“We found him unconscious under the storage unit door.”
“Strange. Well, get what you can out of him and fill out an accident report,” the sergeant said. “I’m heading back to the station.”
“Sergeant, he's claiming he was attacked.”
“Attacked?” his right eyebrow raised. “All right, I guess it's a crime scene. Go ahead, tape it off.”
“Sir, he's concussed and confused. He can't remember much and, um, uh—-.”
“Spit it out, Officer.”
“Um,” he smirked, “He said his name is Indiana.”
“As in Jones?” His brow took another step up.
“Yes, I think so, sir.”
“Is that him with the paramedics?”
“Yes sir,” he said with a snicker, “The one with the whip.”
“All right, Officer Smith. Let's show a little respect for the victim.”
The old man started to get restless with the paramedics and shouted out, “ I must go back into the cave. They have the pink prism. I need to return it.”
The sergeant began to walk over to the ambulance as the two paramedics did their best to soothe the old man down. The closer he got to the mystery guy, he could see he had on a white button-down shirt, a bullwhip hanging from his belt buckle and a dusty brown wool hat on his head. “Hello sir, I’m Sergeant—-”
“They took the pink prism,” he said with bulging eyes “I need to go back into the cave.”
“Sir, when you say cave, do you mean the storage unit?”
“The what? The cave,” he yelled and pointed at the garage opening.
“All right, sir, you need to calm down. You've been hit in the head. I was told you can't remember what happened.”
“I remember everything I need to. Like the people that attacked me.”
“We will get to that in a second. First, how do you know what your name is?”
The man took off his hat and showed the sergeant the inside brim. He pointed to the faded words and said, “Indiana Jones.” The two paramedics treating him began to laugh.
“Mr. Jones—Is it OK if I call you Indie?”
“OK Indie, these nice men are going to take you to the hospital and get you taken care of.
“No, I must get the prism back,” he shouted as he tried to shake free from the men.
“OK, OK, I need you to stay calm, Indie. I will help you get it back,” he said as he took out his notepad. “Why don't you tell me what happened.”
Mr. Jones took a deep breath and said, “I was ambushed!”
“How many would you say attacked you?”
“There were six of them. The leader had a white suit on and a soft, childlike voice. He threatened me with his pet tiger. There was another man, but I didn’t get a good look at his face. He did a flying drop kick at me, and all I could see was a soaring blue-jean buttocks with a red handkerchief stuffed in its pocket.” He inhaled, “And– and four creepy men that hovered in the darkness. All I could see was their heads. They had long hair and no facial expressions. The way they looked at me— it was like they were waiting for the OK from the boss to have me for dinner.” He looked up at the sergeant, “I’m pretty sure they were vampires.”
The sergeant finished writing in his notebook and looked at Mr. Jones. “Quite the cast of characters,” he said dead-eyed.
“Yes, I’m lucky to get out of there alive.”
“OK, I’m going to read this back to you.” He looked down at his notes, “We are looking for a soft-spoken man in a white suit with a tiger. A flying-ass in blue jeans and maybe a red handkerchief in the pocket. Let's not forget the hippie vampires that were floating in the dark. Is this correct?”
“Yes, that sounds correct.”
“Which one of these men gave you that moon-shaped lump in the middle of your forehead?”
“None of them. I got freaked out by the levitating men, so I grabbed the pink prism and started to run. It was dark, and I slammed into the wall, causing a rock slide. One of the boulders came right down on my forehead.
“Go on, what happened next?”
“I ran, and I ran. When I turned around, they were gone. The light from the cave opening was visible. I got excited and began an all-out sprint toward it, but I tripped over an ancient burial box. My foot went right through it, and pieces of bones flew everywhere. After the dust settled, I could see that the damn box saved my life.”
“And how is that?”
“I crashed to the ground at the right moment to avoid the flaming spear trap.” He pointed to his head and smiled. “It triggers at skull height. I slid right underneath, not setting off one of them. The local tribe people are very crafty, and they don't take kindly to treasure hunters. So if you or your men go in there, be careful.”
“All right. I will keep that in mind. Continue, please.”
“With no one behind me, I slowed down my pace and kept an eye out for more traps. Every step I took cracked, popped and squeaked. I wasn't certain, but figured it was the scattered bones or bugs” he shivered and said, “you know, creepy crawly things thrive in that kind of environment.”
“Good to know, proceed.”
Mr. Jones put up a finger as he said, “I took one more step, and a loud crunch echoed throughout the tavern.” He put his head down. “How could I be so careless.”
“What was it, Indie?”
He looked up and said, “I stepped on a boobie trap, and the cave opening began to come down. I ran as fast as I could and dove for the shrinking exit. The next thing I remember is talking to the officer and the prism was gone.”
“Ok— thank you for your time, Indie.”
“I need to find the pink prism. It has to go back to the rightful owners.”
The sergeant padded him on the arm and said, “We have it under control, Mr. Jones,” He turned around and made his way to the storage unit. He stood there and gazed into it.
Officer Smith strolled over to him and said, “Quite the story, huh?”
“Yeah, it sure is.”
“I’m going to have the men take down the tape line.”
“Hold on, officer.” The sergeant shook his head and said, “We wouldn't be doing our job if we didnt go inside and take a look around.”
“You’re right sir, but I’m all out of holy water and garlic,” Officer Smith said with a cheeky smile.
With a straight face, the sergeant walked into the unit. “Where did the alleged attack take place?”
