Birthday Girl Ch. 08

J-Lo went on ahead and parked himself on the side of the trail just after a rise on the track. He had positioned himself, like a sniper and was ready for us. The rest of us went in search and found Nick parked behind a bush, hiding from us, but as soon as he heard our engines he sped off like Speedy Gonzales. We gave chase and herded him, like you would a wild horse, right to where we wanted him.

Unbeknown to him, we led him right where J-Lo was waiting for him. Nick came flying over the rise at full speed like Evel Knievel and J-Lo took aim and fired. Nick was off the seat because of the jump and his right butt cheek exploded in a flash of blue as he landed. Some say his curses echoed in these dry lands for a thousand years to come.

Bulls-eye!

We backed off after that and headed back to the office as Nick was still running like a mad dog towards the opposite direction. The rules had been that each of them would get one shot as revenge for not being invited for the proposal. Bill and I didn't count because we were there so we just helped in herding him for the kill. We allowed him the helmet because we didn't want to shoot an eye out a month before the wedding and have him show up with a pirate patch.

We were sipping on sodas and chilling when he finally showed up, approaching cautiously until he saw we didn't have the guns with us. He got off the bike gingerly and threw his helmet at us blindly in rage.

"You bastards!" he yelled holding his bum and we collapsed in fits of laughter at the sight.

He stood there seething, clenching and unclenching his fists until he gave up and went in search for his clothes. After recovering we went after him and found him holding a hose pipe, trying to scrub off the paint from his body. Any offer of help was met with a look of disgust and muttered expletives. Finally deciding that whatever paint was left wasn't going to come off any time soon he marched off to change.

The air in the car on the ride back was so thick with tension you couldn't cut it with a chainsaw. On one hand we were struggling to maintain composure, trying our best to keep from laughing, though a few sniggers still escaped and on the other hand, Nick was sitting turned away from all of, arms crossed, the rage emanating from him in waves.

"C'mon man, lighten up already," Bean tried, nudging him with an elbow.

He didn't answer.

"Look at it this way, we're even now, so you can relax," Shaq piped up.

"Even? Even for what? What the hell did I do to you guys?"

J-Lo spoke from the front, "Do you really want to get us started on that?"

"It wasn't on purpose you idiots!" Nick blew up, "You know all of us would never have gotten together for three days in a row. I know for a fact J-Lo was in Sweden that weekend for a meeting with Volvo. You all have commitments of one kind of the other and if I'd waited for all of you to be free at the same time I'd have been proposing when I was sixty!"

"We're here now aren't we?" Vicky said snidely.

"Shaq what are you doing tomorrow?" Nick asked.

"I have lunch planned with a prospective client," Shaq replied a little guiltily.

Nick spread his hands in 'there you go' gesture.

"Bean what are you doing next weekend?

"I have to attend a seminar," he said in a small voice.

"Should I continue?" Nick looked around at all of them, "it was a three day trip and we barely get one day free together."

"You could have at least told us," Bean continued.

"As if you guys would have let me go if you knew about it. Guys I'm really sorry that I had to leave you guys out of it alright? And I'm not just saying that, I really mean it, but we had no other choice. It was our anniversary and the time was right and I just wanted to do it. And..."

"And?" everyone asked.

"The park recorded the whole thing and sent me a video copy of it. You guys can see it. Happy?"

"Oh hell yeah!" Shaq exclaimed, "Right now!"

"Fine, let's get to a TV," Nick said, smiling a little now.

We headed over to my place and I hooked up his phone to my TV. We spent the next hour watching the video over and over again, nitpicking and giving Nick grief over every detail. It was almost sunset by then and everyone got up to leave.

"We'll be back in an hour," J-Lo said, "Be ready by then, we're going out"

"I need to go home to change, I can't go out like this," Nick pointed to his soiled clothes.

I tossed him a duffel bag, "I got Jenna to pack some stuff for you. Now go take a shower, you look like you're homeless."

"Yeah, thanks to you cunts," he mumbled, heading for the shower, a slight limp in his left foot.

"Hey," he called out before the rest filed out.

They all turned to see what he wanted.

"We all good?"

"We always been good jackass," Shaq replied, "we just wanted a reason to shoot your ass."

