“Tripwire” – Act ?? Scene ??
“Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me?”

MUSIC UP: “Takin’ It To The Streets” (Doobie Brothers)

IT IS NEARLY THREE A.M. AT THE ISOLATED MOUNTAIN CABIN. THE EXCITEMENT OF LISTENING IN ON GEKKO HIJINKS HAS FADED SOMEWHAT, AND OUR GANG HAS RETIRED TO THEIR SEPARATE PURSUITS. THESE FOLK KEEP LATE (OR RATHER, EARLY) HOURS, DONTCHA KNOW…

IN THE BASEMENT LABORATORY, THE SANDMAN IS PUTTING FINISHING TOUCHES ON A SPICE MIXTURE THAT PROMISES TO BE ONE OF THE MOST VOLATILE EVER – JUST IN TIME FOR BRUNCH TOMORROW.

IN THE WORKOUT ROOM, AJ AND LH ARE HAVING THE TIME OF THEIR LIVES, WATCHING A TAE-BO VIDEO AND IMPROVING UPON ALL THE MOVES. FROM TIME TO TIME, THEY RECALL HIGHLIGHTS OF THE “GEKKO ENCOUNTER” AND LAUGH UPROARIOUSLY.

IN THE COMMON ROOM (RUSTIC WOODEN WALLS IN BACKGROUND, NATCH), WW IS RECLINING ON THE DEEP-RED LEATHER SOFA IN RESTING-WARRIOR MODE, SIPPING FROM A GIANT MUG OF SPECIAL “TEA,” NIBBLING THE LATEST BATCH OF SUGAR COOKIES, AND LEAFING THROUGH THE CURRENT ISSUE OF “SILENT LETHAL NINJA WEAPONRY.”

A CHIME SOUNDING IN THE HALLWAY TELLS HER THAT BDT HAS AT LAST RETURNED FROM HIS AMBIGUOUS ERRAND. OUR PSYCHOTIC MAVEN OF MAYHEM GRINS EVILLY, PUSHING A BUTTON ON HER DICK TRACY WRISTWATCH. THE LIGHTS IMMEDIATELY DIM TO 5 PERCENT. NO SENSE IN LETTING HIM KNOW THAT EVERYONE HAS BEEN WAITING UP FOR HIM, IS THERE?

HER SUPER-SENSORY HEARING PICKS UP LIGHT, CAREFUL FOOTSTEPS IN THE HALLWAY. THE DOOR OPENS SOFTLY.


WW: Checking your email before turning in? (LIGHTS UP)

BDT MAKES A STARTLED MOVEMENT, RECOVERING QUICKLY.

BDT (SHAMEFACEDLY): I thought I might. It’s past three. What are you doing down here?

WW (WICKED SMIRK): The same thing that everyone else is doing down here. Waiting up for you. How did the chopper handle?

BDT: Extra-smooth, once I got it on the interstate. Fantastic ride. I’d like to take it out more often.

WW: I’m sure that can be arranged (ANOTHER SMIRK). So – you delivered the card and – all?

BDT (NOT LIKING THAT SMIRK): Yessssss – I did. And I’m nearly a hundred percent committed to a return visit.

WW: Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult, eh? You have the clothes. You have the chopper. We’re not due for another caper this week – you’ll definitely have the time. Assuming that you’ll take it, of course (AWFUL NASTY SMIRK)

BDT: Well – it was – interesting…

WW (PRESSING): Yes?

BDT: All those enhanced packs of Marlboro Lights on the bar, on the tables – all that ill-fitting leather garb and those clunky chains – I felt positively over-dressed.

WW (RAISING AN EYEBROW): Overdressed? (GETS IT) Oh, I see – you were stand-out elegant. Sorry, couldn’t help that – what’s worth doing is worth doing either exceptionally badly or exceptionally well. I hope you liked the skins?

BDT (BLUSHING – OOH LA LA, THAT BLUSH!!): Well, actually – I kind of – well – you know – they were – well, actually they were pretty comfortable, once I got used to them. I’m thinking about having Sheila make me a set.

WW: Well, another set – actually – those are yours. Compliments of the management. What colors did you have in mind?

BDT (BLUSHING AGAIN): Well, perhaps something in moss-green suede – or maybe even a sort of patchwork camo pattern, if she can do it…

WW: Hmmm, camo leathers! Sounds interesting. I’ll approach her with the idea. I think she’ll jump for it. I know she’s busy right now, finishing a set of leather vestments for an outfit called the Metropolitan Community Church – but I’m sure she’d be willing to consider it.

BDT (TO SELF – “Leather vestments?”): Appreciate it – and thanks. (TURNS TO GO)

WW (PRETENDING THAT THIS IS AN AFTERTHOUGHT): Oh, by the way – where did you take him?

BDT: Ehh – I had to gain his trust, so I rode the bike to Ballard and back.

WW (CACKLING): Ballard! In black leather! At one-thirty in the morning! I’ll bet that was something to see…

BDT: Naah, they’re Norwegians over there – they all go to bed at eight o’clock.

WW: Pass any Keystoners?

BDT: Strangely enough, not a single one. Not even back on the Hill. I think Deputy Dave has his territory well defended, if not well-patrolled.

WW (LAUGHING): Sounds like he has it pretty well patrolled, if you ask me. (STANDING UP, STRETCHING – ENVIABLE MUSCULATURE BENEATH SNUG-FITTING CAMO T-SHIRT) – Ehh, let’s see what the card says, while we’re both here…

THEY WALK OVER TO THE COMPUTER TERMINAL AND WW KEYS IN A SEQUENCE OF NUMBERS. THREE LITTLE BEEPS, A FUZZY SOUND, AND THEN A VOICE – THE VOICE OF TWENTY-DOLLAR DAVE, APPARENTLY DEEP IN THOUGHT? PRAYER?

<<TDD: And thank you for a super day, and for a super evening, and a nice ride on the Harley with my new friend from Man-to-Man Makeovers. >>

WW CUTS HER EYES AT BDT, WHO WISELY AVERTS HIS GAZE.

<<TDD: And please let our paths cross again, and again, and again – and let me find out what brand of smokes he prefers, since he didn’t pick up on my enhanced pack of Marlboro Lights.>>

WW SMIRKING BROADLY, AGAIN THE RAISED EYEBROW. BDT SQUIRMING.

<<I don’t often ask for anything, but I really, really, really want this. Thank you. Amen.>>

WW (EVIL CHUCKLE, SHUTTING OFF AUDIO): “I really, really, really want this…” Hmm, sounds as if you made quite an impression.

BDT: Ehh – I just do my job.

WW: Enhanced pack of Marlboro Lights?

BDT: Yeah, they’ve all seen that movie, apparently.

WW: Deputy Dave really cuts to the chase, doesn’t he?

BDT (WINCING AT THE WORD “CHASE,” BUT BEING GAME ABOUT IT): I guess. (STRETCHING, RUNNING FINGERS THROUGH THAT GLORIOUS EBONY HAIR) – Well, boss, if you have no other questions, I’m really beat. I need to hit the sack before blades tomorrow morning.

WW: Of course. See you at breakfast.

BDT EXITS

WW (LAUGHING TO HERSELF): Enhanced smokes!! I feel like an adventure here. I’ll get Sheila on the phone in the morning.


TIME PASSES…
SEVEN DAYS, TO BE EXACT. IT IS ONCE AGAIN SATURDAY NIGHT, AND IT IS GEKKO TIME.

MUSIC UP: “Rollin’ On The Highway” (Doobie Brothers)

THE GANG, AFTER A HEFTY AND DELICIOUS MEAL CONCOCTED BY LN AND LH, IS RELAXING IN THE MUSIC ROOM, LISTENING TO A REMASTERED CD OF JANIS JOPLIN’S ALTAMOUNT CONCERT. IT HAS BEEN A BUSY DAY, WHAT WITH BANG-MIXING AND BLADING AND COOKING AND ALL, AND THEY ARE ENJOYING WHATEVER CRIMINAL MINDS ENJOY WHEN NOT ACTIVELY PURSUING CRIMINALITY.

WW (TURNING TO BDT, WHO IS SLOUCHED IN THE LEATHER CLUB CHAIR WITH HIS GAME-BOY): Well, Elf-boy, it’s almost midnight. Ready to rock and roll?

BDT: Tonight?

WW (SNARKLY LITTLE GIGGLE): Bien sur, mon ami – tonight. He’s scheduled to patrol from twelve to eight. We want to catch him at the beginning of his shift.

BDT: We?

WW: We. I couldn’t help thinking about your adventure, and envy just got the better of me.

BDT (SOMEWHAT RELIEVED): We’re going together?

WW: Not exactly. (GRINS) You go first, and I’ll meet you there.

BDT: Same shtick as before?

WW: Perhaps. Might throw in a bit of improvisational acting along the way. (STANDING UP, STRETCHING) – Well, it’s time to get changed and get moving, eh? Signal when you get there. I’ll be right behind you. (EVIL LAUGH) So to speak…

LH, AJ AND LN LOOK AT EACH OTHER, TRYING NOT TO LAUGH.

LN: Heh heh heh – so that’s what was in the package! She was awfully secretive about it – more than usual, I mean.

LH: Hmmm, just grabbed it and went up the stairs with it. I wonder what hers looks like?

AJ: I wish I could go with them. It would be fun.

LH: Yeah, but you and I are just too little and too shapely to pass.

LH (SMIRKING): Perhaps you will be sent on an errand to – the Venus Flytrap? One of these days…

LH: Venus Flytrap?

LN (MORE THAN SLIGHTLY STONED LAUGHTER): The Gekko’s sister sorority, one might say. Also on Capitol Hill. Around the corner, no less.

AJ: How do you know all this?

LN: I have – sources. (GRINS AGAIN)

THEY SIT IN COMPANIONABLE AND CURIOUS SILENCE, LISTENING TO THE TAPE.

AJ: Dang, that woman could sing.

LH: You got that right, sistah (HIGH-FIVE)

SOUNDS IN THE HALLWAY, AND THEY LOOK UP.

AJ: So, come in! Model for us! What was in the box?

WW ENTERS, ABSOLUTELY RESPLENDENT.

WW (POSTURING): Like it?

LN (WHISTLES): It’s just too-too-too, girlfriend. Especially the bandanna.

WW: Well, I had to have a little camo somewhere. Just for color, you understand.

LN: A leather camo bandanna definitely makes a statement.

AJ: As does the jewelry.

WW: Crude, but necessary. I detest anodized aluminum, even if it is multi-colored.

LN: Well, you look positively menacing.

WW (GRINNING AGAIN, ENJOYING THIS): Really? (PSYCHOTIC GIGGLE) Hope so.

LH: You packing?

WW: Don’t leave home without it. (PATS THE SIDE OF ONE GLEAMING LEATHER BOOT, MEANINGFULLY). The latest. Ceramic. Flexible. Unbreakable. Don’t think I’ll need it, but you never know. Might need to cut rope – or something (ANOTHER WHACKED-OUT GIGGLE). Well, we’re off. Keep the ‘puter tuned to us. We should be back in a few hours. I know you won’t be going to bed.


TIME PASSES.

THE GEKKO IS ONCE AGAIN CROWDED AND THUMPING WITH BAD DISCO AT THIS LATE HOUR. SHADOWY FIGURES HUNCHED OVER AT THE BAR, FLASHING ENHANCED PACKS OF SMOKES, SIPPING POTATIONS FROM SMEARY THICK GLASSES, TRYING DESPERATELY NOT TO GO HOME ALONE ONCE AGAIN. ON THE TINY DANCE FLOOR, A COUPLE OF RHYTHMICALLY CHALLENGED FELLAS ARE TRYING TO BOOGIE AND NOT ENTIRELY SUCCEEDING.

A MUFFLED ROAR OUTSIDE, AUDIBLE ONLY TO OUR EARS, AS THE FIRST HARLEY ROLLS INTO THE PARKING LOT AND SHUTS DOWN. A FEW SECONDS LATER, THE DOOR OPENS AND BDT ROLLS IN WITH A SNAKY-HIPPED SAUNTER, RUNNING A HAND CASUALLY THROUGH ARTFULLY TOUSLED HAIR, FINDING A TINY ROUND TABLE IN THE BACK, IN THE CORNER, IN THE DARK – AND SETTLING THERE. A SHADOWY FIGURE SIDLES UP ADMIRINGLY TO TAKE HIS ORDER AND DEPARTS.

HE HAS NOT LONG TO WAIT, FOR IN LESS THAN SEVEN HEARTBEATS, ANOTHER SHADOW FALLS OVER THE TABLE. QUARRY! SO SOON…

BDT, UNSEEN, PRESSES A BUTTON ON HIS JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE WRISTWATCH.

TDD (GENTEEL LEER): Well, hello there. Nice to see you again.

BDT: Yeah, same here.

TDD (SMIRKING, PATTING DOWN HIS THINNING HAIR): You brought your bike?

BDT: Never leave home without it.

TDD (BRIDLING AND SIDLING): Oh, really?

BDT’S ORDER ARRIVES, AND THEY CLINK GLASSES.

TDD: To good times.

BDT (TOUGH-GUY, HERE): Whatever.

TDD: So, what brings you here? (HOPEFULLY)

BDT: I’m supposed to meet a buddy in a few. We’re taking the hogs out for an endurance test.

TDD: This late?

BDT: Only time the roads are clear. When we test, we test. We run it hard and fast, until it can’t run any longer. (MEANINGFUL GLANCE FROM THOSE SLOE EYES) Oops, I shouldn’t be telling you this, should I? I mean, you’re a cop. You might ticket me. Or (MEANINGFUL PAUSE) take me into custody. Or (ANOTHER PAUSE, SIDELONG GLANCE FROM THOSE HOODED VERIDIAN AMBER ORBS – BE STILL, MY HEART!!!!!) something.

TDD (HYPERVENTILATING): Yeah, something.

THE DOOR OPENS AGAIN.

BDT (RESCUED!): Here’s my buddy right now.

WW, IN PANTHER MODE, PADS OVER TO THE TABLE. SHE IS TOTALLY, INCREDIBLY, FEARSOMELY BUFFED, DANGEROUS, AND SUPERBLY ELEGANT IN TOP-OF-THE-LINE BLACK LEATHER WITH THAT LEATHER CAMO BANDANNA. SHE IS WEARING A BLACK LEATHER MOTORCYCLE CAP AND SOUTHERN-SHERRIFF SHADES WITH SILVERED LENSES. SHE IS CARRYING A PAIR OF GAUNTLETS.

BDT: Hey, pardner.

WW (HER VOICE A BIT DEEPER AND MORE GRAVELLY THAN USUAL): Hey, man. Sorry I’m late. Hand-to-hand. Couldn’t get away earlier. (SEEMING TO NOTICE TDD, WHO IS GAWKING AND WONDERING IF A TRANSFER OF ADMIRATION MIGHT BE IN ORDER) Who’s this?

BDT: This is Dave. He’s a regular.

WW (REMOVING THE SHADES, REVEALING THE PIERCING, LAMBENT REDDISH GLEAM IN THOSE STRANGE EYES): Hmmm. Regular, eh? He looks like a cop to me.

TDD (A LITTLE SQUEAKY): I – am – a cop…

WW: You do any hand-to-hand?

TDD: Hand-to-hand? As in, combat?

WW: As in combat, yeah. You know – martial arts, kickboxing, blades?

TDD: No, not really – I’m just a patrol officer. They send me up here to keep order on the weekends.

WW (MEANINGFUL GLARE): And do you? Keep order?

TDD (WONDERING WHERE THIS IS GOING): I try to.

BDT: Want a beer?

WW: Not now. You ready to roll?

BDT: As soon as this one’s done.

WW: I’ll wait for you outside. (LOOKS AT DAVE, THAT FUNNY LITTLE GREEN-BERET-IN-WET-PANTS GRIN) Don’t be long.

TDD (ALMOST INAUDIBLY, OVER THE POUNDING OF HIS HEART): N-n-ice to – meet you?

WW: Right. (SAUNTERING AWAY AND OUT, THE DOOR CLOSING DECISIVELY BEHIND HER. TDD SHIVERS, SIGHS.)

TDD: Your – friend –

BDT: Can be a bit – abrupt – at times. I think it comes from being a trainer for Special Forces.

TDD: Special – Forces?

BDT: Yeah – for years. Can’t talk about it, not even now. Pretty top-secret stuff, you know. Government business. They still have a working relationship, for special projects.

TDD: Those eyes – I wouldn’t want to get into the wrong side of a fight with him.

BDT: You got that right.

TDD: He looks – pretty buffed and totally dangerous.

BDT: Ninety-one one-handed pushups, with a foxy little number sitting on his back.

TDD (WHISTLES): Hmm!

BDT: You don’t even want to think about rushing him with a weapon. The man eats steel for breakfast, with a Green Beret chaser.

TDD: Ehhhh – (TO SELF – “Foxy little number – “): Is your – buddy – part of your company?

BDT: Man-to-Man Makeovers? Yeah - owner, founder and CEO.

TDD: I never asked you what kind of makeovers you do.

BDT: You know, total personal transformation, reconstruction, attitude adjustment, physical conditioning, that kind of thing. (LOOKS AT WRISTWATCH) Look, I have to go. My pal has kind of a possessive temper.

TDD (DISAPPOINTED): Oh? Sorry – didn’t mean to keep you.

BDT (MEANINGFUL SMIRK): No problem. See you round.

BDT STANDS UP, STRETCHES, SMIRKING INWARDLY AT THE EFFECT OF THE STRETCH, SAUNTERS OUT OF THE GEKKO.

THE SOUND OF TWO IMMENSE ROARING MOTORCYCLES SEEPS THROUGH THE TEDIOUS THUMP AND CLINK INSIDE. OUR FUGITIVES MAKE THEIR WAY HOME IN THE DARKNESS, LAUGHING UPROARIOUSLY AS THEY ZIP DOWN THE INTERSTATE, ONTO THE EXIT, AND THROUGH THE JUNGLE OF FARM ROADS AND UNMARKED TURNOFFS TO THE ISOLATED MOUNTAIN CABIN.

BACK HOME, THEY BOUNCE INTO THE MUSIC ROOM AND ARE GREETED WITH HILARITY.

WW: Well, that was fun!

AJ (POUTING DELICIOUSLY): You created quite an impression. I really wish I could have seen it.

WW: Well, you and Bat-girl are first up for the Flytrap, if the need arises. I don’t think it will come up with Ms. Keystoner – she seems pretty primed for firemen (SMIRK), but one can never tell where the criminal life will lead.

BDT: Yeah, it was interesting – I’m glad you were with me this time, Boss. He was really closing in.

WW: He should patent that speed and sell it to the United Federation of Planets (THEY SHARE A MOMENT OF WILD LAUGHTER).

BDT: I’m going to go up and change. (EXITS)

WW: I will – eventually. (LOOKING DOWN, ADMIRING HERSELF) I like this get-up! I like the way it feels and the way it looks. Black leather commands respect. At least up on the Hill. I think we should all have skins. Without the shiny stuff, of course. And that aluminum jewelry can go hike to the lake. Leather camo bandannas are a nice touch. Perhaps we can all be suitably attired for our next adventure?

LH: Which is?

WW: Well, I haven’t decided yet. There are so many possibilities – I am going to enjoy my memories for a bit. I think I really had Deputy Dave shaking in his skivvies. Black leather!! Respect!

LH (SARDONICALLY): Being six feet tall, buffed, dangerous and having a ten-inch ceramic blade tucked into a boot doesn’t hurt, either.

AND ELSEWHERE, IN A KITSCHY BEDROOM IN A KITSCHY APARTMENT, A DECISION IS BEING MADE.

TDD: Ninety-one one-armed pushups! Foxy little number! Personal transformation! Physical conditioning! I think I’ll give them a call tomorrow. Where’s that rose-patchouli incense?

STAY TUNED!!!!!!

“Tripwire” - Act Ehhh…Scene Whatever…
“Humpty-Dumpty Fell Off A Wall…”

MUSIC UP – somewhere in the interminable, insufferable labyrinth of the “Ring” cycle – perhaps in the middle of “Die Valkure” – who knows? Who in their right mind cares?

IT IS MID-MORNING AT THE ISOLATED MOUNTAIN CABIN. LH IS IN THE WEIGHT ROOM, PUMPING IRON AND LISTENING TO THE SOUNDTRACK FROM “FLASHDANCE.” BDT IS OUTSIDE, CHOPPING WOOD AND LISTENING TO JANIS JOPLIN ON THE WALKMAN (A NICE CHANGE OF PACE, AND SO SUITABLE – ALL THAT DIONYSIAN ENERGY AND ALL…). AJ IS DOING TWIRLY GIRLY DUTY DOWN AT CRIMEBUSTER CENTRAL, DERIVING OBSCENELY HILARIOUS PLEASURE FROM ALTERNATELY TANTALIZING AND DELICATELY REPULSING THE CLUMSY, UNWIELDY DIRIGIBLE (TLJ IN “POTENTIAL CONQUEST” MODE).

AND WW? WHAT IS OUR PSYCHOTIC MAVEN OF MAYHEM UP TO? WW IS DOWN IN THE CUBE BELOW THE TORTURE CHAIR, WATCHING SS ON A LITTLE SCREEN, EATING A SMOKING-HOT, AMAZINGLY CALORIC BRUNCH (EGGS BENEDICT, SEVENTEEN-GRAIN TOAST WITH PURE SWEET BUTTER AND JALAPENO JAM, TWO RASHERS OF BACON, A BIG BOWL OF HOT BUTTERED GRITS SPRINKLED WITH GRATED PEPPER JACK CHEESE, ASSORTED FRUIT CHUNKS IN A CUNNING LITTLE BOWL, A SMALL CYLINDER OF AGREEABLY STIFF OATMEAL WITH BROWN SUGAR, CREAM, WALNUTS AND CINNAMON, A CARAFE OF LIGHTLY-SPIKED TURKISH COFFEE, AND A WHOLE MESS OF FRESHLY ROASTED AND SALTED, STILL HOT PISTACHIOS BROUGHT OVER BY LH AND CHORTLING TO HERSELF WITH MANIC GLEE. THINGS ARE GOING JUST AS PLANNED. OR MAYBE NOT…

A WARNING LITTLE BEEP TELLS WW THAT THE CD PLAYER NEEDS ATTENTION. SHE SIGHS, PUTS IN HER EARPLUGS AND HEADS UP THE STAIRS TO THE TORTURE ROOM, GRINNING EVILLY AT THE SIGHT OF SS HUNCHED IN THE WATER-PROOF CHAIR, AN INDESCRIBABLE EXPRESSION ON HER FACE. BEFORE ENGAGING IN THIS ENJOYABLE (TO HER) INTERCHANGE, WW TAKES TIME TO CHECK THE PLAYER AND MAKE SURE THAT THE NEXT 17 DISCS ARE READY TO ROCK AND ROLL. THUS ASSURED OF ANOTHER FEW HOURS OF INCIPIENT DEATH BY WAGNER, SHE IS READY TO PARLEY…

WW: Well, had enough already? Your Trek epiphany was entertaining, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind.

SS (TEARFULLY): Just let me go! I can’t stand it – I can’t stand one more minute of it – all that bellowing and screeching and juggernauting – I’m about to crack up – and I can’t use the chair even though it’s waterproof…Please, let me go! Let me go!

WW (CHUCKLING): All in good time, good Frau – but first, let me ask you a few simple questions.

SS (SNIFFLING): Nothing personal?

WW (CONCEALING THE URGE TO CAPER WITH GLEE AT THIS NON SEQUITUR, FOR IT UNDOUBTEDLY ALLUDES TO SS’S UNREQUITED FEELINGS FOR THE MIDNIGHT FIREMAN): Well, I’ll think about it.

SS: You gave me your word (SHUDDERS)

WW: My word – as a Q. Yes. I did. Indeed. (LEANS CLOSER, ENJOYING THE SIGHT AND SAVORING THE ACRID AROMA OF MORTAL TERROR) – Now, then. Take a deep breath and tell me what you and your obtusely oblique comrade have planned as your next move against me and my unconquerable, invincible, impregnable organization…

SS (SNIFFLING): I don’t dare do that. It’s secret. It’s confidential. I couldn’t do that – not in a million years – You understand, don’t you? You wouldn’t be that cruel, would you?

