24: A Day in the Life (Dynasty Revisited)

[WSUCougar]

Gameplans. Suddenly, I've got gameplans sloshing around in my mind's eye. I can't see for the drop-down menus, percentage boxes, and run tendencies. Jesus, I'm blind!

"I just want to get the tight end the ball," I wimper, sagging against the hall wall. My vision is hazy, a maze of red and green bars. Boom or bust. Renegotiate.

I hear Nadine's voice, close, but indirect. "That better not be who I think it is. I'll freakin' chop it off!"

My head is reeling now. I see Shaqtacqua's face in mine, feel his meaty hands grabbing my shoulders, but I can't get a grip on anything. It's too slippery a slope.

9:55 a.m.

[Poli]

I must have passed out.

Where am I?

Some anonymous motel room. Nothing in the drawers, of course, but I look anyway.

Nothing but the Gideon Bible.

And a letter addressed to me on top of it. Written below my name is:

"Open only in extreme emergency"

I decide not to open the letter just yet. After all, I may be in some strange motel room, but it doesn't "feel" like an emergency.

I look around the room but it appears very ordinary. No phone, though. And the window has bars in it. The front door doesn't seem to want to move, either.

Sure wish I had watched more McGuyver when I was younger.

11:02 a.m.

[AnalBumCover]

After a quick relief in the bathroom, I grab the television remote and flip channels.

*click*

Welcome to the Sharon Osbourne Sho...

*click*

...olice are interrogating eyewitnesses to a fatal sniper shooting of a very short, very fat woman stepping off a bus earlier this morn...

*click*

If we don't send this by Fed-Ex, we'll be... Doomed! ...doomed...

*click*

Damn. Nothing to watch. I finger the sealed envelope again wondering what message could be inside. I hold it against the lamp to see if I can make out any words.

But suddenly just outside the door, I hear the sound of keys rustling, then being inserted into the doorknob.

I stand up to prepare to greet my unknown guest...

11:10 a.m.

[WSUCougar]

Silence.

The key must still be in the lock, but other than that God-only-knows-what-else is outside that door. Who is about to walk in? In the middle of a crazy day like this one, Bozo the Clown would be just as likely as Elvis. And Elvis is apparently listening for me.

"Come on in!" I shout, seeing no need to prolong the wait.

After a muffled clicking sound, the door handle begins to turn and the lock-bolt disengages. With a slow but firm force behind it, the door swings inward. There in the doorway stands Mr. Smith from The Matrix movies, or perhaps Tommie Lee Jones as one of the Men in Black. Or a Fed. Or some dude with a bad tailor and dark sunglasses.

But the dude’s packing, and that’s a nine millimeter pointing at ol’ John Bravo’s chest.

Instinctively, I raise my hands up in a gesture of surrender. Instinctively I also want to turn and jump out the goddamn window, but I hold that one back for the moment.

"Easy," I hear myself say. Points for coolness. I should be a hostage negotiator, not an air traffic controller.

By way of response, the man in black raises his pistol, such that I’m now looking straight down into the inky blackness of the barrel. Somewhere distant I notice that all the moisture has gone out of my mouth. Yeah, and it’s all going to appear down the front of my pants here in a second, John Boy.

The guy is gripping the gun like he’s done so many times before. Despite his cheesy outfit, his bearing matches with any number of Hollywood bad guys I can conjure up at the moment. Fed. Rogue secret agent. Assassin. And then, in an almost robotic sounding tone, he hoarsely says, "Talk."

11:12 a.m.

[Poli]

Wish I had opened that letter now. I fumble it with my finger tips and it falls to the floor.

Mystery man isn't impressed.

Talk. Right. Umm.

Sweat starts to form.

"Did you know the human head weighs 8 pounds?"

Mystery man is confused. He pulls the barrel back and up to the sky, and says, "What did you say?"

"It's a fact. Adult human heads weigh 8 pounds."

"Are you sure?" asks the mystery man.

"As long as they have everything still intact, I think so.

"You know, I've really had a bad day, and I don't know where this is going. This, talk or I'm going to shoot you thing. All I wanted to do was see Nadine and next thing you know there's a dead fat woman, a boy and his dog, and some guy I refer to as Shaqtacqua who seems to know every quote I can remember. To be quite honest, this is really freaking me out."

