****AUTHOR'S NOTE**** This is the first story I wrote for a creative writing class in college. It dates back to 1996 or 1997 and I was probably about 19 when I wrote it. It still definitely displays many of the hallmarks of my writing style today. What's more, my brain must really think along similar tracks because I noticed familiar names in here that popped up in later works I did. I hadn't read this in a really long time and I thought it had been completely lost, but then just for fun in October of 2021, I was looking at some of my really old emails and I discovered I had sent a copy of this to a friend sixteen years ago. I was able to recover the story from that email, along with another story that I also thought had been lost, so that was a pretty exciting discovery to make and it was fun to re-read this after so many years. I remembered some of it, but there was a lot that I had forgotten. Incidentally, the story "Cinema's Newest Auteurs!", which appears earlier in this collection is a loose sequel to this story, in that it also features Milo and Floyd. Perhaps now that I've found this one, I'll see fit to continue their adventures at some point.
"Get out of here!" shouted the decidedly large owner of the restaurant as he tossed Milo headfirst out into the street. Floyd, who was dressed in a rented chicken suit, followed soon after and landed with an audible thud.
"I told you they'd never believe I was a giant chicken," Floyd mumbled as he picked himself up from the ground.
"We had them fooled until you sneezed," Milo sneered. He rose slowly to his feet and brushed the dirt off of his cheap three-piece suit. "After all, everybody knows that chickens never sneeze."
"It was a stupid idea, Milo," Floyd persisted.
"It was not stupid. It's common knowledge that the giant Albanian chicken is a valued delicacy. Restaurants will pay top dollar if they can get a hold of one. Besides, I wouldn't have left you there. After they took you into the kitchen I would have broken in through the back door and we could have escaped in time to get the chicken suit back to the rental shop by five o'clock." Just then he noticed that the price tag was still dangling from under Floyd's left wing. "Hey, what the-? Didn't you remove that?"
"Hey, look at that," Floyd mused. "I didn't even see that there."
"For God's sake, Floyd," Milo flung his arms up in exasperation. "I come up with these stunningly brilliant plans and you keep screwing them up with your incompetence."
Floyd looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, Milo. What are we going to do?"
"Well, we both know I'm the brains of this operation. Give me a few minutes and I'll think of a plan."
Floyd shut up and let Milo think. Sometimes he suspected that Milo wasn't as smart as he claimed to be. Nonetheless, Floyd tended to let him come up with the plans because he was pretty sure that he himself wasn't terribly smart at all. Floyd watched Milo intently as he pondered. Milo's brow was furrowed viciously and he appeared to be deep in thought about many complex things far beyond Floyd's comprehension.
In actuality, Milo was thinking about the fact that his back itched in that annoying spot that he never seemed to be able to reach.
Floyd continued to watch him with great interest. Milo was not really an attractive man. He was fairly small in stature. Considerably smaller than Floyd, at any rate. He had thick oily brown hair that always looked like it had just been slept on. His eyes appeared to be set pretty far back in his head, but this may have been an illusion caused by the fact that he had a rather large nose. His ears were also oversized and he was slightly bucktoothed. He always wore loud suits that had gone out of style about a decade previously. He had three fake gold chains that he displayed proudly and his skin had a somewhat artificial color to it that looked like someone who had spent a large amount of time in salons trying to look like he had a great tan. When most people saw him, the word "slimy" was the first thing that came to mind. It struck Floyd how rat-like Milo appeared at that particular moment and he had to suppress a chuckle at the thought.
Several minutes passed and Milo showed no indication of coming up with a brilliant plan. Floyd began to notice the heat of the midday summer sun beating down on him inside the heavy chicken suit. "Hey Milo, can we take this suit back to the shop? I'm dying in here."
"There you went and did it," Milo said irritably. "I was just on the verge of formulating an ingenious plan, but now it's gone. How many times have I told you not to talk while I'm thinking? Oh hell, it doesn't matter. Let's take that damn thing back to the rental store."
On the way there they happened to pass by a newspaper stand. There was an article that caught Milo's eye on the front page of one of the papers. Apparently the Pope was currently on an American visit and would be traveling to several different towns.
"Hold it Floyd," Milo shouted. "I've got it! We're going to be the Pope!"