*************************************

We got out of the car and started walking towards the club and Nick was moaning non-stop.

"Why did you have to shoot my ass, man?" he was whining to J-Lo, "I can't even sit dude, it feels like crabs are snapping at me nonstop,"

The only effect that had on J-Lo was it made him laugh even more. We didn't have to wait in line because we had reserved the top deck of the club exclusively for ourselves. We had our own dance floor, our own waiters and waitresses and our own drinks. There was no sharing tonight! It had cost quite a bit but since none of us could afford the time off to take Nick to Vegas or something we just decided we could at least do something for him in town. Nick didn't know this yet, he just thought we were going to party with everyone else.

"And Bean, why in God's name are you dressed like that?" Nick asked him.

Bean was dressed up as the exact replica of Mr. Bean, complete with the tweed jacket, brown pants, red tie and ridiculous shoes. He had even gone as far as sticking a large fake mole on his left cheek and learned how to frown just like the original. Apart from the fact that our Bean was fatter, they looked virtually identical.

We were almost at the entrance and instead of answering, Bean walked up to him and before Nick knew what was going on, handcuffed himself to him. Nick stood bewildered for a moment, staring at the handcuffs, then at Bean.

"Helloow..." Bean mimicked Mr. Bean and waved at Nick with his free hand.

Nick just gave himself a face palm and resigned himself to a night of humiliation. The whole crowd in front of the club were pointing and laughing at them and Bean made it a point to wave at all of them as Nick desperately tried to hide his face. No matter what he did though, he couldn't get away from Bean.

We entered the club, music blaring and without warning, Bean immediately headed for the dance floor and Nick had no choice but to follow him. It was still quite early so the floor was empty as people were still mingling and getting sufficiently inebriated before getting to the dancing. Bean went straight to the middle of the dance floor and started moving his hips back and forward, hands hanging to the sides, just like Mr. Bean. In a matter of minutes they had the whole clubs attention.

Everyone was laughing as Bean kept on dancing like a retard and Nick was trying, very unsuccessfully, to get off the floor. Bean was too chubby for Nick to move by himself, it looked like a Mini trying to pull a trailer. He had gone red in the face and his look said he just wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Then Bean stepped it up.

Let me tell you if you can watch Mr. Bean do Gangnam Style without cracking up you have something seriously wrong with you. Bean went full Psy, waving his arms around his head, rag-dolling Nick around with him, and doing that thing with the feet. The DJ, being a sport, then played MC Hammer. The club was in fits watching Bean doing Hammer Style.

Nick finally gave up and joined Bean in the next song, much to the cheer of all the patrons. The song was Macarena and he and Bean did the whole song in sync, the crowd shouting the chorus 'Eeeeh Macarena!' every time it came. The applause was deafening when the song ended and they did a small bow before walking off.

"Get these off me now!" Nick shouted over the music as we headed up to our reserved deck.

Bean just shook his head and led the way up the stairs. The top deck was spectacular. There was a bar along an entire length of the room with several barstools sitting in front of it. White plush couches adorned the adjacent two sides and the fourth side, which was opposite the bar, was just a glass railing looking over the rest of the club below. The music was toned down a little up here.

As soon as we got up we headed straight for the bar. On the counter top, thirty six shot glasses with a reddish liquid were lined up in a straight line waiting for us. Nick was already struggling to try and get away.

"You're crazy if you think I'm going to have all those Ambulance shots by myself," he complained.

Ambulance was a drink made with Tequila and Tabasco sauce and Nick hated it because one, he hated the burning feeling as it went down and two, it made him stupid high. Bean just pulled him to the bar effortlessly.

"They're not all for you, genius," I told him, "We are seven, and we'll have five shots each. Let's start off this night with a Bang!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Nick stopped us, "seven into five is thirty five. There are thirty six shots."

"There are?" Shaq stepped in-between us, amazed, "well in that case, for your outstanding visual observation skills, you get the orphan shot."

Nick groaned realizing he walked right into that one. Thus the night began. We had more drinks than we could count and at one point or the other, one of us was always having a shot with Nick, along with a toast. The toasts didn't necessarily make sense as the night went on, we were just making toasts for the sake of it.

"To the bond we share!" Bean shouted, holding up the cuffs between them.

