D.J. hurriedly stuffed his clothes into his battered backpack. It wasn't much, just jeans and a T-shirt. It would have to do. He was overburdened as it was. Glancing at the large, ugly, scatalogically brown suitcase sitting beside the door of his room, he wondered if he shouldn't just come clean with his mother and leave it at that.

The suitcase was packed full of every dress shirt, pair of slacks, and sports coat that D.J. owned. His mother had insisted on packing it for him. "I threw in a few of your father's funny ties," she confided. "You know, the ones with the Tabasco sauce bottles? And the little airplanes?"

"Mom, I don't need any ties," D.J. had protested. "It's not that kind of a trade show."

"Honey, just trust your mother, for once," she said, exasperated. "Not only will you look more professional, and thus more business-like, but those ties are a great conversation starter. Your father swears by them. I think you would do well to follow his example."

D.J.'s father was the regional sales manager for a large shoe company. D.J. had no doubt that the Tabasco tie was the talk of the town, when it came to selling women's pumps, but in the comic book industry, he'd look like a dork. It was, however, pointless to argue with her, because he wanted to keep up the pretense of his trip. "Okay, fine, I'll give it a try."

Now, he thought about three people in the back of Larry's van, with all of the heist stuff, and the cooler, and now the suitcase. He was going to catch shit for this, he just knew it. Still, it couldn't be helped, he said, throwing the backpack over his shoulder as he picked up the suitcase and headed out the door.

Downstairs, he waited for two Pop Tarts to toast as he inspected the cooler again. Underneath the ice were two six-packs, Mountain Dew and Coke. Across the top of the cooler was a tray, laden with ham and bologna sandwiches in plastic bags. A bag of Cheetos and a bag of Doritos sat on top of the ice. It wasn't much, but it would keep them on the road and keep Mom's questions to a minimum.

"I still think that's too much food," his mom said as she washed the breakfast dishes.

"Mom, Justin eats a lot. Besides, we may have to entertain," he said, feeling lame as soon as he said it.

Outside, a familiar chugging sound was heard. D.J. put his backpack on top of the cooler and pulled out the plastic handle that allowed the cooler to be rolled, like luggage. He picked up the suitcase in his other hand.

"Is that Larry's van?" asked his mother, peering out the kitchen window.

"Uh, yeah, he's giving me a ride to the shop, so I don't have to lug all of this crap on the BART." D.J. held his breath.

"Oh, that's so nice of him." His mother turned and took him in her arms. "Be careful out there, my little man."

"Mom, please."

"Okay, fine," she said, sniffing as she retreated. "Have a good time in the desert. Tell Justin I said to be careful."

"I will. Thanks. Bye!" D.J. couldn't get through the door fast enough.

Larry was standing outside by the open van doors, making "hurry up" motions with his hands. "What's the suitcase for?"

"I'll tell you later," he said. "Let's just go."

"Oh," said Larry, smiling, "You've got your sleeping bag in there, huh?"

"Shit!"

"What?"

"I knew I forgot something," said D.J. "Hold on," he said, running into the open garage. He came out thirty seconds later with a dusty sleeping bag and tossed it into the back. "Sorry, man."

"No problem," said Larry. "Let's pick up the girls."

Burt's telephone rang. His roommate, Rick Wryski, groaned.

Burt picked up the phone before it could ring again. "Hello?"

"It's Turk," said Turk. "Come help me carry all of this shit."

"On my way," said Burt. He hung up.

"Who's that?" mumbled Wryski.

"No one. See you," Burt said, as he picked up his laptop carrying case and his duffel bag. He shut the door behind him.

The laptop case was heavier than usual, but that was to be expected. Burt was being safe, rather than sorry, but he didn't think anyone would mind its inclusion in the van. He walked from his dormitory to Turk's, and was surprised to find Turk waiting for him, empty-handed. "What the hell?" asked Burt.

"Come on inside," said Turk.

Burt stepped inside and saw immediately the piles of shit to which Turk was referring. There were two canvas bags, drawn tight and lumpy. There were also two construction sawhorses and a medium-sized cardboard box.