"How are we going to do that?" Floyd asked. "I mean there's probably a lot of people ahead of us in line for that position. We're not really qualified anyway, I mean we don't even know that much about religion."
"You idiot, we're not going to actually become the Pope. We're just going to pretend we're the Pope and trick people into giving us money."
"Isn't he kind of famous, Milo? How are we going to convince people we're the Pope?"
"Oh we'll fool them," Milo assured. "With my extraordinary acting abilities there's nothing to worry about. Besides, the fact that he's famous is even better. He must charge a ton of money for these personal appearances. We'll travel from town to town and rake in a fortune!"
"I don't know about this, Milo. I'm not sure it works that way."
"Look, Floyd," Milo sighed. "How many times do we have to go over this? I'm the brains of this operation."
"I know, but I really don't think you have your facts straight this time."
"Floyd, let me ask you something," Milo said as he put his arm around Floyd's shoulder. "Have you ever met the Pope? Do you even know what the Pope does?"
"Well, no," Floyd said.
"So do you think your average joe knows anything substantial about the Pope either?"
"Maybe not," Floyd agreed hesitantly.
"Think about it," Milo uttered eagerly. "It doesn't really matter what we tell people, just so long as they think we're the Pope, which they will because I can convince anyone of absolutely anything. And we'll even play it safe if it makes you feel better. We won't try this in big cities where there's more likelihood of people figuring us out. We'll go out into the country and pull it on a bunch of ignorant farmers. Everybody knows country folk don't know nothing."
"Well, all right," Floyd acquiesced.
"Let's get to that rental shop then and get us a Pope costume!" Milo shouted as he ran down the street.
Floyd couldn't run very well in the cumbersome chicken suit and lagged a considerable distance behind. By the time Floyd reached the rental store Milo had already obtained the Pope costume. Floyd went inside and returned the chicken suit while Milo tried to figure out how to get out to the country. Neither one of them owned a car and it seemed like an awfully long walk out of the city. In the end he decided they should take a bus as the fare would be cheap and it would certainly pass through some hick towns.
So it was that Milo and Floyd found themselves sitting in the back seat of an old smelly yellow school bus that had been retired from taking children to school, but fully utilized by a cut-rate bus tour company. The dark green seats were covered with holes and Floyd picked at the little pieces of brown fluff that came out of them.
There was only one other passenger on board with them and it was hard to determine if he was even alive. He was an old man with a long scraggly beard and a checkered green jacket. He hadn't moved an inch since they had boarded the bus. Milo contemplated trying to steal the old man's wallet, but he didn't like the strange looks the bus driver kept giving him. The bus driver seemed as if he could see everything at all times and that made Milo nervous. In actuality, the bus driver was legally blind and could hardly see anything at all. He didn't even know Milo was on board. The bus swerved violently back and forth across the road several times. Milo had indeed gotten a really low price on those bus tickets.
"So which one of us is going to be the Pope?" Floyd broke the silence.
"Why me, of course," said Milo. "I'm a better actor than you."
"Well, what role am I going to play?"
"You're going to be my personal assistant who has to carry out everything I ask," Milo asserted. "Do you think you can handle that?"
Floyd nodded his assent and resumed picking at the fluff in the seats. There seemed to be an endless supply of it. He began reading the vandalism that had been scrawled on the back of the seats by schoolchildren long ago. Most of it regarded insults pertaining to people's mothers. There was one message scribbled prominently in the middle that read "Religion sucks." Floyd couldn't help but wonder what the world was coming to that no one respected religion anymore.
"Hey, it looks like we're coming to a town!" Milo shouted. "Are you ready to stomp on a bunch of ignorant people's silly beliefs and make a fortune?"
"Sure," Floyd said as he hopped up from his seat.
The old man in the green jacket remained motionless.
They stepped off the bus and found themselves on a narrow two-lane road that was badly in need of repair. The road was surrounded on both sides by grass and some sparsely wooded areas. They seemed to be on the outskirts of the town.
"I wonder what the name of this place is?" Floyd commented.
"It doesn't matter," Milo mumbled. "You see one hick town, you've seen them all." He looked around in a somewhat agitated fashion. "Well, I guess now's as good a time as any to change into the Pope costume." He quickly slipped the robes over his suit and grabbed the hat. It was much too big for his head and slipped down so that it covered his entire face.