WW SMIRKS AND GESTURES TO THE CD PLAYER. SHE IS REWARDED WITH A SHUDDER AND A TERRIFIED, WEARY MOAN OF UTTER LOATHING AND INCIPIENT DESPAIR.

WW: Remember, you’re not missed even when you show up. And if you play your cards just right, I might have something – perhaps a little something, but maybe a certain something – for you to do. We’ll see, eh? Divulge! Eructate! Out with it! Give!

SS, SNIFFLING AND PITIFUL, COUGHS A FEW TIMES, TWISTS OVER A NEWLY DAMP SPOT IN THE SPECIAL CHAIR AND BEGINS TO DIVULGE NAMES, DATES, PLANNED COUNTERMOVES, POSITIONS, TIMING, CODES – THE ENTIRE BALL O’ WAX, ME BUCKO – THE WHOLE ENCHILADA – THE COMPLETE AND UNABRIDGED MEGILLAH. WW HUNKERS DOWN BY THE CHAIR, AVUNCULAR BUT DELIGHTED BY THE EFFECTS OF UNADULTERATED WAGNER ON THE UNDEFENDED NERVOUS SYSTEM.

TIME PASSES.

AND PASSES.

AND THEN WW’S DICK TRACY WATCH BEEPS VERY SOFTLY, ALERTING HER TO THE POSSIBILITY THAT OTHER DUTIES DEMAND HER IMMEDIATE ATTENTION.

WW (WITH FAUX-KINDNESS): That’s good, dear. You can rest now. I’ll have your lunch brought over. Mega-nachos and salsa and two of my special butter cookies and warm milk to drink – imagine that! It’s safe to eat – well, mostly – (EVIL LAUGH) – Don’t worry about that – enjoy yourself. Use the chair if you’re feeling the need. If you need to do Number Two, you’ll have to hold it until my henchman shows up. He’ll take you. (GRINS AS SHE SEES SS SHUDDERING WITH AFFRONTED MODESTY). Oh, don’t worry – he won’t peek. Why should he?

THIS OBLIQUE AND INTENTIONALLY MISLEADING INSULT GOES UNHEARD, AS SS SINKS ONCE AGAIN INTO THE MURKY AND GELATINOUS WAVES OF GRAND OPERA. WW SHAKES HER HEAD WITH FEIGNED SYMPATHY, INSPECTS THE UNDISTURBED COMPLEX OF INFALLIBLE KNOTWORK FASTENING SS TO THE SPECIAL CHAIR, AND LEAVES THE ROOM AND THE FAKE CABIN, PAUSING OUTSIDE THE DOORWAY TO TAKE HER OWN CALL.

WW: Elf-boy! What’s up?

BDT: Boss, I have a priority on Code 79 for you. It’s encrypted. You want it now, or should it wait till you get to your laptop?

WW: Run it now – I’m still drop-kicked enough to decipher it.

THE WATCH EMITS A PUZZLING SERIES OF BEEPS, TONES, FLASHES AND WHISTLES. WW LISTENS TO THE TRANSMISSION WITH ATTENTION, LAUGHING OUT LOUD WHEN IT ENDS.

WW: Dang, Sandman! What the heck’s becks are you doing in Nebraska? I thought I told you not to drop-kick and drive… (PUTTING THE WATCH ON SPEAKER MODE) Hey, Elf-boy! I’m gonna send you a reply – relay it over, okay?

BDT: Copy that, over and out.

WW, CHUCKLING ALL THE WHILE, RAPIDLY KEYS A SERIES OF TINY BUTTONS ON THE WATCH, GRINNING MANIACALLY WHEN IT BEEPS IN RESPONSE TO THE SEQUENCE.

BDT: That’s it?

WW: Yup. Keep this channel open and alert me when you get a response. (TO SELF) Things are just about to get really interesting. And to think I was bored last night! What a difference a day makes!!


MEANWHILE, AT CRIMEBUSTER CENTRAL…

AJ IS FINISHING UP A BIG KEYING PROJECT, INVOLVING TRANSCRIPTION OF SECRET ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ TAPES INTO THE COMPUTER. SHE HAS OF COURSE TAKEN ADVANTAGE OF WW’S SUPERIOR TECHNOLOGICAL ACUMEN TO RELAY THIS TRANSCRIPTION TO THE MOUNTAIN CABIN. SINCE IT IS NOW BREAK TIME, SHE HAS PULLED ANOTHER COPY OF ‘COWGIRL TIMES’ FROM HER LATIGO BACKPACK AND SETTLED DOWN TO READ IN OSTENTATIOUS AND FULL VIEW OF THE GLASS WINDOW LEADING TO THE ARCH-CHASERS’ LAIR. OF COURSE, SHE CAN SEE TLJ EYEING HER WITH WHAT HE BELIEVES TO BE COVERT INTEREST, BEHIND THAT WINDOW. SHE SIGHS, STRETCHES (SHOWING OFF CERTAIN BODILY FEATURES TO BEST ADVANTAGE) AND TURNS A PAGE.

A MOMENT LATER, THE DOOR OPENS.

TLJ: Ah, er – ehh – Ms. Boffitt?

AJ (WITH A SWEET AND INGENUOUS SMILE): Yes sir?

TLJ: I couldn’t help but notice that you were reading a favorite magazine of mine. (HIS ACCENT, NORMALLY THICK, BECOMES ALMOST IMPENETRABLE). Yes, ‘Cowgirl Times.” Brings back a lot of old memories…

AJ (SNARKIILY): Good ones, I hope, sir…

TLJ: Oh, no doubt about it. The very best.

AJ: Are you – from Texas, sir? I mean, I don’t mean to be prying, but I sort of wondered if you –

TLJ (SWOLLEN WITH GRATUITOUS PRIDE): Yep, I’m from the Lone Star State.

AJ: What brought you to Washington? If you don’t mind my asking, sir – (DEMURE LITTLE DUCK AND TWIRL, LETTING HER HAIR FALL IN TANTALIZING WAVES OVER THAT MAGNIFICENT LITTLE FORM – THE UNWIELDY DIRIGIBLE THUMPS AND LUMBERS INTO ‘ATTACK’ MODE AT THE AWESOME SIGHT)

TLJ (HIS ACCENT IS NOW IMPENETRABLE TO ALL EXCEPT A FELLOW TEXAN OR A SPEECH THERAPIST): Well, I got a call that they were needing somebody like me up here. Somebody with my particular talents.

AJ (BRIDLING AND SMIRKING): I can see how that would be – sir?

TLJ (UTTERLY SMITTEN, AND TOTALLY OBLIVIOUS TO THE END-OF-DAY CHICKEN RUN PAST THIS CUBICLE OF MYSTERY): Yay-uhs…waaaaaal, yuh got that raht…

THIS IS JUST TOO, TOO EASY – LET’S LOOK IN ON BDT AND THE WOODPILE…

JANIS HAS GIVEN WAY TO SIMON AND GARFUNKEL,WHO HAVE GIVEN WAY TO JOHNNY CASH, WHO HAS RELUCTANTLY GIVEN WAY TO THE STONES…AND THE BOY IS CHOPPIN’ WITH AN ELEGANT ELAN THAT IS SOMETHING, SOMETHING TO SEE…OH, BEBE….BUT WE WON’T GO THERE AT PRESENT, ALTHOUGH ONE OF US IS CHOMPING AT THE BIT TO RHAPSODIZE ABOUT THE PARTICULARS OF THIS UTTERLY HUNKALICIOUS, HUNKADELIC, HUNKITUDINOUS, HUNKARIFFIC, HUNKISSIMISTIC, HUNKADOCIOUS – ENUF ALREADY!!!!!! ON WITH THE ACTION, SUCH AS IT IS…

BDT (TO SELF): I wonder if she recognized me?

MORE CHOPPING.

BDT (TO SELF): I wonder if she wonders why I’m here?

CHOP. CHOP. CHOP.

BDT (TO SELF): I wonder if she is scared? Really scared? Brown-trousers scared, like the bartender at the roadhouse??

CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.

BDT (TO SELF): I wonder if she recognized me and is disappointed in me?

CHOP.PARTICULARS OF THIS UTTERLY HUNKALICIOUS, HUNKADELIC, HUNKITUDINOUS, HUNKARIFFIC, HUNKISSIMISTIC, HUNKADOCIOUS – ENUF ALREADY!!!!!! ON WITH THE ACTION, SUCH AS IT IS…

BDT (TO SELF): I wonder if she recognized me?

MORE CHOPPING.

BDT (TO SELF): I wonder if she wonders why I’m here?

CHOP. CHOP.

BDT (TO SELF): I wonder if she is scared? Really scared? Brown-trousers scared, like the bartender at the roadhouse??

CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.

BDT (TO SELF): I wonder if she recognized me and is disappointed in me?

CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP. sigh. CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.

BDT (TO SELF): I wonder if she’s okay? Boss can really lose it sometimes. I saw a peculiar reddish gleam in her eye the entire time we were up there together.

CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.CHOP.

BDT: Maybe I should check in on her and see if she’s at least conscious. (MIGHTY SHUDDER – OH, THOSE DELTS – THOSE SHOULDERS – THAT SQUINTY-EYED, INSCRUTABLE GAZE…AHHHH…EH…NOW THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT…)

THE EPIPHANY CONTINUES…

BDT (RESIGNED): Naaaaah, don’t even think about it. I don’t want to end up in the chair. (WHOLE-BODY SHUDDER – OHHHHHH, THAT BODY….!!!!!!) She’ll be all right. Or at least mostly all right. Or somewhat all right. Or maybe a little bit scathed. Or maybe more than a little bit. Or maybe really scathed. Or maybe balls-out freakin’ wall-banging nutso…Not my issue, no, not my issue, no, naaaaaah….. (THE FACE OF WW, IN FULL PSYCHO ATTACK MODE, HAS DISRUPTED HIS MOMENTARY FLASH OF INCIPIENT COMPASSION AND WON. HE NOW RESUMES HIS ASSAULT ON THE ENDLESS WOODPILE WITH A HAPPY HEART).

And that’s it for now…. But don’t go away – more mayhem is definitely planned.


“Tripwire” – “Part-tay Heart-tay!! And Watch out For Geckos…”


MUSIC UP: “Babes in Toyland,” Harry James and His Orchestra


IT IS NEARLY MIDNIGHT AT THE ISOLATED MOUNTAIN CABIN.
LH IS IN THE KITCHEN, ELEGANTLY ATTIRED IN FUCHSIA AND LIME GREEN CAMO WITH A MATCHING APRON, WHIPPING UP A BATCH OF MINIATURE FRUITCAKES WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF SANDMAN, NEWLY RESCUED FROM HIS UNPLANNED (AND MOSTLY UNREMEMBERED) DETOUR THROUGH NEBRASKA. THEY ARE GIGGLING MADLY AND SIPPING FROM CRYSTAL FLUTES OF VINTAGE CHAMPAGNE AS THEY PREPARE THE TINY EXQUISITE CONFECTIONS, INJECTED WITH AN INCENDIARY COMBINATION OF 170-PROOF FIREWATER AND THE SANDMAN’S SPECIAL HOLIDAY MIXTURE. IT’S GONNA BE SOME KINDA HOLIDAY PARTY, YOU BETCHA FUR.

BDT, TOTALLY BABE-A-RRIFFIC IN WORN AND TOUCHABLE FATIGUES, IS AT THE WOODPILE, CHOPPING UP AND SPRINKLING (SPRINKLES COURTESY OF SANDMAN, NATCH) AN EXTRA-LARGE BATCH OF RESINOUS, SWEET-SMELLING WOOD FOR THE PARTY BLAZE. HE IS LISTENING TO “GYPSY KINGS” ON THE WALKMAN. THIS GIVES THE CHOPPING A CERTAIN –ZEST – SOMETHING TO SEE. OOH LA LA, BEBE…

AJ IS IN THE WORKOUT ROOM, SPARRING WITH WW, WHO IS TAKING A BREAK AFTER HER LENGTHY AND RISIBLE “CUSTODY” OF SS. THEY ARE CLOTHED IN WORKING CAMO, AND THEY ARE REALLY INTO IT. THE SOUND SYSTEM IS BLARING A LED ZEPPELIN MIX CD.

SS, RELEASED FROM CAPTIVITY, IS HEADED BACK TO CRIMEBUSTER CENTRAL IN HER GOVERNMENT-ISSUE YUGO, FEELING PLEASANTLY LIGHT-HEADED AND QUITE VAGUE ABOUT WHEREVER IT WAS SHE HAS SPENT THE PAST THREE DAYS. ALL IS IN ORDER AND IN TRAIN.

IN THE WORKOUT ROOM, THE COMPUTER BEEPS.


WW (SLASHES, JUMPS BACK, RAISED HER BLADE TO SIGNAL A TIME-OUT – AJ COLLAPSES, HUFFING WITH GREAT RELIEF): Good work, Red!!! You’re really making progress. Hold it a minute – (SPRINTS OVER TO THE TERMINAL, PUNCHING BUTTONS RAPIDLY, SCROLLING DOWN, WHISTLING WITH DELIGHT) – Check this out!! Keystoner has made it to the nest! Wonder what she’s going to tell her boss about the weekend. I’m sure he’s there. Where else would he be? (SIDELONG GLANCE AT AJ, WHO RETURNS IT INNOCENTLY, BUT ABOUT TO BURST OUT LAUGHING).

AJ: Put it on “Sound?”

WW: With pleasure. (PUNCHING MORE BUTTONS)


At CrimeBuster Central:

<<SS, MUFFLED>>: Well, what are you doing here? It’s after midnight.

<<TLJ>>: I could ask you the same question myself, sugar-babe. Where have you been the last three days?

<<SS>>: Checking out some rumors at the BBQ and Sushi Hut. Where do you think I’ve been?

<<TLJ>>: Not there. I called them. They told me you never showed up.

<<SS>>: I didn’t?

<<TLJ>>: Nope.

<<SS>>: Wellll (STRUGGLING TO REMEMBER, TAKING REFUGE IN LIBIDINOUS OBLIQUITY) – I was – I don’t know if I should tell you.

<<TLJ>> (HAM-HANDED BACKPEDALING): Oops – I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have asked. You had lots of leave coming to you, after all. It’s your personal life, after all. Not mine. And anyway, we were covered completely while you were gone. I had that temp input all of the files and material on the gang.

<<SS>>: Gang?

<<TLJ>>: Yeah, remember them? (SARCASTICALLY)

<<SS>> (VAGUELY): I guess. Gang. Schmang. Whatever.

<<TLJ>>: Yeah, whatever. Our main focus of secret confidential investigation for the past eight months. Them. Glitter and grits. Exploding Yugo. Skateboards. Roadhouse. Them. That gang. The fireman. The cabana boy.

<<SS>> (GIGGLING): Oh, yeah, now I remember. The fireman. Mmmmm-hmmmm…(STRETCHES, SIGHS) Heard from Dave lately?

TLJ WONDERING WHAT THE SAM-HILL DAVE HAS TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS…

<<TLJ>>: He’s still on Vice Bike Patrol (TO SELF: Naaaah, she couldn’t have been with Dave---Dave???? Whistling and hooting Dave??? Twenty-dollar bill Dave? Is the woman desperate or what? Naaaah…)

<<SS>> (TRYING TO SOUND OFFICIOUS): Okay, whatever. I took three days of personal leave. So, what’s status? Where are we?


In the Isolated Mountain Cabin:

WW AND AJ TRADE MEANINGFUL GLANCES AND GIGGLE EVILLY AT EACH OTHER.


Back to CBC:

<<TLJ>>: We’re six days from Christmas, and no leads. That’s where we are.

<<SS>>: I’ll just go in and check my email. Maybe I’ll have a message. It would be nice, for a change.


Back to the IMC:

AJ: Whoosh! What did you give her?

WW: Twenty hours of Wagner, a little nip of Forget-It-Dude, and no bathroom breaks.

AJ: Eek. (SHUDDERS)

WW: Yup, she finally lost it halfway through “Gotterdammerung.” Just as I knew she would.

AJ: You got it all?

WW: Names, places, dates, plans, logistics, conversations, tedious ruminations upon the demise of Star Trek, bits of truly weird recipes, reflections upon facial masks, locations of all-night convenience stores selling diet cola and cocoanut macaroons, coupon-shopping tips, ungenerous observations about her boss, and an amazing amount of interesting psychosexual trivia concerning a certain fireman and the smoking G.U.N. (THEY LAUGH AGAIN).

THE STAIRS CREAK WITH APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS.

WW: Ah, there he is – the de’il his own self. Hey, Elf-boy – you’re famous.

BDT (SLOUCHING PROVOCATIVELY IN DOORWAY, BREATHING HARD – OOH BEBE!!! – AND ABSENT-MINDEDLY BRUSHING DAMP, THICK, GLOSSY, EBONY HAIR OUT OF THOSE VERIDIAN-AMBER, SLOE EYES): I am?

WW: Yup. Now. I need you to do a little reconnaissance work. Nothing difficult. Just a bit of creative slouching and lurking and scurrying, and being seen in the right place at the right time. With the – ahem – right person…

BDT: Well, I can do that.

WW: I was able to extract an interesting tidbit tucked away in the conversation we just overheard. I need to follow up. I’m not – shall we say – quite right for the part. Not exactly. Not really. But you are. (EVIL SMIRK)

BDT: Okay… (BEGINNING TO FEEL A BIT NERVOUS, AS HE SEES THAT REDDISH LECTER-SPARK GLITTERING IN WW’S LAMBENT EYES). So, what do you need me to do, and where?

WW: I need you to spend some time on Capitol Hill. Tomorrow night. I was saving this for later, but we need to move fast.

BDT: Capitol Hill - ?? (TO SELF: Ehhhhh…Oh noooo…) But tomorrow’s a Saturday…you know what happens on Capitol Hill on Saturdays. On Saturday nights…..

WW: Exactly. They’ll all be prowling the streets in full revellers’ mode, and he’ll be cycling through, ostensibly keeping order. (SNARKY LEER)

BDT: Ay, ay, ay. Where do you want me?


[SCRIPTWRITER INTERJECTS: DO YOU REALLY WANT THAT QUESTION ANSWERED? SECOND SCRIPTWRITER REPLIES, DISGUSTEDLY: CAN IT, CLOWNY!]


WW: I need you to stake out a table in a dark corner at the Blue Gecko.

BDT: Das Blaue Gekko?? But – it’s a – well – I mean – the cops are always out there – I mean, everyone knows that nobody but - -----

WW: In leather. Black leather.

BDT: I don’t mean to question your motives, Boss – but –

WW: No, don’t question my motives. You’re going to drop a business card with an email address and a telephone number.

BDT (RELIEVED BEYOND MEASURE): Oh, if that’s all…

WW (GRINNING MANIACALLY): And you need to drop that card “in person,” if you get my meaning.

BDT (INCIPIENT SQUICK IN PROGRESS): In person?

WW: Mano a mano, muchacho. (SEEING THE REACTION) Come on, Elf-boy – this is easier than the fireman thing. Just catch his eye, amble into the Gekko, sit in the dark, engage in conversation and drop the card. I’ll take it from there. And this is a special card, so don’t lose it or let it get bent.

BDT (TO SELF: Get bent, right…): Special?

WW: Yup – it’s coded with circuitry. Once it’s on his person, we’ll have another eye and ear into the Keystoners’ operation. I need to pull Red from her temp job. We can’t use you again. I need to hang out at HQ to oversee our operation. Sandman is just too strange for them. They’d be on to him in a heartbeat. That leaves Cap Hill and the Gekko and you, compadre. Come on – it’ll be fun! I’d do it, if I were his type. And I’m 99.985 percent sure that he won’t lose the card. (LAUGHS) Lose it? He’ll probably burn incense in front of it. In his bedroom. At night.

BDT (SQUICK GIVING WAY TO CURIOSITY AND FASCINATION AND – NO, WE DON”T DARE, NOT AT THIS JUNCTURE…WELL, OKAY – THE GUY IS FLATTERED. DIONYSUS AND ALL THAT, EHHHH…): His type? You know his type?

WW (SNARKY GRIMACE): Oh, come on. You know me by now. I am nothing if not diligent in my research. This should be an interesting experience. For both of you. (ANOTHER THOROUGHLY EVIL GIGGLE)

BDT (RESIGNED): Ehhh, interesting – yeah, right…this is even more “interesting” than the Cabana Boy getup. Leather! I suppose you have –

WW: Third hall closet, southwest quadrant. It may seem a bit snug, but it needs to be. And I had Sheila go easy on the sparkly rivets and spikes and chains and zippers and things. Just turn the jacket inside out when you leave, and no one will notice you at all. I even have a cap for you. By the way, how are you planning to spend your cabana windfall? (SNARKY SMIRK) Enquiring minds want to know.

BDT (RESOLUTELY IGNORING THIS DANGEROUS DETOUR): A Greek fisherman’s cap, no doubt.

WW (NICHOLSON GIGGLE): How ever did you guess? Black leather, natch. Be sure to remove it when you get inside. Tousle your hair. You know the drill. I didn’t forget accessories, either. A gold pinky ring with a purple stone and a neck chain with a – ah – set of colored symbolic pendants on it. A magnetic stud, bearing yet another symbol. And the most elegant silk bandanna. Intriguingly louche, convincing prosthetic tattoos. You’ll be de rigueur and au courant. Heck, you’ll be ooh la la. You’ll be hubba-bubba. You’ll be—

BDT (MERCIFULLY INTERRUPTING HER): I’ll be hors de combat if I don’t have a good getaway car. (TO SELF: Magnetic stud??!!!??)

[SCRIPTWRITER LEANS FORWARD, SALIVATING AS SHE DETECTS A SALACIOUS DOUBLE ENTENDRE. SECOND SCRIPTWRITER WHACKS HER ON THE HEAD WITH THE HAYS REGULATION CONDUCT BOOK, YET AGAIN…SIGH……]


WW: No problem. (FISHES IN POCKET, TOSSES A KEY TO BDT, WHO TAKES IT GINGERLY. THE KEYRING IS ALSO “SYMBOLIC.”)

BDT (LOOKS AT IT): A Harley?

WW: Nothing but the best. Sandman super-charged the fuel and I wired the guidance system to a full sensor calibration. Once you get on the freeway, just toggle the special switch to UP and you’re home free.

BDT: Special switch?

WW (PEALS OF INSANE LAUGHTER): You’ll know it when you see it. (PSYCHO GRIN) Hey, man – you’re gonna be wearing chaps. It was the least I could do. I’ve stashed two helmets and a pair of gauntlets right behind the front seat. (SLY, MEANINGFUL GLANCE AT BDT, WHO PRETENDS NOT TO SEE IT) In case you need to do some sight-seeing before you get back here…

BDT (DUBIOUSLY): Riiiight….

WW: Come on, where’s your sense of adventure? And I want a full – I mean full – report afterwards. If you don’t want to rely completely upon your memory, just squeeze the second button from the top on your jacket when you go into the Gekko. I can pick it up online, in real time. (WHACKED-OUT CHUCKLE) Real-time, online, late-breaking live news flash!!! Hey, pal, I almost envy you. (CLAPS BDT ON THE SHOULDER.) Almost…!

BDT: Am I packing on this excursion?

WW: But of course! Tuck a couple of the ceramic blades into your boot and put the Harpy into one of your pockets. I can’t throw you to the wolves without protection. So to speak…(MORE HILARITY)


[SCRIPTWRITER TWO TO SCRIPTWRITER ONE: DON’T YOU EVEN DARE TO GO THERE. I’M WARNING YOU, PARDNER…AND LET’S NOT TALK ABOUT THE SWITCH, EITHER. I MEAN IT.]


BDT EXITS, SIGHING TO HIMSELF. SLOW FOOTSTEPS GOING RELUCTANTLY UP THE RUSTIC WOODEN STAIRS. THESE ARE SUCCEEDED BY SOMEWHAT ERRATIC FOOTFALLS PROCEEDING DOWNWARD, IN THE GENERAL DIRECTION OF THE WORKOUT ROOM.

WW (LOOKING UP AT DOORWAY): Ah, the chemical mastermind behind our most productive week!! Hey, man – like the new threads. You did them yourself?

LN (SMIRKING): Def. I think the iridescent molecular diagram adds a nice touch, don’t you? And parts of it are – detachable – if you get my meaning. I don’t like to leave home without it.

