- you godda question the thinking here -
The message came at noon. Pick up laundry, usual place, 2 p.m. This was, of course a code, telling me to be there at 12:30 because when you subtract a certain number from the time given it gives the real time, never mind. It would take longer to explain than it took Billy Crystal to explain VCR recording procedures to his disgraced City Slickers sidekick.
I arrived at the appointed place at the appointed hour or rather, half-hour. Who Cares. It was raining. In Mission Impossible it never rains, but here it's pouring. So I'm scrunched into a phone kiosk, the size of a teeny wheeny HondaGlide windscreen, waiting for instructions.
By my watch it's time and blessed of miracles, no one's using the phone. You've gotta question the thinking here. The booth emitted a strangled beep alerting me, along with the other four people loitering near by, to the message. A whirring noise and then a subdued voice issued from the coin slot.
"Your mission Jim,"
"My name is Francis! you twit" I shouted.
"Francis! Not Jim, Not Jack, not Tom, Dick or Harry either!"
"... if you decide to accept it, " the voice continued.
They've got a nerve, no accecptance, no job, no perks like having food to eat, pension plan down the tubes with no refunds, really.
"If you decide to accept", the voice repeated.
Something was wrong. The tape's disembodied voice now sounded like a defective computer on Star Trek. The vocally challenged mission controller continued, “ to proceed to..."
That's all she wrote brother. The next thing I knew I had assumed a completely involuntary horizontal position on the ground. The last thing remembered a flash accompanied by a loud sizzle.
After regaining some degree of consciousness I realized the sleeve of my all time favourite polyester jacket left over from my 70’s undercover days, was on fire.
Ah the 70’s, those were the days, blowing up sheds, burning trees, throwing rocks at cows. I peeled off the jacket, dropped it on the ground and extinguished it by stamping on it.
Someone was watching my fire dance.
A seven year old kid was standing there wide-eyed at my antics. When he realized I was watching him watching me he ran to his mother and tugged at her coat. The mother with one look at me and my smoldering jacket bolted around the corner dragging her two-legged baggage with her. Next Page