"Hey look at that," Floyd said. "The costume doesn't fit you. I guess I'm going to have to be the Pope now, right Milo?"
"Nonsense," Milo uttered. "I'm not going to let you be the Pope. It's much too difficult a role for you to handle. You'll ruin everything. So the hat's a smidgen big. We'll just cut a couple of eye-holes in it and we'll be fine." Milo made the incisions in the hat and donned it. "Fits like a dream this way. Let's go."
He began walking boldly in the direction of the town. Unfortunately Milo hadn't accounted for the similarity between a cheap Pope costume and a Ku Klux Klan outfit. He soon became aware of his mistake as the first person he encountered on the road began throwing rocks at him and yelling curses. Milo and Floyd turned around and quickly ran into the woods right outside of town. "Looks like it's time for a slight change in our plan of attack," Milo panted. "Wearing the hat over the face clearly isn't going to work. We need someone with a bigger head." He glanced over at Floyd. "Wait! I've got it! You're going to be the Pope!"
"Me?" Floyd asked.
"Yes, of course! It's brilliant! Why didn't I think of it before? You can be the Pope!"
"But I can't be the Pope," Floyd interjected. "You said it was too difficult of a role for me."
"What?" Milo acted shocked. "Where did you get that idea from? The Pope is an easy job. Really, it's far below my acting skills. I couldn't dream of condescending to such trifling roles myself. It's very much your cup of tea, Floyd. You've got all the qualities of a Pope. Grace, dignity and a really big head."
"Does this mean you're going to be my personal servant?"
"Of course not," Milo sputtered. "Don't be ridiculous. I will play the role of your personal advisor whom you consult with before making any decisions. And I do mean any and all decisions. You got that?"
"Yeah," Floyd nodded. "Hey, Milo? I've got another question. Aren't you a little concerned that there are only two of us? I mean, wouldn't the Pope have a whole entourage following him around everywhere?"
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of," Milo said solemnly. "Where do you get these ideas? Everyone knows the Pope wanders from town to town on foot with no one but his trusty advisor to provide him with company."
"Now hold on, Milo, that doesn't make sense. If everyone knows that, then why were you going to make me be your servant rather than your advisor when you were going to be the Pope?"
"What are you talking about?" Milo mumbled. "I said advisor. Maybe you heard me wrong, but I distinctly said advisor. You really get some strange notions in your head sometimes. Anyway, that's not important. The important thing here is that we convince all these people that this is, in fact, the way the Pope travels. Look, you don't need to talk very much. We can fall back on the fact that you're a foreigner and don't speak much English. Let me take care of the talking end of things, okay?"
"All right," Floyd responded.
They sewed up the eyeholes and Floyd put on the costume. It fit him much better than it had Milo. After Milo gave the costume a thorough inspection and deemed Floyd fully Pope-like, they set out toward the town.
The first building they came to was a slightly rundown wooden structure with a large porch covered by a rotting shade cover. Above that was a faded sign that said "General Store." Two men dressed in loose flannel shirts and straw hats sat in rickety wooden chairs on the porch. One man was slightly unshaven with little sprouts of hair dotting his face here and there, while the other man had a long scraggly mess of hair flowing from his chin and neck. The man with the long beard smoked a pipe while the other man chewed a mouthful of tobacco. They had been involved in an intense intellectual discussion about the potential ramifications of the extinction of elephant seals when they were interrupted by the abrupt appearance of Milo and Floyd.
"Greetings," Milo intoned as he approached the porch. He paused to see how the two men would react to finding themselves in the presence of the Pope.
"Can we help you?" asked the man with the beard.
"Perhaps you should be asking how we can help you," Milo responded boldly. He paused again to see if they would now realize that they were indeed in the presence of the Pope.
They blinked at him and remained silent. These country folk were proving to be even more ignorant than Milo had anticipated. "Don't you people recognize the Pope when you see him?" he asked irritably as he gestured toward Floyd, who remained a few feet behind him.
The two men exchanged glances.
"The Pope?" the man with the beard asked.
"That's right. I'm his personal advisor, Bernie Fraudsen." Milo extended his hand in greeting toward the men.