WW: Of that, we can all be certain. But I’m glad you can spend the end-of-year with us. Indeed. So - what’s the scoop on the fruit cuppies?

LN: Taste. (HANDS WW A SMALL MORSEL OF FRUITCAKE, STILL SMOKING FROM THE OVEN.)

WW (ACCEPTS IT, UNPEELS IT, POPS INTO MOUTH, CHEWS, SWALLOWS, GULPS.) Whewwwww!! Mm-HMM!!! You have outdone yourself, Sandman. This is even better than last year’s.

LN (SMIRKING): Well, I’m a bit – shall we say – better-informed than I was last year.

WW: Smooth, man. Smooth. Potent. Incendiary. Evil. Wicked. Blowout. You made the eggnog, as well?

LN: But of course. Here – (HANDS WW THE SILVER CUP HE HAS BEEN CARRYING)

WW (TASTES): Mmmmmm. Now that’s what I call nog!! The silver cup really adds a bit of elegant metallic overtone to the taste. I hope you made a bunch. I could drink at least a liter of it all my myself.

LN: Not this – even I wouldn’t. This is real sippin’ nog. I mean – sippin’ – don’t even ingest it by the mouthful.

WW (SWALLOWS TWICE, COUGHS A LITTLE): I see what you mean. How’s the marinade coming?

LN: Right as rain. Our piece de resistance should be ready for the grill on Wednesday.

WW: We’ll have one heck of a dinner next week. But tonight – let’s ring the bell, put on some James Brown, and have one heck of a party! Let the good times roll!!

LH (FROM UPSTAIRS): Hey – I’m finishing the canapés. Up or down?

WW (CALLING BACK): Up, of course. (PUSHES A BUTTON ON HER DICK TRACY WATCH, GIVES A GOOD APPROXIMATION OF THE SHIP’S WHISTLE FROM THE OLD STAR TREK “ENTERPRISE”). Now hear this! All hands - this is the Captain speaking. Apart from one small and easily accomplished task, the holidays have officially begun, as of right now. Begone dull care, drop your troubles, open your minds, and all that, yada yada. Thirty-minute recess for shower and changing – and then we par-tay heart-tay!! Can you say Amen, brethren and sisteren? Get on the horn, and let’s hear it!!

LH (ON SPEAKER, FROM KITCHEN): I’ll get out the silver and crystal and the mix tapes.

LN (ON SPEAKER, FROM SOMEWHERE): Nog nog, bumpitty bog, it be time to make some fog!!

AJ: Wahoo-yahoola!

BDT (ON SPEAKER, OVER MUFFLED SOUNDS OF SARTORIAL DISTRESS): I’ll be there – as soon as I can scrape off these pants.



WE LEAVE OUR MAVENS OF CRIME TO THEIR MIND-ALTERING, MIND-BLOWING ACTIVITIES. DISCRETION IS THE BETTER PART OF VALOR, MUCHACHOS Y MUCHACHAS. LEAVE THEM TO THEIR SNACKS, AND LIVE TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY.

“Tripwire” – Act??? Scene ??!? --- “Night Moves”


MUSIC UP: “Night on Bald Mountain” – Mussorgsky

IT IS PAST MIDNIGHT AT THE ISOLATED MOUNTAIN CABIN. EIGHT BELLS, AND ALL’S WELL – AT LEAST THEY’RE ALL IN THEIR RESPECTIVE QUARTERS, AND THAT IN ITSELF IS AN ACHIEVEMENT…IT’S BEEN A BUSY, BUSY DAY.

LH IS HALFWAY TO DREAMLAND, SLEEPING IN AN ODD BUT VITAL POSITION, AS SHE HAS SPENT THE LAST 15 MINUTES PUTTING THE FINAL TOUCHES ON A BLUE CLAY OVERNIGHT FACE MASK, INGREDIENTS SPECIFIED BY A HELPFUL MEMBER OF ONE OF HER MANY E-GROUPS. NO BEAUTY WITHOUT BOTHER…

AJ IS CRASHED OUT IN HER LITTLE DOWNY, DROP-DEAD EXHAUSTED FROM AN INHUMANLY INTENSE, NERVE-WRACKING, PANTS-WETTING, GARMENT-SHREDDING WORKOUT WITH WW, WHO HAS PRONOUNCED HER CLOSE TO BLADE-READINESS FOR THE NEXT BIG CAPER…

BDT – AH, BDT, WHAT IS OUR RESIDENT BABE UP TO THIS FINE EVENING? HE’S ALREADY IN BETA CONSCIOUSNESS, LULLED BY A NEW SET OF SLEEP-LEARNING TAPES – CONVERSATIONAL ALBANIAN. WHY? WHY NOT?

LONG-TERM USE OF SANDMAN’S GOODIES HAS RE-CONFIGURED WIREWOMAN’S CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM TO REQUIRE HORIZONTAL “OFF-LINE” NO MORE THAN AROUND THREE HOURS OUT OF THIRTY-SIX. SHE IS COMFORTABLY BARRICADED IN HER LAIR – A SMALLISH, WINDOWLESS, SPARSELY FURNISHED, HIGH-TECH-RIDDEN CUBE DEEP IN THE HEART OF THE CABIN COMPLEX. THE LIGHTS ARE LOW, THE JOLT IS FLOWING, AND SHE IS MODERATELY BUSY – SIMULTANEOUSLY DEALING WITH HER EMAIL, LISTENING TO MESSIAEN’S ‘QUARTET FOR THE END OF TIME’ THROUGH A BONE-CONDUCTION PATCH, REVIEWING THE HOT-TUB/P.T.-INSPIRED “UNIFIED FIELD THEORY” NOTES, WATCHING HER FAVORITE STAR TREK “THE NEXT GENERATION” MIX VIDEO (PERSONALLY RELEVANT AND INFORMATIVE CLIPS FROM THE EIGHT “Q”-THEMED EPISODES), AND PLAYING 5-DIMENSIONAL CHESS WITH HER SUPER-MEGA LAPTOP. (AH, BOREDOM – ABOUT TO STRIKE ONCE MORE…) WE WOULD CALL IT “MULTI-TASKING” IF IT WEREN’T A WOEFULLY INADEQUATE DESCRIPTION OF HER NORM…AT THE SAME TIME, HER SUPER-ACUTE LATE-NIGHT PROXIMITY SENSES ARE KEYED UP NEAR MAXIMUM, AND THUS IT IS CHILD’S PLAY FOR OUR FAVORITE PSYCHOPATHIC MAVEN OF MAYHEM TO DETECT A LITTLE BOBBLE IN THE SPEAKERS TUNED TO CATCH SOUNDS FROM THE PERIMETER OF THE CABIN – A LIGHT DISTURBANCE IN THE AMBIENT ENERGY FIELD OUTSIDE THEIR CHARMED HIDEAWAY…

THE LITTLE BOBBLE BECOMES A BURBLE. WW. NOW INTERESTED, KILLS THE LIGHTS AND PUTS THE SPEAKER ON “MUTE,” QUICKLY AND SILENTLY DISCONNECTING ALL OF HER PLUG-INS. IN LESS THAN TWO MINUTES, SHE CHANGES FROM CAMO-PATTERNED PAJAMAS INTO FULL BLACK URBAN NINJA COSTUME (BRISTLING WITH HIDDEN GIZMOS) AND NOISELESS SNEAKY-PETE COMBAT BOOTS. SHE FEELS FOR THE REASSURING WEIGHT AND SHARPNESS OF THE WICKED GREAT BLADE TUCKED INTO THE SHEATH SEWN IN BACK OF HER JACKET. A BLACK, TAUPE, IRIDESCENT PURPLE AND GREY CAMO BANDANNA KNOTTED AT HER THROAT PROVIDES A TOUCH OF SINISTER, ELEGANT PANACHE. FACE IT, THE WOMAN IS INCURABLY TWISTED – BUT SHE MAKES “TWISTED” LOOK COOL.

THE DISTURBANCE MANIFESTS ITSELF AS AN ACTUAL SOUND, AND NOW WW IS FULLY ALERT AND FULLY INTERESTED.

WW (TO SELF): Well, heck’s becks, let’s see what we have here. Not a deer, I know. I wonder if my perimeter tractor trap has caught anything – interesting – (GIGGLES, SOTTO VOCE.)

WW SLIPS OUT OF THE ROOM IN THE DARKNESS, EASING DOWN THE HALLWAY LIKE A PANTHER ON THE PROWL. THE OTHER THREE GANG MEMBERS ARE STILL SLEEPING THE SLEEP OF THE INNOCENT (WELL, IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING – AT LEAST THEY’RE INNOCENT OF CURRENT EVENTS…).

WW FLOWS DOWN THE HALL IN HER BLACK CAMO NINJA GETUP…DANGER AND DESTRUCTION ON THE HALF-SHELL... SHE IS ENJOYING THIS. AND WHY SHOULDN’T SHE?

AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS WW LIGHTLY TAPS A BIT OF PROJECTING MOLDING, WHICH FLIPS UP TO REVEAL SEVERAL TINY SCREENS. ONE OF THEM IS OUTLINED IN FUCHSIA LIGHT, BLINKING RAPIDLY.

WW: Aha, southern perimeter. I might have thought so. (LOOKS CLOSELY, GIGGLES). Keine sheisse!!! Whoulda thunk? Heh – Wonder if I should let her get farther in, or intercept her where she is? (INSANE CHUCKLE, SOTTO VOCE) – I do so love company…Dammo, I was getting bored…This might be just the ticket.

THE LIGHT BLINKS ONCE MORE, GOES OUT, AND THEN TRANSFERS TO ANOTHER SCREEN.

WW: Heh, now she’s only five hundred meters away from the decoy ‘cabin.’ Time to rock and roll! I feel like some fun tonight. Some solo fun. Let the sheep sleep. This one’s mine.

OUR MAVEN OF MAYHEM PUSHES SEVERAL BUTTONS, WHICH BLINK DIFFERENT COLORED LIGHTS AND THEN GO DARK. ANOTHER SCREEN LIGHTS UP, WITH CAMERA IMAGES OF A BLURRED FIGURE, WHICH THEN RESOLVES TO THE IMAGE OF SS, CLAD IN CHEAP, GARISH, ARMY/NAVY SURPLUS OFF-THE-RACK CAMO. SHE HAS A PINK PAISLEY-PRINTED BANDANNA TIED CLUMSILY AROUND HER HEAD. HER EYES ARE WIDE AND ROLLING WITH INCIPIENT TERROR. SHE IS CRAWLING CLUMSILY AND NOISILY THROUGH THE UNDERBRUSH, SWISS-ARMY KNOCK-OFF POCKET-KNIFE CLENCHED GINGERLY BETWEEN CAPPED TEETH. WW CHUCKLES.

WW (SOTTO VOCE, MOCK ‘SHAKESPEAREAN’ STAR TREK ACTOR STYLE): Is this a dagger that I see before me? The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!! Heh!!! (SNARKLE) Those are not your colors, girlfriend. Stick to navy blue and aqua polyester Crimebuster drag accessorized with boring, discreet Napier costume jewelry. And while you’re at it, find yourself a good camo tailor, ‘cause — (DISGUSTEDLY)—Damn.

WW WATCHES SS’S PROGRESS THROUGH THE WOODS, SWITCHING SCREENS AS SS GETS CLOSER TO THE DECOY ‘CABIN.’

WW: Heh heh heh – lock and load!! Let’s see if those ill-fitting pants are waterproof!

WW PUSHES A SEQUENCE ON HER DICK TRACY WRISTWATCH, ALLOWING HER TO SLIP OUT OF THE REAL CABIN WITHOUT TRIPPING AN ARRAY OF SOPHISTICATED ALARMS AND SIMULTANEOUSLY SETTING A SIGNAL THAT WILL AWAKEN THE REST OF THE GANG IN THREE MINUTES UNLESS MANUALLY SHUT OFF. SHE SLIPS THROUGH THE THICK UNDERBRUSH SURROUNDING THE REAL CABIN WITH COMPLETE, LETHAL, TACHYCARDIA-INSPIRING, BROWN-TROUSERS PROVOKING SILENCE AND DEADLY INTENT.

HER ROUTE TAKES HER IN A WIDE CIRCLE AROUND THE REAL CABIN, THROUGH THE BOOBY-TRAPPED IMMEDIATE PERIMETER, INTO THE WOODS, THROUGH A FUNNY LITTLE LOOP-BACK AND TO THE DECOY ‘CABIN,’ WHICH THE GANG HAS PAINSTAKINGLY PREPARED FOR JUST SUCH AN OCCASION AS THIS. APPROACHING THE DECOY ‘CABIN,’ WW CAN HEAR SS SNUFFLING AND SCRATCHING IN THE BRUSH JUST OUTSIDE THE FRONT DOOR.

SS (UNSTEADY, THREADY WHISTLING-IN-THE-DARK VOICE, TO SELF): Dagnabbit, where’s the lock on this thing? And where are they, anyway? This has to be it – our tracerbot led us right to their computer. They have to be in there somewhere…(TRIUMPHANT SMIRK) What a coup this will be…a promotion for sure, maybe even a 50-cent an hour raise – I could go far with this catch…Where is it…what the sam hill, these stupid pockets…

SS FUMBLING—CLANKING—SKELETON KEYS, LOCKPICKS, LIPSTICK, G.I. CAN OPENER, RABBIT’S FOOT, KEY-RING, NAIL FILE, PET ROCK, KEY CARD, A TINY HARMONICA (DON’T ASK!), WASHERS, ROLL OF BUTTER-RUM LIFE SAVERS, CRUMPLED HANKY, QUARTER, SET OF CAMPING CUTLERY, ORPHAN PEWTER EARRING, MANICURE SCISSORS—DANG, SHOULD HAVE CLEANED OUT THE OVERSIZED CARGO PANTS POCKET BEFORE STARTING ON THIS JAUNT—AHA! THAT’S IT!! SHE FINALLY RETRIEVES THE COMPUTERIZED LOCK-DISSOLVER, WHICH TLJ AND THE TECHS AT CRIMEBUSTER CENTRAL HAVE ASSURED HER WILL WORK. WELL, THAT WAS DOWNTOWN. THIS IS ALIEN TERRITORY – DARK, MOONLESS, SINISTER, FULL OF STRANGE RUSTLINGS AND BUSTLINGS AND AN EERIE BUT PERSISTENT SENSE THAT SHE IS BEING WATCHED.

SS (FOOLING WITH GADGET): Yark – ehhh – mmffph - pffft (LOCK POPS OPEN) Ah-hah! (PUTS GADGET BACK IN POCKET, FISHES FOR TINY FLASHLIGHT, PULLS OUT TUBE OF LIPSTICK, SWEARS DISCREETLY, FINALLY FINDS PINLIGHT AND TURNS IT ON, FUMBLING IN LEFT POCKET FOR HER TWO-SHOT DERRINGER – TAKES DEEP BREATH, SIDLES INTO THE STYGIAN DARKNESS.)

WW (ALMOST ABOUT TO LAUGH ALOUD, SEEING THIS, AND THINKING:) Eh, should I bother? Naaah, This is too delicious. I have to do something. After all, it’s Halloween in only five days… (SLIPS NOISELESSLY THROUGH THE DOORWAY WHICH SS HAS IMPROVIDENTLY LEFT WIDE OPEN, SILENTLY COMING UP BEHIND HER)

SS IS MOVING SLOWLY AND FEARFULLY, SWINGING THE LIGHT IN EVERY DIRECTION BUT BEHIND HER. HER NERVES, KEYED UP BY REPEATED HITS OF DIET PEPSI AND COCOANUT MACAROONS, ARE TUNED TO A DANGEROUS PEAK. THE DERRINGER IS SHAKING IN ONE HAND, FESTOONED WITH CHIPPED CORAL NAIL POLISH. SHE IS BREATHING SO HARD THAT SHE WOULDN’T HEAR ANYONE COMING UP BEHIND HER, ANYWAY.

WW (DRAWING CHILLY AND SHARPENED BLADE, GLEEFULLY AND DELICATELY SLIDING THE FLAT OF IT ACROSS THE BACK OF SS’S EXPOSED NECK): Gotcha!

THERE IS A TWO MINUTE PAUSE IN THE ACTION AS WW STANDS BACK, CALMLY WAITING FOR HER QUARRY TO STOP SCREAMING, CHOKING, GASPING, GULPING AND NOISILY HYPERVENTILATING, ALREADY.

WW (MOVING SILENTLY AND WITH SUPERNATURAL SPEED TO FACE SS, WHO IS, TO SAY THE LEAST, NONPLUSSED): How may I help you? This is private property – didn’t you see the sign? If you need Slim Jims or bean dip, the 7-11 is (GESTURING) somewhere that way. (MENACING CHUCKLE) And it’s late – do you know where your children are?

SS (WAVERING DERRINGER,TRYING TO ESTABLISH DOMINANCE): I-I-I-f y – y-u are wh-h-h-o-o-o I-I-I thin-n-k-k-k-k y-y-y-ou a-a-r-r-r-e…(GULPS) Y-y-y-ou’re un-n-n-n-der ar-r-r-r-r-es-s-st-t-t…

WW (WICKED BLADE CATCHING THE LIGHT AND REFLECTING OFF WW’S EYES, WHICH ARE JUST POURING OUT THAT REDDISH LECTER-INE GLOW ABOUT NOW): R-r-r-really? I don’t think so. (REACHES OUT, EASILY PLUCKING THE DERRINGER OUT OF SS’S SHAKING HAND, TWIRLING BARREL, POPPING TWO LITTLE BULLETS ONTO THE FLOOR, POCKETING THE GUN – HER VOICE DROPS TO A SINISTER, CHILLING BUT PENETRATING WHISPER) – I do so hate guns. Nasty things. A blade is so much more – up close and – personal. (WHACKED-OUT SNARKLE, OSTENTATIOUS AND GRATUITOUSLY SINISTER DISPLAY OF WEAPONRY) But enough of the introductions. You’re just in time to play.Truth or Consequences, eh? (HER DICK TRACY WRISTWATCH BEEPS)

(PAUSE) BDT: Boss?

WW: Lock onto my signal and (LEERING SMIRK, MEANINGFUL GLANCE AT SS, WHO DOESN’T LOOK TOO GOOD RIGHT NOW) – bring your gear. It’s going to be a long night. (PSYCHO GIGGLE) Or maybe not.

BDT (TRYING TO SOUND EVIL, BUT NOT COMING CLOSE – FACE IT, GUYS AND GIRLS, HE WAS JUST ROUSTED OUT OF BED, AND WE KNOW FROM PREVIOUS SCENES THAT HE SOUNDS JUST ROUSTED OUT OF BED WHEN HE’S SUPPOSEDLY WIDE-AWAKE – SO YOU CAN JUST IMAGINE THIS…THE RUMPLED BED COVERS… TOUSLED HAIR…INCOMPARABLE AMBERINE EYES, EMERGING FROM SLEEP AND SUBCONSCIOUS ALBANIAN….WILDLY DISHEVELED, THICK, GLOSSY EBONY HAIR…WHITE-COFFEE-AND-ROSES COMPLEXION SLIGHTLY FLUSHED FROM INCIPIENT SLUMBER… THOSE LIPS, THAT BOD, LANGOROUSLY STRETCHING, STRETCHING, STRETCHING THOSE, AHHHH, UMMMHHH, UM-HMMMMMMMMM, OHHHH…AHHH…EHHHHHH…YOWSA…MM-HMMM- NOW THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT…STOP!!! NO, DON’T…WE ARE NOT GOING THERE TODAY, PROMISE…): Copy that. Over and out…<<SCRIPTWRITER ONE SIGHS WITH GENUINE REGRET… SCRIPTWRITER TWO SMACKS SCRIPTWRITER ONE ON HEAD WITH HAYS REGULATION CODE BOOK…OKAY, THIS IS RATED “PG” – AGAINST OUR BETTER JUDGMENT>> THE MAN IS A PSYCHO IN TRAINING – HE HAS A JOB TO DO. OKAY? OKAY…BUT STILL…STOP!! ALL RIGHT, ALREADY…

SS (PITIFULLY): What now? (Who was that? He sounded vaguely – familiar?????)

WW (LIGHT FLASHING OFF THE BLADE): Possess your soul in patience, and all that. The night is young. (TRADEMARKED, NICHOLSON-OFF-THE-LEASH GIGGLE)

90909090909090

WHAT WILL BECOME OF SS, INTREPID AND INEPT INTRUDER INTO THE SACROSANCT PRECINCTS OF OUR GANG?

AND WW – IS SHE JUST AN INSANELY GIFTED PSYCHO – OR MAYBE SHE’S SOMETNING ELSE – A Q, PERHAPS? EN-Q-URING MINDS WANT TO KNOW, DESPITE THEIR BETTER JUDGMENT…[SCRIPTWRITER ONE IS TAKING BETS]

AND BDT – HE WAS THE FIRST ONE TO ANSWER THE WAKE-UP CALL – IS THIS A CALL TO GREATER THINGS, OR WAS CONVERSATIONAL ALBANIAN JUST TOO MUCH FOR THE SLOE-EYED, SULTRY BOY-TOY PART OF HIM? IS HE WILLING OR ABLE TO PARTICIPATE IN WW’S NEFARIOUS PLANS FOR THE HAPLESS SS?

TUNE IN TO OUR NEXT EPISODE!!! [ TO BE CONTINUED]
“Tripwire” – Act ?? Scene ???
“Catchin’ The Wave”

In which our two intrepid (if bickering) screenwriters, “Spock” and “McCoy,” actually present a scene that immediately follows the one gone before…Well, boldly go and all that…


MUSIC UP: SANTANA, “INAGODDADAVIDA,” FROM ABRAXAS, ONE OF THE BUTT-KICKIN’-EST ALBUMS EVER RECORDED.

IT IS CLOSE TO ONE A.M. AT THE ISOLATED MOUNTAIN CABIN – WELL, AT THE CLEVERLY SEMI-ISOLATED DECOY CABIN. SS, RECOVERED FROM HER FIT OF BROWN-TROUSERS TERROR AT WW’S SUDDEN AND SNARKY APPEARANCE, HAS BEEN BUNDLED INTO THE BOWELS OF THE D.C. AND TIED TO A COMFORTABLE, BUT REMORSELESS ARMCHAIR BY WW, WHOSE INTERMITTENT HUMMING, WHISTLING, CLICKING NOISES AND POPS BODE NO GOOD FOR OUR INTREPID CRIMEBUSTER. IN THE INTERESTS OF GOOD TASTE, WW HAS REMOVED ALL ITEMS FROM SS’S POCKETS AND TAKEN THAT JOSH-AWFUL BANDANNA OFF HER HEAD.

WW (WHISTLING THE EPONYMOUS DISNEY TUNE)
SS (SHIVERING IN HER BADLY-FITTING BOOTS)

THERE IS A KNOCK AT THE DOOR. SS JUMPS OUT OF HER SKIN AS WW CALMLY GOES TO THE INNER DOOR. SS’S STRAINED AND FRAYING NERVES CAN HEAR LOW VOICES CONVERSING IN THE HALLWAY BEYOND. WHY IS IT SO DANGED DARK IN HERE? YOU’D THINK THIS GANG HAD INFRARED NIGHT VISION OR SOMETHING. WELL, WHO KNOWS? MAYBE THEY DO? ASK SANDMAN ABOUT THAT ONE, NEXT TIME HE TRIPS OVER TO THESE PARTS…

WW (COMING BACK INTO THE ROOM, A DARKENED FIGURE HOVERING DANGEROUSLY BEHIND HER): Well, looks like everybody’s here! Time for choir practice!
MOTIONS TO THE DARKENED FIGURE, WHO MOVES TO FACE THE BOUND AND GAGGED SS – THERE IS A GASP OF RECOGNITION, SOMEWHAT MUFFLED BY THE CAMO-PATTERNED TERRY CLOTH GAG – AND THEN THE FULL AND FACE-SIZZLING FLUSH OF UTTER MORTIFICATION AS SS RECOGNIZES THE MIDNIGHT FIREMAN.

SS: Mmmph – bbm – ffmmph – ffrrmmnn??!!!!

BDT (SMIRKING): You betcha. Welcome to Fantasy Cabin. I’ll be your tour guide for the next few hours. Are you comfortable? Good. Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, seeing as how you have a long trip (EMPHASIZING WORDS WITH AN INVISIBLE BUT AUDIBLE LEER) ahead of you.

