THE PENNY DROPS
The garage at the MGM Grand Garden Arena. ALWAYS with the garage.
Freshly showered and changed into his civvies – tonight, a black hoodie with the sleeves cut off and slender-cut jeans – walks FLAMBERGE. He’s carrying a shoulder bag as he flips his keys around in his hand, clearly in some deep thought – likely about his match with Rezin. He is too lost in said deep thoughts to notice a pile of five discarded 5-gallon plastic buckets, or to notice anything odd about the hushed voices raising quiet alarm (with quick pitter-pattering footsteps to boot).
It’s an almost unblinking stare as he continues his key-twirling march to the FLAMBO. He takes notice of the camera following him.
FLAMBERGE: The hell are you following me for?
The cameraman apparently takes a few steps back to gain some space, but otherwise doesn’t respond. Finally, he gets to his beloved Lamborghini, and notices two things right away.
First – it looks like it’s sagging – maybe it’s time to check the tire pressure?
Second – there’s an envelope tucked into his front windshield wiper blade with a bright yellow sticky note on top.
He grabs the envelope and reads the sticky note aloud first.
FLAMBERGE: “It’s all there kid. Count it.” Ha-haaaaa, alors! Colton finally came through. Can’t wait to count his money…
He opens the envelope – sure enough, it’s a follow-up notice from Goodlife Credit Union. He received a similar notice a couple weeks prior that a cash payment would be delivered today – though why is it on his car? More importantly – why is the envelope so light?
FLAMBERGE continues reading his note as he presses a button on his key fob. He scoffs and crumbles up the letter, tossing it over his shoulder.
FLAMBERGE: Stupid envelope, there was no cash in there…
He reaches for the car door. The moment he presses in the latch, the door flies open of its own accord, and something comes out.
It’s a penny.
And it brought friends.
Almost a quarter million of them, to be precise.
FLAMBERGE barely has enough time to step away from the copper-but-actually-zinc flood that comes pouring out of his car and onto the concrete with a deafening roar. Imagine if you had four or five of that Micro Machines guy, but all they said was “plink,” over and over again.
It sounded like that.
Two hundred thirty-four thousand, seven hundred and fifteen pennies, give or take. That’s almost 1300 pounds. Over twenty-one and one-half gallons of coins, covering his seats, his floorboards, his cupholders…and now, the ground.
FLAMBERGE: AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! MERDE MERDE MERDE MERDE!!!! COLTOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!
It’s true, FLAMBO – your car’s tires are fine. Your car just wasn’t designed to carry 21-plus GALLONS OF PENNIES inside.
Is the “plink”-fest still going?? It’s still going!
His body is almost fighting with itself as the emotions clash with each other – rage at what’s happened to his car, embarrassment that everyone is going to see how Colton got one over on him because of that damn cameraman, panic that there’s over $2000 in front of him and he has no idea how to move it, dread at the idea of trying to count every damn one of these things because he doesn’t trust any of this. Finally, he sprints to the pile of five-gallon buckets from before and frantically starts shoveling ground-pennies inside one with his arm. It’s not efficient, but it’s something – and then…
Something catches his eye.
He reaches onto the driver’s seat, which still has a large heap of coins on top, and grabs something. He pulls his hand back, the item in his closed fist. To his abject horror, he slowly unfurls his fingers to reveal the cruelest cherry on top of this world-class prank…