Panhandle Pals, a short story (Part 2)

“Holy shit, bro, I’m fuckin’ geeked! We got a billion dollars, WOO-HOO!”

“Oh my god, what was that stupid shit he was saying about spending the money on something good? Donating? DONATING?! That shit’s fuckin’ rich, bro!”

“WE'RE fuckin’ rich, bro!”

Wayne and Buck cackled hysterically as they zigzagged the U-Haul full of cash recklessly down Scenic Highway 30A on the panhandle, speeding at over 100 miles per hour as they weaved willy-nilly through traffic. The new-money adrenaline surging through their veins was more than enough to counteract the sedative effects of the drugs and eliminate any residual fucks they may have given about the law or the numerous car horns continuously blaring at them. 

“Where we goin’ first, baby?” Buck asked his brother excitedly. “Where we ‘bouta blow all these mad racks?”

“You know exactly where we gonna make it rain, and we gonna say it on three,” Wayne replied.

“One, two ... STRIP CLUB!” the two of them bellowed in unison. Not only did great minds think alike, apparently not-so-great ones did as well. Within five minutes, they were peeling the U-Haul into the parking lot of Big Sal’s Gentlemen’s Club on the outskirts of Tallahassee.

“So what are you boys’ names?” inquired the first exotic dancer to approach the Pals, a blonde curly-haired fox who wore a tiny black G-string, hoop earrings, a gold chain, and big high heels that made her tower over them as she chomped on a wad of pink bubble gum. She smelled like butter and cream and spoke in a sweet Southern drawl.

“I’m WhiteThunder67,” Wayne introduced himself.

“And I’m AdmiralBuck420,” Buck put in. “You might have heard of us.”

The stripper laughed flirtatiously. “I’m afraid I hadn’t, but now I have. You can call me Moonlight. Y’all new around here?”

Wayne giggled nervously, still feeling the effects of the whipped cream can. “Not really, but we got some straight-up cash for you, baby girl!”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Buck slurred, still a little leaned out and now nursing a shot of tequila. “My bro and I just came into some money. Big-time, you feel me? And we trying to spend that shit!”

“And you fine as fuck, sugar tits,” Wayne drawled. “How much we talkin’?”

“Well, it’s $40 each for a private dance,” Moonlight explained. “Which one of y’all am I takin’ to the back room first?”

The boys looked at each other and laughed. 

“Girl, we don’t play like that,” Buck said. “We a package deal, you feel me? The Panhandle Pals. We in this together. You gotta grind that fine booty of yours on the both of us or nothing at all.”

Moonlight chuckled again, an awkward one this time. “Okay, well, if you got $80, it’s a deal.”

Wayne opened the briefcase they had managed to sneak past security and threw a brick of $100 bills at Moonlight, bouncing them off her sizable chest. “There ya go.”

The blonde beauty’s eyes lit up as she took the Panhandle Pals, one in each hand, and led them to Big Sal’s most luxurious private suite.

“So where are you boys from?” Moonlight inquired, whipping her hair in circles as she climbed into Buck’s lap and started grinding on him. Wayne looked on in bemused satisfaction.

“We from right around here, girl, Flebumpka, Florida,” Buck proclaimed proudly, grinning with pleasure.

“Ahh, very cool,” Moonlight purred, taking off her bra to reveal her double Ds — all of them except the nipples, which were covered with pasties. Buck had taken another rack of hundreds and was now making it rain, dropping Benjamins all over her and tucking some in her thong.

“Are you Asian?” Wayne asked her dumbly, eyes glazing over as he had snuck another whip-it before entering the room. “You look a little Asian.”

Moonlight giggled uncomfortably again. “Nah, babe. I’m from right here in Tallahassee.”

“Is that a fake chain?” Buck slurred, the lean and tequila hitting harder.

“No, it’s not a fake chain,” Moonlight laughed indignantly. “If you must know, one of my most loyal customers bought it for me on my twenty-first birthday.”

“Oh damn, he must have MAD racks,” Buck observed. “Just like yours, you got one of the fattest racks I ever seen!” 