SS: Plmmmff!! Dmmmmt hhhrrrrmmmfff emmmmphfff!!

BDT: Oh, I assure you we won’t lay a finger on you, will we, boss?

WW (WITH AN ABSOLUTELY GLEEFUL, EVIL CHUCKLE): Well, I guess not. We’re about out of charcoal briquets. (GRINS, HER TEETH SEEMING TO TAKE ON A VIBRATING LUMINOSITY IN THE DARKNESS AS SHE HEARS SS STRUGGLING AND MMMMPHH-ING). Elf-boy, go on and set up the kit. I’ll get cleaned up. (GOES OVER TO A CORNER OF THE ROOM. THERE IS THE SOUND OF RUNNING WATER AND A RUSTLING OF PAPER. WW IS STILL HUMMING AND WHISTLING.)

WW (COMING BACK TO THE CHAIR, WIPING HER HANDS): Cleanliness is next to godliness – or something. (NICHOLSON-OFF-THE-LEASH-AND-BITING-HIS-TOES GIGGLE). O’tay!! Well, heilige Scheissige!! I think it’s about time to rock and roll. (TURNING TO BDT) May I have the envelope, please?

BDT HANDS WW A SMALL BOX, WHICH OUR PSYCHOTIC MASTERMIND OF UNMENTIONABLE INIQUITY OPENS. A TINY FLASH OF DIM MOONLIGHT ON A TINIER POINT OF METAL.

WW (SENTENTIOUSLY): Just a moment while I prepare the audience…

SS SHIVERS AS SHE FEELS A DOT OF COLDNESS ON HER LEFT FOREARM, WHICH HAS BEEN SECURELY TIED WITH NO NONSENSE PANTYHOSE. THERE IS A MOMENT OF ANTICIPATION, A GASP, THE TINY SHARP PRICK OF A NEEDLE GOING INTO UNRESISTING TISSUE.

WW (WITH SATISFACTION): There – get comfy and just enjoy the slide show. (OVER HER AMAZINGLY BUFFED, NINJA-CLAD SHOULDER) Music, maestro!

BDT: With pleasure.

THERE IS MOVEMENT IN THE DARKENED ROOM, AND THEN THE CRASHING SOUNDS OF ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE PROFESSIONAL MUSICIANS SAWING AND HOOTING AND BLARING AND THUMPING FOR THEIR LIVES.

SS: ??Mpphhhh emmmptt ttttt?

WW: I’m surprised at you, Madame K. Have you no appreciation for the great masterpieces of late Romantic period music literature? My assistant here has just cued up the first disc of Wagner’s “Ring” cycle. The first disc of many, I might add. Settle down in your chair. This might take a bit of time.

SS (STRUGGLING VIOLENTLY)

WW (WITH AVUNCULAR, ABSOLUTE DELIGHT IN HER PANIC): Now, now – if you struggle like that, the slide show won’t be nearly as much fun. Just let your head fall back and relax into the sounds. In twenty-two hours or so it’ll all be over, and you’ll have gained a new perspective on life. Don’t worry about missing work – I’ve already taken care of that. You’re in Pasco right now, chasing a lead at Fast Freddie’s Barbecue and Sushi Hut. You won’t be missed. Actually, from what I can tell, you’re not missed even when you show up, so chill out and let your dendrites do the walking.

(WHISTLING, CLAPS BDT ON THE SHOULDER. THEY SHARE A WHACKED-OUT LAUGH. SS IS STILL STRUGGLING, BUT THE SOPORIFIC AND SOUL-FLATTENING WAVE OF WAGNER IS BECOMING TOO MUCH FOR HER, EVEN THIS EARLY IN THE GAME.)

WW (AUDIBLE SMIRK): Resistance – is – futile!! See you tomorrow! Don’t forget to send us a postcard or two. And don’t worry about the chair – it’s been chemically treated to provide odorless, quick-drying hospitality when nature calls. I’ll bring you some chocolate at the beginning of “Die Valkure.” Tatafona, Keystoner!

WW AND BDT EXIT – OR SEEM TO – ACTUALLY, THEY ARE TRAIPSING DOWN THE HALL AND DESCENDING A SHORT SPIRAL STAIRCASE TO A SMALL ELECTRONIC CUBE UNDER THE DECOY CABIN. WW FLIPS A FEW SWITCHES AND A DIM BULB POPS ON, REVEALING WALL TO WALL SHELVES STUFFED WITH BOXES AND JARS AND A TINY FRIDGE IN ONE CORNER.

WW: Well, that’s it for now. Want a snack?

BDT: Don’t mind if I do. How long do you think it will take?

WW (SHRUGS – OH, THOSE SHOULDERS! THOSE DELTS! THOSE MIGHTY FOREARMS!) Depends upon whether she’s been exposed to grand opera before. Bet you two hundred forints that she starts to break down halfway through “Siegfried.” If not sooner.

BDT: You’re on! (THEY SLAP THEIR PALMS TOGETHER, GRINNING.)

WW (RUMMAGING ON A SHELF, THROWS BDT A SMALL PAPER BAG): Here, have some jerky. Sandman stashed it here a couple of trips ago, so to speak. It should be good and aged by now.

BDT (WARILY): Aged?

WW: Yeah, like – you know, mellow, man. (TAKES A BIG PIECE, ROLLING IT UP AND INGESTING IT, CHEWING WITH OBVIOUS SATISFACTION. SHE GOES OVER TO THE FRIDGE, OPENING IT. THE LIGHT WITHIN SHOWS THAT IT IS JAMMED WITH FROSTY BOTTLES OF JOLT COLA. WW TAKES ONE, THROWING ONE TO HER COHORT, WHO OPENS IT AND TAKES A BIG SWIG, BURPING WITH GRATITUDE.)

WW: Be careful, man – that’s sippin’ Jolt. Nice and easy does it…

BDT (ALARMED): Whups – don’t tell me - ??

WW: Sandman loves to mix up a case or two of sippin’ Jolt whenever he rolls into town. We put this batch up three trips ago. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.

BDT: Why? You have a prisoner upstairs.

WW: I also have “The Ring” going upstairs, and if the two of us are to get through the next twenty-two odd hours without a roaring and terminal cases of Bombastic Opera Conversion Syndrome, we need to be locked and loaded and running on Auxiliary Power. Things won’t get mixed up - I gave Ms. Keystone a slightly different formula. We’ll be boldly going where we’ve boldly gone before. She’ll be creeping where no one in their right mind would creep. Wagner is just the coup de grace. Wait and see.


TIME PASSES.

AND PASSES.

AND PASSES. WE ARE NOW HALFWAY THROUGH “SIEGFRIED.”

WW AND BDT, WEARY OF WATCHING AND LISTENING TO SS THROUGH THE HIDDEN CAMERA, ARE PLAYING THREE-DIMENSIONAL CHESS ON A BOARD IMPROVISED FROM PIECES OF CARDBOARD AND JOLT BOTTLE TOPS. THEY HAVE CRACKED AND DRAINED TWO MORE BOTTLES OF SIPPIN’ JOLT AND INGESTED SEVERAL DELICIOUS, PERNICIOUS STRIPS OF THE SUPER-AGED JERKY APIECE. THEY ARE FEELING PLEASANTLY KEYED AND MELLOWLY EVIL. BETWEEN MOVES, GLANCES AT THE MONITORS, AND THE SLOW, THOUGHTFUL CONVOLUTIONS OF A TRULY PHILOSOPHICAL DISCUSSION OF EVEN FINER POINTS LEFT UNEXAMINED IN THE MOVIE, THEY ARE GROOVIN’ AND EVERYTHING IS GROOVY AND LIKE PEACE AND LOVE AND STRAWBERRY FIELDS FOREVER AND HEY JUDE OVER TROUBLED BRIDGES AND STOP IN THE NAME OF THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE AND LIKE WOW, MAN – IT’S A PIECE A YOUR MERCEDES-BENZ.

SUDDENLY, A LOUD SCREAM POKES LIKE A SHARK’S FIN ABOVE THE TOSSING AND TEMPESTUOUS SURFACE OF THE WAGNER WAVE. BDT AND WW IMMEDIATELY JUMP TO THEIR FEET, RUSHING UPSTAIRS LIKE A PAIR OF MILDLY P.T.’D PANTHERS SUDDENLY SNAPPED INTO FULL PREDATOR MODE.

WW, ENTERING THE ROOM, STEELS HERSELF AGAINST THE BELLOWING OPERATIC TIDE AND RIPS THE GAG FROM SS’S MOUTH.

SS (FRANTICALLY): Yes! Yes! I see it! I understand it all now! It’s so clear to me – how could I not have known!!

WW (BEHIND HER NOW): Known – what? What could you not have known?

SS: The hidden motives! The ulterior agendas! The diabolical, devious, reality-destroying cloak and dagger-inity of it all! Dastardly! Unconscionable! Completely beyond accountability or remorse! How could they have been allowed to perpetrate this ignominy in full view of us all? How could they? How could they??

WW (IN KINDLY, SINISTER HYPNOTIST MODE): They? Who are they?

SS (CRYING): The Two! The Dastardly Duo! The architects of destruction and deterioration! The champions of entropy! Those – those – those – awful people! How can they? Why did we let them get away with this?? I see it now – every move of their game – every nasty thought, every narrow escape from rectitude. I am sickened! I am appalled! I am – PTUIIIII!!!!!!

WW (BECOMING A BIT IMPATIENT): But who are they? Who did this? What did they do? What do you know?

SS: You know who they are! They did it! They did it! I know everything! I’d been following it from the beginning! Now I see how they sneaked in, how they altered things one bit at a time until nothing good, nothing pure, nothing edifying was left! Those total and complete hellions! May they roast for this! Yes, roast!! (EYES ROLLING, VOICE DROPPING, BECOMING SOMEWHAT VAGUE) Roast! Patted with salt and pepper, slit and injected with fresh bruised garlic cloves, blanketed with basil, thyme, and a touch of rosemary, wrapped with heavy-duty aluminum foil, seething in pan drippings, put over a three-hundred degree fire for four hours, basted periodically to seal in the flavor…

WW (SOTTO VOCE, TO BDT): I hope I didn’t get the dosage wrong. This is not quite what I intended. (A STERN LOOK AT BDT, WHO HAS LOST CONTROL AND SNICKERED – OOH, THOSE LIPS, THOSE TEETH, THOSE INSCRUTABLY BEMUSED AND SQUINTY EYES, THOSE FULL FEATHERY STRAIGHT BLACK EYEBROWS, OOPS – WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN EPIPHANY HERE, SORRY…)

MEANWHILE, THE WAVE OF WAGNER HAS BECOME A VERITABLE TSUNAMI, ABOUT TO WREAK AURAL HAVOC ON PRISONER AND CAPTORS ALIKE.

WW (MORE INSISTENTLY): Tell me, who are they?? What have they done? What do you know? Tell me! (BECOMING REALLY INSISTENT – BDT DRAWS BACK A LITTLE AT THE HEAT OF THIS INSISTENT INTENSITY…) Out with it! Disgorge! Eructate! Give!!

SS (WEEPING): It was the Two Bs (WW AND BDT LOOK AT EACH OTHER, QUESTIONINGLY, AND SHRUG) – it was them all along. Brannon and Braga. They ruined it! They destroyed it! They sent Star Trek to the fourth circle of Dante’s Hell! Bald Frenchman with an English accent!! Turtlehead wearing a chain mail sash made from beer can pop-rings! Robot! Man with tasteless plastic headband across his eyes! Mood-ring interpreter with a stellar gift for reiterating the obvious! Blonde blonde poured into that moronic jumpsuit!! Snarky little diaper-wipe! A pox on them and their houses! And now the chain of devastation has culminated with the worst and silliest space opera of all – “Enterprise!!” What kind of Star Trek show opens with a song??? What’s the matter with these criminal bozos??? Do they think we’re all just tripping so hard we can’t see the grand larceny and third-degree murder they committed right under our noses???

WW AND BDT LOOKING AT EACH OTHER, BOTH BEGINNING TO FEEL A COMBINATION OF THINGS IN THE MIDST OF THE UNRELENTING WAGNER WAVE: ‘TRIPPING?’ DOES A BEAR SING IN THE WOODS? THEY ARE SNARKLING WITH SUDDEN RELIEF, CURIOSITY, AND HILARITY. THEY DECIDE TO LEAVE SS TO HER RANT, KEEP THE CD PLAYER GOING, AND GET THE HECK OUT OF THIS ROOM BEFORE THEIR OWN BRAINS TURN TO WIENERSCHNITZEL.

WW: That’s okay. It’s all right. You’re safe here. They can’t get you. I won’t let them.

SS (SNIFFLING): Promise?

WW (TRYING VERY, VERY HARD NOT TO GUFFAW): Promise. I have the power. I can do whatever I want. They are helpless, hapless and hopeless against my might. You have my word.

SS: Your word?

THE MUSIC OPPORTUNELY SURGES IN A BURST OF VOLITION-DESTROYING, HEAVIER-THAN-LEAD HARMONIES BOLSTERED BY A PHALANX OF FRENCH HORNISTS TOOTING THEIR GUTS OUT, TRYING VERY HARD TO OUT-HOLLER A THREE-HUNDRED POUND WOMAN ON STAGE WHO, WEARING A HORNED HELMET, SEVENTEEN YARDS OF HEAVY DRAPED BURLAP, AND A VERY-UM, SIZEABLE - BRASS BRA, IS BRANDISHING A LONG SPEAR AND SCREAMING UNMENTIONABLE AND SUPREMELY EGOTISTICAL INANITIES, IN GERMAN, AT THE UTTERMOST AIR COMPRESSION RANGE OF HER VERY SUBSTANTIAL LUNGS. NO CONTEST, THIS. BUT WW CAN’T RESIST THE OPPORTUNITY, AND SO SHE GOES:

WW: Yes, I give you my word. (LEANS CLOSE TO SS, WHISPERING INSANELY) My word – as a Q.

WW AND BDT EXIT THE ROOM ON THE WAGNER TIDE, JUST AHEAD OF SS’S DESPAIRING SCREAM.

WW TO BDT, IN HALLWAY: Oongots. Wagner.

BDT: Oongots. Brannon and Braga. I had no idea it had gotten this bad.

WW: You don’t want to know. And the pink bandanna – it just worsened her condition. I shudder to think what might have happened, had I not fortuitously removed it when I tied her up.


MEANWHILE, IN THE REAL CABIN------NAAAAAH, THAT’S ENOUGH FOR NOW.

PREVIOUSLY UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE: Hello? Is anyone there? I want to apply for a job.

WW, INTRIGUED BY THE TIMBRE OF THIS VOICE, ACTUALLY PICKS UP THE PHONE.

WW (AMUSED): Yes?

PUFV: I was told that I could call this number.

WW: ??? (GENUINELY PUZZLED)

PUFV: Well, I was given this number by a daily contributor to our journal and art/craft e-group. Her screen name is “Bat-girl.” She mentioned that her boss needed extra help for a big project and was looking for people with special qualifications and experience. I’m between jobs, as it were – so I decided to go for it.

WW: Hmm. (THIS IS A BIG, PAUSE-Y, PSYCHOTICALLY LOADED “HMM…” FULL OF PORTENT AND POTENTIAL MAYHEM – HUMMM, HUMMM OVER THE WIRES): What qualifications and experience are we talking about?

PUFV: I can run a mile in 5.3 minutes.

WW: Not bad. Can you do it with a 23 pound pack on your back? With an unconscious hostage handcuffed to your left wrist and ankle? In a firefight? At 3 in the morning? In the rain? With a piece of gravel in your boot? With a vial of nitro around your neck?

PUFV: No….not exactly, not really. Well, maybe any three of the above.

WW (BEGINNING TO SURFACE FROM HER FUNK): I can do them all, but that’s what henchmen are for. And?

PUFV: I’m a champion kindling splitter. And I’m good with a computer. Actually better than good. I’m a Class 7 hacker. I’ve tapped the Pentagon. I’ve rearranged things.

WW (INTERESTED): Hmmmmmmmm-! Go on…

PUFV: I have passed the French Connection/Dukes of Hazzard/Star Trek battle scenario driving tests. With highest commendations. Seventeen cars totaled in the final scenario – fourteen beyond salvage. And I have identified 12 places where the car chase in “The Hunted” could have been improved to greater dramatic effect. Not that I minded what happened – I mean, he’s cute, okay? But I am stringent. I have standards. He could have done more.

WW: Oh, so you studied with Butch the Smash! That’s a point in your favor. Car chase: hah (SINGING) Portland, Portland, doo-wah-diddy / Not a town, and not a city!! Go on… (REACHES OVER TO THE SILVER COOLER ON DESK BESIDE PHONE, CRACKS A FRESH BOTTLE OF JOLT, TAKES A BIG HIT)

PUFV: I’ve identified eighteen places where the final fight could have been improved in “The Hunted.”

WW (SOMEWHAT DISTURBED): Eighteen? In The Movie? Really? Go on.

PUFV: I can do 64 one-handed pushups with a midget sitting on my back.

WW: Um-HMM…and ?

PUFV: I look buffed, dangerous and devastating in fatigues. In fact, my wardrobe is mostly fatigues. It makes me stand out back home in Bumblefark, Texas – but who cares? I like to be comfortable. True, the chinchilla is a bit warm, but a girl has to make an impression.

WW: Intriguing. Can you pout? Do you sulk? How attractively do you do it? (TO SELF: Another one?! Am I ready for this??)

PUFV: What kind of pout do you want? I have at least nine different pouts, each in a subtle class of its own. And when I sulk, the world stops and pays attention.

WW: Can you cook? (TO SELF: well, it makes a nice geometrical figure – me in front, flanked by small, foxy, fierce women and backed by the Elf-boy…if he can shake Ms. Keystone and the Davester…I can’t wait to hear the rest of his story…)

PUFV: I make the best cheese grits in the known universe. And I’m not bad with Albanian and Puerto Rican cuisine. My Turkish coffee will keep you up and running at Warp 10 for days.

WW: Puerto Rican...really? – hmmm………………………..!!! Cheese grits???!!?? Turkish coffee…Hmm, now we might have something here. Not that the other things aren’t good recommendations. But I might be in need of a (PSYCHOTIC GIGGLE) special grits cook right along through here. And there are times when only Turkish coffee will do…How are you with bang?

PUFV: Bang?

WW: You know…. (LONG SIGNIFICANT MEANINFUL PAUSE) Bang…

PUFV (GETTING IT): Oh. Bang! Okay: Bexar County Courthouse, 1989…Fort Worth Men’s Club, 1991, Bubba’s BBQ and Ribs, 1992, Houston Port Authority, 1993, Waco Tribune-Herald Special Investigative Office, 1997, Snyder, Karla’s Kountry Krafts, 1999, Colorado Central Computing Authority, 2001, Seattle Beadmasters’ Caveat Emptorium, 2002, Edmonds Frilly-Lady Women’s Club Barbecue…I can scan clippings and email them if you need them…The Edmonds job was particularly well done, so to speak…

WW: Who’s your favorite opera singer?

PUFV: Sorry, but I detest opera with a passion surpassed only by my passion for insanely difficult, diabolically intricate, aerobically intense virtuoso piano music.

WW: Mm-hmm! Who’s your favorite piano composer?

PUFV: Depends. Mostly the big Russian romantics. I have a very soft spot for Rachmaninoff and Scriabine. But I’m also a big Liszt kinda gal on occasion.

WW: You must be a redhead.

PUFV: Guilty as charged. This week, anyway. (GIGGLES)

WW: You’d feel at home here, I’m thinking. This is an opera-free zone. Tina Turner is okay. Donna Summers is okay. James Brown is okay. Ricky Martin and Ricky Ricardo are also okay. Opera is NOT okay. Well - How are you with a blade? Any martial arts?

PUFV: I have a strong karate, capoiera and ninja kung fu background, but I’m sorry to say that I’m not conversant with blades. Ever since I saw The Movie, I’ve been looking for a Sayoc Kali teacher. They’re not easy to find.

WW: You’re in luck. Sayoc Kali is the basis of our combat blade technique here at the Hideaway. I can train you. No bad habits to undo. Well…Okay, okay – (SNICKERS WILDLY, LOOKS AT SCREEN OF HER WATCH) I see that you have a laptop with net access and you’re within driving distance. How about later today, say around six? You can audition (WHACKED-OUT CACKLE) and stay for dinner afterwards. You’ll meet the crew. What size are you? How much do you weigh?

PUFV: Well, I’m little and fierce. I weigh enough for your pushup practice.

WW: How do you know about pushup practice?

PUFV: (SMIRKLE) How do you think I know?

WW (SOTTO VOCE): Bat-girl!! I need to keep an eye on that woman. How are you with mind-altering substances?

PUFV: Making, ingesting, sharing, …?

WW (GLEEFULLY): All of the above.

PUFV: Try me.

WW: Just a minute. (PRESSES A BUTTON ON HER DICK TRACY WRISTWATCH). Bat-girl, are you free for a minute?

LH (DISTANT SOUNDS OF IRON CLANKING, GRUNTING): More or less, boss. SOUND OF LN CHANTING: One hundred thirty, one hundred thirty-one…

WW: Kick in B178 on your terminal. I need input.

LH (SOMEWHAT SULKY) Okay. (SOUNDS OF TAPPING KEYS.) Hello?

PUFV: Hello? Bat-girl? It’s me. Pink Poodle.

LH: Ohhhh- Hey, artpal! You’ve come to the right place!! (A MINUTE, WHILE SCANNING, THEN- ) Can you drop by tonight and stay for dinner? I really need help with the cheese grits. I’ve tried and tried…

PUFV: It’s a plan, Ann. Got any spare fatigues?

LH: Are you kidding? It’s a wrap. Back to you, boss.

WW (FOLLOWING THIS EXCHANGE WITH AMUSED TOLERANCE AND A BIT OF MISCHIEF): Pink Poodle, eh? We need another – person – with a sense of humor. Here’s the map. It’s encrypted to code 0527BB. Got that? See you at six.

PUFV: Piece of kreplach. Over and out.

TIME PASSES.

AND PASSES.

AND NOW IT IS FIVE FIFTY-FIVE P.M. THE GANG IS BUSY AT INDIVIDUAL CRIMINALLY ORIENTED PURSUITS. BDT IS ONCE AGAIN AT THE WOODPILE, WORKING OFF FOUR-STEP SLIVER KARMA. THE WALKMAN IS BLASTING JAMES BROWN, AND THE CHIPS ARE FLYING.

AN IRIDESCENT PINK CITROEN PULLS UP TO THE HIDDEN GATE.

BDT (MOPPING SWEAT FROM THAT OH-SO-PERFECT FOREHEAD): Lost? <<Goodness’ sakes – just look at those cakes - Unnh!!>>

PUFV: Nope, I’m here! Hey, you must be Elf-boy. Let me in, okay? I have a six o’clock appointment with your boss.

BDT (PUZZLED): I don’t know anything about this. (POPPING FINGERS, JIVING TO THE SOUNDS) <<dat-dat-dat-dat-DAT-DEEEENNHT! UNNHH!! YAOWWWW!!!!>>

PUFV (SOTTO VOCE): Beautiful and clueless – why am I not surprised? And what the sam-hill is he listening to? (LOUDER) We arranged it earlier today. Check me out if you want to. I’m not in a hurry.

BDT (TURNS VOLUME DOWN ON WALKMAN, REMOVES EARPIECE, PRESSES BUTTON ON HIS CABANA BOY WRISTWATCH): Boss?

WW (SOUNDS OF FURIOUS PIANO MUSIC IN BACKGROUND): Yes? (THERE IS A TINGE OF ANNOYANCE – THIS HAD BETTER BE GOOD, BEBE…)

BDT: There’s someone here at the gate. An appointment?

WW: Yup. (PIANO MUSIC STOPS) Right-o torpedo. Let her in.

BDT (TO PUFV): Hold your hat.

IMMENSE CLATTER AND ROAR AS THE GATE UNFOLDS TO REVEAL A SYLVAN GLADE OF WOODLAND MAJESTY. PUFV ALMOST MAKES HERSELF LATE, ADMIRING THE SCENERY. BUT DUTY CALLS, AND SHE MUST OBEY.
HALFWAY DOWN THE DRIVE, HER HELLO KITTY WATCH BEEPS. SOMEONE REQUIRES HER ATTENTION.

