You’re the only one that ever treated me like a person, Mr. Vancouver.”

“I’m changing that B- to an A+, Billy. When I’m gone you make sure that they give you that A+. It’s the only one you’ve eve gotten.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy says and salutes me.

“Is the explosive device properly attached to the pimp, Peter?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says.

“Remember if there is any funny stuff I want you to blow the pimp up.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says.

“Open the doors, Peter,” I say.

Peter obeys and thrusts the doors open. Sunlight overwhelms the room and Billy followed by me and then the pimp walk out onto the sidewalk.

“Release the boy and the pimp,” the police officer barks over the bullhorn.

“When I say duck you duck, Billy.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy says and salutes me with the marble penis.

“Okay, Billy, duck,” I say, pushing him to the ground and falling on top of him.

Shots are fired and a bullet rips through my suit coat just below the heart. Bullets tear through my pants and even one through my brown loafers. I feel nothing but complete and utter joy.

“Cease your firing,” the police officer says over the bullhorn.

Billy and I get up off the sidewalk. The pimp lies dead on the sidewalk in a puddle of blood. My suit, the one he is wearing, is torn to bits.

“Mr. Pimp,” the police officer says over the bullhorn.

“Yes,” I say, tilting the pimp’s hat on my head.

The police officer with the bullhorn slowly raises his gun. He realizes they’ve just shot the wrong man dressed in my clothes.

‘That’s no pimp,” the officer cries. The other officers look confused and are unsure of how to proceed.

I’m quite sure this is the end that my day and life are to be determined here on the sidewalk in front of the school at which I teach. I look down the barrel of the police officer’s gun.

“No,” Billy cries. With a dexterity I didn’t think the boy possessed he rears back and chucks the marble penis at the police officer and to my utter surprise it nails him in his right eye. He falls back in pain against the hood of his cruiser.

Billy and I start to run back to the school. We hear a horrible explosion. We are pelted with pieces of the pimp. Peter must have thought blowing him up would be a good distraction.

I shut the doors behind us and take off the pimp's cape.

“Mr. Vancouver, some of the kids started to drink their Kool-Aid,” Peter says. “I tried to stop them but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Damn you,” I yell. “I told you not to DRINK THE KOOL-AID!”

I rampage through the class room tipping over desks. The children scream and cry.

“I didn’t drink my Kool-Aid, Mr. Vancouver,” Billy says.

“I know you didn’t, Billy. I know you didn’t…and Billy?”

“What Mr. Vancouver. Take the pimp’s tooth out of your mouth.”

The Field Trip Part VI

“Mr. Vancouver, the pimp said I have a nice ass,” Ginny says.

“Peter, shock the pimp,” I say.

“You keep that mutha fuckin’ thing away from me,” the pimp cries, trying to struggle free from his handcuffs. His pink fedora with the blue feather falls off his head as he tries to struggle free from his bonds.

Peter retrieves the cattle prod which is propped in the corner of the classroom. He walks to the front of the room to where I have the specimens tied and jams the cattle prod in the pimps ribs.

“Take that you nasty fleabag,” Peter says.

The pimp convulses and froths at the mouth. I can’t say I feel sorry for the bottom feeder. He’s made a nice life for himself exploiting others and now it’s time for him to feel their pain.

The whore is screaming. Some of the children start to cry. Wimps. This guy would sell their souls for an ounce of crack and here they are feeling sorry for him. If I teach these children anything it will be to not feel bad for the cocksuckers of the world. They will be better off for it.

I scratch myself. “Okay, Peter, that’s enough. I think Mr. Pimp has learned his lesson.”

“People will be looking for me,” the cop says, sweat running off his brow like a mini-waterfall.

“Peter, before you go back to your seat please stick another donut in the policeman’s mouth,” I say. “Okay, class this afternoon we will be examining the different specimens we captured in the city. I want everyone to pay attention because there will be a test Friday on what we learn here today.”

The class groans.

