Davis’s Sledgehammer Nightmare
By Mike Stevens
A Sir Robert and Davis Conover Tale
Davis Conover had broken out of prison once again, thanks to a file baked into a cake. It was the most clichéd way that always seemed to work in the movies, but you would never try it in real life, unless your name was Davis Conover. He figure it was like hiding from someone; the best place to hide was it plain sight. On one of his phoning times, he had called ‘Chef’ Harry Pile and instructed him to bake a cake, with a file in it, and drop by it to him at the prison. Harry had asked him,
“What, a 3-layer cake, a bunt cake, what?”
Davis just shook his head at the receiver, and replied, “Oh, maybe one of those German chocolate ones; mmm, yeah, a Germen chocol--who gives a s**t! Any kind of cake that will conceal a saw.”
“Well, I just wanted you to be happy with it,” Pile responded. Such was the crap he had to deal with when his partner in crime also ran a bakery. He’d first met Harry Pile in Fordham Correctional Facility, or as it was referred to by the inmates, “The Foreskin Factory.”
Sir Robert Timkins drove down the highway in the used, but tricked-out 67 VW bus he had just purchased. He had FINALLY gotten his $2,000 back from the police, after stupidly sending it in to a man named Shorty Phallis, who’s name in reality was Davis Conover, who had promised his band, Sledgehammer Nightmare, a slot in the ‘Big-Fun, Big-Time’ concert. All Sir Robert had to do is send Shorty $2000 bucks, and Sledgehammer Nightmare’s spot in the concert would be guarantied. There was only one problem; there WAS no concert. It turned out that Shorty Phallis, or Davis Conover, was a scam artist, and Sir Robert fell for his scam, hook, line, and sinker. When he’d finally realized that he was being played like a 3 dollar xylophone, he had managed to learn Davis’s real name, and alerted the authorities, who had swooped in and arrested Mr. Conover. It had taken Sir Robert months to get his money returned, but now, as he cruised down the highway in his tricked-out roadster (the van), it all seemed like it was all a bad dream.
Davis Conover had made it to the freeway. He was FREE! He’d been sitting in his cell, when the guard yelled into his cell,
“Hey, Dick, you have a box from your Aunt Lucy; looks like a cake or something.”
“My names not Dick, it’s Davis.”
“Oh, many apologies; it’s just that you look like a Dick to me!”
“Ha, ha! You want to open my cell?”
“Say, what kind of cake is it; and is your Aunt Lucy a looker? A woman who can bake, AND is hot; perfection!”
What is this, 1932? That attitude went out with the Hoover administration! And considering he HAD no Aunt Lucy, it was his escape tool, smothered in chocolate! “Ah, she’s not a very good cook, and my Uncle Brutus might take exception to that question!”
“Oh, well here you go, Dick, I hope you enjoy it, Dick!” and with that, he unlocked the cell door and handed Davis the cake.
Davis immediately saw the overhead light glinting off a blade, where it protruded from one side of the chocolate cake. He glance up sharply at the guard, but either he was oblivious, or stupid (Davis guessed the later!), because he was already headed back to the guard’s office. Then he noticed the handle sticking out of the other side. Boy, Harry had done a masterful job!
After he had used the saw to escape, he had called Harry from a payphone beside the highway. He knew he should just get out of the area as fast as he could, but he was pissed! When Harry had answered, he said sarcastically, “Boy, Harry, great job, hiding the saw. You may as well have made the cake in the shape of a saw, you where so obvious about it!”
“Sorry, Davis, but the saw was too big; I couldn’t find a cake pan big enough!”
Anyway, now he was out and had to get as far from the prison as possible, as quickly as possible. He saw a van approaching, and stuck out his thumb.
Sir Robert was just enjoying the sunshine on this beautiful morning. He had Lumps cranked; Lumps was his new favorite death metal band, and he pounded the side of the bus below his open window. Life was good! He shaded his eyes against the morning sunshine that was blinding him, as he drove east. Damn, was it hard to see!
The van didn’t seem to be slowing; and Davis started getting a funny, uneasy feeling. He backed away from the roadway, but not fast enough.
Sir Robert was blinded. He just couldn’t see! He felt the buzz of crossing the outside warning strip, so he veered left. The thought of slowing down never entered his mind. Instead, he kept trying to cut down the glare with his hand, and sped on.
The van veered right at him, and Davis threw himself to his right, and tumbled end-over-end down a boulder-strewn hillside; he felt a surge of adrenalin, then nothing.
There was the warning buzzer again; he was off the roadway! He slammed on his brakes, thought he saw a man dive out of the way, but he couldn’t be sure, and slid to a stop amid a huge cloud of dust. As he sat there stunned, waiting for his heart to quit trying to escape from his chest, he looked in his rear view mirror and saw there was a big hill feet away . He’d come THIS close to buying it!
When at last his heart quit beating wildly, he got out, and glanced down the hillside. He thought now that he’d only imagined a guy jumping out of the way, but it looked like a shape lying at the bottom of the hill, 100 ft or so back up the road. He walked closer, and saw that it was indeed a man sprawled out at the bottom of the hill. He ran back to his VW bus, grabbed his cell phone, and called for help.
Davis Conover slowly swam his way back towards the light. Owe, the bright light was blinding! He didn’t recall what had happened, or where he was. “Hey, man,” he said to the man in uniform bending over him, “What happened; where am I? The man wearing the uniform answered,
“Oh, you’re awake. You’re in an ambulance, and you had a close call. You suffered a head injury when you fell down a rock-strewn hillside, diving out of the way of a van. The man reported the accident to police, and when we checked your wallet for identification, we found out your name is Davis Conover, the same Davis Conover who had just escaped from The State Penitentiary; and when Robert Timkins, the man who repoted the accident, heard your name, he went nuts. I thought for a second we’d have to arrest him! Oh, by the way, say hello to Officer Danbury.”
“Hello, Mr. Conover, I hope the prison hospital is okay with you!” Now he remembered, s**t!
© Copyright 2016 Mike Stevens. All rights reserved.
Poem / Humor
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