The bearded man grasped his hand hesitantly. "I'm Cletus, and this here's Zeke." He pointed to his companion.
An awkward pause followed.
Milo broke the silence. "You guys don't seem very excited about meeting the Pope. You should be bowing down to this man. He's related to God, you know."
This caused the two men to arch their eyebrows.
Floyd also did a double-take, although Milo didn't notice.
"He's related to God, you say," Zeke said bemusedly.
"Yeah, that's right," Milo said. "How do you think you go about becoming the Pope anyway? They don't just give the job to any jerk who can fit in the outfit. You've got to have some good connections. And being related to God is one of the best connections a person can have, don't you think?"
"You don't say," Cletus muttered. He glanced over at Floyd who was now waving his arms around frantically trying to get Milo's attention. "What's wrong with him?"
Milo looked back at Floyd. "Oh, he's just performing a ritual prayer to exonerate you two for your lack of reverence toward him. It requires a lot of big arm motions."
"Milo, I think we need to have a talk," Floyd growled through clenched teeth.
Milo smiled at the men. "If you would be so kind as to pardon me for just a moment. As the Pope's personal advisor, I feel the need to advise him. I'll be right back." He walked over to Floyd and lowered his voice. "What are you doing? I had these guys going and you're ruining everything by making a spectacle of yourself. I had to cover for you just now, you know. Let me handle things, okay?"
"Milo, you don't know anything about the Pope, do you?" Floyd asked seriously.
"Why, yes I do." Milo acted offended. "I know a lot more about the Pope than you do. Just shut up and let me talk. I'm the brains of this operation, let's not forget."
"Milo, the Pope is not related to God," Floyd said.
"Oh yeah, smart guy? How are you so sure of that? Are you on speaking terms with the Pope? Because it just so happens I've met a Pope or two in my day."
"You have? You never told me about that before."
"Really? It must have slipped my mind. But that's beside the point. I mean, do YOU know how someone goes about becoming the Pope?"
"Well, no," Floyd said hesitantly.
"Hey, at least I'm trying to come up with some logical answers here. Now, if you'll please let me get back to these two gentlemen?" He turned and walked back to the two men who were now laughing loudly. They quieted down as he approached.
"Say, what did you say the Pope's name was?" Zeke asked while trying to suppress a giggle.
"The Pope's name?" Milo repeated and looked around nervously. "Why, it's, uh, Bruce."
Floyd let out an audible groan behind him while the two men on the porch burst out into fits of laughter. "I fail to see what's so funny about this," Milo snipped. "Don't you know that when you laugh at the Pope you laugh at God?"
By this time a small crowd of people had begun to gather to see what was going on. There was a soft buzz of whispering emerging from the group of people and then finally someone broke away and ran down the street. Before too long they returned with a tall, dignified-looking man who bore a sheriff's badge prominently on his shirt. He pushed his way through the crowd and approached Milo.
"Hello, strangers," the sheriff said in a clear and confident manner. "My name is Ichabod Pierce. I represent the local law enforcement. I understand one of you two gentlemen is the Pope?"
Milo glanced at Pierce and then over at Floyd who looked pretty conspicuous in his long flowing robes and big pointy hat. "That would be him," he responded.
"Okay, and who did you say you were?" Pierce inquired.
"I'm Bernie Fraudsen, personal advisor and spokesman for the Pope."
"Hey, Ichabod!" Zeke shouted. "Get this, they claim he's related to God!"
Pierce got a contemplative look on his face. "Is that so? And just how would he be related to God?"
Milo adjusted his collar nervously. "I don't know. I think he's a third cousin or something. It's a pretty distant relation."
Cletus started to look a bit antsy. "Hey Ichabod, this has gone on long enough. Let's just put these guys away."
"Now hold on just a minute," Pierce said with a sly look in his eye. "Now maybe this really is the Pope. After all, he is wearing the Pope's clothes. He certainly looks like the Pope, nice strapping young man that he is. And maybe he really is related to God. Maybe Jesus Christ had a couple of cousins or something."
Milo decided to jump on this opportunity. "Yeah, he did have a cousin. Josè Christ. The Pope here is a direct descendent of him."
"Is that right?" Pierce asked with a grin as he gestured toward Floyd. "What did you say his name was?"
