Conjoined Twins, Double Agent
A BAR. MW sits at stool. His Siamese twin, NOEL, who is attached to him at the lower back, is playing a CELLO.
MW: ( whisper) Quiet, Noel, you’re gonna blow my cover!
NOEL: Oh, please, why is it always about you? We’re conjoined twins and we’re supposed to have equal time enjoying our different interests.
MW: I understand that, Noel. But at the moment, I’m on a top secret mission to catch an international illegal arms dealer.
NOEL: ( chuckles ) Hmmm, you might mean an under arms dealer. Did you put on deodora-?
MW: Shut up!
NOEL: And by the looks of this joint, about the only thing you’re gonna catch in here is an international case of scabies.
MW: Will you stop playing that damn thing. You’re gonna blow my cover!
NOEL: Never in the history of time has Bach’s Cello Suite No. 4 in E flat major, ever blown anyone’s cover.
MW: You don’t know that. Somewhere back in the 17th century, there could have been a double agent trying to uncover a ring of blasphemers, witches, and, or, market stall coupon abusers…
Noel stops playing the cello.
NOEL: Market stall coupon abusers?
MW: Yeah, and then as soon as the double agent was about to get the evidence on the blasphemers, witches, and, or, market stall coupon abusers… somebody starts playing Bach’s Cello Suite Number 5-
NOEL: Number 4.
MW: Number 4… in E flat minor.
NOEL: Major.
MW: Major… and everyone is thinking how strange that is… because up until then, they’ve only been playing covers songs of Tom Petty… on the lute. Red flag raised, cover blown!
BARTENDER: Did they play Free Falling? I love that song.
The other seated Patron tunes into the conversation. His name is DOUG.
DOUG: What about Runaway Train? Did they play that?
BARTENDER: ( to Doug ) That’s not Tom Petty, that’s Soul Asylum?
Doug: You sure?
BARTENDER: Yep.
MW: It doesn’t matter, it’s all theoretical!
The Bartender and Doug nod to themselves respectively. Doug returns to his drink, and the Bartenders goes back to making a drink for another patron.
NOEL: Look, MW, all I’m asking for is a little more equity for the things I like to do. Today is Monday. Monday is my scheduled day to play my cello, and you’re taking that away from me, because you want to spy on some dude selling illegal shotguns.
MW: Not shotguns, he’s selling illegal rocket launchers.
BARTENDER: Who is this guy, the Coyote?
MW: How do you know that name? Are you involved in this?
BARTENDER: No, man, I was talking about the Coyote on the Roadrunner cartoon show. We used to play that shit every Saturday afternoon, here at Blizz’s. Customers loved it.
MW: Wait, the name of this place is Blizz?
BARTENDER: Yeah.
NOEL: Yes, MW, ( points across the room ) it’s right there in bright neon fucking letters… BLIZZ.
MW turns, sees the name… BLIZZ.
MW: Shit.
NOEL: Let me guess, we’re in the wrong fucking place?
MW: ( begrudgingly ) Yeah.
MW dismounts from his stool, heads out with Noel dangling from his back, the cello dragging behind them. Noel plays Runaway Train on the cello as they reach the door and then exit.
Doug hums along.
DOUG: I could have sworn that was Tom Petty.
THEND