I'm rewriting Aladdin in modern times as part of a psychology project (Jafar has Asperger Syndrome), and I'd like to say that as much as I'm enjoying it, it's taking forever... I think I might just turn in my first four or five pages as evidence that I'm really working on it and beg for an extra day or two.
But here's what I have so far, and yes it is pretty long:
The silence in the room was deadly, broken only by the mechanical whirring of the rotating security cameras and by the occasional bark of a guard dog outside. The two men sat looking across the table at one another appraisingly. One, a large, muscular man with an earing in his left ear, leaned back in a luxurious chair the color of sand, and the way his sideburns puffed out and were streaked with gray, he looked for all the world like a big tiger.
The other man, who was quite wiry in comparison, and very tall, leaned forward eagerly, his long, slim goatee practically curling with anticipation.
“Jafar,” said the tiger man,”You can't really expect me to just hand over the lamp. We've had some good business in the past, and you're an excellent lawyer, but you're asking me to part with something precious to me for such a paltry sum...”
“I'm offering you fifteen million dollars, and you sit there and call it 'a paltry sum'. Well then, Mr. Bengal, what will it take? I will have that lamp.” Jafar twisted his beard around his finger, staring directly into the man's eyes with a fierce determination.
“Alright then, if you're set on getting the lamp, then let's strike a deal we both can profit from. There's a boy I want brought to me, and if you can get me the boy, you can have the lamp.” At this, Jafar began feverishly twisting his beard, the fire in his eyes stoked by the forest of opportunity.
“And what is this boy's name?” he asked.
“Aladdin.”
*****
“Is this all you would like on your frank, sir?” asked the hot dog vendor, with a slight middle-eastern accent that made Aladdin chuckle.
“Yeah, I guess that's about it. How much is it?”
“It will be four dollars and fifty-six cents, please.” Aladdin pretended to be thinking about just how much money he had.
“Oh, I only have three bucks. Hold on a second; I'll just borrow little from my friend here.” He walked a short distance to another young man waiting at the bus stop, and as the vendor began taking the next man's order, Aladdin bolted down the street with an angry immigrant hot dog salesmen yelling after him.
Looking behind him for pursuit, Aladdin ran straight into a cop right in front of him. He fell to the ground, but managed to keep his frank out of harm's way.
“Boy, that looks to me like a
hot dog, and I suggest you give it back, pay for it, or do some quick and very persuasive talking if you don't want to be booked for theft.”
Aladdin flashed a big, toothy grin at the policeman, and shrugged innocently. He noticed that the cop had a tail, and realized that his pet monkey Abu was picking the man's pocket. Soon, he saw a tiny hand extend with a five dollar bill, and he took a step closer to the man in order to get it without being seen.
“I'll count to three, kid, and if you haven't picked choice a, b, or c, it's going to be d: none of the above.”
Aladdin reached into his pocket and pulled his hand back out, still holding the five.
“I have it covered officer. I... I just got carried away that's all. I'm in a big hurry see, 'cause I'm almost late for class, and I can't afford to miss!”
“Well... I'll take this to the hot dog man, and you get moving. Don't let it happen again. I think I'll get a dog myself.”
Aladdin set off very quickly when he saw the man pull out his wallet to get his own five out.
“Hey, where's my- Kid, get back here now!”
But Aladdin was already out of sight. Captain Razoul called for backup.
*****
Jasmine walked down Broadway, her father's words still ringing in her ears.
Jasmine, I really think it's time you found yourself a husband and settled down. The life of a bachelorette is fine for girls, but you're a young woman, and it makes you look rowdy. Just find a nice man who'll provide for you and take him before someone else does. What did father know about love? He married for money himself, and after Mom died he used that little bit of leverage to become the richest man in America and the governor of New York. He had little to do telling her about when and with whom to settle down.
Still fuming, Jasmine was barely paying any attention at all to what was happening around her, and took a step into a crosswalk that had just become a stream of hurtling cars. Just then, a man came charging through the crowd and rammed into her, knocking her onto the ground and out of the crosswalk, and tumbled over her.
Their eyes locked, and they sat looking at one another for a few minutes. In those minutes, Razoul and his men caught up.
“You've made me even hungrier now, boy, and you almost got away with forcing me to make a trip to the bank before I could eat. It's off to the big house with you.” The cop appeared to very much enjoy clapping him in irons.
“Wait, what's going on? This guy just saved me from getting smashed into so much salty red goo, and you're lugging him off to prison?” Jasmine chimed in.
“Well if it isn't New York's little princess. If you have some complaint with the way we handle criminals, take that up with your father. Now if you'll excuse us.”
She watched as her savior was shoved roughly into a police car and hurried away. Looking away, she saw an old hobo delightedly shoving a dirty hot dog into his mouth. Maybe she would have a word with her father after all.
*****
After checking with every informant he had, Jafar had finally located Aladdin. In jail. Now he just had to execute his plan to get Aladdin out of jail and into Mr. Bengal's hands.
He arrived at the prison at approximately six o'clock, he noted, looking at his watch. That gave him about fifteen minutes between the evening watch and night watch, a window of time in which the cells would be unguarded.
Jafar walked to the front desk in the station, where a young black woman sat, busily reviewing and signing documents.
“Hello. I would like to visit a prisoner.”
“What? Oh. I'm sorry sir, we don't allow visits. Unless you've got special permission of course. Do you?”
“No, I just want to go see one of the prisoners.” Jafar stared into the woman's eyes, wishing she would just understand and let him go.
“Oh. Well, I'm afraid I can't let you in right now, sir. Come back tomorrow.”
“Yes you can. You have the keys right there. Let me in.”
“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave, and then I'm not going to ask anymore.”
Jafar hated it when people didn't cooperate. It's not as if he was asking a lot, and now that she'd refused him, he'd just have to do something neither of them would like very much. He grabbed a stapler from the desk and swung it hard, hitting the woman in the right temple and knocking her out cold. Then he walked over and took the card keys hanging from her belt and proceeded into the cell block.
He walked straight to cell 3-B, just as he'd planned, and slid the card through its slot. When the light flashed green, he slid the barred door aside and inside saw a derelict young man sitting on a cot.
“Are you Aladdin?” Jafar asked.
“Oh! Yes. And are you my lawyer?”
Jafar chuckled at the irony.
“In a sense. Come with me.” Jafar turned and walked out the way he had come, and waited by the exit to the station for Aladdin to catch up. As he came closer, Aladdin looked confused and worried about the unconscious secretary.
“You can't just take me out of here can you?”
“Why not? Here's the door and here we are.” Pulling a gun out he added,”You should also do precisely what I ask you to do. Now let's go.”
I'm more the "story" type.