“In the back left corner, sir. Follow me and watch your step. There's junk all over the floor,” he said as he walked around a mountain of storage boxes. He pointed his light to the supposed crime scene “Here it is.”
Sergeant turned his flashlight on to get a better visual. “It looks like a couple of boxes fell off the top shelf.” One box was marked Halloween 1986, and the other with records. He nudged the box marked records with his foot “It's full.”
Officer Smith chuckled and said, “If that's what fell on his head, then no wonder he's acting so nuts.”
Sergeant bent down and flipped open the Halloween box. A single tag sat on the bottom that read official movie replica Indiana Jones Hat. He grabbed it and showed Officer Smith “Here’s how he got his name.”
“No shit,” Smith began to laugh. “Where did he come up with his attackers?”
“I'm not sure,” he stood up and shined his light around, “look, four records must have fallen out of the box from the impact.”
He reached down and picked them up. “Um, Michael Jackson's Thriller, Queen II, Pink Floyd's The Dark Side Of The Moon, and Bruce Springsteen's Born In The USA.” He opened up the Thriller album cover and began to chuckle.
Officer Smith side-eyed him “Are you OK?” I've never heard you laugh before.”
He lifted up the cover “Look, do you know who this is?”
“Of course, it’s Michael Jackson.”
“Are you sure?” he said as he opened the album. He pointed his finger and said, “Look, what does he have?”
“A tiger cub?”
“Bingo! The record box fell, knocking him unconscious. That's where the story begins.”
“Wow, that's amazing, sir.”
“OK, let's backtrack to where we found him under the door, and piece it all together. So he was doing something back here. Whatever it was, he wasn't planning on a 50-pound box falling on him. Knocked out, he woke up disoriented. He grabbed the closest thing to him, which happened to be the Halloween box. It had a hat with the name Indiana Jones written inside. He couldn't remember his name, so just figured that was him. Confused, his mind began to play tricks on him.”
“I’ve heard of this before. When the brain has been traumatized to the point of hallucinations. I think they call it the OZ effect.”
“That's exactly what happened. He looked at the album covers, and a story was made up in his head. The leader had a soft, child-like voice with a white suit and a tiger (Michael Jackson, the inside cover of Thriller). The flying butt kick (Bruce Springsteen Born In The USA cover). It was a red hat in the back pocket. The four creepy men, or vampires (Queen II cover), and that brings us to Pink Floyd's The Dark Side Of The Moon. The triangle on the cover is mixed with Pink Floyd's name, and you get the mystical pink prism that needs to be returned to the rightful owner, just like Indiana Jones in the movies.
“Very good, sir, but that doesn't explain the rest of his story.”
“You're right.” He looked around with the flashlight. “Got it. So when his brain exploded with all these images, he freaked out and ran. Still dizzy, he ran into the wall with a shelf full of old paint cans. They came toppling down on him like a cave-in. It wasn't a rock that cracked his forehead. It was a can of eggshell white.”
“He began to run, only to trip on that box, and crash to the ground” The sergeant reached down and grabbed the box with the shoe hole in it. He took a look inside, “Packing peanuts.” He tossed it back down, and a couple of styrofoam pieces flew out. He wasn't walking on bones or bugs. It was the peanuts smushing under his feet.” He took a couple of steps. “Look,” he shined his light onto a broken garage door opener. “He tripped on the box, and it must have fallen out of his hand. He didnt see it and stepped right on it. He thought it was a boobie trap. He triggered the garage opener, and thought the cave entrance was being sealed off, so he dove for it.”
“Very good, sir, but you missed one thing.”
“And what is that?”
“Of course, the head-seeking spears.” He smiled at Officer Smith and said, “good job.” They both walked out of the storage unit and over to Mr. Jones. “Indie, we have it all covered here. I'm going to release you to the hospital so you can get better.”
“No, I can't leave. I need to return the pink prism!”
The sergeant reached down and dislodged a styrofoam peanut from the tongue of Mr. Jones's shoe and said, “Sorry Indie, it's time to go.” He pressed the broken garage opener, and the roller door began to shut.
The last cop walked out of the unit. “Hey, look what I found” he raised his arm to show the pink prism in his hand.
“Is that what I think it is?” Officer Smith scoffed.
“It can't be,” The sergeant said with a waver in his voice.
A loud, sharp crack fired off behind them. They turned around to see Mr. Jones standing with his bullwhip in hand. He cracked it again and flicked it at the officer with the pink prism. The cracker wrapped around it, and he jerked it back to his hand.
“How did he do that?” Officer Smith said.
Mr. Jones looked at the sergeant, tipped his hat and said, “You would make a good treasure hunter.” He gave him a sly smile and began running towards the descending door.
“He's not going to make it,” Officer Smith shouted.
The old, beat-up man dove and rolled under the door as it slammed shut. “He made it,” the sergeant said with a twinkle in his eye. “All right, let's get this door open so we can rescue Mr. Jones for the second time today. He pushed the button, but it crumbled to pieces. “Ok, we’ll have to do it manually.”
Three flaming spears shot halfway through the tin door. “What the fuck?” The sergeant yelled, “Get that door open.”
The officers ran over and forced the door up. “It's empty,” one of them shouted.
“What is going on?” The sergeant said as a single-engine plane flew overhead. They all looked up to see what looked like the old man, and he was screaming, “Yahoooooo!” The men stood there in silence until it disappeared into the horizon.
“Is this a missing persons case now?” Officer Smith asked.
The sergeant, with his typical straight face, walked to his squad car and got in. He flipped the PA on and said, “Drinks are on me if we can all agree nothing happened here today.”