“Mr. Vancouver?”

“Yes, Amber what is it?”

“Why is Charlie the janitor handcuffed like the city dwellers?” Amber asks.

“Well, since we didn’t capture a crack head in the city I thought Mr. Vech would make a good substitute. He’s a drunk which is another form of addiction. He also grew up in the city and came to the country only a few years ago to avoid having to pay child support.”

“Oh,” Amber says.

“Mr. Vancouver?” Billy says.

“Oh, I see your up from your nap, Billy. I want to tell you that you did a wonderful job biting that policeman and saving my life. You will receive a B- minus for the day. You would have earned an A if you hadn’t broken the penis off that statue and started the whole mess.”

“Can I have my marble penis back?” Billy asks.

I remove the penis from the pocket of my trousers. “I don’t see why not.”

Billy sprints to my desk and grabs the marble penis from my hand. I’m beginning to worry about that boy’s sexuality.

“You let me go. You all crazy,” the Korean store owner says.

Peter stuffs a chalkboard eraser in his mouth.

“Good show, Peter,” I say. I open my Country Bumpkins Guide to the City and read: The politician is a man or woman who is consumed with the notion of controlling others. They are often elected to their positions by a vote and are easily bribed--.”

“I never took a bribe in my life,” Senator Rantorum says. He jerks madly trying to break free from his handcuffs and leg irons.

I close the book. “Such anger, Senator Rantorum. Shouldn’t I be the one that is mad at you? Didn’t you try to avoid paying tuition for your children by purchasing a house in Pennsylvania and claiming it as your primary place of residence? Maybe one of these children would have liked to attend a fancy private school too but they couldn’t afford it, your children could and yet still you tried to rip off the state of Pennsylvania. What do you think of that class?”

There is a chorus of boos and someone says “Cocksucker.” I’m pretty sure that was Billy. I think there is hope for that boy yet.

“Let me go you damn psycho,” Rantorum yells.

“Tsk-tsk, Senator Rantorum. We must set a good Christian example for the downtrodden.”

This is all the goading Rantorum can take. I can see it in his eyes as they morph. We are about to see the true politician. He wrenches right and left, his suit coat splitting at the shoulders. The pole he is chained to breaks free.

The children scream. There is chaos in the classroom. Before I can react Rantorum is on top of me with his handcuffed hands around my throat.

“My family deserves free schooling,” he says.

“And these kids don’t,” I manage to get out.

Things begin to go black and then I hear a dull thud and Rantorum falls off of me. I sit up gasping for air.

Billy is standing over us with the marble penis in his hand and a smile on his fat cheeks.

“Thank-you, Billy, I say.

Outside I hear the wail of police sirens and I know that the gig is up but I’m prepared and I won’t go out without a fight.

“I used it like a Billy club,” Billy says. “No pun intended.”

“Right, Billy and by the way that was a horrible joke. Okay, class let’s man the positions we talked about in case of an emergency. Peter, bar the door and then give Mr. Rantorum a shot of horse tranquilzer.”

“Are we going to die?” Ginny asks.

“Someday, Ginny, someday,” I say.

“Mr. Vancouver, this is the police,” a voice calls over a bullhorn. “We know you’ve kidnapped a host of people from the city. We want you to release the hostages and the children and come out with your hands up.”

“Peter, prepare the Kool-Aid,” I say.

The Field Trip Part V

“Mr. Vancouver, I’m hungry. I want a donut,” Ginny says.

“Donuts!” the other students cry.

“Lot’s of people in the world are hungry, Ginny. You don’t hear them complaining do you?” I say.

“That’s because they’re too weak to say anything,” Ginny says.

“Nobody likes a fat know-it-all American, Ginny,” I say. “Now let’s concentrate on the matter at hand shall we, class? You’ll all get to eat a balanced lunch when we get back to the school. I think I saw tuna surprise on the cafeteria menu. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Of course, I won’t be eating that fat laden, artery choking, crap, having brought my own lunch but they’re young and their arteries should be relatively clean and able to withstand the cafeteria food until they make it out of high school.