Milo paused for a minute. He couldn't remember what he had said Floyd's name was. "His name is Lionel."
"I thought you said his name was Bruce," Zeke jumped in.
"It is," Milo said irritably. "Bruce Lionel Christ. Better known to the world at large as the Pope."
"The Pope is rather quiet, ain't he?" Pierce questioned.
"He speaks very little English," Milo explained. "He pretty much speaks exclusively in Finnish. I'm also his interpreter in addition to being his advisor."
"I see," Pierce said calmly. "Just out of curiosity, are you boys aware that we don't happen to have a Catholic church here in town?"
"Of course I'm aware of that fact," Milo lied. "So what?"
"This doesn't concern you in any way?" Pierce pressed.
"Not particularly," Milo stated.
"Well, all right," Pierce said smiling oddly. "We're honored to have someone of the Pope's stature visiting our humble little town. On behalf of Melvyn, I'd like to welcome you."
"Who's Melvyn?" Milo asked.
"That's the name of our town," Pierce replied. The odd smile hadn't left his face. "So... if the Pope here is really related to God, I suppose you boys might be performing a few miracles for us or something?"
"We might be," Milo said. "For a small fee, of course."
"Okay," Pierce said slyly. "So he might, say, walk on the water, for instance?"
"Well, I don't know about that," Milo said shakily.
"He is related to God, ain't he?" Pierce asked. "After all, Jesus was related to God and he walked on the water."
"All right, fine," Milo said. "You want him to walk on the water? He'll walk on the water. He just needs a little time to prepare himself for such a feat. It's very draining for him, both mentally and physically, you know."
Floyd had given up trying to show Milo the error of his ways by this point and just listened defeatedly to the events that were transpiring. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but let out a sigh in light of the situation they had gotten themselves into.
"Well, show these boys to a room at Maude's Inn, then," Pierce said to the townspeople. Then he turned toward Floyd. "We'll be expecting to see you walk on the water tomorrow. I advise you not to disappoint us. We don't handle disappointment well."
"What is this?!" Milo feigned outrage. "Are you threatening the Pope? Because if you are-" He didn't get to finish his sentence because a large burly man grabbed his arm and escorted him off to the inn.
Later that night Floyd tried to figure out what they were going to do as he and Milo sat in the quaint little bedroom. "Milo, how am I going to walk on the water?"
Milo crinkled up his face for a second. Clearly he was deep in thought once again. Suddenly his eyes brightened and his face broke out into a smile. "Wait, I've got it! We'll do it easily! We can get off on a technicality!"
"I don't see where you're coming from, Milo."
"Of course you don't, Floyd. You lack both the brains and the vision of one as brilliant as myself. It's really quite simple actually. We'll get a whole bunch of ice cubes, toss them on the ground, and you'll walk across them."
"Milo, that's stupid. Didn't you hear the sheriff? This town doesn't like to be disappointed. I think they're going to be a little bit disappointed if I just walk on some ice cubes."
"Floyd, will you or will you not be walking on the water?" Milo asked. "Look, all they asked was that you walk on water. They didn't give any specifics, like it couldn't be frozen or there couldn't be minute amounts of it."
"This isn't going to work," Floyd continued. "Besides, you already made a complete mess of the whole notion of Christianity."
"What are you talking about?"
"Christianity, Milo. It's one of the most predominant religions in the world."
"I know that," Milo said. "But I'm pretty sure I had all my facts straight."
"Josè Christ?" Floyd asked.
"Well, maybe I made up a couple of things here and there," Milo admitted. "But they all believed me. You saw them. They put us up for the night, didn't they? Trust me, if you just let me handle everything we'll be fine. Now let's get some sleep. It's been an incredibly long day."
"All right," Floyd said. "But I still wish you'd come up with a better plan than walking on ice cubes."
Fate was on Milo and Floyd's side that particular night as a freak cold spell descended on the town of Melvyn and temperatures plummeted well below freezing. By the time they awoke in the morning, the local pond had frozen over completely. Milo had woken up early that morning and gone for a walk. When he saw the pond he instantly reformulated his plans. He hurriedly ran back to the inn and woke Floyd up.
"Floyd, the pond is frozen over!" he shouted.
