Johnny Depp’s Personal Rum Diary: Day 2

“Land ho!  Land ho!”

I awoke on the beach to the sound of The Captain screaming while Mr. Smith’s beautiful yacht was about to hit the beach.  My first instinct was to run, but I managed to keep my cool and calmly rolled a joint before I awoke Johnny with the staggering news.  He was still sound asleep when the boat came crashing onto the beach, spreading a crowd.  The Captain had abandoned ship and dove into the sea, only to wake Johnny with his screaming.

“Run for it boys!  He’s on to us!”

“What the fuck?”  Johnny mumbled, “What’s the yacht doing on the beach?”

“Your gonna need this,” I said as I passed Johnny the joint.

“Come on fellas.  Get your shit together.  We gotta hotfoot it outta here,” The Captain screamed running towards us carrying that gigantic, coke mirror.

“I demand to know what the fuck is going on!” Johnny screamed.  He got his answer as Mr. Smith bellowed from his beached yacht.

“Goddammit!  I’m gonna get you, you bastard!  If I ever see your ass again I’m gonna kill you!”

You see, The Captain thought it would be pretty fun to steal Mr. Smith’s mirror and crash his yacht into the beach.  Needless to say Johnny and I did as The Captain said and got the hell out of there.  We drove over to my room at El San Juan Resort and Casino.  We arrived at the resort after pick-me-ups in the valet parking lot.  I had only booked a one-bedroom suite, but Johnny insisted that he upgrade us to what was called an ocean front lanais…and he was right.  We had our own two-story condo, a private pool, an entertainment center complete with stereo and VCR, and the mini-bar was immense.  Johnny called room service and had the whole thing redone wall-to-wall with rum while I got cleaned up.  The Captain took to creating a map of Puerto Rico out of cocaine, which we promptly snorted when I was through with my shower.  Johnny took the eastern coast from San Juan to Las Mareas, I took the northern coast from Aguadilla to San Juan, and The Captain took the rest.  Then, we hit the casino.

The casino at El San Juan Resort is like a mini-version of the Venetian in Vegas.  The color-scheme and filtrated smell are all too familiar.  Johnny immediately sat at the Blackjack table, but I knew better.  I ventured over to the Pot Limit Hold ‘Em table – low blinds, $1 and $2.  I can’t afford to lose my ass in Puerto Rico.  I played slow and tight for a few hours and left the table up $200.  I decided to up the ante and sat at the No Limit Hold ‘Em table.  Blinds were $5 and $10.  I again played very slow for about an hour and was up nearly $500 when I was dealt my moneymaker – pocket kings.

I raised pre-flop and on the flop I hit another king, so I raised the bet again.  Four guys at the table followed me in, cautiously.  The turn card, the jack of spades, paired the board, so I had a full house, kings full of jacks.  There was no ace on the board, so I felt pretty confident going all in at .  Two men called me, which was very surprising, and on the river my greatest fears were realized.  It was that dirty ace of spades.  I knew I was cooked.  The man to my left turned his cards over revealing the pocket aces he slow-played not knowing he had nothing until the river.  The other guy didn’t even bother showing his cards, and I just walked away.  It was a good bet and a bad beat.  I had the hand won until that dirty, river card.  Once up $500, I was now down $1,000.  I had lost my ass in Puerto Rico and it only took me 2 hours at the tables.

I made my way to the Blackjack tables where Johnny seemed to be faring quite well.  He was up nearly $1,000 when I got there.  I told him what happened, and he was shocked.  “Jesus, that’s a bad beat, man,” he said.  “Robbed by the river.  Well, I’m doing well, so here.”  Johnny slipped me $500 under the table which I presented to the dealer for chips.  Well, it wasn’t long before Johnny and I were having the time of our lives.

I was sitting first chair, which is my favorite chair, especially when the dealer shuffles and starts a new deck.  I started playing slow with $10 bets, but Johnny soon nudged me to go big, so I started betting $50…then $100.   Soon I was betting $200 a hand, living by the seat of my pants on Johnny’s cash, and loving every minute of it.  Then, on a whim, I was dealt thirteen and decided it was time to double-down.