“Mr. Vancouver, I heard tuna tastes like puss-”

“Don’t go there, Billy. That's not true anyway unless you're sleeping with a trout. You'll come to find this some day or not...You’re already wading in treacherous waters after your stunt at the capital. It’s just lucky we bagged Senator Rantorum before you climbed those statues and broke off that man’s marble penis,” I say.

“I still have his dong,” Billy says and pulls the marble penis from his jeans.

“Okay, give me that,” I say and snatch the marble penis away from Billy. The rest of the class breaks up in laughter. “Stop that,” I say wagging the marble penis at them. “We aren’t here to amuse ourselves. We came to the downtown Dunkin Donuts to catch the last specimen on our list.”

“Mr. Vancouver, isn’t it cliché to try to capture a policeman at a donut shop?” Ginny asks.

“It may be cliché Ginny but if you wanted to find a sinner you would go to a church wouldn’t you?” I say.

“No, if you were going to catch a sinner you would go to a titty bar,” Mary says.

The class giggles and I have to admit that she was pretty damn witty but that won’t stop me from giving her an F on her next English composition.

“Yes, well, there too, Mary. Peter, is the bait ready?” I ask.

“Yes, sir, one box of assorted donuts laced with horse tranquilizers,” Peter says and salutes me.

“Don’t salute me son you look like one of the Hitler Youth,” I say.

“Ooh, ooh, here comes a policeman car,” Amber says.

I look across the parking lot and like some great sea faring vessel the blue and white Crown Victoria of a highway patrolman glides over the deep blue macadam. It comes to rest in a handi-cap spot next to the front door.

“Lazy bastard,” I say under my breath. “Get ready with those donuts, Peter.”

Peter walks up to the police cruiser. God, he looks so damn innocent. If he doesn’t work as an agent for the CIA he will make a great politician or actor…well, I guess they are one in the same.

Peter pushes the box of donuts at the officer as he pulls himself from the driver’s seat. “Sir, would you like some free donuts?”

“Why thank-you son,” the police officer says. He searches through the box and chooses a blueberry cake donut.

“You’re a hero,” Peter says and smiles like some sort of male Shirley Temple. If I didn’t know that underneath those glistening teeth was the heart of a mercenary I just might have the compulsion smack him.

The police office bites into the donut and crumbs fall down on his immense stomach. I can’t help but wonder how he would run down a suspect if he had to. His jowls spill out over his collar and sit there like trash bags on a curb waiting to be picked up by the garbage men.

“Good day to you officer,” I say.

He nods.

“My class and I are trying to show appreciation for law enforcement officials today,” I say.

“That’s very nice of you…hey what is that in your hand?” the officer asks.

Damn, it’s the marble penis from the statue. I shove it behind my back.

“Oh, nothing, just part of your lesson hear today.”

The officer lowers his donut. “That looked like a wang to me. Was that a wang? Are you some kind of pervert?”

“I assure you officer I am not a pervert,” I say.

“I’m sure you would assure me you weren’t a pervert even if you were. Now, slowly remove that thing from behind your back.”

Confounded, he hasn’t eaten enough of the donut to make him pass out and Peter’s backpack and tranquilizer gun are sitting against the newspaper machine.

“What we have here officer is a marble penis,” I say, pulling the item out from behind my back.

The police officer drops his donut on the macadam. “Why you sick bastard.”

“It’s not what you think. One of my students broke it off of a statue at the capital. I was going to return it.”

I offer the police officer the marble penis but he knocks it out of my hand. “That thing isn’t even circumcised.”

Some of the children have begun to cry. I noticed Billy is eating a donut from the box laden with tranquilizers. Where is Peter? He is my only hope.

The police officer picks the marble penis up off the macadam. I consult The Country Bumpkins Guide to the City hoping to find in its pages some sort of answer to our dilemma.