"So what?" Floyd asked sleepily.
"Don't you see what this means?" Milo bellowed. "This changes everything! Now we just tell them that we prayed for the temperatures to drop so you could walk across the frozen pond! We simply take credit for the weather! They're going to be so astounded, we'll have them eating out of our hands!"
Floyd gradually understood and pulled himself out of bed. He threw on the Pope costume and looked to Milo to see what to do next.
"Well, I want to get this miracle business over with as soon as possible," Milo said. "Let's go out and rouse the town!"
By eight o'clock a large crowd had assembled around the little pond that lay near the edge of town. "Using his magical and godlike powers," Milo spoke loudly so that everyone in the crowd could hear. "The Pope has dropped these summer temperatures to such an extent that the waters of this pond have frozen over, enabling him to walk upon them. Gaze in awe as he performs this incredible feat. And then feel free to contribute large amounts of money in tribute to his magnificence."
"Let's just see him walk on the pond, okay?" Sheriff Pierce interrupted.
"All right, all right," Milo said. "Okay, Pope. Go for it."
Floyd stepped out slowly onto the pond. Unfortunately the weather hadn't gotten quite cold enough to freeze the pond very solidly and it was getting progressively warmer as the sun rose higher in the sky. Floyd didn't take two steps before breaking through the ice and disappearing underneath the surface. The crowd immediately burst out into wild fits of laughter.
"Wait!" Milo shouted. "Why are you all laughing at the Pope's misfortune? Do you want to be eternally damned to Hell?!"
"Oh yeah, he's right," Pierce snickered. "Someone pull the 'Pope' out of the pond."
Two men fished Floyd out and set him on his feet.
"The problem here is that the Pope couldn't devote his full concentration toward creating the miracle," Milo sputtered. "The beds weren't comfortable enough. He got no rest at all. Can he be blamed for your inferior housing conditions?"
"You're persistent, aren't you, city boy?" Pierce sneered. "Look, I'm going to ignore your remark about Maude's Inn for the moment despite the fact that Maude is a close friend of mine. Now quite frankly, no one here believes you're the Pope, but I will admit you boys are putting on one hell of an entertaining show for us."
"Show?" Milo feigned disbelief. "You think this is all a show? You're lucky the Pope is a forgiving man."
Pierce cast a sidelong glance toward the crowd. "Oh, is that so? How foolish of me not to have believed your story. I'll tell you what. I'm going to give you one more chance to prove you are who you claim. You perform a miracle, I believe your story."
"You people are picky, aren't you?" Milo sneered. "As if freezing temperatures in the middle of the summer aren't enough for you, you want more. All right. I see your game. Now what kind of miracle do you have in mind? Name anything and I personally guarantee you the Pope will perform it."
Pierce smiled coldly. "I'd like Mr. Bruce Lionel Christ here to raise the dead."
Milo pondered this for a minute. "All right. Raise the dead he will. But there is one trifling matter I should probably bring up."
"What's that?" Pierce asked.
"Well, the Pope doesn't normally go around performing these tasking miracles for free. Perhaps a wee bit of incentive would make it more possible for the miracle to be accomplished. Preferably of the monetary variety."
"You want incentive?" Pierce demanded. "How's this? You raise the dead or I toss you both in jail for fraud. If you're lucky I won't see it fit to revive the fine tradition of tarring and feathering. Is that incentive enough for you?"
Milo gulped. "That's some pretty decent incentive. All right. Fine. When do you want this miracle performed?"
"You've got until five tonight, city boy. You'd better come up with something pretty damn clever if you know what's good for you. I look forward to seeing you in the cemetery at five. Come on everyone, let's get out of here."
With that the crowd dispersed leaving Milo and a dripping wet Floyd standing alone by the pond.
"Milo, let's just get out of town," Floyd pleaded.
"What? And let that sheriff think he got the best of me? I don't think so, Floyd. No, you see, it's become a matter of pride that we con these people now. Besides, it just so happens that I've got a plan."
"A plan?" Floyd echoed. "What do you have in mind?"
"Remember how I've had a long history of 'heart trouble,' Floyd?"
"No. You do? How come you never told me about this before?"
