My IRREVERENT press pass gets me a comical look and the chance to pay full admission.  The museum’s been polished up for the exhibit: it’s been a while since I’ve been here, but this is clearly a big deal.  The traveling exhibit features artifacts from all early human and pre-human history.  I read all about Australopithecus boisei and the first discovered specimens of Homo habilis from Olduvai Gorge, complete with fossilized bones, or maybe Louis Leakey himself for all I know.  A strange little guy with glasses and I read about the Neanderthals and the evolution of modern homo sapiens, before he wanders off to the café.  It’s the biggest exhibit of early human bones and fossils ever to go traveling around the country in air conditioned trucks.

I step over to the café myself and order a large coffee.  I figure this way if a cop happens to smell my breath, I’ll at least have a shot at disguising the scotch.  As I’m walking back, three black-dressed people wearing ski-masks drop from the ceiling to the top of the glass cases.  They loudly suggest that everyone not move.  The three of us – I keep walking sipping my coffee – more or less do. 

The three guys pull out glasscutters, open the top of the cases and begin picking up the bones and sticking them in black sacks, presumably bought just for the occasion.   One of them, the middle one, is a woman.  There is no way you can disguise Chanel No. 5, and that’s one fragrance no man would ever wear.  She’s also wearing a ladies Timex – sparkles with lots of faux diamonds – that I see just peeking out of her black gloves. 

They’re obviously nervous.  But they finish up, and ascend back up to the ceiling on ziplines, about 75 feet up.  They swing over to the balcony ledge, climb over, and disappear through what looks like a service door.  The museum cops – there’s two of them within 10 feet of me – both scratch their heads and stare upward.  Well they weren’t armed anyway.

I finish my coffee.  The cases are now more or less empty, except for a few rock tools and other bric-a-brac the thieves ignored.  I decide to head back to Jack’s for something to eat, until I see something glittering in the case.  Turns out the woman in black dropped her watch, so I – these guards really need to be fired – walk over and get it from the case.  It’s got an inscription: “Helen: you’re in God’s hands now.”  It’s worth about $6, so I put it in my pocket and head out. 

“Keep up the good work, chief,” I say and hand one of the fat guards my empty coffee cup. 

On my way back, I see three people outside a van changing out of black garb not more than 70 feet from the county courthouse and at least 5 smoking cops.   They finish changing, outside the van, and put three heavy black sacks through the side door before they notice me staring at them.  Besides the cops, robbers and me, there’s only a jogger and his dog anywhere around.  One of the guys – short marine-type crew cut and a beer belly – runs at me, grabs me by the arm, and takes me to the van.  This guy’s no action hero – it looks like he hasn’t worked out since Reagan was a governor – but it’s a slow day and I need a story, so I go along.   Just to make a point, I shrug him off just outside the door and give him a right hook with a fist full of change from my pocket.  Then I walk in the van.  Bluto, however, hits the pavement like a potato and is retrieved by his buddies.

Inside, a blonde looks at me with daggers, so I guess Bluto is her boyfriend since there’s no rings.  It doesn’t take long for him to recover, and pretty soon they’re asking me who the hell I am and why I made them do this.  So I try to explain.  Actually saying it even sounds stupid to me.

“You’re a writer doing a story about the exhibit?”  Bluto says.  For a guy with a swollen jaw, he’s talking pretty good. 

“Yeah,” I say.  “Now I’m writing about a hostage experience.  So what’s with the bones?  You guys have a lot of dogs or something?”

Blondie gives me the daggers again.  “We cannot stand to see God’s work mocked and derided any more.”  I’m impressed because it’s the only time I’ve heard the word “derided” in a thick Southern drawl.

“Uh huh,” I say.

“Oh yes,” the driver says from the front, a guy with black hair and an identical marine crew cut with Bluto.  “His is the kingdom, the power and the glory.”

“Forever and forever,” Bluto chirps in.

“Amen,” they all finish.

“Uh huh,” I say and take a swig from my hip flask.  This is gonna be one long day.

Crew Cut drives until he needs to stop for gas.  Everyone gets out to stretch their legs, and they let me go to the bathroom and buy a bottle of Seagram’s from the gas station.  All in all, these guys weren’t paying attention during the “how to take hostages” sermon.  Still, I walk back to the van and get in.

“So where to now?  You guys heading back to the carnival or….”

