Bootleg Mambo

Max Hoodwell admired his inventory. It was an impressive collection of fakes, but not just any fakes, the finest bootlegs in the country. He had Not-Kate Spades, Not-Rolexes and even fine not-vintage wines. He was one of the best bootleggers of all time and did very well for himself. He didn't feel guilt about what he did. He always found intellectual property a dubious concept. What if the caveman that created the first man-made fire claimed ownership of the idea? Would he have the right to kill other cavemen for stealing his idea? Maybe he did...

One day a favorite client of his came into his office.

"Hello." He greeted the customer. "What do you want?"


"I want to punch you right in the face."

He punched him right in the face.

"What's this about?"

"Those bootlegs you sold me the other day were of really poor quality."

"I didn't sell you anything yesterday."

"One of your associates did."

"Who was it?"

"He said his name was Craig."

"I don't have any employees named Craig."

"Well, he got the message I sent you."

Max Hoodwell would often communicate with his clients by placing discrete messages in a tree at the park.

"Someone must have intercepted the message and is trying to take over my business."

"I'm not sure that this isn't some sort of scam you're running."

"Look at the poor quality of those things he sold you! They are not authentic Max Hoodwell fakes! They are fake Max Hoodwell fakes! I would never engage in that kind of dishonesty. It's totally different than the kind of dishonesty I practice."

"Okay..." the client said with a sigh, reluctantly accepting Max's logic.

"We can get your money back, if you help me investigate."

They went to the park to monitor the tree where they would put their messages. They hid behind a bush waiting for someone to go looking for a message to intercept. Then, a small man came by and put his hand into the tree. He then got his head shoved into the tree.

"HMMPH!" said the small man, struggling to speak.

"Why are you taking my business!?" Max yelled. He pulled the man out of the tree.

"I-I'm just hired to collect the messages."

"Who do you work for?"

"Joe."

"Joe who?"

"I don't know. He doesn't divulge any more details about himself then he needs to."

"How do you get in touch with him?"

"We meet in an alley. I can tell you where and the next time we planned on meeting."

Max went to the alley as instructed and called out "The rooster crows at midnight."

"Does he have vision problems?" a mysterious voice cried out.

"No, just too much coffee." Max replied.

A man in a hood approached him. He began to speak.

"Hello Lamar, nice to see you —- YOU'RE NOT LAMAR!" He exclaimed with horror and tried to run away, but the main character grabbed him by his hood, causing him to trip.

"Why are you stealing my business?" Max asked, firmly.

"I'm just a hired gun."

"That's what the other guy said."

"He was my hired gun."

"A gun had its own gun?"

"A gun can do that."

"So, who's your boss?"

"Johnny Riley."

"How can I get in touch with him?"

"Go to the apartment at this address and write 'It is time' on the window."

He handed Max a piece of paper with an address on it and a key. Max went to the address and followed the instructions. After waiting several hours Johnny Riley appeared outside, in an alley. Max tackled him.

"The fuck?" Johnny Riley cried.

"Stop stealing my business!" Max yelled.

"I'm not. I'm just following orders."

"GAH!"

It went on like this for several weeks until the Main character came across Gary Growkosky."

"The mastermind behind all of this is Lamar."

Max had gone in a circle. He suspected that may have been by design, but he wasn't going to be had. He had a plan. He demanded all the people that he had come across in this little adventure meet with him in one of his offices, under the threat of a punch in the teeth for all of them. When they arrived, he began to speak.

"I will now determine who the mastermind is through my highly refined powers of deduction and induction."

There was a brief pause as Max looked at them sternly.

"Whoever the mastermind is, raise your hand!"

Lamar briefly raised his hand, and then, realizing what he had done, lowered it.

"Dammit!" Lamar exclaimed.

"So, it was you!" Max yelled in an accusatory tone.

"Yes, it was me." Said Lamar, reluctantly.

His tone then brightened up with confidence.

"But, consider this:" he said. "I bootlegged your stuff, but you bootleg other peoples' stuff, so who are you to judge? Also, we are both successful bootleggers. If we combine forces then we can become a huge success! So, what do you say?"

Max thought for a moment.

"Interesting." He said. "You make some valid points. But, consider this:"

Max shot him.