"What's the last thing you remember?" asks Mystery Man.

"Falling. Shaq was trying to catch me. I think. Then I'm here. I'm here in a motel like room with bars on the windows, doors that lock on the outside, no phone, but a freaking tv. I've got no clue where I'm at or what I'm doing here. Top it all off, I got this weird letter that says, 'Open only in extreme emergency'. Like I'll know that when I see it. I can't even tell if it's written by Nadine, because I never really paid much attention to her handwriting."

"It says to open only in extreme emergency?" asks Mystery man.

"Yep, and now I've dropped it. I have dropped perhaps the one thing that could have saved me from this predicament. I could have gone all day without that gun waving in my face, you know. Had I just opened it before you came in, maybe, just freaking maybe, I wouldn't be here right now."

I look down to the letter. Too bad McGuyver wasn't on the tv while I was watching. Too bad I didn't open that letter.

Mystery man bends down, gun pointing at me, and picks up the letter.

"Well," he says, "let's have a look."

11:16 a.m.

[AnalBumCover]

Using one hand, with the dexterity of a brain surgeon, Mystery Man opens the envelope, pulls out its contents and unfolds the letter. All while keeping his weapon drawn towards my nose.

He furls his brow as he tries to read the message. I can almost see him blink through those dark sunglasses. Pause.

"What the...?" he finally says. "It's blank."

From my distance, I try to make out the piece of paper in Mystery Man's hand. I take a half a step closer, and reach out for the letter.

"Umm, excuse m-"

"SHUT UP!" he roars, as he stiffens his weapon arm directed at me. "Stay back."

Using as few words as possible so to not fluster Mystery Man any more than he is, I say:

"Wrong side."

Somewhat confused, Mystery Man oscillates his eyes back and forth between the letter in his hand and me. Until he finally understands.

"Smart-ass mother fu-..." he concedes.

He flips the piece of paper and reads the letter. His face exhibits another look of confusion. Followed by another pause.

"So... what's it say?" I ask impatiently.

With a shrug, Mystery Man says, "Duck."

11:19 a.m.

[WSUCougar]

“Duck?” I ask, incredulous. “You mean like the aquatic bird?” Now there’s an intelligent response, John. Yes, this is a letter of introduction from the Aquatic Bird Emergency Service (ABES), offering their services. My god.

“How the hell should I know?!?” barks Mystery Man, but I hardly even hear him, since I’m already clueing in to the true meaning of the letter. With what certainly must be bug-wide eyes, I let my knees buckle and collapse, and down I go like a sack o’ potatoes.

Mystery Man is clearly startled – his body flinches with surprise, his feet stutter a bit, and thankfully the pistol barrel points further upward rather than down at me on the floor. An odd pair of noises follows…ping/clip! And Mystery Man goes down like he was shot.

Because he was. In the forehead. Game over, man.

The pistol is still tumbling on the carpet, but Mystery Man has already become Mystery Corpse by the time he hits the floor. Dumbfounded, I wheel my eyes to the window, and sure enough, there’s a small bullet hole visible in the glass, between two of the bars.

I begin to shake as a wave of panic rushes over me. But there’s no time. Afraid to stand, afraid to do anything, I scuffle across the floor to grab the pistol, cast one last horrified look down at the dead man, then swiftly move into the open doorway…

11:25 a.m.

[Poli]

Like I said, I don't need this.

Too many dead bodies for me today. Heck, too many dead bodies for the year. People have a strange way of dieing around me. I probably wouldn't have this problem is I had just taken the six week course to become a sports agent.

I scramble into the passageway, but something about this gives me the creeps. Well, with the day I'm having, everything is giving me the creeps. Something institutional about this place, but I can't sense it.

I'm too busy to take notes, though. I turn right and take off. A red exit sign is ahead of me and I'll be the first through that door.

"YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Yeah, like that'll happen. So someone else can point a gun at my head. Like I said, I can go without that.

I burst through the door and it slams shut. I look both ways to determine a route to escape, but then I see how the mystery man became mystery meat.