“We’re going to take these heathen artifacts…,” Blondie starts.

“Amen,” Bluto interrupts.

“And bury them back in the earth, where God wants them,” she finishes.

Then there’s a round of “Amens.”

“Okay but why do that exactly?”  I ask.

“Because God made the universe in 7 holy days…”

“Amen,” says Bluto.

“And nothing some lying devil scientist says can change that, no matter what falsehoods he spreads,” Blondie says.

“So you think by burying these bones, you’re gonna make evolution go away?”  I say.

“See no evil, speak no evil,” she says.

“Amen,” says Bluto smiling.  “Remove temptation and ye shall not be tempted.”

“So ahh, how long did you guys plan this little caper?”  I ask.

Blondie and Bluto look at each other.  “Since yesterday,” Crew Cut answers from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah when we read it in the paper,” Bluto adds.

“Uh huh,” I say.

By the time night falls, the van stops at a place in the country next to a big, broken down farm.  Everyone gets out and Bluto strongly suggests I do the same with the back of his hand.  The house looks like Norman Bates’ place in “Psycho”: I’ll bet that the spit and ceiling wax were the only things keeping the thing from falling down.

There’s another car outside and by everyone’s reaction, I’m guessing the Toyota Prius wasn’t theirs.  Blondie and Bluto approach the car like they’re Navy SEALs from a bad movie. They even feign some sort of elaborate hand signal communication, but by Bluto’s face it could just as easily have signaled “go order a pizza from Domino’s” as “check out the car.” 

Eventually, Crew Cut and Bluto bash in their own front door.  In a few seconds, they wave the rest of us inside.

Sitting on what was at some point a couch is the strange guy with glasses from the museum this morning.  He’s smoking a pipe and smiles as we all walk in.  Flanking him on both sides are two guys who would be “nutty professor” look-alikes except for a few degrees of genetic freedom away from Jerry Lewis.  They’re wearing long, white lab coats, have dark horn-rimmed glasses and one, the one on the left – I swear I’m not making this up – has buck teeth.

“Ms. Jasper, I presume,” the strange guy says.

“Vanderburgh,” Blondie says.

“Professor Vanderburgh, if you please,” says Strange Guy.

“What do you want?”  Blondie asks.

“You know perfectly well what I want,” he says.  “I want those artifacts you stole this morning from Milwaukee.  They represent over 100 years of archeology not to mention their contributions to evolutionary anthropology.”

“They represent a hundred years of Satanic lies,” Bluto says.  I’m just impressed he said “represent.”

“Hogwash,” Strange Guy says.  “Your religious fanaticism is only out-weighed by your simplemindedness.  It’s science not ‘Satan.’  Now the bones, if you please.”

I’m not sure how Strange Guy is planning to persuade them.  Bluto may not be Mr. Atlas, but he could still kick Strange Guy into the middle of next month.

“Now listen kids,” I say, “it’s been fun, but this has nothing to do with me.  Why don’t you guys start a blog or something to work out your differences.  Now just point me to a phonebook and I’ll grab a cab….”

“Shut up,” Bluto suggests.

“If you do not voluntarily hand over the items in question,” Strange Guy starts, “you will force me to alert the authorities.”  With that, he produces a shiny red cell phone, which Bluto immediately snatches out of his hands.  Strange Guy looks in horror as he stomps it on the floor.

I can’t help but massage my temples.  This was rapidly becoming a ‘60s Batman fight-sequence.

I don’t remember who threw the first punch, but Strange Guy’s cellphone must’ve meant a lot to him.  Before long, the entire room was a poorly choreographed T.V. brawl; you could almost see “POW!” and “BANG!” hanging in midair.  I whip out my cell and dial 911.

By the time the cops arrive, Dr. Strangelove and his two goons are tied up on the floor and a panicked Bluto, Blondie and Crew Cut hover over them trying to work out their story.  The cop questioning me is almost as confused as I am when I explain what happened.  I promise not to press a kidnapping charge if they agree to let me tell their story in this rag, and Blondie says yes.  In their defense, I let the cop know that everyone here is too stupid to be a threat, but he’s not very interested.  These were the cops that sent frightened kids back to Dahmer’s place.

Four hours later, I’m back at Jack’s with hours to go till bar time, all in all not a bad finish to a weird day.  He asks me how the museum was this morning.  So I tell him.