A Hella Coachella

Tarbash the Terrible

As I sit here sweltering in the unseasonably warm spring digits (90+) my trusty cohorts Adam and Kyle are chillin' in Palm Springs, no doubt grooving to the sounds of perhaps the best Coachella Festival line-up ever. I will say that I feel lucky that I didn't go with them this year, because I got a call from Adam just as they were pulling into the festival and he told me a story about their journey through the desert that made the hair on my neck stand at attention. Not only were they lucky to have made it on time, they were lucky to have arrived alive. As Adam related the twisted tale via cell phone I practically felt the temperature in my home plummet. Had Kyle not verified every creepy word I'd never have believed that he wasn't just pulling my leg.

According to Adam they departed at about midnight hoping to pull into their motel around 4 or 5 in the morning, grab a good 6 hours of shut-eye and be ready to rock rested and right. Things would not turn out quite as planned.

Everything was going smoothly enough until they started getting sleepy and decided to pull over at a rest stop between Baker and Barstow – a decision that would prove to be a fateful one indeed. Adam pulled the van in and parked, hopped out, walked around trying to shake off the snoozies, then walked over to the restroom to drain the Gecko, leaving Kyle sound asleep in the van. Kyle woke up a few minutes later, rubbed his eyes and before long happened to notice that Adam was no longer driving the van. Naturally curious, Kyle inquired as to whom indeed this was that had taken the wheel which inspired someone in the back seat to zap him in the neck with a taser.

Meanwhile, Adam was standing in the Rest Stop parking lot where he was pretty sure he'd left the van, hoping against hope that Kyle had woken up and decided to play a little practical joke. Doubtful as to this theory and understandably worried he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Kyle (this better be good at the roaming rates he was sure to incur.) At first he only got Kyles voicemail, but upon dialing again he seemed to interrupt a loud and passionate argument. Pretty soon he could make out someone saying "You're the stupid fucker that answered it, say hello" after a long pause where all he could hear was a lot of commotion a different voice deafened him with the admonition "Dude if we even fucking see a cop your buddy's dead." "Let me talk to him" Adam tried desperately. "He's taking a nap right now – what's his name?" came the reply. . . . ."Kyle." Adam finally answered after trying to decide if it were a bad idea.

"Kyle huh? Here's the deal - if you call the cops, Kyle here is toast." When he heard his name, Kyle came to and Adam heard Kyle garble some sort of incoherant "what the fuck" remark" and then a scream and no more Kyle. Soon he heard a different voice that clearly said, "Dude hang up – what if they're tracing the call?" Silence, more commotion then a different scream, "fucking moron" then a disconnect and dial tone.

As Adam pondered how swiftly his life had gone from more or less happy and pleasant to fucked and horrifying a guy he'd talked to in the restroom (who also happened to be on his way to Coachella) stepped up and said something like "Dude, where's your car?" "Gone" Adam replied, "along with my Best Friend, my wallet and my, uh . . . life." "That sucks bro – which way did they go?" Adam didn't think about it for long, "South – that's the only way you can go outta this place. Slapping Adam on the shoulder the guy said, "Let's go, find ‘em – I gotta couple guns," motioning Adam into the passenger seat of a tricked out Mustang, "hardly ever get to use ‘em." Adam numbly replied, "Really?" As the guy hopped in, "How bigga lead they got?" "Uh, 5,10 minutes tops –" "We better boogie bro." As they merged onto I-15 southbound, Adam's Good Samaratan asked, "You like Westerns?"

Hoping to forestall any further torture Kyle pretended to be unconscious and listened to his captors bizarre conversation. From what he was able to make out the three van-dals were escapees from a large party of Eskimos who had come to Vegas for an annual throwdown. They made it sound like the whole group was under the air-tight control of some kind of despotic crime boss who was referred to fearfully as "Tarbash the Aleut" The Basher and "the Big A." Turns out the driver was the son of this man, which increased their paranoia ten-fold. They were convinced that any second now a black limo would pull alongside and fill the van full of holes. Tarbash's iron-fisted reign was not to be questioned and mile by mile these Eskimo escapees seemed to regret their improvised attempt to escape from this fascist fist-pounder. Had Kyle been watching this unfold on the big screen he was sure it would have been hilarious, but under the circumstances it wasn't the least bit funny. They were all under 20, two spoke English and the other one just moaned in a low ceaseless tone and stared out the back window. "noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo."

"Do you want me to drive while you load the gun," asked a desperate Adam Mast. "Naa, I can steer with my knee – look at this baby, ain't she a beaut? Semi-auto with 38 Hollow Points, make 'em think twice about a life of crime." "Right," Adam said numbly as they passed through traffic at around 110. All the while thinking to himself that they could have easily driven right past the stolen van at this rate. In the distance the lights of Barstow reminded him that the van was close to being out of gas and that most likely, whoever took it would have to stop. "I was close to being out of gas, let's pull over in Barstow and check the gas stations – " "Right, way aheadaya" said the Samaratin palming the magazine into the handle of the pistol with a crisp snap and pointing it around at other cars. "Bam bam, bambam." "Oh my God I hope we find 'em. What's your friend look like? Take the fun out of it, if I shot him."

Kyle's hopes got a little boost as he noticed that the van was pulling off in Barstow. "I've gotta eat something Beez, we haven't eaten anything since the Baker. Kyle had to smile when the guy mumbled something under his breath about the Mad Greek. I know it was the smart thing but was much exhaust to walk way out in desert?" "Maybe you just wanna wait by side of road for Tarbash to shoot you 87 times?" "Nevermind." "No you right," said Beez, "we've gotta eat." "What about uh Kyle?" Asked Taser boy. "Why should we feed him, we're just gonna to kill him?" "No I mean what do we do with him while we eat?" "Taser him, numb balls, I swear you stupider than Feezil." "But he's already in the tazing - too much and maybe he die, from? "We're going to kill him anyway - give me that thing, you're brain needs wake up call." "Okay okay, sorry. I forgot we were blood thirsty criminals."

The eskimoes gassed up the van and then pulled across the street to a Carl's Jr and parked the car. "Okay," said Beez, "shock him very good so no funny business while we get our food." By this time Kyle had slipped his hand up under his collar and it absorbed most of violent shock, but it still knocked him out again. Just as the car thieves were strolling into the Restaurant, Adam and his new friend pulled up on the other side of the van. Hopping out they started checking the doors to find them all unlocked, Adam crawled in, found his stashed set of keys, tumbled into the driver's seat and fired up the van. Rolling down the window he shout-whispered to his new friend, "we're outta here, thanks man." Expecting to see his buddy haul ass out of there as well, the guy simply leaned back in his seat and relaxed. "I'm just gonna wait here and see it I get lucky and they try to steal my car." "Okay good luck, hope we see you at Coachella!"

Once safely on the freeway, Adam finally managed to shake Kyle back to consciousness. Kyle looked at Adam, then looked around in the back before slumping down in his seat exhaling deeply, "dude – I just had the most bizarre nightmare." Adam reached to the console and grabbed the coke he'd just bought for Kyle, "here, down some of this, I might need you to do a little driving. As Kyle touched Adam's finger he got an electric shock so strong you could hear it. "click."