“Are you sure?” the dealer asked.

“Goddamn, right I am.  This ain’t my first rodeo.”  Of course, both the dealer and Johnny thought I was crazy.  You never double-down on thirteen, but I do all the time.  I had $400 on the hand.

“This is what it’s all about, baby!” Johnny screamed as he watched the dealer toss me my 8.  In that moment we were both jumping out of our seats dancing in the middle of the casino, but Johnny still had a hand to play – a couple of sixes he decided to split.  Then came the deal – 3, 10 – and Johnny stayed put at nineteen on the first hand.  Now the second hand – 5, 9 – and Johnny held at 20 on the second hand.  We anxiously waited for the other players so we could see the dealer’s hand.  Johnny had $1,000 riding on his two hands.  The dealer flipped over the cards – 15.  We all thought Johnny was cooked, but on the hit came a 7.  Dealer busts and Johnny wins both hands.  We were ecstatic.  We were causing such a scene security had to escort us from the table.  Combined, we walked away from the table up $3,000.  We met up with The Captain who was stealing drinks at the bar and hit the men’s room for a celebratory game of pool and some blow.  All the nicest men’s rooms have a pool table in them…and ice in the urinals…and this men’s room was no exception.  I could die in this bathroom.  We played our game of 9-ball while doing lines off the pool table.  No one gave us any trouble, which was surprising with all the cocaine flying around, but our trouble was about to find us.

We exited the men’s room to find Mr. Smith asking around for The Captain at the bar.  The bartender pointed us out as soon as we were out the men’s room door, and we fled to the hotel room with Mr. Smith hot on our heels.  When we reached the room, Johnny quickly locked the door behind us.

“What are we gonna do?” I asked.

“I reckon if we just play it cool and chill here we won’t have any trouble,” said The Captain.

“Why should we let you stay?  He’s after you!” I screamed.

“Hey, man.  You stole that damn mirror.”

“And you beached his fuckin’ yacht!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Johnny screamed.  “We all just have to calm the fuck down.  Make yourself a drink, Anthony.  Hell, make me one, too.”

I went to the minibar and threw a mini bottle of rum to Johnny, who caught it and drank it down.  I did the same with another.

“OK,” Johnny bellowed.  “I think we oughta go for a swim!”

“A swim?  Are you fucking kidding?  There’s a mad man on our heels who just happens to want to kill The Captain and you want to swim?  What if he asks the front desk what room we’re in?”  I was livid.

“We have a private pool!  How’s he gonna get into the room?  They won’t give him a key.”  Then, there were three hard knocks on the door.

“Fuck the pool.  Let’s hit the beach,” I whispered as I grabbed the Freedom Jar and headed for the back door.  We hit the beach and ran until The Captain couldn’t run anymore.

“There’s something I should tell you guys,” The Captain said.  “Mr. Smith is a dirty cop.”

“Well, that’s just great!  I came out here for an interview and now I’m in possession of almost an ounce of cocaine with the Puerto Rican police on my ass!” I screamed as I tossed the Freedom Jar to Johnny.

“There’s probably only a half ounce here,” Johnny replied.  “Look, we just have to talk to the guy.  We’ve got the upper hand here.  Remember.”  Before Johnny could finish his sentence Mr. Smith had him tackled to the ground and the Freedom Jar settled near The Captain.  Three more thugs were headed my way so I calmly went to the ground.  The Captain tried to make a run for it with the Freedom Jar, but he didn’t get far.  Before long we had black bags over our heads, our hands were cuffed, and we were being driven somewhere.

“Look,” Johnny started saying, “I know we can all work this out.  We can come to an agreement about all this.”

“Shut up back there,” Mr. Smith screamed.  “I’ve had about enough of you.  You come down here and tear up this town like you own it.  God damn Americans.”

“Well, judging from your accent I’d take it you’re American, too,” I said.

“I left that place nearly 20 years ago.  I’m no tourist.”

“Look, why don’t you just take your mirror and the cocaine and let us go?” Johnny asked.