"Because I just made it up, you idiot. Look, we're going to go to that cemetery at five and suddenly I'm going to grasp my chest and collapse on the ground. I'll convince them all that I'm dead with my unparalleled acting abilities. Then it's just a matter of you waving your arms over me and uttering a bunch of mumbo-jumbo and I'll leap back to life healthier than ever. It's a fool-proof plan."
"Milo, they already suspect that we're trying to trick them. Do you really think they're going to believe you're dead?"
Milo sighed. "Look, Floyd, I already told you. I'm going to act dead. My acting skills are simply incredible. I could convince a mortician that I was dead. Just trust me."
"I really think we should just get out of town while we can."
"Would you stop having such a negative attitude?" Milo responded. "Look, once we pull this off we'll leave, okay? Now that we've had a chance to perfect our act we'll go on to the next town and make some money there."
"Well, that's all great and good," Floyd responded. "But if we're going to do that, I really think we need to get a few facts straight about the Pope. For instance, he is not related to God. If we establish that, then we won't get ourselves into this fix of performing miracles again."
"What makes you the expert all of a sudden?" Milo sneered. "Are you trying to tell me the Pope doesn't perform miracles?"
"Milo," Floyd sighed. "When you were walking around town, did you happen to see if there was a library?"
"Yeah, there was a small one. Why?"
"I think you should go in there and do a little research about the Pope. It's kind of stupid to try to convince people of something you're completely ignorant about, don't you think?"
"Isn't that what the Pope does?" Milo asked.
"That's really not for me to say, Milo. Why don't you go to the library while I stand in the sun and try to dry out."
"Well, research isn't really my style. But I guess we have a little time to kill before we have to perform our next miracle."
So with that Milo walked into the library while Floyd waited outside. When Milo came out an hour later he bore an enlightened expression on his face. "Holy cow, Floyd. We've been going about this thing all wrong. The Pope's not related to God at all! He's just the figurative head of the Roman Catholic Church. It's a good thing I'm smart enough to figure these things out. What would you do without me, Floyd? If it weren't for my insatiable thirst for knowledge, you'd still be trying to convince people that you're some sort of miracle-worker."
Floyd sighed. "So what exactly does the Pope do, Milo?"
"Beats me. He mostly just kisses the ground and gives uplifting speeches, near as I can figure. But I saw a photograph of him in action. He really can draw in the crowds. If we play our cards right we could make an astronomical amount of money."
"That's interesting," Floyd murmured. "But what are we going to do about this miracle the town is expecting us to perform?"
"That's easily solved. We chalk up our earlier actions to the fact that the Pope likes to display his acute sense of humor. He's not out of touch with the common people, you know what I mean? Then we claim the real reason we came here was to raise funds to build a Catholic church here in town, since they seem to be lacking one."
"Maybe that's because they don't want to be Catholic," Floyd replied.
"Nonsense," Milo dismissed. "Of course they want to be Catholic. Besides, no one is going to say no to the Pope."
"I have a really bad feeling about this," Floyd cautioned.
"You're really too paranoid," Milo responded. "Now, I need to prepare the speech we're going to make at the cemetery. Please don't disturb me. I need to devote my full concentration to this."
So five o'clock rolled around and Milo walked boldly into the cemetery as Floyd lagged a few steps behind. He walked with a considerably lesser display of confidence than Milo. There was a large crowd assembled with Sheriff Pierce in front.
"You ready to raise the dead, city boy?"
"Ah, yes," Milo chuckled. "Raising the dead. It's all rather silly, isn't it? Now perhaps you'd like me to explain the real reason why the two of us are here today."
"The reason you two are here today is that you're going to raise the dead," Pierce growled as he grabbed Milo by the collar. "I don't want to hear any fancy talk or long winded explanations. Just do it, or you'll be facing a long and unpleasant jail term. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," Milo gulped. He looked nervously over at Floyd. "Back to Plan A," he whispered.
Floyd nodded.
"Oh no, my heart," Milo said flatly as he clutched at the right side of his chest. He launched himself backwards onto the ground while twisting in mid-air. He then rolled over three times before proceeding to convulse about wildly. Finally he kicked his feet up into the air and lay still.