PUFV: Yes?

WW (SOUNDING PROPERLY PORTENTOUS AND MYSTERIOUS): Turn right at the oak tree, then five hundred feet and turn left, then come to a dead stop. You’ll go on foot from there. Elf-boy will meet you shortly after that. Don’t mind the blindfold – it’s SOP. And don’t touch anything. I want you to have a safe trip (PSYCHO GIGGLE)

PUFV: Okay.

INSTRUCTIONS ARE OBEYED – SUDDENLY THE BLINDFOLD COMES OFF AND THE MOUNTAIN CABIN STANDS REVEALED IN ALL ITS DUBIOUS SPLENDOUR.

MUSIC UP: OMINOUS RUSTLING STRINGS, PUNCTUATED BY RANDOM BURSTS OF PLANGENT PIANO NOTES.

CAMERA PAN, FOCUS ON WW EMERGING FROM FRONT DOOR, BACKLIT, IN “MATRIX RELOADED” CHALLENGE STANCE - IMPRESSIVELY BUFFED AND ALARMINGLY DANGEROUS IN FRESHLY PRESSED, IMPECCABLY TAILORED COMBAT FATIGUES AND COORDINATING BANDANNA. SHE IS HOLDING A WICKED GREAT BLADE WITH ONE HAND AND SLOWLY TWIRLING A CRYSTAL TUMBLER OF ICED JOLT COLA IN THE OTHER. THE CAMERA DOES A FULL-BODY PAN OF THIS TOTALLY AWE-INSPIRING, FEARSOME SIGHT. IT IS GROWING DARK OUTSIDE, BUT WW’S EYES SEEM TO CATCH THE DARKNESS AND REFLECT IT BACK IN WEIRD REDDISH SPARKS, KINDA LIKE HANNIBAL LECTER’S EYES IN “SILENCE OF THE LAMBS.” SHE WALKS OVER TO THE CAR WITHOUT SPEAKING, HER FACE FORMIDABLY VOID OF EXPRESSION. OUR VISITOR STEPS FORWARD, FEELING SOME TREPIDATION. WELL, OKAY – OUR VISITOR IS NEARLY IN NEED OF FRESH TROUSERS…

OY, OY, OY,.,,

WW (WITH A SUDDEN GRIN, MIMICKING ANOTHER LATINO ACTOR WHO REACHED HIS PEAK OF HUNKALICIOUSNESS AND OVERALL DEVILTRY IN THE MOST WRENCHING STAR TREK MOVIE OF THEM ALL – ALAS): Wel-come to Fahn-tah-see Cah-been! The pink Cit is a nice touch, but we’ll probably have to repaint it. Want to shower and change? No problem – Bat-girl has plenty of fatigues, and you look to be about the same size. Your room is two doors down from hers, on the second level. She’s inside – she’ll show you to it. Hope you brought your toothbrush – we’re strangely short of them these days. See you in the workout room in 27 minutes.
(TO THE MOON) – Kiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (WILD WEIRD LAUGHTER)

PUFV (BEMUSED AND CONFUSED): Does this mean I’m hired? Boy. Howdy.

WW (PEALS OF TOTALLY INSANE, NICHOLSON-ON-A-FRAYED-LEASH LAUGHTER): Hired? Yup. Ya betcha, babe. I’ve been needing someone like you for – oh, at least twenty minutes. Park ya seat and have a chair. Hope you put your stuff in storage. If you didn’t, we can retrieve it.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
TO BE CONTINUED (natch)

Dear Reader:

THE CRIMINAL GANG IS GROWING:

THERE’S PUFV (ALSO KNOWN AS AJ, THE BEAUTEOUS) – THE NEWEST AND UNTRIED ADDITION TO WW’S LETHAL TEAM.

LH, VETERAN OF CHOCO PUFFS, TINA TURNER, COMPUTER MAYHEM, CLANDESTINE EGROUP ACTIVITIES AND JOURNAL MADNESS…

LN, THE SANDMAN – A VERITABLE CORNUCOPIA OF WEIRDNESS – WHAT A LONG STRANGE TRIP HE IS…

KDL – IS KID FEINBERG REALLY ON HER TAIL, OR IS SHE JUST SAYING THAT TO GET A VACATION FROM ABILENE AND SIT AT THE FEET OF THE MASTER IN SEATTLE?

BDT, THE RESIDENT BABE – IS HE UP TO THIS? OR WILL THE WAVE OF POWERFUL AND FEROCIOUS FEMALE ENERGY SWAMP HIM UNDER WITH THE TIDE?

AND WW – WW – WW – OUR HEROINE OF SORTS – WILL THE CARES AND TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF CARING FOR HER FAMILY OF MISCREANTS CLOUD HER RAZOR-SHARP CRIMINAL MIND AND IMPAIR HER JUDGMENT (DON’T BET ON IT – SHE’D GLEEFULLY SKEWER ANY ONE OF THEM IF THEY GOT OUT OF LINE OR IF CIRCUMSTANCES DEMANDED IT – BUT STILL – GOOD QUESTION AND PLOT POSSIBILTY, EH?)

AND WHAT ABOUT THE LAW: WOEFULLY OUTNUMBERED…

TLJ – DATED, LUMBERING, GO-GET-IM MENTALITY – TOTALLY OUTCLASSED BY THIS BRILLIANT, PHYSICALLY SUPERIOR, MENTALLY EXCEPTIONAL WOMAN – OR IS HE?

SS – CHERISHING A FLAMING TORCH LIT BY THE MIDNIGHT FIREMAN – IS SHE IMPERVIOUS TO PERSONAL UPROAR, OR IS SHE?

WE NEED ANOTHER KEYSTONER – WONDER IF DAVE IS FREE? HE’S CERTAINLY – UM, INTERESTED…


CASTING REMINDER –

The Gang:
WW: WireWoman
BDT: Benicio Del Toro
LN: Leonard Nimoy
LH: Linda Hamilton
KDL: k d lang
And the new girl: AJ – Ashley Judd
LN and KDL are about to leave town for parts unknown, but a new boy is on the way – stay tuned!! No, it’s not The Artist Formerly Known As Whomever…

The Keystoners:
TLJ: Tommy Lee Jones
SS: Susan Sarandon
Assorted gofers, minions and vice cop connoisseurs of cabana boy gyrations
And Twenty-Dollar Dave, as himself



“Tripwire,” Act ?? Scene ?? – October 3, 2003
“The Hits Just Keep On Comin’”

MUSIC UP: “On The Road Again,” Willie Nelson
CAMERA FOLLOWS THE ROAD TO THE MOUNTAIN CABIN – UP AND AROUND AND UP AND AROUND AND IN AND UP AND AROUND AND THROUGH THE SECRET PORTAL AND STILL FURTHER, FURTHER, THEN OUT OF THE CAR AND ON FOOT TO ANOTHER PORTAL, BETWEEN TREES AND BUSHES AND WHATALL LITERALLY BRISTLING WITH DIABOLICAL AND DEADLY DEVICES ATTACHED TO HANGING THREADS OF MONOFILAMENT AND WIRE.

IN THE MOUNTAIN CABIN, THINGS ARE BUSY:

KDL AND LN ARE PACKING THEIR VEHICLES WITH DASTARDLY GOODIES, PREPARING TO HEAD SOUTH TO THEIR RESPECTIVE LAIRS.

LH AND AJ ARE IN THE WORKOUT ROOM, TESTING EACH OTHER’S STAMINA WITH CHIN-UPS. ON THE SOUND SYSTEM, ELVIS IS BLASTING THE WALLS.

BDT, RELEASED FROM THE WOODPILE, IS WORKING ON THE ROOF, FINE-TUNING THE SUPER SATELLITE STUFF.

WW IS IN THE MUSIC ROOM, DESULTORILY PICKING BITS AND PIECES OF INSANELY DIFFICULT VIRTUOSO FLUFF AND SIPPING ICY JOLT COLA FROM A PRICELESS CRYSTAL TUMBLER. SHE HAS ONE EAR COCKED TO THE TERMINAL, FOR IMPORTANT MESS HAS BEEN STIRRED UP AND A STRETCH OF GRATIFYING MAYHEM IS IMMINENT.

THE CONSOLE BEEPS. WITH A FLUID, UNERRINGLY GRACEFUL MOVEMENT, WW BOUNDS FROM THE PIANO STOOL TO THE COMPUTER DESK.

WW (INSANE GIGGLE): Well, plumy rummy! It’s about time! (RUBBING HANDS TOGETHER, CACKLING VICIOUSLY) Let’s see how the new girl does on her first caper in the great P.C.-fic Northwest. (PRESSING A BUTTON ON HER DICK TRACY WATCH): Red! Batgirl!

AJ and LH (MUFFLED SOUNDS OF CLANKING METAL AND SCREAMING ELVIS IN BACKGROUND): Yes, boss?

WW: We’re going out tonight. Red, tell Batgirl to fit you in a ninja suit. Batgirl, you need to carry the bang this time. Use the small container.

AJ (BARELY SUPPRESSED EXCITEMENT): All right!

LH (AUDIBLE AND GORGEOUS LITTLE POUT): All right.

WW: Dinner at eight-thirty, blades and warmup at ten, recoup thereafter, roll at midnight.

AJ: I’ll be ready.

LH: Me too. I can come up and start dinner in an hour. That all right with you?

WW: Don’t worry about it. I’m cooking tonight. Elf-boy is doing KP.

LH (HINT OF SUPPRESSED AMUSEMENT): What’re we having?

WW (NICHOLSON-ON-A-FRAYED-LEASH GIGGLE): It’s a surprise. (SIGNING OFF, PRESSING ANOTHER BUTTON ON HER DICK TRACY WATCH): Elf-boy! You still on the roof?

BDT: Just finished. I’m about to go out back and check the perimeter monitors.

WW: Make it a fast one. I need you in the kitchen at seven.

BDT: Oh, that’s right – I almost forgot – you’re cooking tonight.

WW: Yup. I’ve been marinating for three days now. It ought to be good. (SIGNING OFF, PRESSING ANOTHER BUTTON). Yo, Sandman! Tex!

LN: Happy trails to you—

KDL: ‘N’yell-oh!

WW: Dinner’s at eight-thirty. I’m cooking – Elf-boy is on KP. Stay, eat your fill and leave under cover of darkness with a full tummy and a light heart.

KDL (AUDIBLE SMIRK): Not too light, I hope.

WW (FEIGNED SHOCK): Hey, you know me—I never drop-kick and drive. Most particularly, I would avoid drop-kicking ‘doz or P.T. and driving. Way too easy to get sidetracked by the sights and surround-sound. Go in clear, get to the city limits, put the shuttle on auto-pilot and play on your laptop, instead. (MEANINGFUL PAUSE) Hear that, Sandman? We’re cruisin’ and bruisin’ on this end tonight. I don’t want to get a call from you like the last time you were here.

LN (SNICKERS): Speak for yourself. (SENSING DISAPPROVAL) C’mon – you’ve driven down California, haven’t you? It’s almost as bad as that cross-Texas run… (THE AIR AROUND HIS TIMOTHY LEARY WATCH BECOMES FROSTY) All right – okay, I promise to be a good boy. At least until I’m out of Oregon... Anyway – that time – I knew where I was. I was somewhere. I was not here. I was there. And wherever you go, there you are. You found me, didn’t you? And you brought me back here, and then I left again later and I wound up there. A different there. Somewhere. Well, we’re done packing. Off to the hot tub for a last soak, and we’ll see you at dinner.

WW (SIGHS MIGHTILY): Gotcha. (SIGNS OFF)

CAMERA CIRCLING THE MOUNTAIN CABIN, BORING IN, DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE WORKOUT ROOM –

MUSIC UP: “MISSION IMPOSSIBLE” THEME – THE OLD TV SHOW ONE – THE GOOD ONE…

IT IS NOW BLACK DARK, A PLEASANTLY COOL AUTUMN EVENING. LN AND KDL HAVE MADE THEIR FAREWELLS AND GONE THEIR SEPARATE WAYS. THE REST OF THE GANG HAS FINISHED DINNER AND SAVORED DESSERT, WARMED UP WITH AN HOUR OF DEADLY BLADE AND MARTIAL ARTS PRACTICE FOLLOWED BY A BIT OF RECOUP AND A STINT IN THEIR SEPARATE SHOWERS. THEY ARE NOW DOWN IN THE WORKOUT ROOM, SHARPENING BLADES, CHECKING AND LOADING A STUNNING VARIETY OF EXOTIC, LETHAL, SILENT WEAPONS. THE CAMERA LINGERS ON THIS AWE-INSPIRING, FEAR-GENERATING, AMAZING SPECTACLE – TOTALLY BUFFED AND OUTSTANDINGLY, SUPERBLY, BROWN-TROUSERS-LY DANGEROUS IN CRISP, WELL-TAILORED, PLUTONIAN BLACK MICROFIBER AND LEATHER URBAN NINJA SUITS ACCESSORIZED BY BLACK KNIT STOCKING CAPS, EXPERTLY-APPLIED DARK FACIAL COSMETICS, AND CAMO-PATTERNED NECK BANDANNAS IN TASTEFUL SHADES OF BLACK AND GREY. YUP – THE ELEGANT ACCESSORIES ARE WW’S OWN BRAINWAVE, BUT THE BASIC NINJA GETUP IS INSPIRED BY ‘THE MOVIE’ – WW IS NOTHING IF NOT A LIGHTNING-QUICK STUDY…

ADMIT IT, DEAR READER: THEY MAY BE DASTARDLY, DEVIOUS, DANGEROUS, DIABOLICALLY DESTRUCTIVE PSYCHOS – BUT THEY MAKE THIS LOOK – GOOD. ALL THEY NEED IS BLACK RAY-BANS AND NEURALYZERS – BUT ALAS, THIS IS A NIGHT JOB. ANOTHER TIME, PERHAPS…DON’T MENTION NEURALYZERS TO WW, OKAY? WE’LL CONSPIRE TO KEEP HER AWAY FROM THIS LINE OF INQUIRY… THANK YOU VEDDY, VEDDY MUCH, COMPADRE…

BDT, LH AND WW’S SUITS ARE ENHANCED BY KNIFE SHEATHS SEWN INTO THE BACKS OF THEIR JACKETS AND OTHER PLACES. EVERYONE’S SUITS ARE FURTHER FESTOONED WITH LOTS OF LITTLE HANGING CORDS AND DANGLIES AND POCKETS FOR HIDDEN, SILENT MARTIAL ARTS WEAPONS AND STUFF. AND LET’S NOT FORGET THE POCKET CONTAINING A COUPLE OF PAPER CLIPS, A TUBE OF CHAPSTICK, A ROLL OF BUTTER-RUM LIFE-SAVERS, A BIG PLAID HANKY AND A COUPLE OF QUARTERS – YOU SHOULD NEVER GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT A COUPLE OF PAPER CLIPS, A TUBE OF CHAPSTICK, A ROLL OF BUTTER-RUM LIFE-SAVERS, A BIG PLAID HANKY AND A COUPLE OF QUARTERS…
DON’T ANY OF YOUSE WATCH ‘MCGYVER?’ YOU SHOULD. YOU’RE WELCOME.

WW (SHEATHING THE LAST ONE OF HER FRESHLY SHARPENED, WICKED BLADES): Well, that’s it. We roll in ten. Everybody ready?

LH: Okey-dokey.

BDT: Yep.

AJ: Gotcha.

LH: Hey, boss – that was some dinner tonight. Those had to be the absolute best cheese grits I’ve ever had in my life. What did you put in them?

WW: If I told you, I’d have to kill you. (TAUT LITTLE SNARKY GRIN) Just a little of this, a little of that – what I had lying around. I’d be happy to show you my variations, once you master the basic recipe.

BDT: The marinated “tortured” chicken was outstanding. Way way hot, but outstanding.

WW: Why, thank you. It’s not hard to do, once you get all the ingredients together. The secret is in the marinade, of course—but if I told you—

WW AND BDT TOGETHER (PSYCHO SMIRK): I’d have to kill you…(THEY ALL LAUGH, THREE OF THEM JUST A LITTLE BIT UNEASILY—WW’S EYES ARE RADIATING A PECULIAR, LAMBENT, ALMOST LECTER-ISH GLOW…)

AJ: I was truly impressed by the “Wild Thang” salad.

WW: A product of survival training and teaching. Everything in that salad grew right here on the property. Except the dressing, which contained primo hot stuff contributed by Tex. Part of the farewell gifts, as it were. We’ll enjoy some of Sandman’s goodies from time to time, in the not-too-distant future. (EVIL LITTLE CHUCKLY SMIRKLE) I can’t wait to drop-kick a nugget of super-P.T., put “2001” on the screen, turn the water temp up and park in the hot tub for a couple of hours. (SIGHS) This weekend, maybe. If I get lucky. Well, hex’s chex – guess I’ll just have to make myself lucky.

BDT (TO SELF) Super P.T.????!!?? Yowsa…Now this, I gotta see…On second thought, maybe I’ll make myself useful at the woodpile for the duration… (WINCES, REMEMBERING): Whew – with salad dressing like that, who needs bang? The milk tea was a welcome counterbalance, if I must say so. Meaning no disrespect, you understand – I’m a bit of a craven coward when it comes to this stuff.

WW (PSYCHOTIC CHUCKLE): Good, hunh? I believe in having a filling, balanced meal before a caper. I also believe every meal should manifest a certain incendiary presence. Keeps you healthy. Keeps your sweat glands in working order! Keeps the adrenaline flowing!! Makes you feel warm and cuddly inside!

AJ: The dessert was stellar, as well. Like scrumptious edible Icy-Hot. Yumm!

WW: The fruit and berry sorbets were fun to make up, and the Hot Chocolate Pie happens to be one of my specialties. It calls for so many different kinds and strengths of chocolate products and hot stuffs that I don’t make it often, but tonight is your first job with us, so I thought I’d splurge. We can finish it when we get back after the job. Glad you all enjoyed it. (VISIBLY SHIFTING GEARS, GOING INTO TIGHTLY-FOCUSED PSYCHOTIC CONCENTRATION MODE) Now. This is a small job, mostly training for Red – but we can use what we’re going to pinch from them, so be quick and careful, as always. Elf-Boy and I will be points. Red and Bat-girl, you do right and left center, between us. Synchronize your watches with the computer upstairs and set them to “vibration code.” Run a test before we load the car. Capeesh?

GENERAL NODS OF ASSENT, ACCOMPANIED BY A FEW DISCREET, SOMEWHAT PAINED BURPS.

WW (REACHING FOR THE EVER-PRESENT BOTTLE OF ICED JOLT, THIS ONE IN A CAMO-PATTERNED COOLER NEXT TO HER – TAKES A BIG SWIG, EXHALES WITH SATISFACTION): Locked and loaded! Rock and roll!

THEY FLOW FROM THE WORKOUT ROOM TO THE STAIRS – FOUR MENACING, SILENT, FOCUSED, BUFFED, DANGEROUS, PUMPED INDIVIDUALS— FEROCIOUS, BRISTLING WITH EXOTIC AND LETHAL WEAPONRY, AND DEFINITELY LOADED FOR BEAR.

DANG – THESE FOLK ARE COOL. IN SPITE OF THEIR INCENDIARY DIET – OR MAYBE, BECAUSE OF IT— REALLY. THEY MAKE THIS STUFF LOOK SOOO DANGED GOOD. ULTIMATE. ZOOBITUDINOUS. WW AND HER GANG ARE DA BABES AND DA BOMB, DONTCHA KNOW.

SO, ANYHOO. TIME PASSES. AND PASSES. AND STILL MORE TIME PASSES. IT IS NOW TWO IN THE MORNING. PRIME TIME…

THE FRONT FOYER OF THE ISOLATED RUSTIC MOUNTAIN HIDEAWAY HQ LIGHTS UP AS OUR GANG SAUNTERS IN, LAUGHING AND CLAPPING EACH OTHER ON NINJA-COSTUMED, AMAZINGLY BUFFED BACKS AND SHOULDERS.

WW: See how easy that was?

LH: None of our jobs are routine, but that one was pretty close to it.

BDT (LAZY GRIN – OH, THOSE LIPS): I’d give something to be there in the morning, when they find out how much is missing.

AJ (PUZZLED): What do you plan to do with two pounds of jewelry-grade platinum wire, boss? Not to mention the rest of this stuff…

WW (EVIL GRIN): I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll make some special jewelry. (LOOKS AT LH, WHO ROLLS HER EYES, POUTING DELICIOUSLY) Yup, sounds like a plan.Truly. (TO LH) The new bang works wonderfully well, doesn’t it?

LH: Yup, and it’s almost soundless – just a flash, a little sizzle, and puh-poom! Open Sesame! Security computer permanently offline! Holos away!

BDT (SNARKY GRIN – OH, THAT SNARK): No Fire Department to save the day this time.

THEY SHARE A MOMENT OF LAUGHTER, AND WW CUTS HER EYES AT BDT, WHO RETURNS THE LOOK WITH AN ANSWERING STARE OF MOSTLY FEIGNED INNOCENCE.

WW: Well, anyway. Let’s get this stuff into my workroom, clean up, and call it a night. Unless anybody wants a snack or something.

AJ: I could use a really big mess of super-nachos and a couple of Dos Equis...

BDT (ENTHUSIASTIC): We have a small and carefully chosen selection of microbrews, but no Dos Equis yet – if that suits you anyway, you’re on! I can make the nachos. Bat-girl showed me how a couple of months ago, during our Tex-Mex period.

LH: Sounds fabulous. I’m a bit below my 4,000 calorie-a-day requirement, and our caper burned a few hundred more. I could use some serious fat and starch about right now. Hey, E.B. – I’ll be happy to whip up some super salsa while you’re chopping things.

BDT: Much appreciated, sis. I’ll get started with that and the tortilla prep. Got any avocados? I know an excellent recipe for guacamole.

LH: Yup, I think we still have a few down in the straw bins.

BDT: Not the ones Sandman was fiddling with – the other ones.

LH: I’ll go check. I hope he didn’t toss his play-pretties back into the general population. Boss, care to join us?

WW: Well, (FEIGNING TLJ’S ACCENT) I just might join y’all fer a bit a snacky-poodle afta I change this here ninja suit and clean mah blades. If y’all dump a whole mess o’ hot stuff in they’uh.

LH (KNOWING SMIRK, FOLLOWED BY A CUTE LITTLE SORTA POUT): Knowing your penchant for incendiary condiments, I will reveal a small surprise. I brewed a batch of habanero sauce just for you. It’s been in a cask in the wine cellar for nearly six months now.

WW: Many thanks! It’s probably ready to sample.

LH: I thought so. I’ll decant some and put it on the table with the special gloves.

WW (PSYCHO SMIRK): Oh, I don’t need gloves. Just a spoon – and a shot glass.

LH AND BDT EXIT, TOWARDS THE KITCHEN.

WW: Okay, Red – performance review. Good overall first job. Acceptable, but improvable speed and silence when we went over the fence. You’re quick with your hands, and that’s important in our line of work. You’ll need to be sure that all of your hair stays covered at all times. Your cap slipped off a little bit when we were loading the wire. Try a smaller size – don’t pin it – if a pin works loose, it can be trouble. You’re getting the nonverbal cue and command language down well, considering the short time you’ve had to learn it. Future: I’ll keep working with you on hand-to-hand, Sayoc and general blade techniques. Do two hours of target practice every day alternating hands – ask Bat-girl for the sequence. You start packing in six months.

AJ (DELIGHTED): Great!

WW: Now, this is lower-key, but still very important. I want to send you undercover in about a week. You’ll have act twirly and girly, but you might find it a nice change of pace.

AJ: You bet! Where?

WW: Keystone Klub – also known as Crimebuster Central. I need you to do some data entry.

AJ: I can type 125 words a minute. My memory is virtually eidetic.