“You think I’m doing this for the mirror or the coke?  I want my yacht fixed and I want to see you all rot in prison right here in Puerto Rico.”

“I hate to tell you this, but celebrities don’t go to prison,” Johnny said.

“We’ll see about that.”  The car had come to a stop and the thugs led us into a building and removed the bags from our heads.  We were in a Puerto Rican prison.  My fears had been realized.  The place smelled of blood, sweat, and tears and had a wet atmosphere like the roof leaked constantly.  They threw Johnny and I in the same cell and beat the piss out of The Captain right in front of us.  He was unconscious when they threw him in the cell with us.  I demanded a phone call even though I had no one to call, but they made us wait.  We were in their territory now.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but Johnny almost seemed to be enjoying himself.  I caught him humming a few times, and he had a massive shit-eating grin on his face.  I finally decided to ask him what the hell he was grinning about.

“Remember those pictures we took of Mr. Smith?”

“Yeah.  What good are they now?  They’ve got your cell phone.  They’ll erase ’em the first chance they get.”

“Well, I made sure to email them to the website and Professor Heinous printed a few copies.”

“So you’re telling me we gonna try to blackmail this guy?”

“Yep.”

I was stunned.  Johnny had this thing all wrapped up from the beginning.  I never thought those pictures would come in so handy.  I feeling of relief overcame me and suddenly I didn’t mind sitting the night in that awful jail.  I felt like singing.  So I sang.

“If you wanna hang out, you’ve got to take her out…cocaine!”  Then Johnny joined in.

“If you wanna get down, down on the ground…cocaine!  She don’t lie.  She don’t lie.  She don’t lie…cocaine!”  We sang and danced for hours in that cell, until Mr. Smith finally came around after having seen the pictures.

“I see you boys have been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Yeah, you should hear what my friend thinks about those photos, ” I said.  “They’re gonna be printed with the article I’m writing.  He’s got some great prints, too.  Really brings out your eyes.”

Johnny, laughing, jumps into the conversation.  “It’s gonna make a great cover story.”  Mr. Smith knew we weren’t kidding.  He must have seen that Johnny had emailed the photos.

“Here’s the deal,” Mr. Smith said.  “I let you two go, and I keep the coke and The Captain, and you don’t print those photos.”

“You gonna kill him?” Johnny asked.

“No.  He’ll come back and work off the yacht damages.  There’s nothing else he can do.”

“We’ll take it,” Johnny said.  Mr. Smith opened up the cell and let us out.  We got our things and left.  When we hit the streets we had no idea where we were but the sun was just rising which meant I had about 3 hours to get to the airport.

For some reason the cops never looked in our pack of cigarettes, so we still had two joints left.  We walked for miles, smoking joints and talking about our weekend.

“Some story this is going to make.  Too bad I don’t have more info about the film.”

“Well, you do and you don’t.  You’ve got a great story that’ll prepare the audience for the film.  In a way, you’re doing me a favor getting the crowd warmed up.  Nobody likes those boring Q&A interviews about filming the movie anyways.  That’s what the special features on the DVD are for.”  He had a point.

We arrived at El San Juan Resort with just minutes to spare.  I gathered my things and finally had the chance to look at a clock.  We had 20 minutes to get to the airport.  We ran downstairs, checked out, and tipped the valet with a bit of LSD Johnny didn’t get the chance to use over the weekend.  That was the plan for the second night, but who wants to trip acid in a prison cell?  Johnny drove like a madman all the way to the airport.  He came to a screeching halt next to airport security.

“Well, it’s been real,” he said.  “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“I’d love to,” I said as I shook his hand.  “Maybe we could try a jail in the states next time.”

On the plane, I tried to put together what this weekend meant.  I mean, you can’t go through an incredible drug binge without learning something.  I guess I learned to utilize my camera phone more effectively and to never underestimate the drug.  The Captain was a great example of someone who had completely accepted his addiction and given in to the drug – let the drug win.  The moment you first disrespect a drug it’ll consume you as it did The Captain.

“Can I get you something to drink, sir?” the flight attendant asks.

“Rum.  And keep it coming.”