“Hey”, Billy says. “That’s mine.”

The police officer turns. “This is not yours young man it belongs to this pervert right over here.” He points the thing at me and I can’t help but think it looks like a hamster wrapped in a tiny raincoat.

Billy walks up to the officer. “I said, that’s mine.”

“Get out of here, kid,” the officer says, pushing Billy aside. “This man is going to jail. He’s a pervert. ”

Where in the Hell is Peter? I wonder. The sound of the officer’s nightstick hitting my temple sounds like a linebacker hitting a tackling dummy. There is darkness…

* * *

“Mr. Vancouver?”

“Oh, my head…what is it?” I ask sitting up.

“I think we’d better go,” Peter says.

“What is it son?” I ask.

“Billy killed the police officer,” Peter says.

“He did what?” I ask standing.

In the distance I hear the wail of sirens approaching.

“When Billy saw you were getting beaten senseless by that cop he went nuts and bit his ankle. The cop tried to throw Billy off and he did but he stumbled out onto the road in front of a tractor trailer.”

I look out onto the road and see the cop lying in front of a tractor trailer with a group of people around him.

“Where are all the other kids?” I ask.

Peter helps me to my feet. “I loaded them on the bus. I knew you would want to leave as soon as possible.”

“Good work son. You will get an A+ for your effort.”

“Oh, and we did get a police officer specimen. I tranquilized the dead cop’s backup and tied them down to the luggage rack of the bus.”

A single tear trickles down my cheek.

I lay a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Son, you’ve made me very proud. Now, let’s get these specimens back to the school before the police arrive.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says.

“Oh, by the way, how is Billy doing?”

“He ate the entire box of tranquilizer laced donuts. He’s asleep on the front seat.”

“Do you think there’s any hope for that kid?” I ask.

“No, sir I don’t.”

“Me either.”

Does this sound enough like present day America to get you worried? It should...

"Why, of course the people don't want war ... But after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship...Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is to tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger."
-Hermann Goering ( Founder of the Gestapo, 2nd in charge under Hitler)

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A Field trip part IV

“Here kids is the capital of our fair state. If you’ll notice the intricate statues adorning the lower levels of the dome you will see the scaffolding that is being used while they restore and clean portions of these state treasures,” I say.

“Mr. Vancouver, why are the naked?” Ginny asks.

“People have been naked for years, Ginny. Clothes are only a recent invention,” I say.

“Jesus wore clothes,” Ginny says.

“Part of the time, Ginny. Part of the time. He really only wore them for photo ops,” I say.

Ginny crosses her arms over her budding chest. “I never heard that before and I go to church all the time and besides they didn’t have cameras back then.”

“You’d be surprised what they had back then, Ginny.

“I don’t want to wear clothes Mr. Vancouver,” Billy says.

“Billy pull your pants up. No one wants to see the brown streaks on your tighty whities…Peter are we all set up inside?” I ask.

“Yes, sir operation “Bag a politician” is a go,” Peter says and salutes me.

“Did you hit that pimp with another tranquilizer dart?” I ask.

Peter looks disappointed. “Of course sir, he tried to take the Korean store owner’s Casio. I also gagged him with a sock and tied him tighter to the luggage rack of the bus.”

“Good man, Peter. Some day you’re going to make a fine mercenary. Who needs college when you are skilled in the finer arts of stealth and apprehension? Okay, kids follow me.”

We trudge up the many stairs in front of our state’s capital and I can’t help but feel just the slightest bit giddy. We are set to capture one of the slimiest creatures known to man, the politician.

Inside the door of the capital we have set up a wet bar which is will be used to ensnare the politician we hope to add to our collection of city dwellers and then examine at the lab back at school. In A Country Bumpkins Guide to the City I read that the most successful enticement for capturing a politician was booze. Second on the list is money and third is fast food.

“Mr. Vancouver, I want to be the bartender,” Billy says.