WW: Good to hear it! Getting you into this job is a piece of kreplach. Here’s what you do –

LATER.
THE ALL-SEEING EYE OF OUR CAMERA TAKES US TO CRIMEBUSTER CENTRAL, LOCATED IN A BASEMENT SECTION OF AN OFFICE BUILDING ON A STREET IN A PART OF DOWNTOWN SEATTLE. IT IS EIGHT-THIRTY A.M. THE OUTER OFFICE, STAFFED WITH TOTALLY OBLIVIOUS CUBICLE SLAVES, IS HOPPING AND HUMMING. PEOPLE ARE RUSHING HERE AND THERE, CARRYING BIG PILES OF IMPORTANT PAPERS, COFFEE CUPS, TINY PLATES LOADED WITH FAT AND CARBOHYDRATE-LADEN OFFICE-WORKER CHOW AND LITTLE RABBIT-FOOD FEMALE “LUNCHES” IN FOAM CONTAINERS BOUND FOR THE FRIDGE, CELL PHONES, COMPUTER DISKS FULL OF IMPORTANT DATA, ROLLS OF TOILET PAPER DESTINED FOR IMPORTANT SEATS, AND THE LIKE. ONE CUBICLE DESK IS EMPTY – THE DESK NEAREST THE DOOR WHERE OUR TWO INTREPID CRIMEBUSTERS, TLJ AND HIS SIDEKICK SS, HAVE THEIR DOMAIN.

RIGHT NOW, TLJ IS PACING IN FRONT OF THIS DOORWAY, LOOKING AT HIS WATCH.

TLJ (SOUNDING HUNKY AND ANNOYED): Well, I hope they send him or her over as soon as they can. I really need this data inputted by five o’clock today.

SS (FROM INSIDE): Chill, bro’— we’ve always gotten a good deal from Desperado Temps. I called them as soon as I came in at six-thirty and pulled up the bad news on my email.

TLJ: I can’t believe Susie would stay home on a day like this. Didn’t she know all the work that’s going to back up?

SS: Well, what can you say – I heard she was waiting to hear from Starbuck’s – and then there was that rumor about her elopement…and the performance art tour…well, love is blind… Anyway, they promised that they’d send us someone really fast, accurate and desperate for the $6.66 an hour.

SOMEONE APPROACHES. THIS SOMEONE STANDS A LITTLE TO TLJ’S LEFT, ON HIS GOOD SIDE. SHE IS PETITE AND DANGEROUSLY FOXY, WITH A TUMBLING MASS OF RED HAIR AND AN INCIPIENTLY IMPISH EXPRESSION THAT PROMISES DEEP TROUBLE FOR HER QUARRY. IF HE COULD ONLY SEE IT…BUT OF COURSE, HE DOESN’T – OR THERE WOULD BE NO POINT IN THIS SCENE.

TLJ (STILL HUNKY AND IRRITATED): Yes?

AJ (DEMURELY, WITH A LITTLE TINY LIP POOCH – JUST A LITTLE): You’re – Mr. Chase? I’m from Desperado Temps? You needed someone for emergency entry? Today?

TLJ (UNABLE TO TAKE HIS EYES OFF THAT DELECTABLY PETITE FRAME AND THAT GORGEOUS BLAZE OF HAIR – CLOSE OBSERVATION REVEALS A CERTAIN SUBSONIC, PHEROMONE-PRODUCING MACHO RUMBLE IN HIS SYSTEM, SORTA LIKE A GIANT UNWIELDY DIRIGIBLE WARMING UP ITS ENGINES): Ehhh- well – um – yes, as a matter of fact I do – I mean, we do. Are you fast?

AJ (GENTEEL LITTLE SMIRK): I’m as fast as you need me to be.

SS (ROLLING HER EYES AND THEN HER BODY, STILL IN THE DESK CHAIR, BACK INTO THE INNER OFFICE): Hmmph! Fast?!? Girl, you could patent that speed and sell it to NASA.

TLJ (WITH LUMBERING BUT CHARMING GALLANTRY): And you are –

AJ: Boffit. Rainie Sue Boffit. Sir.

TLJ: Well (MOTIONS TO EMPTY CUBICLE), here’s where you’ll sit – right by my door. I have a stack of stuff that needs to be keyed and transferred into the G.U.N. auxiliary archival system. The template isn’t hard, but there are a lot of entries. They all need to be done by five this afternoon.

AJ: I don’t think that will be a problem, Mr. Chase, sir. Once I’m stacked, I’m ready to roll.

TLJ (HEADING INTO THE INNER OFFICE IN A LIGHT SWEAT, MUTTERING TO SELF): Boffit – stacked – fast as she needs me to be – use her – emergency entry – I need a vacation, here. I need one real bad.

TIME PASSES.

IT IS NOW ONE P.M. TLJ EMERGES FROM THE INNER OFFICE TO SEE AJ SITTING PLACIDLY AT HER DESK, OSTENTATIOUSLY AND INTENSELY PERUSING THE CURRENT ISSUE OF “COWGIRL TIMES.” HER COMPUTER SCREEN SAVER FLUTTERING ITS BANAL MESSAGE IN HIS VIEW.

TLJ (AMAZED): You’re finished already? (TO SELF) “Cowgirl Times?” Can it be - ? The gods are smiling on me, indeed!

AJ: Yes. It’s all done? I don’t mean to slack? Mr. Chase? Sir? There was nothing else? To do?

TLJ: Incredible. (Cowgirl Times!! Sam-hill! Dagnabbit! Tarnation! Way-yul, hay-yul’s bay-uhls! Shee-yi-yit, Sherr’ff!! Wonder if she could work the night shift - no more greasy cocoanut macaroons and flat diet soda at three in the morning!)

AJ: Will there be anything else I can do for you? Mr. Chase? Sir? (BRIDLES, SMIRKS, FLUTTERS HER LASHES) Anything at all?

TLJ (SOMEWHAT HEATED): I’m sure I can think of something – just give me a minute. (DISAPPEARS BACK INTO THE INNER OFFICE, WITH SUSPICIOUS ALACRITY.)

AJ (SMIRKING TO HERSELF): The bigger they are, the harder they fall…This one’s gonna be tectonic.

TLJ RETURNS TO THE CUBICLE, CHOOSING A STANDING POSITION CLOSE TO AJ’S DESK, WHERE HE CAN – OH, THIS IS A G-RATED SCRIPT, WE WON’T GO THERE – JUST THINK ‘SUBTEXT.’)

TLJ: There is something else you might could do for me, but it’s a job full of super confidentially confidential information. Way very confidential. (AJ SHIFTS A BIT, KNOWINGLY – TLJ TAKES ANOTHER SHALLOW BREATH, WHICH DOES NOT HELP ONE LITTLE TINY BIT) The most confidential. Too confidential for me to even stress just how confidential it is. It’s really confidentially confidential – so confidential that—

AJ (LOOKING INNOCENT, HIDING HER EXASPERATION AT THIS INANE BUT SATISFYINGLY LUST-STRUCK REPETITIVENESS): I’m bonded, sir. I key very fast, but I have trained myself to forget what I keyed as soon as I’m done keying it.

TLJ (RELIEVED): Hmm – well, maybe – (AJ IS LOOKING AT HIM WITH DISCREET BUT SUGGESTIVE SAUCINESS) Sure, you can handle this. (HANDS HER A DISK – SHE CONTRIVES TO TOUCH HIS FINGERS, AND IS GRATIFIED BY THE FACIAL EVIDENCE OF THIS ACTION…GIRL, YOU SHOULD SELL THIS SPEED TO THE UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS – FORGET NASA…). This is some information on a group we’re in pursuit of. It needs to be added to their files. I need you to stay at this desk while you’re doing it, and return the disk, the hard copy, and this system code key to me personally when you’re finished. Don’t save this to the hard drive, okay? I’ll take care of that later. It has to be saved in a special computer in the inner office.

AJ (HER SUPER-INNOCENT GAZE MAKES MARY’S LITTLE LAMB LOOK LIKE HANNIBAL LECTER): Of course, Mr. Chase, sir. I’ll be very careful.

MEANWHILE, AT THE MOUNTAIN CABIN –

MUSIC UP: Queen, “Bohemian Rhapsody” – THIS IS ACTUALLY THE MUSIC PLAYING OVER THE SOUND SYSTEM IN THE MUSIC ROOM. WW IS SITTING AT THE PIANO, BENT OVER A PAD OF STAFF PAPER. SHE LOOKS MILDLY ENGAGED IN HER TASK.

WW (TO SELF): Dang it, missed it again! I guess I’ll have to put that progression on slow repeat so I can write it down.

BDT (COMING UP THE STAIRS): What’s up, boss?

WW: Oh, hey, Elf-boy. I’m transcribing “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Just got a bit stuck at that big transitional chord sequence near the end. These guys are better than I thought – I’m beginning to think they sneaked in a bit of atonality. And there might be a doubly-augmented thirteenth chord or a side-slipped chain of enharmonic suspensions or maybe even a smidgen of quartal lurking somewhere…(PLAYS A PASSAGE ON THE PIANO, REWINDS, PLAYS, LISTENS, GRIMACES). Not there yet! Well, it is a pleasant way to while away the time, waiting for Red to signal.

BDT (NOT GETTING THE COMPOSITIONAL REFERENCES, DECIDING TO STICK WITH THE OBVIOUS): She’s doing the data entry thing today?

WW: Yup – and the transceiver picked up a plum, a blessing from the deities of devious derring-do – they’ve got her inputting our file!

BDT (INTERESTED): Do tell!

WW: She also appears to have Keystoner Chase wrapped around her little finger. (FIDDLES WITH THE CD PLAYER, THEN WE HEAR THE SOUNDS OF ONE AMAZINGLY COMPLEX SEQUENCE OF CHORDS REPEATED SLOWLY – THREE TIMES. WW IS SCRIBBLING FURIOUSLY. SHE STOPS THE PLAYER, CROWING WITH GLEE)

WW: Gotcha!! (PLAYS ON PIANO, THEN FASTER, THEN UP TO TEMPO). Hah!! I can finish the arrangement now.

THE COMPUTER CONSOLE BEEPS.

WW (SPRINTING OVER TO IT): Here it comes!!

THE SCREEN DARKENS, THEN FLASHES IN A COMPLEX AND RAPID SERIES OF BLINKS TOO FAST FOR THE EYE TO FOLLOW. IT IS TRANSMITTING THE ENTIRE CORPUS OF CRIMEBUSTER MATERIAL, LOGS, ALLEGED EVIDENCE, STAKEOUT NOTES, OBSERVATIONS, TRANSCRIPTS, JOURNALS, BLURRED AND VAGUE PHOTOGRAPHS, INANE AND INCORRECT SUPPOSITIONS AND POSSIBLE PLANNED ACTIONS CONCERNING WW AND HER GANG. THE TRANSMISSION TAKES ABOUT 3.764 SECONDS, GIVE OR TAKE A BIT. THE SCREEN GOES BLANK AGAIN.

WW: Outstanding!! (SHE TAPS THREE KEYS AND GRINS WHEN SHE HEARS A BEEP IN RESPONSE). Meshuggah! There sure was a lot of it! They’ve either been busy, or they’re looking up their Edsels with an unlit flashlight again. Probably the latter. (MUTTERING) I need to upgrade transmission speed on this baby – it seemed just a taddy bit slow to me…

BDT: You know, we have an excellent opportunity here to scramble all of their files. That plus the G.U.N. fiasco – could put us light-years ahead of them…Only a little bit of devious tweaking, a few buttons – and puh-poom! Game over!

WW (WISTFULLY) Dontcha know it – but that would put Red in the center of the target, and I need her to be able to go in and out of there when the need arises. We lost a toehold once the fireman’s identity was cracked – (EVIL SMIRK) You know, Elf-boy, you never did tell me what went down at the cabana boy gig…I’ve been waiting lo these many days to hear the uncensored story. (SHE HUNKERS COMFORTABLY IN HER SEAT) C’mon – give!

BDT (LOOKING EMBARRASSED, BUT SECRETLY AND SALACIOUSLY DELIGHTED TO OBLIGE): Well – I need to sit down. (WW MOTIONS HIM TO THE LEATHER SOFA. HE SITS. UNCOMFORTABLY. TENTATIVELY. LOOKING AS THOUGH HE MIGHT BOLT FOR MORE JOLT AT ANY MINUTE. GOOD WITH SUBTEXT, ARE YA? WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT, MY MAN.)

WW: Let’s start with Dave, shall we?

BDT (BLUSHING FOR REAL, NOW): Dave? Eh – it was just a little bit – ehh – embarrassing, him putting those twenty-dollar bills in my waistband. I mean, really – what with the Vice Squad sitting right there…

WW: Dollar Dave is a member of the Vice Squad, as I recall – he works up on Capitol Hill.

BDT: (TO SELF) Boy’s gone native, then... (LOUDER) Really? I mean, I kept expecting him to give me his phone number.

WW (SNARKLE): Have you checked the money? It might already be on there somewhere.

BDT (LOOKING SHOCKED): Eh! No, I didn’t check the money. I just counted it.

WW: How much did the Cabana Boy make in tips, altogether?

BDT: A couple of hundred – from Dave. And a hundred or so from the rest of them.

WW: Better save that phone number (ENJOYING THE FACIAL SHOW BEFORE HER) Nah, just kidding. I know you and subtext. And you remember our rules –

BDT: Yup. [IS THAT A FLICKER OF SADNESS ON THAT INCOMPARABLE VISAGE? ENQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW. SORRY CHARLY…]

WW: Right-o, Dan-o. But it’s fun to keep ‘em panting and guessing, isn’t it?

BDT (SUDDEN GRIN): Yeah, boss – it is. It gave me a feeling of power – gyrating and blinking and twirling and curling – and taking the money and running.

WW (SINGS, IN A HUSKY, CRACKED, OVER-THE-HILL, NEARLY TUNELESS ROCK STAR WARBLE): I can’t get no – satisfaction!

THEY LAUGH.

BDT: Anyway, I’m more interested in developing my innate potentials for criminality and psychotic weirdness. I can have all the (WW LOOKS INTERESTED) friends I want, later.

[HE’S NOT GOING TO BE THIS EASY TO PIN DOWN, IS HE?? MILLIONS OF LUST-CRAZED WOMEN, AND MOST LIKELY A SUBSTANTIAL NUMBER OF LUST-CRAZED MEN, ARE RIGHT NOW TURNING FROM THESE PAGES, PREPARING TO GO OFF TO THEIR LONELY, NARROW BEDS IN DEEP, DESPAIRING IGNORANCE. TOO BAD, SPORTS FANS!! TAKE TWO SUBTEXTS AND CALL US IN THE MORNING...BUT DOESN’T WW KNOW, YOU ASK. OF COURSE SHE KNOWS. WHATEVER THERE IS TO KNOW. WE ARE THE ONES WHO DON’T KNOW. WE ARE THE INQUIRING MINDS. AND WE ARE THE ONES LEFT HOLDING THAT LUMPY, BULGING, SQUIRMING BAG OF URGENT QUESTIONS. FOR NOW. IT’S BETTER THIS WAY. REALLY. TRUST US, YOUR INTREPID AND CUNNING SCREENWRITERS.]

WE’LL RESCUE THE BABE RIGHT NOW, BY RETURNING TO A CURIOUS BUT NOT UNPREDICTABLE OCCURRENCE AT CRIMEBUSTER CENTRAL…

IT IS NOW FIVE O’CLOCK. CUBICLE CHICKENS ARE FLEEING THE BUILDING, CLUCKING UP A STORM OVER THE IMPORTANT EVENTS AND IMPORTANT DOINGS AND VERY IMPORTANT PEOPLE GLIMPSED IN ACTION DURING THIS VERY, VERY IMPORTANT DAY. TLJ EMERGES FROM THE INNER OFFICE TO FIND AJ COMPETENTLY SHUTTING DOWN HER COMPUTER AND EJECTING A DISK.

TLJ: Finished?

AJ: Done, sir. Here it is – all of it. Just as you told me. (HANDS HIM THE DISK, A THICK PILE OF LOOSE SHEETS AND A SLIP OF PAPER.)

TLJ: Good work. I’ll take it from here. (SHIFTING UNEASILY, TENTATIVELY, LIKE A SEVEN-YEAR-OLD WITH A CRUSH ON HIS SECOND-GRADE TEACHER) Uhm, er – ah – Miz Boffit? Would you be able to come back tomorrow? I don’t think Susie-Q is going to be here, and you’re so fast and accurate. I could really use you in a big way.

AJ (SMIRKING TO HERSELF): That depends on you. (SIGNIFICANT PAUSE) Sir.

WW (TOTALLY WHACKED OUT, PSYCHO GRIN): C’mon! Want to role-play? Four blades or just two? Three to one? You be the psycho, then I’ll be the psycho.

BDT (SOTTO VOCE): Tell me something I don’t know, already.

(THE DOOR OPENS AND LN AND KDL SORT OF AMBLE IN – AS MUCH AS THEY CAN, BEING SOMEWHAT FULL OF PELLEGRINO AND TORPEDOED WITH P.T.)

LN: We heard some working out was planned. We came to watch.

WW (PSYCHO CHUCKLE): No one watches in the workout room, Sandman. This is pay as you play – participants only. (REACHES OVER TO WEAPONS RACK) Here (TOSSING ONE TO LN AND ONE TO KDL IN A BLUR OF MOTION) – your toys.

LN (RESISTS IMPULSE TO DUCK, BUT FORTUITOUSLY CATCHES IT BY THE HANDLE, EXHALES WITH TRUE RELIEF) Boy howdy. I think I need another P.T.

KDL (SOMEWHAT NONPLUSSED): I know I do.

WW: Nothing doing. There’s enough room down here for us to do the Four-Step Sliver.

LN: ???

WW: Four blades - watch your step – miss and you’re slivers. First cut – you’re out. Elf-boy and I usually play by ourselves, but we’ll make an exception in your case, since you’re here. (FREAKED-OUT GRIN) Don’t worry - we have lots of bandannas down here. They make reasonably adequate tourniquets. (GIGGLES) And Bat-girl is very good at hand sewing. (EVIL SNICKER) Although she’s a little out of practice, lately.

KDL (NONPLUSSED AGAIN): That’s kind of you. Now, how about some one-armed pushups?

WW: After. Now come on – you crashed the party, you drink the punch. Don’t chicken out on me, partner.

KDL (RESIGNED): Okay, okay. What style are we using? Street-fight? Three-Hands? All-round?

WW: All-round for now.

KDL (BRIGHTENING): Good choice.

THEY SQUARE OFF, KDL AND LN HANDLING THEIR WEAPONS SOMEWHAT GINGERLY. BDT IS ALREADY CIRCLING, GOING INTO COMBAT MODE. WW IS MOVING WITH CONTROLLED POWER AND MENACE, SMILING THAT EERIE, ABSTRACTED LITTLE MONA LISA / BROWN-TROUSERS SMILE – THE SMILE THAT HAS MADE CASE-HARDENED GREEN BERETS BREAK OUT INTO A COLD SWEAT.

[SCRIPTWRITER TWO INTERJECTS: YOU KNOW, RECENT RESEARCH INDICATES THAT THE MONA LISA IS ACTUALLY LEONARDO’S SELF PORTRAIT, IN FEMALE GUISE.]

[SCRIPTWRITER ONE REPLIES: IMAGINE THAT! THANK YOU FOR THROWING THAT HISTORICAL RED HERRING TO THOSE DESPERATELY TRYING TO UNLOCK THE SECRET OF WW’S TWISTED LITTLE SMILE.]

[SCRIPTWRITER TWO: JUNGIAN, ISN’T IT? YOU’RE WELCOME. NOW BACK TO OUR SCENE, ALREADY IN PROGRESS…]

WW: He who hesitates – loses! Lock and load!

THE MOCK COMBAT BEGINS. SLOWLY AT FIRST, AND THEN PICKING UP SPEED. A BLUR OF MOTION, THEN A YIP.

KDL (JUMPS BACK): Blunderbuss! Dagnabbit! That was one of my good shirts!

WW: You’re out, partner – save your remaining strength for the one-armed pushups! Banzai!

THE MOCK COMBAT CONTINUES. ANOTHER BLUR OF MOTION. ANOTHER YIP.

LN (SKIPPING BACK TO THE WALL): Thunder! You sliced right across the bottom of the molecular diagram on my nice black T-shirt!!

WW: You’re out, Sandman – why don’t you go upstairs and cook up some tea and cookies for the victory party? Rock and roll! (TO BDT) Okay, Elf-boy. Sayoc Kali! Let’s turn the heat up, eh?

BDT: You’re on!

THE MOCK COMBAT CONTINUES WITH WW AND BDT AS THE ONLY COMBATANTS.

BDT (CIRCLING WARILY, GRIMACING – OH, THOSE EYES – THOSE LIPS – THAT BROW – THAT PERFECTLY TOUSLED HAIR – THOSE INCREASINGLY SWEAT-STAINED, FORM-FITTING FATIGUES…AHEM…): Loser chops wood for a week!

WW (GRINNING, LOOKING REMARKABLY LIKE JACK NICHOLSON IN SUPER-MANIC MOVIE MODE): Rock and roll!

THE MOCK COMBAT IS LESS MOCKING NOW – AND WAAAAAAAY MORE COMBATIVE. IN FACT, IT’S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE THE FIGHT SCENES IN THE MOVIE – BUT WITH TWO WHACKED-OUT PSYCHOS INSTEAD OF JUST ONE…

WW (KEEPING UP A CONTINUOUS PATTER OVER THE THUDS, THUMPS, SLASHING MOVEMENTS, FEINTS, JUMPS, LEAPS, BLINDING BLUR OF MARTIAL ARTS MOVES): See, Elf-boy – here’s where they did it wrong in the movie (BLINDING MOVE – BDT JUMPS BACK JUST IN TIME) – Now if you hadn’t - jumped back – at that moment (SLASH) – you’d be – singing - the “Queen of the Night” aria (FEROCIOUS GIGGLE) – now – combinations – (WHIRL, SLASH, LEAP, JUMP, KICK) – you never did tell me all about the - grass-skirt gig – was it fun? - (SLASH – SLASH – JUMP – LEAP – KICK – FEINT) I see I struck a nerve – were you – method acting? – (WILD FLURRY OF FURIOUS MOVEMENT, SWOOSHING BLURRRRRR) – Woo-hoo! Good, almost got me there – now watch your back - I’m - coming after you (HAIL OF BLURRED MOVEMENTS, ENDING IN A SHARP YIP OF SURPRISE) – Gotcha!

BDT: How’d you do that? I never saw it coming.

WW: I’ll show you when we spar tomorrow – Those were old fatigues, weren’t they? I don’t think you’ll be able to use that shirt for much now.

BDT: Bat-girl could use it for ribbon ties on her next hand-made book project… (RESIGNED) I’ll be out at the woodpile in the morning. (SHUDDERS) I’m just glad you missed the pants.

[ARETHA (ON SOUND SYSTEM) – “R-e-s-p-e-c-t!!”]

WW (NOT EVEN OUT OF BREATH): Yeah – don’t’ worry, we’ll put in at least eight hours of blade time before our next caper. (WALKS OVER TO THE CREAM TART TRAY, GRABS ONE, INGESTS IT, CHASES WITH JOLT). Shall we have the next event in the Basement Olympics?

KDL (EYES GLISTENING AVARICIOUSLY) One-armed pushups.

WW: I warn you, partner – I’m warmed up now. You should have challenged me when I first came downstairs.

KDL: Well, I wanted to see you work that blade again. Sayoc Kali – damn, you’re poetry in motion, pal.

WW (BOWS MOCKINGLY, WITH AN IRONIC FLOURISH, REPLYING WITH ENGLISH ACCENT: I do so aim to please. And that’s not all I aim at. Ready?

KDL: Ready.

LH APPEARS IN DOORWAY, CARRYING A LAUNDRY BASKET FULL OF FATIGUES AND CAMO-PATTERNED UNDIES AND SOCKS. THESE FOLK ARE SERIOUS ABOUT THEIR CAMO…

WW (TRADEMARKED PSYCHO SMIRK): Bat-girl! Just in time! Put that down and mosey over here for a minute, willya? I need you to help me with something.

KDL (TO SELF): Oh, no –

WW ASSUMES ONE-ARMED PUSHUP POSITION, NODS TO LH, WHO DAINTILY STEPS UPON HER BACK, SETTLING TO A CROSSLEGGED YOGA POSITION.

WW: Comfy?

LH: Reasonably.

WW: How many cream puffs have you eaten?

LH: Two, plus half a liter of Jolt.

WW: Wait a minute. (SHIFTS MINUTELY, SETTLING BACK INTO PLACE) Okay. Count?