He grabbed one of the double Ds, beginning to rub his face all over it and lick it. He went to try and peel off the pasty, but this was a step too far and Moonlight swatted his hand away.

“Nuh-uh, we don’t do that here,” she cooed playfully. “You boys gotta pay extra for that.”

“Well, we sure as fuck GOT extra!” Wayne yelped, suddenly energetic. “And when’s my turn, baby girl?”

“I’m coming, babe, I’m coming,” Moonlight assured him, moving over to Wayne. She faced away from him and grinded her backside in his lap.

“So you got me wondering,” she continued as Wayne tucked hundreds in her G-string and let out a slight moan. “How did you boys happen to come into all this money to begin with?”

“Oh, we some fuckin’ big-time famous musicians, you know how it is,” Buck claimed. “Our names got real ring in these streets.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of your music,” Moonlight said, getting down on the floor and taking off her heels. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

The Pals gazed at each other with uncertainty. Did they want to let her in on their little secret?

“Okay, we not planning to tell many people this, but you fine as fuck, so we’ll trust you with it,” Wayne blurted out. “We kissed each other on camera. For a long time, like, ten seconds. Some rich fuckin’ sick weirdo gave us a BILLION DOLLARS for that!”

Buck looked at him in befuddlement. He had a vague sense that his brother had just made a mistake, but his brain couldn’t piece together exactly why.

“Yeah, he told us to spend it on something real good,” Buck cackled, deciding to ignore his brain. “Like, charity or trying to save the world or some shit. But that shit’s for suckas, man! We out here treatin’ ourselves and makin’ it rain at the club!”

“Oh, my goodness gracious,” Moonlight cried in bewilderment, looking up at Wayne. The gears were starting to turn in her head, and this didn’t feel quite right morally. Not only that, but she was starting to get a serious ick from these guys. She had honed her acting skills pretty well in her time at the club, but good acting could only go so far.

“I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Moonlight said, getting up from the floor. “Maybe that rich fuckin’ sick weirdo was right. Maybe you boys should do something good with that money.”

They looked at each other again in disbelief.

“You fuckin’ serious?” Wayne choked out. “We could change your fuckin’ life, girl! You can't say no to that! We can do whatever we want!”

“We finna be your best customers,” Buck claimed. “We could get you not just one chain, but at least TWO real chains. You’d never be happier in your life than with us, and you’re gonna throw that all away? Girl, you stupid for real.” He scoffed.

“NO, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS ARE STUPID FOR REAL!” Moonlight suddenly cried, making the Pals recoil in shock. “You no-talent bozos fall ass-backwards into a billion dollars doing some truly degenerate shit, and THIS is how you decide to spend it? Throw it all away on some nameless fuckin’ hussie you just met?! I work my ass off every day at this place, selling my body to all kinds of creeps and losers and the lowest scum of the earth you could possibly imagine! And for what? To barely be able to pay my rent at the end of the month? Barely be able to pay my way through school?”

She grabbed the chain from around her neck and shoved it in their faces emphatically.

“You were right. I am half Asian, my Chinese dad kicked me out of the house when he found out I was doing this. And this is a fake chain, none of these bum-ass customers would ever really do that for me! But everything about you fucking idiots is fake! Including your promises! Any of us here would KILL to be in your position! You deserve to lose your entire fuckin’ fortune, but I’m giving you one last chance! DO GREAT THINGS WITH THIS MONEY!”

Moonlight put her heels back on and stormed out of the private room like a hurricane, leaving the Pals covered in Benjamins and stunned into silence. Now, they were actually starting to think.

Buck and Wayne slept in the U-Haul in the Big Sal’s parking lot that night, realizing they were far too intoxicated to be trusted on the road with a massive vehicle full of money. When they were awoken by an angry club manager at the crack of dawn and kicked out of the parking lot, they drove the billion-dollar truck home in sober silence and slept until they were fully rested.