“Billy, don’t make me regret rescuing you from the basement of that crack house. Okay, kids take your positions. Here comes senator Rantorum.”

Senator Rantorum’s smile is so wide that I wonder how he got through the revolving doors. “Hi, there kids!” He glides across the marble floor, his blue suit clinging to him like some tropical swamp fungus.

“Ha ha, hi there, Senator Rantorum,” I say extending my hand.

Senator Rantorum grasps my hand. His hand is very warm and sweaty and it occurs to me that he might have been beating off just moments before. I quickly pull my hand away. “Mr. Vancouver, it’s very nice to meet you.”

“Senator Rantorum, I noticed a wet bar by the door. Perhaps you’d like a cocktail,” I say.

The senator looks over at the wet bar we’ve set up. Peter is mixing a martini.

“That’s strange,” Senator Rantorum says. “I don’t remember there every being a bar in here. I’m pretty sure that’s not legal.”

Inside I’m panicking. There’s something wrong. He was supposed to run right over to the bar and demand free booze.

“Surely one drink wouldn’t hurt,” I say.

“Mr. Vancouver, I don’t drink. I’m a very religious man and I don’t break the law for any reason,” Mr. Rantorum says.

Something inside me snaps...

“Why you self righteous bastard. You don’t break the law? What about that house you bought in Philadelphia and claimed was your primary residence so you wouldn’t have to pay for your children to go to school in Pennsylvania!” I say.

“Mr. Vancouver, you are out of line,” Senator Rantorum says.

“No, Mr. Rantorum you are out of line. Peter, its time to implement plan two,” I say.

Bwap! Bwap! Peter shoots Senator Rantorum and he drops to the ground. Quickly Peter wheels the wet bar over to where Senator Rantorum lies and we shove him inside and closes it.

“Mr. Vancouver?”

“What is it Ginny?

“Mr. Rantorum’s Bible fell out of his pocket when Peter shot him.”

“Well let that be a lesson to you, Ginny. Jesus doesn’t love liars,” I say.

“That’s not a Jesus saying,” Ginny says. “I go to Sunday school every week and—”

“Peter,” I say.

Bwap! Peter shoots a dart into Ginny’s chest and she drops to the ground. We quickly put her in the portable wet bar with Senator Rantorum.

“Okay, kids what have we learned here today at the state’s capital?” I ask.

“Mr. Vancouver?”

“What is it Philip?”

“Billy climbed up on the statues.”

I look up at the statues on the second floor. Billy is hanging from the penis of a statue that looks like a David rip-off.

“Billy, unhand that statue’s penis and get down here this minute,” I say.

“I can’t Mr. Vancouver. I’m stuck.”

“Peter,” I say.

Peter shoots but just as he does the penis of the statue breaks off and Billy falls down into the fountain below.

“I need four volunteers to fish Billy out of the fountain?” I say and hands shoot up. “Jack, Rob, Belinda and Mary. The rest of you out to the bus. We have to secure the senator to the luggage rack before we hit the road.”

The Field Trip: Part III

“Mr. Vancouver, I’m scared,” Ginny says, and twirls her long blond hair.

“Crack houses are nothing to be scared of, Ginny…Billy, put that syringe down…okay, kids follow me and be careful to watch your step the floor is rotted and we don’t want any of you to end up in the basement.”

“Mr. Vancouver, it smells in here,” Amber says.

“That’s the smell of desperation, of poverty, of death.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Amber says.

“No one cares if you like it or not, Amber. Okay, everyone now follow me.”

I walk up the rickety steps of the crack house. The windows are boarded over and the weeds that have taken over the small lawn are taller than a pit bull. I say this because when I first entered the yard a pit bull had been hiding in the weeds and lunged at me. Luckily Peter was there with the tranquilizer gun and shot the pit bull before he could harm me. The pit bull will make a wonderful specimen. I had Peter tie it down next to the pimp on the luggage rack of the bus.

