A Very Scarface Christmas

It's A Wonderful Life

Somewhere... in the cosmos...

"You sent for me, sir?

"Yes, Clarence. A man down on Earth needs our help."

"Spendid! Maybe then, sir, maybe then I'll get my wings?"

The notorious drug lord, Scarface, lay dying. Shot in the back by the hitman sent by his enemies. In the distance he could see the mountain of cocaine piled on his desk. It looked comical to him now.
     His vision slowly began to fade as his life poured out of him in a red, warm liquid. Fading... fading... and then miraculously clear!
     "Hi, I'm Clarence," a jovial voice said, as a white-haired old coot slid into view above him.
Scarface's eyes blinked. He felt his chest. There were no wounds, no blood, but... but that was impossible. His mind felt sharp, crystal clear. Sobriety, he laughed at the irony, felt better than any drug.
     The old man helped him up.
     "Who are you?" Scarface asked, suspiciously.
     "I'm Clarence, your guardian angel."
     "My guardian angel? Well, why didn't you help me?"
     "You never gave me a chance."
     Scarface thought. He guessed it was true enough. He never gave anybody a chance to help him. In Scarface's bitter life experience, the only one you could count on for help was yourself.
     "Why are you here?" he said, finally.
     "You have a second chance, my son. A second chance at life. Come with me."
     Clarence walked toward the huge front doors of Scarface's mansion. Scarface followed, looking around. The army of men sent to kill him--the ones still alive, that is--stood motionless, frozen in time. Somehow it all seemed perfectly reasonable.
     They walked like phantasms through time and space, passing images of men. Men with their wives. Men with their families. Happy men. Living good, decent lives.
     Scarface spat in disgust.
     "Who're these babosos?"  he asked.
     "We're traveling into a world where you were never born," the angel told him. "Since you were never there to corrupt them, these men--your soldados--were able to lead normal lives. To find love. To have children."
     Scarface spat again.
     "Pendejos," he said. Idiots.
     More images floated by. His wife, Elvira, married to someone else, and playfully chasing after the children that he was never able to give her.
     His best friend, Manny, and his sister, Gina, her belly full with life. Scarface felt a hot anger rise inside of him. He couldn't help it. It was his nature. He could see wedding rings on their fingers, but it didn't matter. He wanted to kill them. Kill them both.
     Manny lovingly held Gina's round belly in both of his hands.
     "What do we call him?" he asked his wife.
     "I don't know, but I've always liked the name Antonio," she answered.
     "Yes... Tony. Somehow that seems right."
     Scarface felt a pain in the heart he never knew he had. His vision blurred, but this time with tears.
     "We're here," the angel told him, stopping suddenly.
     "Of course we're here," Scarface said, harshly. Scarface always had to be the one who knew everything. "Where else would we be?"
     He looked around. He didn't recognize...
     "We're in Cuba," Clarence told him. "The Cuba where you never existed."
     "I don't understand," Scarface said, shaking his head in confusion and disbelief. "Everything's so clean and prosperous. Everybody's... happy."
     "That's because you were never born. Remember that boy you killed because you wanted his churro?"
     "I was hungry," Scarface sheepishly explained.
     "He was born to overthrow Fidel Castro and free your country from its chains. He was supposed to lead your people to democracy, prosperity, and liberty. When you killed him, you killed that reality.
     "I didn't..." Scarface tried to say. "I never..."
     And then he stopped. He blinked his eyes rapidly. That looked... just... like...
     It was his parents. They looked older than he remembered, but it was them. They had five young children with them. Three girls and two boys. The brothers and sisters he never had, because, in a violent burst of anger, he killed them both. All because he had mistakenly thought they had stolen his drug stash when he was 16.
     "Since you were never born," Clarence explained, "your parents had the family they always wanted. And in this new Cuba, they were able to live long, happy lives."
     "All this..." Scarface said. "All because I was never born?"
     The angel nodded with sad, sad eyes.
     "Have you learned anything, my son?"
     "Yes."
     "And what is that?"
     Scarface was quiet for a long, long time. And then...
     "Chente was right," Scarface finally said. " 'Don't get high on your own supply!' "
     Suddenly they were back at the mansion.
     "Say hello to my leetle friend!" Scarface yelled, holding the world's biggest gun in his hands. It was half machine gun and half bazooka. With the bazooka half he...
     BOOM! The door to Scarface's bedroom exploded outward into a thousand pieces. Dead men on the other side flying backward. Scarface walked to his balcony and began shooting at the army of killers beneath him. He was so intoxicated with the battle that he never noticed the Cuban hitman in the dark sunglasses silently walking up behind him.
     BAM! The hitman shot him in the back.
     Scarface broke through the balcony and fell into the fountain below him. The hitman and Clarence both walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down at once great drug lord.
     "Shoot him again," the angel said.

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