To Live And Be Arrested In Burbank Part II

On the way to the police station in the cruiser, Vincent warned the cops that they couldn’t hold him for longer than five minutes.

"You won’t even be able to get me in a jail cell. I didn’t hit that guy at the door. I was asking him for directions, when all of a sudden, a two-armed man came out from behind and tripped over that dude’s legs. He fell into the wall and the two-armed man ran back inside. I was only trying to catch him."

"A TWO-armed man?" the officer driving asked.

"What, you really think the story would be believable if it was a one-armed man? You’ve seen the Fugitive, haven’t you?"

"This has GOT to be the stupidest conversation I’ve ever had with a perp," the other officer said.

"Do you officers seriously not recognize me? I’m Trey Vincent."

"Sure you are," the driver said. "If you’re really Trey Vincent, then you’d know what your stats are for last season."

"Stats?"

"For the Eagles."

"Huh? I said TREY! Not Troy! Good fucking lord. Am I back in Metal Edge? Where’s Nethery? He put you up to this, didn’t he?"

At the police station, Vincent’s promise came true. He walked in, showed that he is a private investigator and one of the biggest sports entertainment stars EVER. Vincent and the security dude came to an agreement.

No charges pressed.

"Dude, this is like a Mastercard ad now," Vincent said to a cab driver on the way back to NBC studios. "Break into NBC Studios: A trip to prison. Assault a guard: $5,000. Break into NBC Studios a second time: Priceless."

"Joo broke into NBC meng?" the cab driver asked.

"Who told you that? No! Shut up. Now get me to NBC studios!"

[A little bit later.]

Trey Vincent was again in NBC studios. Oh yes he was. A little kid suddenly pulled on his leg.

"Dude!"

"Trey Vincent. You’re my favorite sports entertainer of all time! Can I get your autograph?"

"Awww, aren’t you the cutest." Pause. "Fuck off, kid."

As he ran away crying, only to soon discover that his dad was unconscious and provide mental scars, Vincent searched and searched.

Green room.

"DUDE!" Vincent cried out. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Trey!" Rob Lowe stepped out from the green room and they shook hands. "Long time no see, bro."

"No shit, man. Hope you’ve been using that equipment I gave you to good use." *Wink*

Rob laughed nervously. "Uh, yeah. Right."

Vincent looked around Rob and saw some little nerdy kid inside. "That yours?"

"No, thankfully," Rob said.

"Say, have you seen Michelle Branch?"

"Naked? No. But around, yeah."

Vincent looked at Rob for a moment, raising his head up and peering down at him.

"What? She’s around here somewhere."

"Don’t be holding out on me, Lowe. You’re gonna tell me what I want or…" he shook his fist at him in his why-I-oughta fashion.

"I don’t know anymore than that, OK?"

"Alright. But if I find otherwise, the cops may just get a tip about an illegal porn collection."

"I don’t have an illegal porn collection."

"I didn’t say YOU did. Alright. I’ve got to go find her."

"Make up!"

Vincent cocked an eyebrow.

"That’s where she was heading."

"You’ve played wisely, Lowe."

There was a handshake and then Vincent departed.

Trey Vincent was on his way when he saw something he didn’t like.

"Awww, FUCK. Not you again."

The Burbank PD.

"C’mon, Vincent. We’re going back to headquarters."

Vincent sighed. "Can we at least stop at a fast food joint? All this being arrested garbage is making me hungry."

NEXT CHAPTER: To Live And Be Arrested In Burbank Part III >>

©2003 John Leary