"What the hell?" Burt said.

"Well, that's a long story," said Turk. "Come on, let's get this to Sproule before the van shows up."

Burt took a lumpy bag that looked a lot heavier than it actually was and the box, which was heavier than it should have been. That left a canvas bag and the sawhorses for Turk.

"So, what is all of this?" asked Burt, as they trudged as quickly as they could to the plaza. There were drummers already out this early in the morning, and their incessant, staccato beating served to keep their feet moving.

"Well, I had to improvise a little. The costume department didn't have exactly what we needed, so I brought a few more options."

"Great," said Burt. "Larry's got a van, Turk has some costumes. Let's pull a heist, kids!"

Turk looked hurt. "Hey, it's better than showing up empty-handed. Where's your shit?"

"In the bags," grunted Burt. The load was beginning to tire him.

"What did you do?" asked Turk eagerly.

"The best I could," said Burt. "I'm not a graphic designer, you know."

"You should have called me, man! I have an eye for that stuff."

"No, you were busy sneaking costumes out of the drama department," Burt said. "That's why we split up the jobs. Besides, if no one likes what I did, I have a back-up plan."

"What's that?' asked Turk.

"We can get there, figure out who's who in the phone book, and make scans with the portable scanner I brought. We'll really fool them, then."

"Clever, my friend, very clever."

"Oh, stop it, you."

They reached Sproule Plaza, where the bongo players were frantically drumming, and saw Larry's van illegally parked on University Drive. As they walked by, Burt wondered for not the first time if the dreadlocked and shirtless people beating the drums were students, and if so, what the hell their major was.

Larry and D.J. stumbled out of the van when they saw Burt and Turk. "Jesus," gasped D.J. "What is all that?"

"Emergency," said Turk. He looked at Larry. "They didn't have enough coveralls to go around! Hardhats, either. So, I grabbed everything that looked mechanical and manly, and well, here it all is."

Larry had been looking through the bags and box while Turk explained. "What's this?" he said, hauling out a black plastic case.

"Oh, that's my make-up kit, in case anyone needs a beard or mustache," said Turk, matter-of-factly.

Larry nodded, impressed. "Good. And the clipboards?"

Turk looked blank. "Clipboards?"

"For us, for the foremen?" said Larry.

"Uh, I guess I forgot the clipboards," said Turk.

"Dammit all to hell!" Larry slammed one of the van doors. "I specifically sent you that e-mail last night to remind you to check your lists! Shit, Turk!"

"Hey, fuckhead, I didn't check my e-mail because last night, I spent four hours bribing the chick that runs the costume department and smuggling this shit back into the dorm for you!" Turk yelled.

"Jesus, Turk, it was in the e-mail!" moaned Larry.

"Wait," said Burt, holding his hand up. "I got your e-mail and glanced at it, but I'm pretty sure you just said bring props and costumes. I know that because all mine said was fake ID. So, he's sorry he forgot, and you can just be mad that you didn't mention specifics."

"Yeah," D.J. agreed. He too had simply glanced at the e-mail before he deleted it. "That's what it said, all right."

"Not that he would have read it anyway," muttered Larry.

"Besides," Burt pointed out, "there's a lot more props here to choose from."

"Yeah, but the clipboard is essential!" said Larry, underscoring the word with a sharp move of his hand. "It's the universal symbol of power and responsibility. With a clipboard, you are invincible and invisible, all at once. No one will challenge us if we have clipboards."

D.J. stepped in. "Christ, look, let's just move. Worse comes to worse, we can buy clipboards when we get to Tempe."

"But then they won't look used..." said Larry.

"Mine will, when I crack it over your fucking head!" growled Turk.

"Enough!" said Burt, stowing his gear by the spare tire, so it wouldn't slide around. "Let's just put this aside and get on the road, okay?"

"Fine," said Larry.

"Fine," said Turk.

"Sheesh," said D.J., looking at Burt. "This is going to be a cheerful ride."

"Shotgun," said Burt.

"You fucker!"

"Relax, Deej," said Burt, strolling around the van to take his coveted spot. "You can sit in the back and cheer Turk up.