"To me violating your ass!" J-Lo shouted, smacking Nick's injured butt and causing him to scream and spill his drink. It was replaced instantly.

"To my Helmet!" Helmet shouted holding up his soda, which he dropped on himself. He was never good at toasts.

"To Alejandro!" Shaq shouted. No this day we have no idea who Alejandro is.

"To Mustangs, baby!" Bill shouted.

"To the Good ol' times!" was mine.

After we were sufficiently hammered, to the point where we couldn't tell the difference between vodka and water, Bean shouted, "Its time!"

There was some activity as one of the waitresses put a chair in the middle of the room and another one brought bright red three inch stilettos and gave them to Bean. As plastered as Nick was, he still noticed.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked eyes wide, in a scared voice as he watched Bean put the heels on.

"No Stag is complete without a stripper, my friend," Bill said dramatically.

The normally reserved Bill was coming out of his shell tonight and showing us his wild side. Bean led Nick to the chair and made him sit on it. Nick sat on one cheek and looked like he was about to be executed. He kept shaking his head and muttering "no no no no". As if on cue, the song changed to a slow sultry one and Bean started the show.

I swear to you, on everything that is dear to me, there was not a dry eye, nor a person standing upright in that room that night. Hilarious wasn't the word for it. The five of us were on the floor, rolling and holding our sides, almost about to die of laughing. The bartender and the waitresses too were clutching their sides, trying their best to remain professional. I don't know how Bean stripped with one hand cuffed but he gave a show worthy of an Oscar.

He gyrated, he twirled, he twerked better than Miley Cyrus, and dragged his hairy sweaty belly over the side of Nicks face. He put one stiletto on the chair between Nick's legs and bent over, pressing his man boobs together in Nicks face. Through it all I took one picture of Nick's face. It was priceless. He was stupored into a daze, mouth hanging open, disgusted and traumatized at the same time.

The dance ended with Bean standing in front of Nick, facing away from him, only in his tighty whiteys. We all applauded and catcalled like he'd won the superbowl. Nick got a funny look then and barfed over the side of the chair. I don't know whether it was the drinks or the sight before him but he spewed chunks like a fountain. We composed ourselves enough to carry him off and gave him some water after he cleaned himself up in the bathroom.

"Please get these off me now," he drawled as his head lolled around, sitting on the couch.

He was barely able to sit upright until we propped him up with some cushions.

"We have a problem," Bean whispered to us, sitting down next to Nick.

He was wasted as well, having consumed quite a lot of alcohol to give him the courage for the lap dance.

"What?" I asked him.

"I lost the keys," he said quietly but Nick heard him.

"What?" he bolted upright then fell back, his head still swimming, "you can't be serious."

This was not good. We had a guy who could barely stand up handcuffed to a practically naked guy in a club that was packed to the brim. It was three in the morning and the club was still going strong, people still coming in for a good time.

"Calm down," I tried to assure him, "we'll find it."

"Ok wait, how'd you get your clothes off?" Bill asked, squinting the way drunks do when they're trying to figure something out.

"They button down the middle, like the strippers clothes. Weren't you watching when I tore them off?"

We all shook our heads at the same time. We had been too busy laughing.

"Well then at least you won't have to walk out of here naked. One problem solved," Shaq said.

"But what about this?" Bean pulled his arm up, along with Nicks limp one attached to it.

"Where'd you put the key?" enquired Helmet.

"It was supposed to be in my trouser pocket but I think after all the tearing and flinging around it must have slipped out and fallen somewhere,"

"Fan out," Shaq instructed all of us.

Five drunks proceeded to scour the whole floor area looking for a small key. Needle in a haystack comes to mind, you can guess how well that went. We bumped into each other a few times and Bill just gave up and lay on the floor, staring up. The staff also tried to help us but to no avail.

"Ok guys stop," J-Lo said, holding his head, "this is going to get us nowhere, and its making my head spin. Let's go over to my place, I have a workshop in my garage, we'll figure something out there."

Of course! J-Lo was in construction and he had all kinds of tools in his backyard, we were bound to find something to get the damn cuffs off. Didn't I tell you J-Lo was always the rational one?

"Bean can you walk?" I asked.

"Let's find out," he replied and attempted to get up.