LN: I will. One, two, three, four…

TIME PASSES.

LN: Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine…

MORE TIME PASSES.

LN: Ninety –

WW: Time! Change arms –

LN: One, two, three…

TIME PASSES.

LN: Seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven…

MORE TIME PASSES – CAMERA PAN TO BDT AND KDL, WHO ARE WATCHING THIS WITH TOTAL AMAZEMENT AND BREAKING OUT INTO COPIOUS, VICARIOUS PERSPIRATION.

LN: Eighty-nine –

WW: Time! Thanks, Bat-girl. Okay, partner – your turn. (LH LEAPS AGILELY OFF WW’S BACK, GIVING THE CIRCUS “V” FOR VICTORY SIGN. WW, STANDING UP, SHAKES HERSELF, SHRUGS A COUPLE OF TIMES, ACCEPTS BOTTLE OF JOLT FROM BDT, DRAINS IT IN ONE MIGHTY SWIG, CHASING IT WITH A BOTTLE OF PLAIN WATER FROM ANOTHER COOLER NEXT TO THE RUSTIC WOODEN WALL, BURPS.) Thirsty work, eh? Got any more P.T. lying around, Sandman?

KDL IS ABOUT TO ASSUME THE POSITION, WHEN A FAINT CHIME SOUNDS FROM THE TERMINAL IN THE CORNER. WW SPRINTS TO IT, TOWELING HER NECK AND ENVIABLY BUFFED SHOULDERS. OH, THOSE LATS – THOSE DELTOIDS – THOSE BICEPS – THOSE PECS – THAT UTTER AND COMPLETE, KINETIC, NICHOLSON-ON-A-FRAYED-LEASH CRAZINESS -

WW (WHISTLING TO SELF): Hmm, what have we here? Looks like somebody is knocking around at headquarters. Elf-boy, would you come up with me? I need someone on audio while I fine-tune the reception.

BDT: Sure, boss. (THEY DASH OUT OF THE ROOM AND UP THE STAIRS)

LH (LOOKING KDL OVER WITH A LITTLE SMIRK): Saved by the bell, eh?

KDL (SOMEWHAT MIFFED BY THE SMIRK, WANTING TO PUT THIS SNARKY, TAUNTING LITTLE SNIP IN HER PLACE, ALREADY): Well, you’re still here. Want to go a round or two?

LH: (DEMURELY) Let me put this stuff in the washer first. (TO SELF) Little does she know…I train four hours a day while listening to heavy metal, watching Alien and Terminator 2. I’m ready for her. Just call me – Sarah Connor Vasquez…(BIG SMIRK AS SHE FLOUNCES OUT, PONYTAIL BOB-BOB-BOBBING ALONG) <<Ba-ad girls – Toot toot! Beep beep!>>

LN (SHAKING HEAD AS HE CATCHES THAT SMIRK): I think I’ll have another P.T. This is going to be a long night.

UPSTAIRS…

WW (PUSHING BUTTONS, TWIRLING KNOBS, MANIPULATING INTRICATE CONTROL STUFF): Okay, I’ve got it. Patch in the audio.

IN THE OFFICE, DOWNTOWN:

<TLJ > Yeah, that was some party, wasn’t it? They really outdid themselves with the cabana boy chorus line. I couldn’t believe Ken and those guys in Vice – they were just about hopping on the tables. And Dave – you know Capitol Hill Bike Patrol Dave? He was practically drooling into his Pineapple Pink Lady.

<SS > Mm-hmmh! I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed an SPD-CrimeBusters Tiki Bash more than this. (SOTTO VOCE) Dave? Drooling?

<TLJ> Yeah. I guess. Heyyyy - why weren’t there any tiki cabana girls in that line?

<SS> Who cares? (DREAMILY) And really, they were just too much – especially that tall one on the end…

<TLJ> Which tall one?

<SS> You know, the one Dave kept hooting and waving twenty dollar bills at - the tall one with the – (STOPS – MEANINGFUL, EPIPHANIC PAUSE – GASP OF DELAYED RECOGNITION – SOUND OF FRIZZED HAIR SLOWLY STANDING ON END) – Wait – wait – wait! I’ve seen him before! (SMACKING FOREHEAD) Fire Department!

<TLJ> (WONDERING JUST HOW THIS RELATES TO ANYTHING, BUT TOO MUCH OF A GENTLEMAN TO ASK OUT LOUD) – The FD? Are you sure? Maybe he’s moonlighting as a cabana boy for extra money? (SOTTO VOCE) Dave? Hooting? Hey, this could be good…

<SS> Maybe – but - Sure I’m sure. I’d know that look anywhere. And those moves – mmm-HMMH!! Now that’s what I’m talking about!!

<TLJ> Look. Moves. Yeah. Right. (SOTTO VOCE) Somebody here has it – bad…

<SS> He came to fix the G.U.N. the night it crashed. Got here really fast, too.

<TLJ> The G.U.N. went off? When?

<SS> Oh, a week or so ago. Didn’t you see the service report? We had to take it apart to put the fire out.

<TLJ> You took it apart?

<SS> Well, yes. I had to help him take it off. (GIGGLES) The computer cover, I mean. That’s why he came here. He’s a fireman. Firemen are supposed to put out fires. (ANOTHER GIGGLE) Supposed to. Yeah. Oh, yeah…

<TLJ> (MACHO, EXASPERATED SIGH) ….!!! Let me see what else, if anything, I can pull up on him. You wait right here (HEAVY, DISDAINFUL FOOTSTEPS)

IN THE CABIN:

WW (GROWLS): Schnitzel! Doppeldammerung! Did you trip the switch for the interrupt?

BDT: Yup, one-fiftieth gram of the low-power bang, just like you told me. We’ll lose ‘em, but they’ll lose their box in the process.

WW (SLIT-EYED SIDELONG GLANCE, SNARKY LEER): Twenty dollar bills? Dave? Drooling? Hooting? Sounds like you had quite a night.

BDT: It’s a long story, boss. I’ll tell you about it later.

WW (WITH DEADPAN FEATURES AND SUPREMELY SARDONIC LIFT OF HER RIGHT EYEBROW - A PATENTED SANDMAN EXPRESSION): I shall be hermeneutically locked and loaded for every snippet of subtext that can conceivably be pressed, squeezed, cajoled, teased or otherwise lured from your forthcoming tale. I shall be metaphorically writhing in salacious anticipation of every lascivious, lubricious, libidinous, deliciously louche tidbit. And don’t hold back on me – I want to hear it all. You did take the money, by the way? Never say no to money, not even when it’s tucked into your waistband. Especially not when it’s tucked into your waistband.

BDT (RESIGNED): Yes, I took the money.

WW: You didn’t have to fish for it, did you? (SMIRKLE) You don’t have to answer that right now. (LISTENS) He’s coming back. Let’s see what else they know.

IN THE OFFICE, DOWNTOWN:

<TLJ> What did he look like? Can you be more specific than, “I’d know that look anywhere?”

<SS> (DREAMY, ABSTRACTED, OBVIOUSLY RECOUNTING AN OFT-RELIVED MEMORY): He was tall, built – gorgeous thick black hair, greenish hazel eyes – this kind of slow-dance tilt and turn. Really lazy smile, you know? Great body. Buffed. Dangerous… (SIGHS) He promised to come over with the probe if I needed him to look at my unit… (A LONG, TREMULOUS SIGH)…Unfortunately it’s been working just fine…(SIGHS, WHOOSHING SOUND AS SHE FANS HERSELF)…Just overheating from time to time…

IN THE CABIN:

BDT SMIRKS, PREENS AND TURNS TO WW, WHO GRUNTS WITH DISBELIEF AND ROLLS HER EYES.

WW (SMIRKING AMBIGUOUSLY): Mmmh, mmmh, mmmh – Ms. Keystone and the Davester - You sure know how to work ‘em, fella.

BDT (BLUSHING FEROCIOUSLY):…Well, you did say I was good with subtext…

AND DOWNTOWN:

<TLJ> ???? Whuttttt- (FOOTSTEPS POUNDING ALMOST OUT OF AUDIO RANGE – SOUND OF MANIACALLY CLACKING KEYS, RETURNING POUNDING PACE, EXCITED PANTING) – Sam-hill! Tarnation! Bosh n’ double-dammitt!! He’s one of them!! He came in here!! Well, I’ll be a striped-aped ass…

<SS> (STILL IN BABE-AHOLIC DREAMLAND) One of – a kind – one of what?

<TLJ> That’s right (PURSED LIPS, OVERHANGING BROW FROWN, CLENCHED JAW, HARDCORE CRIMEBUSTIN’ GET’EM! EXPRESSION TRANSMITTED OVER THE AUDIO) One of Them! Them! You know, the gang! The gang we’ve been bustin’ our heinies for months over! Them! The gang who bombed us with glitter and incendiary cheese grits – remember the car chase?! The skateboards?! The exploding Yugo?! Last weekend?! I’m just now getting’ the last of that danged pink glitter out of my thinning, receding hair!! It’s Them! The gang who faced us down at the Rodeo Corrall!!! Think with your head, woman!! He was here! They’ve probably been tracking us for a week now! They know what we know!! We’ll have to put the G.U.N. down until we can get someone over to check it out! They’ve probably planted something in it! Yoo-hoo! Anybody home? Hel-lo??!!

<SS> (DISTANTLY) Them? Really? But it’s – turned on – I don’t know if I can turn it off…(ANOTHER GIRLISH SIGH, HINT OF A GIGGLE) I mean, he turned it on – it’ll probably stay on from now on…(SNICKERS) unless it catches on fire again…then he’ll have to come over and put it out…(YET ANOTHER FROTHY CASCADE OF MARILYN-ESQUE GIGGLES)…See any smoke? (HOPEFULLY)

<TLJ> (PURPOSEFUL MACHO GROWL, REPLETE WITH ANNOYANCE AND – ENVY? SURELY NOT…) All right! We turn it off – now. I’m not gonna wait till tomorrow to get some smirkin’ fifteen year old geek in here. Hand me that screwdriver. There’s an ice machine down the hall in the break room. Go sit in it for ten minutes. And turn the A/C down to 45 when you get back, okay? (SOTTO VOCE) Wimmin! Jeeezzzzz…what’s he got that I haven’t got?

[SCRIPTWRITER INTERJECTS: WE WOULD ATTEMPT AN ANSWER TO THIS RHETORICAL QUESTION, BUT WE HAVEN’T ENOUGH PAPER AT PRESENT…WELL, OKAY, IF YOU INSIST – YOUNGER. BIGGER. BUFF-ER. FASTER. COOLER. AMBIGUOUSLY, MAGNETICALLY COMPELLING. LET’S COUNT THE WAYS: THAT FULL, THICK, SILKY TANGLE OF GORGEOUS GLEAMING EBONY HAIR THAT LOOKS MOST SCRUMPTIOUS WHEN JUST-ROUSTED-OUT-OF-BED TOUSLED, FOR ONE…MOVING DOWNWARD – THAT INTRIGUINGLY FURROWED BROW, THOSE THICK, FEATHERY, STRAIGHT BLACK EYEBROWS LOWERED OVER SULTRY, SLOW-DANCE VERIDIAN AMBER SLOE EYES, WITH A TILT AND A SQUINT THAT IS JUST TOO – TOO – AND THE DARKER SPARK DANCING DANGEROUSLY AND INVITINGLY IN THEIR DEPTHS - THAT NOBLE NOSE, THOSE SENSITIVELY FLARED NOSTRILS – YESSSSSS…THOSE INCREDIBLY MOBILE, FULL, JUICY, INIMITABLY KISSABLE, PURSABLE LIPS…THAT SMOOTH, WHITE COFFEE-AMBER-AND-ROSES COMPLEXION, THOSE PERFECT FLASHING TEETH, THAT LAZY, SLOW, SENSUOUS SMILE, THAT OH-SO-PROVOCATIVE, SOFT, SLURRY, LAZY, HUSKY, CHAMPAGNE-AND-FINGER-FOOD-NIBBLIES-BREAKFAST-IN-BED VOICE - OOPS, BREAK TIME OVER - LET’S GET BACK TO BUSINESS…YES, LET’S…THIS MOVIE IS SUPPOSED TO BE RATED PG, ALREADY – WELL, IT DOESN’T HURT THE YOUNG TO BUILD THEIR FIELD OF DREAMS, DOES IT? ‘COURSE NOT]

[METAPHORICALLY CLEARING THROAT] AS WE WERE SAYING…
JUST THEN, THERE IS THE NOISE OF SMOKE ERUPTING FROM THE G.U.N. - WHICH OUR CRIMINAL CREW KNOWS IS A GLORIOUS SHADE OF PURPLE - FOLLOWED BY THE G.U.N.’s LAST SHOT: THE RAUCOUS CLAMOR OF A LAUGHTRACK FROM THE ROWAN AND MARTIN SHOW – WHICH GOES ON FOR SOME FIFTEEN SECONDS BEFORE JACK NICHOLSON’S VOICE SAYS,

<<JN/”THE JOKER”>> - This town needs—an enema!!

MANIACAL CHUCKLES – THEN THE VOICE OF WIREWOMAN – TLJ AND SS SHUDDER IN SPITE OF THEMSELVES, HEARING THE TOTAL PSYCHOPATHIC MADNESS AND DISREGARD FOR DULY CONSTITUTED AUTHORITY IMPLIED IN HER WORDS. THE WOMAN DOES NOT AT ALL SOUND – NICE. AND SANE???? SANE??? LET’S NOT EVEN GO THERE, PARDNER…

<<WW, IN A SOFT, PRECISE, SINISTER TONE, WITH SHATNER-ESQUE PAUSES>> Crime. Pays. (PITCH AND INTENSITY RISE) Just. Ask. Me. – Moriarty! (GLEEFULLY) Tatafona, Keystoners!! (PEALS OF MANIACAL LAUGHTER)

THERE IS A PUFF AND A GOBBLY GARBLE OF SOUND AS THE G.U.N., DOWNTOWN, MELTS INSTANTLY TO A GLOB OF FUSED CIRCUITS, PINK GLITTER AND CHARRED PARTICLES OF SOMETHING SUSPICIOUSLY RESEMBLING CHEESE GRITS.

BACK TO OUR GANG:

WW: Well, that’s it (SHUTS AUDIO AND OTHER CONTROLS OFF). We got something, but we can’t risk them seeing you again. I do need to keep tabs on them, though. Got any ideas?

BDT (LOOKS UP AT THE CEILING, THEN A SIGNIFICANT GLANCE AT THE DOOR LEADING TO THE STAIRS. FROM BELOW, LN’S VOICE CAN BE HEARD, CHANTING)

LN: Sixty-five, sixty-six -

WW (TOTALLY FREAKED-OUT GRIN): Bingo-bango-bongo!! Eureka!! Woo-hoo! Yahoola!!

TO BE CONTINUED

And so it is…Friday, August 15, 2003

“Tripwire” Act ?? Scene ? – “Undercover Angel” part 1

MUSIC UP: “Undercover Angel”

IT IS FOUR A.M. AT THE ISOLATED MOUNTAIN CABIN. OR THEREABOUTS…

LN IS SLEEPING THE SLEEP OF THE ALMOST-JUST, IN THE HOT TUB – THE GUEST ROOM IS JUST TOO FAR TO FIND, AFTER INGESTING A MEGA-JOLT OF P.T. VISIONS OF PSYCHEDELIC FRUIT OF THE LOOM GUYS DANCE IN HIS HEAD…

KDL AND LH ARE WORKING OUT TOGETHER IN THE WORKOUT ROOM, ALL GRUDGES FORGOTTEN – ACTUALLY, LH IS NOW 9 ONE-HANDED PUSHUPS AHEAD OF KDL, WHO IS ANXIOUS TO RECLAIM THE SECOND-STRING CHAMPIONSHIP. THEY ARE PUMPING IRON AND WATCHING “TERMINATOR 2.” LH HAS BEEN PLYING KDL WITH TRIPLE CHOCO PUFFS IN HOPE OF GAINING AN UNFAIR ADVANTAGE. THE WOMAN IS CUNNING AND JESUITICAL, MY MAN.

WW IS SITTING ALONE IN THE DIMLY-LIT COMMON ROOM, NOODLING BITS OF INSANELY DIFFICULT VIRTUOSO FLUFF ON THE PIANO AND SIPPING ICY JOLT FROM A WATERFORD TUMBLER PERCHED ON A STERLING SILVER COASTER PRECARIOUSLY BALANCED ON THE SIDE OF THE MUSIC RACK. RUSTIC WOODEN WALLS IN BACKGROUND, AS ALWAYS…

AND BDT – WHERE IS BDT, RESIDENT HUBBA-HUBBA? STILL LISTENING TO
“I LOVE LUCY” SOUNDTRACKS ON THE WALKMAN AND DOGGEDLY, MOODILY SPLITTING KINDLING AT THE WOODPILE, MEDITATING UPON PAST TRANSGRESSIONS… [BA-BA-LOOOOOOOOOO-BA!!!] THE BOSS IS ALL TOO PRESCIENT, PARTICULARLY WHEN SHE’S LOCKED AND LOADED WITH P.T. DANG!!! HOW REALISTIC WAS THE FIREMAN SHTICK? WHAT WAS THE THING WITH DAVE’S HAND AT THE TIKI PARTY,ALREADY? WHY DID HE TAKE THE MONEY? HOW WILL HE SPEND HIS WINDFALL? A NEW PAIR OF CAMO-PATTERNED SPEEDOS? A NEW FATIGUE SHIRT TO REPLACE THE SHREDDED WRECK THAT BAT-GIRL SNATCHED AND TRIUMPHANTLY STASHED IN HER ART BOX? A TRACKER BLADE, JUST LIKE THE ONE IN THE MOVIE? A SUBSCRIPTION TO “SOLDIER OF FORTUNE?” - “THE ADVOCATE?” HOW WILL THE BOSS TAKE THIS? WITH A TRADEMARKED PSYCHO SMIRK, OR WITH GENUINE INTEREST? HOW DANGEROUS IS HER INTEREST? SHOULD HE CONTINUE STRIVING TO BECOME A MASTER OF CRIME OR JUST SETTLE FOR BEING A SULTRY, SLOE-EYED, BUFFED AND DANGEROUS BOY-TOY?

[SCRIPTWRITER ONE INTERJECTS]: BOY-TOY! BOY-TOY! YUMMM! UM-HMM!!!
[SCRIPTWRITER TWO REGAINS CONTROL]: CAN IT, PLEASE…

OH, DECISIONS, DECISIONS - AND HOW GOOD, ACTUALLY, REALLY, IS OUR CRIMINAL BABE WITH SUBTEXT? IS HE HAVING FUN YET? INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW. BUT NOT NOW. THE ACTION SUPERSEDES…JUST LOOK FOR SUBTEXT, OKAY?

CAMERA FOCUS IN ON WW, WHO IS COMPLETELY BUFFED AND IMMENSELY DANGEROUS IN IMPECCABLE DOWNTOWN FATIGUES. THE AIR IS DRIPPING WITH SIGHING, WHINING, HAND-WRINGING, INCIPIENT BOREDOM. THIS IS DANGEROUS, PEOPLE – DANGEROUS FOR EVERYBODY. DON’T LET THIS WOMAN SIT WITHOUT A PROJECT OR A PLAN – WHEN SHE STARTS BROODING, WEIRD CRAP TENDS TO HAPPEN. LIKE NOW.

WW SUDDENLY STOPS MID-PHRASE, SIGHS, PRESSES A TINY BUTTON ON HER DICK TRACY WATCH. SHE WATCHES THE TIME/DATE/WEATHER/UNSOLVED CRIME STATS FOR 17 CITIES WITHOUT A FLICKER OF EXPRESSION, AND THEN BEGINS PUNCHING BUTTONS AT RANDOM. MORE NOODLING. MORE PUNCHING. SIGHS. GRIMACES.

JUST THEN, CIVILIZATION AS WE KNOW IT LIVES TO LURCH ANOTHER DAY. THE TELEPHONE RINGS.

WW (LAZILY REACHING FOR IT, PUSHING BUTTONS, NOT BOTHERING TO SOUND MEASURED AND MECHANICAL): You have reached the Hideaway. Tough titmouse, zoobsters. We’re hiding away. If we tell you where we are, we’ll have to kill you—so leave a message and live to fight another day. (MOCKING MIMICRY, AS P.T. MOMENTARILY SURGES) With a serrated edge on one side and a filleting blade on the other. (STAGE WHISPER, LAUGH) Do you think you can hunt me with your weapons? I’ll take you out with my own hands. There is no reverence in what you do. Six billion chickens!!! Do you understand? Let’s keep this between us! Kinda like a slipper – like this one. (LOONEY GIGGLE, SMIRKLE). If you fancy being fileted into a packet of fish sticks, stay on the line. I’ve already located you. If you’ve seen and studied The Movie and can discuss it lucidly, you might escape uncarved and un-exploded. More or less… (MANIC NICHOLSON-IN-‘THE-SHINING’GIGGLE, FOLLOWED BY A THUMP AS SHE PUTS IT ON ‘SPEAKER’) I’m bored. I want to filet something. I want to blow something up. I want to wreak mayhem, devastation and havoc. Save civilization as we know it and leave a message.

PREVIOUSLY UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE: Hello? Is anyone there? I want to apply for a job.

“Tripwire” Act? Scene?
Insomniac Psychotic Film Critics / “Just. Ask. Me.”

MUSIC UP: The ominous opening theme for Star Trek VI:The Undiscovered Country; segue into “Lullabye in Birdland,” Harry James and his Orchestra

IT IS A LITTLE (OR A LOT) PAST MIDNIGHT AT THE ISOLATED MOUNTAIN CABIN.

IN THE BASEMENT LN AND KDL, LEAN AND MEAN IN PSYCHEDELIC-PRINTED LONGJOHNS, ARE SOAKING IN THE HOT TUB, SIPPING ICY PELLEGRINO WITH A SLICE OF LIME FROM WATERFORD CRYSTAL TUMBLERS AND SHARING THE INSIGHTS AFFORDED THEM BY A P.T. APIECE.

IN THE KITCHEN LH, CUTE AS A BUG IN PINK AND MAGENTA FATIGUES WITH A FUCHSIA CAMO APRON, IS GROOVING TO A DONNA SUMMERS/TINA TURNER MIX CD ON HER WALKMAN WHILE WHIPPING UP YET ANOTHER BATCH OF TRIPLE CHOCOLATE CREAM PUFFS.

IN THE COMPUTER ROOM BDT AND WW—BUFFED AND DANGEROUS IN BLACK NINJA JACKETS (CASUALLY UNZIPPED AT THE NECK, NATCH), DARK GREY MUSCLE T-SHIRTS AND IMMACULATELY TAILORED BLACK AND GREY CAMO-PATTERNED CARGO FATIGUE PANTS—ARE SPRAWLED IN RESTING-WARRIOR MODE, ON THE LEATHER SOFA. THEIR COMBAT-BOOTED FEET ARE PROPPED ON THE STURDY, BOOT-PROOF COFFEE TABLE. THEY ARE WATCHING A PIRATED MOVIE ON A SECRET INTERNET CHANNEL AND WASHING DOWN THE THIRD BATCH OF TRIPLE-CHOCO PUFFS WITH SHOT AFTER SHOT OF ICY JOLT COLA.

THE MOVIE ENDS, CREDITS ROLLING TO A SENTENTIOUS MUSICAL FLOOD OF HAM-HANDED, MARGINALLY APPLICABLE BIBLICAL ALLUSION, COURTESY OF JOHNNY CASH.HOW INESTIMABLY APPROPRIATE, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED…

WW (LEANING BACK – RUSTLE OF CLOTH AS THE BLACK JACKET AND MUSCLE T-SHIRT SLITHER MENACINGLY OVER HER OUTSTANDINGLY BUFFED AND TOTALLY DANGEROUS PHYSIQUE – EVIL CHUCKLE, TSK-TSK): Ehhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

BDT: How—————so, —————boss—————? (STRETCHING, SHOWING OFF A DANGEROUSLY BUFFED AND TOTAL UPPER BODY THAT IS – WELL, YOU KNOW – UM-HMMM, MAN…AND THE QUALITY OF THAT STRETCH – EHHH, LET’S NOT GO INTO IT RIGHT NOW…)

WW: Well, really! For starters: every six-year-old watching “Miami Vice” reruns knows that you never, ever handcuff a dangerous person with their hands in front of them. Ehhhh!!! The Keystoners knew better than the Feds. Those three jokers who came to collect him – surely they knew how dangerous he was. They did have his feet manacled with a chain bolted to the floor. At least one of them knew him from “back when.” The one who smirked at Kosovo. Dangling subtext, additionally…

BDT: Well, that was a not-too-subtle plot device. He wouldn’t have escaped the van otherwise.