Pierce stared at Milo calmly and watched the "dead" man's chest rise and fall as he breathed. "Oh no," he said. "It appears our city friend here is dead. I'd better check his pulse." He put his hand on Milo's wrist. Milo's heart was beating rapidly. "Looks like he is dead. Good thing we have that open grave over there. Let's bury the poor guy."
Before Floyd had a chance to do anything a crowd of people swooped in and lifted Milo into the air. Milo opened his eyes a bit and started desperately mouthing at Floyd to start uttering the incantations.
Unfortunately no one was paying attention to Floyd anymore and before Milo knew what was happening he had been dropped into a hole in the ground and the first shovelful of dirt came showering down on top of him.
Milo quickly leapt to his feet and let out a shriek. "Hallelujah! I've been saved! I was dead and gone, but the Pope revived me! Praise God almighty!"
Pierce looked coldly over toward Floyd. "Him? He didn't do nothing. You boys are fakes. I'm afraid it's jail time for the two of you. Come on, everyone. Let's give them a taste of small town justice!"
Milo tried to protest but several strong arms seized him. Floyd found himself in a similar predicament. They were pulled violently into the street and toward the direction of the jail.
Struggle was useless, and they were about to give themselves up to the inevitable when a loud honking noise penetrated the air. Everyone stood still as a long black car with tinted windows appeared down the road in a cloud of dust. It pulled to a stop in the middle of the crowd and the driver unrolled his window. "Excuse me," he said. "We seem to have gotten separated from our caravan and we're a little lost. Is this Los Angeles?"
Pierce glanced at the little strip of road they stood on that happened to be the main street of town. "No, this is Melvyn."
The driver pulled out a map and looked at it confusedly.
"Oh, we're not on there," Pierce said. "Don't bother looking. Los Angeles is a long ways away, I'm afraid."
"Well, in that case, do you mind if we get out and use the restroom?" the driver asked.
"Not at all," Pierce replied. The back door opened and a man in long white flowing robes stepped out.
"Why, it's the Pope," Pierce sputtered. "The real one!"
"Yeah," the driver replied. "We've got Pope t-shirts for sale if you're interested."
"Oh, we're interested," Pierce replied eagerly. Milo and Floyd were quickly forgotten as the townspeople gathered around to buy Pope souvenirs.
"Wow, that's quite a racket that guy's got," Milo observed bitterly.
"Come on, Milo," Floyd said. "Let's get out of here."
"Hold on," Milo responded as he watched the Pope break away from the crowd and walk into a building to use the restroom. "I want to talk to that guy. There's a lot to be learned about making money here. This guy really knows how to market himself. Wait here, Floyd. I'll be back in a while."
Floyd waited for a long time before Milo returned. Floyd couldn't help but notice that Milo was now carrying a rather large shotgun. "Where'd that come from?" he asked.
"That's not important," Milo said. "I had a long talk with the Pope about the things that have gone on here the past couple of days."
"Why do you have a gun?" Floyd pressed.
"He's shown me the error of my ways," Milo continued. "I'm a changed man."
"So why do you have a gun?" Floyd repeated.
"I've learned that it's wrong to be deceitful and con people out of their money," Milo proceeded obliviously. "From now on, I'm going to be perfectly up front and honest in my dealings with other people."
"The Pope convinced you of all this?" Floyd asked.
"Yes, he did," Milo said. "He's a wise man, that Pope."
"I'm guessing he left you some room for interpretation," Floyd commented, eyeing the shotgun again.
"That's right," Milo said. "This is why from now on I'm only pulling armed robberies. I figure the wages are about the same and I'll always be telling people the truth about exactly what I want."
Floyd sighed. "I see your conversation with the Pope truly was life altering."
"Indeed it was," Milo said cheerfully. "Now, shall we go pull a heist?"
"Milo, give me the gun," Floyd said calmly.
"What are you talking about?" Milo asked. "Why should you get to be the gunman? You'll screw everything up."
"Milo, we're not going to be pulling any heists. Now give me the gun." He grabbed ahold of the shotgun, but Milo wouldn't let go. They struggled back and forth over who would gain possession of it when it accidentally went off.
"Hey!" they heard a voice shout from down the street. "Somebody shot the Pope!"
Milo and Floyd glanced at each other, dropped the gun, and ran as fast as they could toward the outskirts of town.