He teetered and see-sawed for a few moments but managed to stay up. We all sighed in relief. It would have been a nightmare to carry both him and Nick out to the cars. We handed him the Mr. Bean attire and it was just as funny watching him put it on with only one hand.

Bill helped him out after he tried to put his hand through the leg of his trouser, thinking it was his shirt. He tied the red tie around his head like Rambo. After getting him a little water and forcing Nick to drink some, I shouldered Nick on one side and Bean supported him on the other as we made our way out. We got quite a few claps on the back as we exited from patrons that still remembered the dancing at the beginning of the night.

We managed to get into the car without incident and Helmet drove us to J-Lo's place. We stumbled into his garage as he turned on the lights and before us lay a plethora of equipment, tools and devices that would give Inspector Gadget a hard-on. I don't think I knew what ninety percent of the stuff was for. The others seemed to be equally bewildered.

"What exactly are we supposed to use from this?" Bean asked.

"Power tools are out of the question," Shaq said, "no one's going home with a stump for a hand tonight."

Even Nick seemed to be sobering up a little now and was looking around curiously.

"Fear not!" I stated grandly, "since the dawn of man-kind there had always been one tool that has been the answer to all of mans problems,"

They were all looking at me.

"The hammer!" I exclaimed and made a motion akin to striking a gavel.

"I don't think I have a hammer," J-Lo said sheepishly.

"You gotta be kidding. You have stuff that could impress James Bond and you don't have a freaking hammer?"

"Shut it engineer boy," J-Lo retaliated, "even if I had one which one of us is sober enough to aim without breaking their hands?"

Helmet was about to speak up before J-Lo cut him off, "don't even think about it Butterfingers."

"So what do you have we can use then?" Shaq asked.

J-Lo scratched his head, "I have an acetylene welding torch,"

"Hey that might actually work, we can melt the link between the cuffs and they can be free," Helmet quipped and Shaq agreed with him, "I can try it."

"I don't trust you with a rubber duck and if you think I'd let you around me with an open flame you're out of your freaking mind," Nick spoke up.

"Look who decided to join us," Bean said, shaking Nick.

"Look I'm the only one who's sober enough to do it, alright?" Helmet tried to argue, "if we adjust the flame so that we get a sharp point, it will be safe. We can even cover their hands with some fire resistant cloth just in case."

I just stood, listening to them argue, shaking my head in disbelief. Didn't they have any knowledge of basic physics?

"Hey MacGyver," I called out to Helmet, "ever heard of conduction?"

"Huh? What?"

"An acetylene flame is around 2000 degrees, those cuffs will heat up in no time and you'll probably burn their hands while trying to cut the link, although knowing you, you'll probably trip over the hosing and torch them instead."

"So what do we do now?" Bill asked, sitting down on a bench.

I looked around and saw a manual hacksaw lying on one of the work tables, the kind you have to push and pull with your hand.

"Think that'll work?"

J-Lo shook his head, "I doubt a hacksaw can cut through standard cuffs."

"Standard?" Bean perked up, "I got these from a joke shop."

"Helmet, grab that hacksaw," I told him.

We positioned Bean's and Nick's hand on either side of a two by four with the link resting in-between on the wood. Helmet approached, the hacksaw quivering in his hand. One of us would have done it but we were a long way from sober and we didn't want to take the chance of someone getting hurt. Helmet licked his lip in concentration as he lined up the hacksaw with the metal.

"Helmet I swear I get one scratch and I'll shove my foot so far up your ass you'll be tasting leather for weeks," Nick warned.

"You know I don't work well under pressure," Helmet said as he started shaking.

"Helmet relax," I tried to calm him down, "and Nick shut up. Close your eyes if you have to."

Nick did close his eyes and look away, scrunching up his face as if preparing for the worst.

As Helmet prepared for another go Bean spoke up, "Slip up and I'll slit your throat."

"Bean! You're not helping!" I shouted, "Do you want the cuffs off or not?"

He kept quiet but kept glaring at poor Helmet who was sweating from the burden on his shoulders. It took around ten minutes but finally the link gave way and the two were separated. We all whooped and celebrated, shaking each other's hands and hugging like we'd accomplished a tremendous feat. For once we were proud of Helmet and he basked in the glory.