I thrust the front door open and it falls off its hinges.

“Okay, everyone single file, through the front door and stop in the foyer. Don’t go wondering off,” I say, “Don’t pick up any needles or crack vials. On second thought don’t touch anything.”

“Even myself?” Billy asks.

“Especially yourself, Billy.”

“Hey what are you doing up in here?” a very gaunt man in an Addidas sweat suit asks us.

“I consult my Country Bumpkins Guide to the City. We are looking for blingers? Is that right blingers?”

“You mean crack heads?” the man asks.

“Yes, right, crack heads,” I say.

“What in thee Hell are you looking for crack heads for?” he asks. He glances nervously around at my students which have now encircled him.

“Peter, get ready with the Tranq gun. We are here fine sir to observe dwellers of the city and to take specimens back to our school lab in the country and examine them,” I say.

“Well you ain’t examinin’ nothin’ fo free and I ain’t goin nowhere with you,” he says taking a step back.

“So you are a crack head,” I say.

He frowns.

“Peter get the candy bars out of your backpack and give this man one,” I say. “It says here that junkies love sugar. Wait that might be heroin junkies…”

“Sir, all the candy bars are gone,” Peter says, fishing about in his backpack.

“Billy! Did you pound all those candy bars?” I yell.

There is a circle of chocolate around Billy’s mouth.

“Look Mr. Vancouver a balloon,” Amber says.

“Amber, don’t blow that up it isn’t a balloon…oh, that’s not good,” I say.

“What’s all over Amber’s lips?” Ginny asks.

“You are all fucked up!” the crack head yells.

“Peter, tranquilizer gun now,” I say.

Peter pulls the rifle from his backpack, screws it together and BWAP! The dart hits the crack head in the neck.

“Nice shot, Peter,” I say.

“I have to use the bathroom, Mr. Vancouver,” Ginny says.

“Not now, Amber. They’ll be plenty of time to use the bathroom when you get home.,” I say.

“Mr. Vancouver?” Peter says.

“What is it?” I ask.

“The crack head isn’t going down.”

The crack head has a dreamy look in his eyes. “Damn, what is this stuff?”

“Damn, he’s so strung out on crack that the tranquilizer hasn’t affected him. Shoot him again,” I scream.

The children are screaming, running around in circles. Billy falls down a hole in the floor.

BWAP! BWAP! BWAP!

Three more darts hit the crack head but still he doesn’t go down. He runs to a closed window and dives out into the yard and takes off.

“Quiet children, quiet,” I say.

Slowly the children calm down.

“It’s okay, it says here in my guide that crack heads or the wiliest of all city creatures and very hard to capture,” I say.

“Mr. Vancouver, it smells down here in the basement.”

“Well, Billy maybe you should have thought of that before you fell through that hole…okay, children. It looks like we won’t have a crack head specimen to take back to the lab. We’ll just have to study clay models of this species and watch New Jack City. Does anyone remember Chris Rocks’ performance in this film?”

The children don’t answer.

“Okay, I guess that was before your time. Next we’ll be going to city hall. We’re going to try to bag a politician. It says in my guide that they are the slickest of species.”

"Mr. Vancouver, I don't like politicians," Ginny says.

"Either do I, Ginny. Either do I," I say.

A Field Trip Part II

Disclaimer: The views contained in this piece are not those of the writer but those of the ignorant hick these pieces are based on. Thank-you for your time.

“Next on our journey children we will visit a convenience store in the city. There we hope to capture a not so rare specimen. Generally speaking the proprietor of such an establishment will be Korean, Pakistani or Indian. It says here that they are hard working people that buy these stores from lazy white proprietors.”

“You mean Indian like Tonto, Mr. Vancouver?”

“Are you trying to be funny, Alice? Because if you are that isn’t funny. Our field trip today, although at times it may be fun is of a serious nature. We are here to collect specimens from the city and take them back to school and examine them. We want to what class?”