A couple of weeks later, Wayne and Buck Riley had made their way onto the Chronicle of Philanthropy’s top 50 list for the year and were featured on the cover of Philanthropy Weekly magazine. They had donated the vast majority of their fortune to various charitable organizations, including but not limited to:

• $100 million to Feeding America

• $100 million to St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital

• $100 million to the Salvation Army

• $100 million to Habitat for Humanity International

• $100 million to Goodwill Industries International

• $100 million to Compassion International

• $100 million to Boys & Girls Clubs of America

• $100 million to the American Cancer Society

• $67,676,76.76 to the 67 Foundation

• $42,042,04.20 to the Marijuana Policy Project

• $69,696,96.96 to the Sex Workers Outreach Project

They also each separately contributed millions of dollars to fund the construction of two adjacent medical research facilities in their hometown. Shortly after the list with their names dropped, each of the Pals received emails from the city of Flebumpka informing them that the facilities would be named in their honor. The unveiling ceremony would be in a week.

“Holy fuck, bro, I can’t believe this,” Wayne said proudly as he read through the email. “This is, like, the most big-time clout we’ve ever gotten.”

“Hell yeah it is, homie,” Buck agreed, reaching over his laptop to give him a bro handshake. “Now our names really do got ring in these streets.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of Flebumpka,” announced the city’s mayor Janet Humphries at the unveiling ceremony. “I am most pleased to announce the completion and opening of two very important new research facilities right here in our town. The construction of these spaces wouldn’t have been possible without the invaluable contributions of two very impressive young men, and we would be remiss if we didn’t honor these two fine gentlemen here today. Everyone, please welcome …” — she looked down at her note cards in confusion — “WhiteThunder67 and AdmiralBuck420!”

To pay homage to their humble origins, the boys had chosen to be introduced by their online names. Grinning at each other in glee, Wayne and Buck bounded up to the mayor’s podium. Also in the spirit of humility, their outfits hadn’t changed one bit since that fateful night in the Wal-Mart parking lot. They were still allergic to shirts, wearing only slightly nicer pairs of jean shorts that sagged significantly less. Only a little bit of their underwear was now visible. 

Despite being a bit befuddled by the Pals' appearance, the older, affluent Florida crowd clapped politely. In the crowd and proudly watching their sons were Ronald and Tammy Riley, along with the Pals’ older sister Margaret. The Rileys stuck out like sore thumbs among the well-dressed crowd, all wearing torn and tattered clothing that showed off their redneck sunburns. When Ronald lit the joint he held in his hand and puffed a cloud into the air, he caught more than a few dirty looks.

“People of Flebumpka,” Mayor Humphries continued, “I would like to announce the grand opening of … the WhiteThunder67 Cancer Research Center and the AdmiralBuck420 Institution for AIDS Research!”

She cut the ribbon, officially opening the two buildings to the public. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, including the Rileys, who loudly hooted and hollered. 

“Fuck yeah, that’s my boy!” Ronald yelled, brandishing a beer bottle and drawing a few disapproving looks. The mayor handed Buck the microphone, and the floor belonged to the Pals.

“Yuhh, let’s go, people, this is fuckin’ DOPE to have this level of clout!” Buck grunted, drawing a polite smattering of applause and many a blank stare. “Me and my brother, we been grindin’ since day one. We got all this money, and we was out there blowin’ it at the strip club and shit, but then we fuckin’ came to our senses, man, and we decided to do some GOOD SHIT for the world! Thank you Mom and Dad, thank you to The Pleasurer, and thank you Moonlight!”

He put his hands together and bowed in a praying motion amid more confused applause, then handed the mic off to his brother.

“Yo, this is my day one right here, my BOY,” Wayne remarked, putting his arm around Buck. “We was makin’ banger songs by the pool and shit, hoping our stuff would blow up. All we needed was that one lucky break, and we made it HAPPEN! Now we have the freedom to chase our dreams, helpin’ out all the fuckin’ kids in Africa and the cancer people and hookers. We can do WHATEVER WE WANT!”

