Page 24 - the NOISE March 2013

dug the challenge. It was part of an outlaw’s life: the thrill of defying authority and get- ting away with it again and again. Still, every time he returned to Malibu and handed the drugs to Neil, he felt a palpable sense of relief.
At times like this, Neil Young was grateful for Mazzeo’s presence in his life. He could be counted on not to disappear with the cash or blab to the cops or bust into the coke before he got it home. Mazzeo was so focused on being cautious that snorting lines in the car was the last thing on his mind.
Until today. Right now, Sandy Mazzeo needed a bump. Real bad.
He steered the hearse down PCH and tried to clear his head. Last night, in the thick of the party, Neil had pulled him into a corner.
“Are you going into town tomorrow?” “Yeah, I got a couple things to do. Why?”
“I need you to visit our friend.”
“But I just made a run yesterday.”
“All gone. Danko just polished it off. No mas.” “It’s GONE? Holy sh*t, that was ...”
“A lot. I know.”
Young pressed a wad of bills into Mazzeo’s hand.
“Tell the Cap double up. We’re recording tomorrow night, so try to get back before sundown. Take the hearse.”
Neil walked away. Mazzeo stuffed the cash into his pocket and calculated the time it would take to complete his errands and make it home by nightfall. He looked at his watch and saw he had better get his ass in bed right now if he wanted to sleep at all.
Double up? F*ck me.
Not many hours later, Mazzeo awoke, showered, dressed, and prayed there was coffee in the house. There wasn’t. He pawed through the party’s aftermath for any extra coke lying around. Not a trace. He got in the hearse and groggily pulled away.
Cruising down the highway, Mazzeo felt both exhausted and on edge. He never had a problem with Neil’s hearse but for some reason it was giving him the willies today. He went over his plan: complete his errands as soon as possible, then see Captain Coconut last, on his way out of town.
A few minutes later, after nodding out and almost driving into a ditch, he switched to Plan B: hit up the Captain first, do a Crosby- sized rail of cocaine, and THEN run his er- rands. He was pleased with his decision until
Neil Young
he remembered he would be tooling around Los Angeles in a f*cking hearse with enough blow to send him to the state pen. In a flash of insight, Plan C came to him: visit the Cap- tain, high tail it home, stash the dope, and go back to bed. To hell with his other errands.
Mazzeo had just arrived at this conclusion when he heard a thumping noise behind him. He figured it was the rear axle and ig- nored it. Then it came again, more definite: THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! What the hell? Mazzeo slowed down and glanced in his rear view mirror. Through the grimy window be- hind his head he saw movement. Something was back there.
He pulled off the road and killed the en- gine. He turned around and through the glass separating the front and back of the hearse he came face to face with ...
A mummy.
Mazzeo jumped out of the car, slammed the door, and ran. He stopped about 30 feet in front of the hearse and turned around. His heart was beating like crazy and his mouth was dry. He panted loudly and tried to catch his breath. Well, he sure as sh*t was awake now. He watched as the hearse’s sliding side door opened and the mummy’s head slowly came out, bandages trailing. The hair stood up on Sandy’s arms.
The mummy clawed at the gauze sur- rounding his skull. His eyes, nose and mouth emerged. He blinked in the morning sun- light and stepped out of the hearse. From the shoulders down, he wore regular street clothes. When Mazzeo saw that the appari- tion wasn’t one of the undead, he exhaled in relief. Then he recognized the wrinkled J.C. Penney’s shirt and realized he was staring into the face of Bob Dylan.
The two men stood there looking at each other. Dylan smiled sheepishly.
“Hey, Mazzeo.” “Hey, Bob.”
“Did I scare ya?”
Mazzeo laughed. He remembered spying Dylan briefly at the party yesterday with his turban askew. He appeared a bit tipsy, and he was. Dylan had stumbled outside and drunkenly crawled into the back of Neil’s hearse for a little nap. During the night, his turban came unraveled. He awoke to find himself bouncing down Pacific Coast High- way with his head swaddled like a corpse on
24 • MARCH 2013 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us