“Understand them!” the class yells out in unison.

“Ooh, ooh, Mr. Vancouver can we buy something to eat?”

“No, Billy, you’re already look like a keg on stilts. The government already has quite enough cases of childhood obesity to study and document into adulthood. You don’t want to become a statistic do you Billy?” I say.

“No, I want to be a firefighter,” Billy says.

I ignore Billy, he’s too stupid to know that he just made a joke. The bus eases to a halt. I stand. “Okay, kids, lets go, single file. Peter, do you have the tranquilizer gun? The lasso? The stun gun?”

“Affirmative sir. Locked and loaded,” Peter says.

“Good boy, Peter. Okay, kids, lets go,” I say and lead them off the bus and into the Rise and Shine Korean Grocery.

The man behind the counter appears to be of Korean ancestry. I double check my field guide and I am pleasantly surprised to find that I am correct.

“Can anyone tell me what nationality they think this store owner is?” I ask poking at the Korean store owner two foot long beef jerky I borrowed from a display.

“Ooh, ooh, is he Korean?” Jasper asks.

“Very good, Jasper. How did you come to that deduction?”

“Duh, it says so on the sign outside,” Jasper says.

I take the two foot long beef jerky and smack Jasper over the head with it. “Don’t be a smart ass.”

“Hey what you do in here?” the Korean store owner asks.

I consult my field guide. “Uh, we come for bling bling?”

“What you say?” the store owner says. “There no bling bling here.”

“Oh, oops, I was looking at the wrong section of my guide. That’s the rapper and hip-hop subsection,” I say.

The shop owner is only about five foot two inches tall but he is growing agitated and my field guide says he is likely to be proficient in martial arts. I am hesitant to have Peter tranquilize him for I want the children to see the store owner in his natural environment but I must also consider their safety.

“Carol, put those scratch off lottery tickets back. You didn’t pay for those,” I say.

“Mr. Vancouver, it smells in here,” Amber says.

“Let me consult my guide and see what the source of that smell might be,” I say. “It says here that dry fish might—.”

I turn my back which is a mistake. The next thing I know the store owner is charging me.

“Get out of here you hick,” the store owner yells.

“Peter, stun gun,” I say.

Peter unzips his backpack, takes out his stun gun and with the cool calm of a mafia hit man fires. The electrodes hit the store owner in the chest and he falls to the ground flopping about like a trout tossed up on the bank of a river.

The kids ooh and ha, intrigued by the site going down. I hear the rumpling of a candy wrapper. “Billy, put that Snickers bar down. That’s it, now back up slowly. Son, if you keep that eating up you’re going to get wedged in the subway tunnel later this afternoon,” I say.

While everyone is staring at Billy the store owner jumps to his feet and charges me, knocking me back into a display of Twinkies. I consult my field guide, which was almost knocked from my hands. “It says here that this would be a good time to use the tranquilizer gun, Peter.”

BWAP! Peter shoots the store owner and he slumps over on a stack of rootbeer.

“Good shot, Peter,” I say, standing and dusting myself off.

I hear the clicking of chopsticks and spin on my heels. “Billy, get out of that.” The little porker had gotten into the store owner's lunch. I consult my guide. “It appears what you’ve been eating Billy, is known as Pibimpap; Spicy sauce, thinly sliced vegetables, meats. Is that what you were eating, Billy?”

“I don’t feel so good Mr. Vancouver?” Billy says, coming out from behind the counter.

“Well, if you hadn’t eaten your bodyweight in candy and then topped it off with a spicy Korean dish then you wouldn’t be sick. Now, go get on the bus.”

Billy wobbles towards the door. BLECK! The rotund boy yaks on the store owner, who is thankfully out cold.

“Billy hose the shop owner off before you put him on the luggage rack of the bus with the pimp and the whore. Next kids we are going into the deepest darkest depths of the cement jungle to hunt out one of the most dangerous and unpredictable of specimens, the crackhead.”