He raised his fist in the air and more cheers ensued, especially loudly from the Rileys. The city of Flebumpka seemed to be coming around on the twins, becoming genuinely inspired by the two foul-mouthed, tatted-up goofballs with bad haircuts. One question, however, continued to linger on all of the peoples’ minds, a question they weren’t sure if they really wanted the answer to. Mayor Humphries took the mic back from Wayne.

“Those are some truly profound words, gentlemen,” the mayor raved. “The city of Flebumpka is so proud of you both. Now I have to ask, I think it’s a question on all of our minds here — where did you two manage to secure the funding for such an impressive amount of charitable giving? What are you two doing with your lives?”

Buck and Wayne looked at each other in a panic, their eyes darting back and forth. They hadn’t been anticipating this question, and it hit them like a sledgehammer. Deep down, they knew their whole lives, reputations, and everything they had built was on the line.

“Uhh …” Buck stammered into the mic. Mayor Humphries held up to him, sweating bullets. Wayne gazed into his eyes nervously. 

“Uhh … music, man!” Buck spat out. “My brother and I dropped this banger track, ‘Florida Boy,’ and that shit hit, bruh! Went totally viral.”

“And we influencers, bro, for real,” Wayne added. “We on the TikTok, YouTube, Instagram, Kick, everybody know our names. We entertainers pumpin’ out peak content, and before we know it, we got a billion bucks in the bank. And we knew damn well what we was gonna do with it from the start. Didn't need anyone's help.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms in satisfaction over his bare chest, striking a pose. The townspeople were loving the Pals now, roaring in approval. 

“Well, I was not familiar with your work in the music and Internet spaces, but it certainly must be popular with the young people these days,” Mayor Humphries said with a warm smile. “I wish you two continued success and fulfillment in your chosen fields. Come on, Flebumpka, let’s give it up once again for WhiteThunder67 and AdmiralBuck420!”

Bedlam ensued, and it was hard for the boys to avoid getting mobbed as they made their way off the stage, through the crowd, and to their family. Ronald and Tammy pulled Buck and Wayne aside and gave them big hugs.

“Oh, we’re so proud of you two!” Tammy cried in her Southern drawl, giving Buck a smooch on his tattooed cheek with her cigarette breath. “A billion dollars, my goodness! That’s more money than I think I’ve ever seen in my lifetime!”

“Two lifetimes, at least,” Ronald added. “Those are my fuckin’ boys! Givin’ to charity and doin’ good shit for the world. Now you can both buy your pops all the Js he could ever smoke!” 

He coughed violently from the big hit he had just taken. Margaret stood silently with her arms crossed a few feet away, rolling her eyes in skepticism as she subtly pulled a vial of cocaine from her purse. A thirty-year-old high school dropout who now worked in retail, Margaret had developed a drug problem like the rest of her family over the last few years.

“Well, about that,” Buck said sheepishly. “We kinda spent all the billion bucks we had, so we don’t really got nothin’ else.”

“Oh, HONEY!” Tammy yelped. “Why would you EVER do that? You didn’t leave yourselves or us nothin’?”

Margaret rolled her eyes again in disgust, putting some of the coke powder in her nose.

“No, we uh … didn’t really think about that,” Wayne admitted.

“It was Moonlight, you see,” Buck tried to explain. “She was an erotic dancer at a club we went to. She told us to do great things with the money. We assumed she meant ALL of the money.”

The whole family groaned, and Margaret finally felt energized enough to speak up.

“Okay, you two fools are dumber than boxes of fuckin’ rocks, and somehow you BS’d your way into a BILLION dollars? Something ain’t addin’ up here,” Margaret whispered in exasperation. “You’re supposed to be these mega-rich musicians and influencers? I’m young, and I ain’t heard nobody listening to your music or talkin’ about you at all, unless it was to make fun of you. You don’t have to tell the public, but at least be honest with your family. Tell US how you really made that fuckin’ money!”

Ronald and Tammy looked at each other sheepishly. As much as they didn't want to admit it, they realized their daughter was probably right.

“Uh …” Buck and Wayne stammered dumbly again. They had to come up with something, and come up with it fast. Just about anything would be better than the truth.

