The true story of a giant fake.
BERKELEY. I didn’t want to leave New York and return to Rough and Ready, the scene of so much youthful horror. Who else would help my mother, the queen of all hoarders, her garbage piles of home shopping network crap, her mummified cats? Discovering my one-month-old twin in the freezer was the crowning glory. On top of it all, someone breaks in and steals our silverware. What. The. Fuck.
I’m out for blood.
ROYAL. I was just a former WWE wrestler with a traumatic brain injury running small-time hustling ops when the most chiseled stud I’ve ever beheld comes tearing into a Bent Zealots party. Berkeley’s chasing my runner who has stolen his forks and knives, so I take him aside to soothe him. Soon we’re in his bedroom between stacks of junk, the walls adorned with his talented, stunning paintings. And we’re locked in a compromising position.
The brain injury gave me an immunity to fear. The only thing I’m terrified of is admitting I’m gay.
I can resist everything but temptation.
BERKELEY. Royal is my manager, selling my undiscovered Marcel Duchamp original for straight bank. But when it goes missing, we’re off on a crazy, fucked-up mission into the killing fields and sushi restaurants of Mexico, the pink-painted deserts and Navajo rezzes of Arizona.
I couldn’t have picked a better partner for this quest. Royal is a shredded Christ on a bike, though I’ll never admit I’m a bit in love with him. Why fall in love when I’ve got to go on the run again?
You can’t con a con. The longer I’m partnered up with this musclehead, the harder I fall.