January 15, 2014Dead End
I’ve had it with movies where escapes go wrong,
like when the assistant V.P. at the bank,
who hates his job and has bought a ticket
to Rio—where there’s no extradition treaty
with the U.S.—is sneaking a million
smackers out of the vault one night when he
gets interrupted by the nosy cleaning lady
and has to cool it till she mops her way
upstairs, and then, after he finishes packing
the money into a big suitcase, he tries
to lug it inconspicuously to a cab that
hits every damn red light on the way
to the airport, where his flight’s been
cancelled because of weather, meaning
he may not get out of the country
before they discover his brazen theft,
which, with the cleaning lady’s help,
they may have already done, making
his life seem more and more like that dream
where you’re running from the monster
and aren’t really moving, but now
another flight’s arrived just in time, though
customs wants to talk to him about
the 150-pound suitcase, which he explains
contains cash his bank has to pay a Rio firm
before Monday to get a fat contract
and that the customs guy, who hates
his job, too, decides, after some questioning
and I.D. checking, not to investigate
further, so that finally the coast looks clear,
except the plane has a stopover in Houston,
where the poor slob has second thoughts
and flies back home to his caged-in life,
where he sneaks the money back into the vault
before Monday’s opening. Jesus, think of it:
that lousy double-crossing bastard. Rio!
from #40 - Summer 2013