“We, uh … were selling drugs!” Wayne offered. 

Their family members’ eyes went big.

“Yeah, uh … cr-crystal meth!” Buck stammered. “We’ve been making crystal meth in one of the trailers at the trailer park near us. Heard it could get us hella rich.”

“We been learnin’ a little bit of chemistry with some online videos and thought it could be worth a shot,” Wayne shrugged. “And wouldn’t you know it, we made us a billion bucks.”

A long pause followed.

“Really?” Margaret gasped incredulously.

“Really,” the boys replied in unison.

Another long pause.

“Oh, that’s FANTASTIC!” Ronald raved, blowing another weed cloud into the air. “Seriously, you figured out the formula for blue crystal? That’s some serious scientific knowledge right there. We got some smart-ass sons, Tammy!”

“You bet your sweet ass we do!” his wife concurred, puffing on her cigarette. “Methamphetamine, my goodness, that is just incredible! My boys are a couple of little chemists! And helping people in need of crystal is so admirable. My god, you two have turned out so well!”

Tammy put her hands to her heart and looked at her sons with gooey eyes. Margaret took another hit of the white powder, then gave her brothers a sly smile. Her demeanor had softened into one that was much more pleasant and accepting.

“I was afraid you two were sellin’ feet pics,” Margaret said.

She brought the pals in for a group hug, which soon became a bigger hug with the whole family. Awash in relief at knowing the source of the funds, the Rileys could now relax as they quietly but ecstatically celebrated the Pals’ new career path. At least, Ronald, Tammy, and Margaret could relax. Buck and Wayne’s thoughts were now racing as they wondered what they had just done to themselves.

“Woo-hoo, Panhandle Pals back up in this bitch!” WhiteThunder67 announced into the camera during the Pals’ first live stream back on Flick. “We just got done doin’ some real good shit for the world with our racks upon racks!”

“That’s right, we not just musicians and entepu … entepren … fuck it, I don’t know how to say that word, we full-on rapists now!” AdmiralBuck420 boasted.

“Full-on what?” Wayne was puzzled, as was the chat.

“that’s not something to brag about …” wrote one confused viewer.

“Do we need to call the cops on these MFs,” wrote another.

“Jesus Christ you imbeciles. PHILANTHROPISTS. Philanthropists is what you meant to say. Read a fucking book before your dumbassery lands you in the slammer,” read a comment from a rare intellectual.

Buck and Wayne looked at each other and put their hands to their heads as the lightbulb came on.

“Ohh, yeah, philanthropists or whatever,” Buck clarified. “Not the other thing. Well anyway, we’ll be back at the pool tomorrow for another freestyle, but for now, we gonna enjoy the fruits of our labor and all the … poor people and potheads and shit that we helped out! So there ya go!”

“Oh yeah, and we almost out of money from all the charitable giving and shit we be doin’, being amazing people or whatever, so don’t forget to donate,” Wayne put in.

The two of them pulled out their trusty old kitchen panhandles and shook them in front of the camera just like they had in the old days, complete with sad puppy-dog faces. 

Deciding they were done, the two geniuses walked away from the camera to the other side of the trailer in which they were streaming, one they had rented out in the middle of a crowded trailer park in the Flebumpka sticks. Having realized that their money had almost run out and they needed income, the Pals had spent their remaining funds on equipment to pursue what now seemed like the only reasonable path to live up to their family’s expectations. They stripped off their jean shorts and put on white aprons over their boxers.

“I heard this shit can help get us real skinny if we do enough of it,” Buck said. “Could really get us in slammin’ shape for looksmaxxing season.”

“Speak for yourself, bruh, I ain’t tryin’ to do this shit,” Wayne replied. “I fuck with my dad bod. Ladies go crazy for that shit.”

"If you say so, bud."

“So what do we do with this-here powder shit again?” Wayne wondered, studying a flask of pseudoephedrine as if it contained nuclear launch codes. “Do we pour it in with this ‘lee’ thing?”