An Astro van with license plate "NKOTB". Apparently, attractive lady pulled the trigger, since she has a gun in her hand and is waving for me to come over.

Since I've got about 4 seconds until other mystery men arrive at my current location, I think it's best that I go.

11:26 a.m.

[AnalBumCover]

"Come with me if you want to live," Attractive Lady says to me in a deep voice resembling Ahnold's.

I tilt my head sideways at her summon as a dog would a high pitched tone. Speaking of dogs, there's no sign of ol' Rufus nor Little Johnny in side the vehicle.

Suddenly the metal door behind me bursts open and out come three Mystery Men, all dressed alike, down to the dark sunglasses. They're all running after me, nine millimeters in hand.

No time to think, John Boy. You're either at the mercy of those Mystery Men, or of the Lady and her Astro.

Mystery Men have guns. I take my chances with the Astro.

I jump in the passenger seat and nod a smile towards Attractive Lady. "How ya doin?"

But without acknowledging my gesture, she pounds her foot into the accelerator. The tires of the van spin on a small patch of ice for a few seconds before finally gripping asphault and driving me back into my seat. The g-force temporarily prevents me from reaching back to grab the seatbelt, but I manage eventually.

From behind, the Mystery Men start shooting at us. One lucky bullet manages to shatter the van's rear window. Attractive Lady and I instinctively crouch in our seats to avoid further shots.

A right turn. Then a left. Her skillful driving along the icy pavement is worthy of European drift racing.

"I think we've lost them," Attractive Lady finally says. And we both ease up on our seats, and she pulls to an easy stop.

I look behind me through the broken window and out to the Boston streets. Thunderstruck at the recent turn of events, I pull my head back against the head restraint. Finally after a minute, I turn to the driver and demand,

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?"

11:30 a.m.

[WSUCougar]

My, she really is attractive, and for a split-second I’m distracted by her eyes meeting mine, accompanied by a small but rather sincere smile.

“Well,” she begins, pausing…and then her left cheekbone explodes in a plume of red, her head flails against the head-rest, and amidst the now-familiar sound of penetrated glass I know I’ll never hear another word from her.

Though spattered with a small shower of gore, it takes a moment for my brain to process the ghastly scene, but quickly I’m ducking and frantically pulling at that same damn Astro door handle. And again I’ve thrown myself down on the pavement of a slushy Boston street, under fire, people gaping at me, with an unseen sniper somewhere ahead of me, and a posse of hostile Mystery Men to my rear.

Where is Shaqtacqua now? And Nadine? Where is my apartment, my temp agency? Am I going to die like this, like Attractive Lady?

No, I must run. And stay alive.

11:32 a.m.

[Poli]

Off I go, like a quarterback with a scramble rating of 99. I'm out of here, and there's no second guessing. Time to go somewhere where everyone knows my name. Heck if I know how to get there right now, but I will. This party sucks.

I spot a narrow alley just wide enough for a person but not wide enough for a vehicle or sniper to shoot through and duck in. Police sirens go off in the distance.

"I shouldn't have woke up today" I keep repeating to myself, and then I skid to a stop.

There.

It appears to be the back door to whatever the front of this building houses. Taped to the window is a hand written sign:

"Do Not Use This Door"

That's my door. I'm ducking in there.

11:34 a.m.

[AnalBumCover]

Good. The door is unlocked. I quickly scan my surroundings to see if anyone might've caught me entering the building. Nobody in sight. The sirens are getting closer.

I open the door and run through. Immediately I'm met with heavy smoke. A mixture of cigarettes, cigars, and a hint of weed.

My eyes haven't yet adjusted from the daylight outside to the dim lighting inside. And while the door slams shut behind me, I'm temporarily blinded.

The brouhaha from the people inside is quickly hushed by my arrival, and replaced by sounds of chairs being shoved back and about 20 or so guns of all shapes, sizes and creeds being drawn and cocked. Even though I can't see at the moment, I easily surmise that all those weapons are pointed at me.

Way to go, John-Boy. There's another fine mess you've gotten us into.

Slowly my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness...

11:35 a.m.

[Poli]

bump. It's been three months.