“That’s lye, dumbass,” Buck corrected him. “And no, we gotta pour the powder in with the nitric acid, remember?”

“I don’t think it’s the powder, bro,” Wayne insisted. “It’s this nail polish remover shit right here. Ace-tone or whatever the fuck.”

“If you say so, Mr. Chemical Genius,” Buck said, throwing his hands up. “Think you're Walter White or some shit.”

“No, you’re Walter White and I’m Jesse,” Wayne explained. “‘Cause you’re gonna be the one who dies when this shit goes wrong. I’m gonna be the one who runs off to Canada or whatever.”

“If I’m the genius, I’ll take it,” Buck pointed out. “All right, pour that shit in there and let’s make some fuckin’ meth.”

As Wayne picked up the flask to pour the acetone in with the nitric acid, Buck realized they had forgotten one small detail: they were still live streaming and had forgotten to turn the camera off.

“Oh, shit!”

He rushed over to turn off the camera, but it was too late. Horrified comments from the chat were streaming in, and the authorities in their area had been alerted of their activity. They could hear sirens faintly off in the distance.

“These mfs really think they Heisenberg. More like Heisen-STUPID."

“Ppl live streaming their own crimes. Good lord what has this world come to.”

The final comment to hit the chat was from a familiar profile, RichGuy69, who had returned to the stream to check in on the boys. It read:

“Ah, Wayne and Buck, my magnificent panhandle-headed little angels. I am so deeply blessed to have experienced the glorious moment that I did and to have had the opportunity to provide you boys with a luxurious future. I am most pleased that you took my advice and went down the philanthropy route, I’m sure you are most deeply fulfilled with yourselves and your life choices. Not as deeply fulfilled as you and I will be if you allow me to book you a private flight to the island ;) 

However, I must advise you that your methamphetamine cooking technique is woefully incorrect and dangerous. Acetone and nitric acid are not even involved in this process, and they should absolutely NEVER be mixed together. I am afraid you are making a very explosive — perhaps even deadly — mistake, and I fear for your lives.”

KA-BOOM!

Alas, The Pleasurer’s last message would come a few seconds too late, and the Pals would never have the chance to read it. The second Buck ended the live stream, the flask detonated and set the whole trailer ablaze, including their laptop. Miraculously, the explosion narrowly missed setting the Pals on fire, and they escaped out the side door. Outside the flaming vehicle, a panicked and sweaty Wayne and Buck struggled to catch their breath as they collapsed to their knees, panting heavily. Concerned neighbors spilled out of the trailers around them and stared at them blankly.

“What the hell are you bozos doing, setting the place on fire?” yelled an angry redneck man from the trailer next door. “Someone call the cops on these-here wastes of oxygen!”

“Not necessary, sir,” announced a gruff, mustachioed policeman who appeared out of nowhere behind Wayne and Buck, scaring the living daylights out of them as they turned around. “You two, dumb and dumber. You’re under arrest. Come with me.”

As a truck from the local fire department pulled in behind the cops and rushed to the scene in an effort to prevent any more destruction, the two Panhandle Pals resigned to their fate as the flatfoot handcuffed them and dragged them off to the backseat of his car.

“What the fuck did you do, bro?” Buck whined pitifully to his brother.

“I thought that was the shit we were supposed to mix,” Wayne choked out, nearly in tears.

“And I thought you two had evolved into respectable, hardworking pillars of this community,” the officer admonished them as he got behind the wheel and took off. “Now you’re right back where you started. Hope you’re proud.”

“We are proud,” Buck shot back defensively, and he was right. To some degree, they were proud of what they had accomplished. Helping people in need had left them genuinely fulfilled for a moment, even if they had a hard time admitting it deep down. From the backseat of the cop car on the way to the Flebumpka Police Station, the Panhandle Pals busted out one last solemn, tearful freestyle in unison.

“We’re just Florida Boys 

From America

Tried to cook some meth

Think we’re Heisenberg

But we don’t know shit

We’re just philanthropists

Now we know that word

What a terrible day

Now we’re going away.”

THE END

Click here for Part 1