WW: Well – okay. But what about all that running around, all those missed opportunities for total mayhem, gratuitous murder and devastating destruction…and what was it with the camera in the woods? Trees, trees, trees – snow, more trees – creepers, vines, green wet, wet green, more trees…voices whispering on omni-directional microphones in the jungle-like habitat – eeeegh! I wanted action! Action! Action! What I got was sugar! Sugar! Sugar! (REACHES FOR ANOTHER CREAM PUFF, INGESTS IT, CHASING IT WITH A MIGHTY SWIG OF JOLT.)

BDT (IN A CONCILIATORY TONE – THE AIR IS FULL OF FLOATING SUGAR AND P.T. MICRONS, AFTER ALL): Well, you’ve been to Portland, haven’t you? What could one reasonably expect? But the battle scenes at the beginning were good. And the car chase was well done. (SIDELONG SMIRK) I’ve often wondered where you learned the basics of your driving skills.

WW (OFFHANDEDLY): French Connection, Star Trek battle sequences and the Dukes of Hazzard – where else?

BDT: Who was your favorite character? As if I didn’t know…But tell me why…

WW (WISTFUL, THEN MORE INTENSE, AS ADMIRATION GROWS AND FLOWS): The dubiously paranoid, psychotic, terminally and irrevocably battle-stressed renegade Army Special Forces guy, of course. Loved those outfits!!! Super battle camo, Army muscle t-shirts and that funky all-black urban/suburban ninja-type outfit with the SuperBlade sheath sewn into the jacket. All the handy little dangling ready-to-wear tourniquet cords and zippers and strings and things. And no flesh showing except the head and the hands – that diabolically devious, admirably whacked-out head – those incredibly fast, lethal hands!! Lean, mean, buffed, dangerous, glaring, incredibly good with those marvelous, wicked blades... Melting into the woods. Now you see him – you think. Now you don’t. Now the knife is flying at you and your name’s on the blade. Zinnng – swoosh – thwack!! Mm-hmh!! My spine just tingled every time he let a blade fly. And the interrogation scenes – masterful! Soft voice, controlled movements, that menacing and perfect stillness – courteous to the woman, but absolutely lethal given one twentieth of a micron of a chance – and they knew it. They all knew it. I loved the undercurrents there. That bit where he’s standing in front of the window, backlit, with his eyes just showing white slits? Totally freaked, bebe!! “Do you understand?” She mumbles, mumbles some lame response. He’s right there. “Good.” Yeah! Farkin’ awesome. Yeah, I know it was acting – nevertheless, I wouldn’t mind having an opponent – or an associate - like that in real life. And it was refreshing to see this particular actor in a movie that for once had nothing to do with mumbling hoodlums or drug dealers – I mean, he does speak English perfectly well, for crying out loud! And from what I have observed, he has personal class off-screen – he’s not a prole! But the others??? The glamorous supermodel FBI woman?? Riiiight. She was a wipe-out in “Gladiator” too, by the way. Yukki-dukki! The ex-Special Forces Fed guys were formulaic, for the most part – although there was a dangling thread of subtext with one of them that went forever unanswered and unexplained. And that tracker guy looked absolutely washed-out and washed-up. I mean, ancient. Superannuated. Incipiently obsolete. Creak, creak, creak. Plod and slog. Lumber. Puff, puff, pant, pant. Puh-leez. My willing suspension of disbelief became pretty unwilling after his first scene. And the final chase - outrun a train? Adrenalin I understand, but still - Homie don’t play that. It’s just physics – if the train was going even twenty miles an hour, that’s a three-minute mile – they wouldn’t had a chance of jumping on. Even sprints…if they were really hauling it that fast, then Carl Lewis, move over! And moreover, that’s the fourth movie I’ve seen him in where he’s chasing someone. He should give it up, already. Enough is enough. I’m tired of seeing him as a good guy. He does superb villains. Remember “JFK?” “Cobb?” “Natural-Born Killers?” Even “Batman!” Why don’t they give him any more villains to play? Anyway…you?

BDT: Dubiously paranoid, psychotic, terminally battle-stressed renegade Army Special Forces guy without a doubt. I’ll have to try wearing my do-rag like that, next time we do a tracking exercise in the woods. Did you notice that in the scenes where he’s about to kill someone, his eyes change color – they become purely green? That is damn fine acting, in my book. And you’re dead right about the costuming. He looked great. Black and camo are definitely his colors. The shot where he’s standing at the very top of the bridge, looking down, about to jump – he looks noble. Not prey in any sense of the word. Totally in control, even in extremity. A raven-haired, emerald-eyed warrior angel of chaos and destruction, poised at the edge of the watery abyss. He looks great in everything but the scenes with the dorky beige coat – but the script implies that it was stolen from dorky Fed killers, so I forgive them for that one lapse. He’s a black ninja suit and camo kinda guy, really. But you know, boss – I sorta liked the whole movie, really. Especially the training scenes, the car chase and the knife fight at the end. Looked pretty realistic to me. I understand the actors actually studied martial arts knife fighting while preparing their roles for the film. Trained four hours a day and then some. They’re hard-working and conscientious guys, whatever you might think of the overall result.

WW (TAKES ANOTHER HEROIC SWIG OF JOLT, LAUGHS): You’re a poet, Elf-boy! Dark angel poised at the edge of the watery abyss…great image. You know, apropos of that scene, I read on the movie website that the actor who played that part is actually quite tense about heights. If you look closely, he said in an interview, you can see him gripping that railing almost tightly enough to dent it. He never lets go of the railing – not until the stuntman rescues him with that spectacular dive. And the fights? Realistic? Well yeah, they looked like they knew what they were doing, but if they’d really been martial artists, no one would have seriously broken his wrist during filming of the first fight. I mean, seven days before the end of shooting...

BDT: Well, what I read was that the two actors were diving towards that blade from opposite directions – a move they’d nicknamed the “double Pete Rose” – a move they’d actually practiced a lot. They were doing this on a forest “floor” that was padded like the floor in their portable dojo. Our man caught his arm on a plant, falling. He jammed his wrist. The other actor fell on top of that. They’re both big guys. Wrists are comparatively small. Sooooo – a handful of little fractures and dislocations, surgery, pins, a cast, and a seven-month hiatus. At least nobody really was cut. And they did the final filming with real knives.

WW: Yes – apparently the knife experts were surprised by how quickly and how well they learned. You got me there. But hey – to the trained eye, there were at least twenty-two perfect opportunities to make the fight more interesting, way before the feds showed up. And when they finally crest the ridge, what a gratuitous line: “Get on the ground?” He’s already on the ground, you screeching, ditso bimbo – and he’s not getting up, already! Yo, girl – anybody home? He has a knife in his heart! It’s over! Dang - take away her two guns and she’s a rabbit in the foxhouse. And he knew it, too. They both knew it. (TAKES A HUGE BITE OF THE LAST CREAM PUFF, CHEWS, SWALLOWS, CHASES WITH JOLT). What a bimbo!! You never confront a dangerous master of survival skills in a room with an open window above a first-story roof. Jeez!! One would have thought they’d at least have walked around the house before going in.

BDT: Well, they were talking to the girlfriend.

WW: Yeah, that hardscrabble girlfriend. Yikko nikko!

BDT: Well, they set it up that he was from West Virginia. High-school dropout or something – had been in the Army all of his adult life.

WW (SIGHS): Yup, that little scene at FBI headquarters had some mighty social commentary packed into a couple of lines, didn’t it?? I’ll parphrase the Emperor in “Amadeus” – “But – just— lookkhh at her!” I mean—two steps out of the trailer park. “I ain’t this” and “He ain’t” that. Packed suitcases right beside the kitchen counter. Unwashed coffee cups and wet footprints. Here, Feddy, Feddy!! He’s right here!! And what was the deal with her little tough-girl act, crunching those nuts at the table!! Ehhhh!! Not worthy, my man. Not worthy. Her daughter had much more sense. The renegade psycho dude knew it, too. He was training her to be a cute little Hello Kitty pigtailed tracker.

BDT: It was interesting, how the little girl thought he was just great. She’d missed him terribly while he was gone. She was overjoyed to see him lurking in the garage. Did you notice how quickly his expression changed when she spotted him? Without deliberately meaning to, she actually pressured her mother to let him stay at the house again. The power of innocence. And the conversation with Ms. FBI made it clear that the girlfriend was reluctant to think of him as a deranged psycho, when her little girl so obviously adored him. Why do you think the keys were left in the car?

WW: I sort of wonder just how much the mother really needed persuading. I have a feeling she knew that if he’d gone to any sort of trouble to hook up with her again, a little pout and shake wasn’t going to discourage him in the slightest. The opposite, rather.

BDT: Possible. Probable. He wasn’t too careful about the wet footprints either – and by the way, that is an interesting bit of subtext. These are definitely footprints made by wet bare feet. Did he get up, take a shower, shave, and come downstairs to have breakfast and visit with the “girls?” Or was he having a little one-on-one talk with Ms. Irene while Loretta was upstairs getting ready for school? Oooh. Hmmm. Commendably domestic. He’s really trying to be like other people. Dorky government issue topcoat – dorky woman – cute little girl…But they just won’t let him, will they? I’ll say, though – he was fast. When that FBI car pulled up, he was out of there like a silver streak.

WW: A real bed must have been heaven after sleeping in the woods. Even – not especially, just even – a bed with Ms. Hardscrabble in it (SMIRKS). I’m assuming there, but I’m not alone…Hmm. Wet bare feet. One wonders – backstory time... An experienced woodsman like that would never have deliberately left a spoor, as it were. Nope. Ms. Irene’s pad was his HQ. She did the hissy-missy bit outside: “Don’t think you’re just going to step back into our lives again, Aaron.” But yeah, right!!! Yada-yada! Bloooooo! Horse-puckey! His clothes were there. His razor was there. His locker was there. His knives were there. He’d just stopped by to pick up a few things – remember the black bag in the kitchen scene? – and to let his “family” know that it was time to get to stepping. Fast. Ohh – now that is an interesting bit of subtext, when you think about it... In the nighttime kitchen scene, he’s fully dressed – he even has that stupid brown coat on. He’s carrying his black ninja duffle bag, looking ready to skip out under cover of night. But he’s still there in the morning. Dressed much, much more appropriately, by the way. One wonders…

BDT: Wellll…I don’t know if I should go there or not…Little off-topic, but hey, whaddaya whaddaya…Oongots, I’d love to see him make a movie with Jack Nicholson. One where both of them were manic, irrevocably psychotic bad guys. Throw Jack Palance in, and it’s total madness and mayhem. I’d almost break cover to see that on the big screen.

WW: Ooh la la!! Words fail me, Elf-boy. I’d pirate that one myself and watch it five hundred times running.The Bearded Wonder could be in it – if they shave his beard. I’d even endure the spectacle of him trying to chase them down. Gheezzit, even Palance has more hair, and he’s twenty years older. And Palance can still do one-armed pushups. Remember that Oscar ceremony? Maybe we can write a script and submit it anonymously? Your idea is priceless. It deserves attention. Three generations of psychotic criminal minds – not exactly the Kennedy family. Not even the Osbornes…

BDT: Those weird kooks with the tattoos and the—???—are you kidding? They’re just garden-variety, dysfunctional, dweebitudinous doofusses. I’ve learned that there’s a big difference between tedious, predictable, mass-market self-destructive behavior and genuine, twenty-four carat, first-class sociopathic psychosis. (THEY LAUGH) Well…Yeah…Hmm, I’m still in character dissection mode, so I’ll go on. The little girl was important, but not as a character – more as a type, I’d say.

WW: You’re right. And not just one girl, either. Four little girls appeared at strategic points in the film.

BDT: Hmm. The director only talks about three, in one interview.

WW: Heh heh, there were four! Remember Ricoeur – once a text is released, it has a life of its own! Authors and composers – and even Oscar-winning film directors – sometimes don’t realize all that they’ve done.

BDT (FROWNING DELICIOUSLY; POOCHING PERFECT, FULL, MOBILE LIPS; CARDING A LANGUID HAND THROUGH THICK, DISHEVELED RAVEN LOCKS; NARROWING VERIDIAN AMBER ORBS IN A BAFFLING BUT CHARMING LITTLE PRIVATE SEMAPHORE…AHHHH, OHHHH, BÉBÉ! THIS IS NOT THE OPEN-MOUTHED, SULKY, LAVENDER-HARLEQUIN-PATTERNED-ARMCHAIR-SPRAWLING BOY-TOY SPEAKING HERE; THIS IS A FELLA WHO THINKS ABOUT DEEP AND HEAVY STUFF—OHHH, BABE—WE LOVE IT WHEN YOU WHIP DAT HERMENEUTICAL THANG ON US…): You have me there. It is very Ricoeurian, isn’t it? Some of the film critics tried to do a Dilthey schtick on it – the Zeitgeist, the apotheosis, and all that – but smart people just weren’t having any. And a Heideggerian analysis doesn’t really take recurring subtleties into account. Most likely the Heideggerian interpretation falls short in the realm of language. The greatest impact of this movie happens when nothing whatever is said. Take the final fight scene, for example – communication is done solely with gestures – the tracker/teacher’s pained, pleading expression as it begins – hands open and in a not-too-defensive posture – and then, slash! Not having any of it – we’re on! I see this as a reverse of the first fight, where our man asks, “Remember me?,” making a sort of gesture that’s not exactly defense and not quite offense. Instead of answering him verbally, the tracker immediately begins fisticuffs. This film is just chock-full of hermeneutical arcs, from beginning to end, isn’t it? What’s your take on the children?

WW: There was the little girl at the very beginning, searching through a room of corpses for her dolly. He was hiding, watching her. He could have jumped out and dispatched her without a sound, but he didn’t. He just watched her find the dolly and leave. There was the little girl at the airport playing hide-and-seek with her brothers – a not very subtle mesh of symbols – remember that the tracker showed her where they were? But unlike the tracker’s hunt-and-peck scenario, the children were happy to see each other when the game ended. And then there was the ditsy girlfriend’s little daughter, who obviously thought our man hung the moon. And finally, the little girl on the train at the end. The tracker didn’t have to worry about the guy our man was threatening with that fabulous twelve-inch blade. He wouldn’t have killed somebody in front of a child. Not a child he’d just been sitting next to. Not a child sitting next to her mother. Not a little blonde child like the daughter of his so-called girlfriend. Why doesen’t he grab the little girl? Ah-so. All four of these little girls, interestingly, were about the same age. With all his psycho behavior, he never harmed or even threatened an innocent. I think that’s partly why the girlfriend didn’t want to believe he had killed anybody. He was nice to her daughter, and her daughter obviously adored him. And we’re assuming – big leap of faith here, because of the total lack of chemistry – that he was – significant in some way – to her, too. At any rate, she couldn’t think of him as a killer psycho who’d lost it. By the way, they missed an opportunity for a truly great riposte during the kitchen questioning scene – but unfortunately it was already taken by another good chase movie.

BDT: What line?

WW: “You’re the FBI – you find him.”

BDT: Yeah – “The Client!!” (THEY LAUGH) Somebody writing this script obviously wanted to make her the stereotyped woman who has a secretive and probably violent man but obstinately and obliviously stands up for him, nonetheless – whether because he’s never been violent with her, or because she doubts she’ll be able to catch another one – is anybody’s guess...

WW: Yeah, but look at Bonnie and Clyde –

BDT: Point taken. She was no pushover. And she went down with him.

WW: Indeed. But this woman didn’t really know “her man” at all. I’m not even sure I could call him “her man.” And I have to wonder how much trust he really has in her – four locks on the locker, geesh!! In the sense that we see him having emotions or feelings of any kind, they are mostly directed at the little girl – a kind of protective, instructive thing. In the letter we see at the end of the movie, we read that he’s become “very close” to the daughter. She’s a daddy’s girl, and he’s obligingly filling in for daddy. Remember the letter he writes his teacher: “You’re like a father to me.” He is begging for help, desperately trying to connect with the only person who apparently had some kind of interest in him. But he mistook a transaction for a relationship. On the other hand, he does behave in a fatherly way with Miss Loretta. I wonder, what would this story have developed into if their relationship had been better defined or even extended somehow? Who would have ultimately rubbed off on whom? And the dialogue upstairs, chez Irene? “D’you care about these people here, Aaron?” The tracker knows him, you see. And it kinda sorta works. He dives from the window rather than either let Ms. FBI-Model-Ditso shoot him – blood and duvet feathers all over the little girl’s room, imagine that – or get into hand-to-hand combat with his former teacher – a battle that would have destroyed the entire top floor of a shabby little house. He moves the battlefield back onto “neutral” territory. And while I’m thinking of it – here’s a bit of irony that was certainly lost on 99.99 percent of the audience, and very likely not even occurring to the scriptwriters, unless they’re way more intelligent than I am supposing. The girlfriend is named “Irene,” a name derived from a Greek word meaning “peace.” Irenic – ironic, yes?

BDT: Yowsa.

WW (NEEDING ONLY A CALABASH, A PERSIAN SLIPPER STUFFED WITH SHAG TOBACCO, AND A VIOLIN): Exactly. Now, in a certain sense, Ms. Irene, the peaceful consort of a very dangerous, violent, single-minded, unstoppable warrior, was danged lucky. He tried to protect her, because she was in her own way innocent, and the mother of someone who had really taken to him. In his way of thinking, she and the little girl were his, and a good warrior protects his own. So he gave her a bunch of money – on PAUSE it looked like about a hundred hundred-dollar bills! - and talked her into getting ready to leave town immediately. The next morning! Imagine that! He must have been uncommonly persuasive. When the Fed came by, she was packed and nearly ready to skip. Soft answers turning away wrath! Wet bare feet! An envelope full of money! (CHUCKLES) Where did that money come from, anyway? The locker? I’m sure they searched him at FBI headquarters. Were the three Feds carrying that kind of bucks on them in the van? Anyway - But what I think Ms. Irene never really clicked on was that “her man” had a mind that was divided into airtight and impregnable compartments. We get a hint of this when the tracker finds a Bible among the stuff hidden in that big hollow tree out in the woods. A Bible? Imagine that. By the way, we see that Bible again at the end of the movie, when Bonham is reading the letters. He burns the letters, but he doesn’t burn the book. Interesting. And remember the letter I put on PAUSE - the letter the tracker is reading in his cabin? “She shares my faith.” Whuuuttttttt?????? Ehhhhhh? Hunnnh? I can’t imagine where they met. At church?????? Pffffffttttttt!!!!! Homey don’t play that! I’d love to get some backstory there.Then there’s that picture of Abraham and Isaac. In our guy’s mind, which of them is he? I think he thinks he’s Isaac. And right there, tucked between the next two pages, under the Abraham and Isaac postcard, a photo of mother and daughter…His behavior showed that he did, unlike certain of his pursuers, have a moral code. He was a warrior. He only went after others with similar mindsets. Those who were not innocent. Those who were capable of doing harm – and had done so. Those who were threatening his own survival. Or those whom he was ordered to kill. In that last letter he writes that he’s seen enough killing. He’s increasingly tormented by nightmares. He’s moved to Portland. He’s found a woman and a child. He wants to get out. But it’s too late. He’s already lost it. Down from there.

BDT: Hmm. Innocents. I thought it was only not killing women and children.

WW: Remember that conversation in the van? He is very clear that he did not kill unarmed innocent civilians. He told the Feds that the “family” he offed were really soldiers.They had weapons, and it was either him or them. Gender and age weren’t the issue – blood-guilt was. If Ms. FBI had thrown down on him, he would have skewered her without a second thought, given the tiniest imaginable sliver of opportunity. He would have seen her as a direct threat, and he would have acted to remove that threat from his reality. I think his battle stress came about partly because he was continually being ordered and sent to kill people who had not personally threatened him. He didn’t seem to have any problem offing people who’d tried to get him. When those other Special Forces types left him hanging high and dry in one assignment, they became, at one stroke, the enemy. He declared war on them, and the battle lines were firmly drawn. He didn’t go after the deer hunters because they were hunting deer. He went after them because he took a good look at their guns and concluded that they were actually combing the woods for him. He knew he could take them out armed with nothing but a knife. And he did. (FROWNS) You know, this film is becoming more subtle by the minute. The subtlety is missed in a movie theater – you really need to watch it as we did, with one finger on PAUSE and another on REWIND.

BDT: Maybe this is a far-fetched subtlety, but I thought the “squirrel-gallop-pattern” dialogue segment was an oblique sexual message aimed at her mother, the girlfriend. He knew she’d be standing on the porch watching them, and it was nighttime, and the little girl obviously wanted him to stay. Watch Ms. Irene’s come-hither stance on the porch. Watch how he’s working his fingers on the grass. I mean, really! And his lines…!! What a master of subtext!!

WW (THOUGHTFULLY): Well—sure and it was! Good catch! And who knows – did it actually appear that way in the script, or did the actor make more of it than the writers? He’s a subtle fella – remember the bar scene in “Traffic?” Outstanding. Salacious. Elegant. And completely understandable, once you knew how to look. Did you notice that he was wearing a pinky ring on the hand that set the “enhanced” pack of smokes on the bar? Those tip-tilted eyes – that coquettish tilt of the head – those suggestively pursed lips in a little half-smile, seen through a veil of smoke – well done, man!

BDT: That’s a cusp-Pisces method actor for you.

WW: Child of Oshun and Chango, as our pal Vinana-Yala would say…But the research—one wonders…Well, it doesn’t matter, we’re doing vivisection on a different film. Anyway, in this flick it looks like all that method and subtlety was wasted – the actress playing the girlfriend didn’t seem to give any sign of catching the clue at all. And dramatically speaking, there was no chemistry between them. Nix. Nitchevo. Nada. Nichts. Rien. Zero. Even the bit where she touches his shoulder – it is devoid of erotic subtext. The tracker’s actions at the end carried much, much more feeling. Curious, isn’t it? Or maybe the relevant subtext wound up on the cutting room floor. Where would they have met, I wonder? There’s so much we never knew. Juicy bits here and there, dangling in the wind. Was she wandering in the woods? Did he remove a thorn caught in her paw? Did she meet him at the 7-11, on the outskirts of town, buying water or beef jerky or Jolt? Or did her little girl see him lurking in the bushes somewhere and tame him by offering him a juice box and half of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich?

BDT (GRINNING): Like the little girl in “Frankenstein,” heh heh heh!! That’s a good one, boss. I’m pretty adept with subtexts, aren’t I?

[SCRIPTWRITER 1 INTERJECTS: YOU THINK SO, ELF-BOY? YOU REALLY THINK SO? HEH, HEH, YOU SHOULD READ THE VERY “ALTERNATIVE” BACKSTORY I’M WRITING FOR THIS FLICK, ON MY OWN TIME. IT’LL BLOW THE WAX RIGHT OUTTA YOUR EARS, PAL.]

[SCRIPTWRITER 2 RETORTS: I’VE SEEN IT. IT WOULD MAKE CARL JUNG GAG ON A SPOON. NOBODY WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR TWISTED, DEPRAVED FANTASIES, HON’———WHAT? SOMEBODY WANTS TO KNOW? SHAME ON YOU. AIN’T YOU A GOOD ‘MURRICAN?? AIN’T YOU FER FAMILY VAL-YOUZZ? AND “AIN’T” YOU OUT THERE FORGETTING SOMETHING? THESE ARE NOT REAL PEOPLE. THEY ARE CHARACTERS IN A STORY. FICTION. MADE UP. NOT FOR REAL. OKAY?]

[SCRIPTWRITER 1: IF THEY’RE MADE UP, AND IF THE TEXT HAS A LIFE OF IT’S OWN, THEN I’M HOME FREE, AREN’T I? PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE SCRIPTWRITER IN THE CORNER. SHE’S JUST P.O.’ED BECAUSE I HAD THE INSPIRATION FIRST. HERE’S YOUR ONE AND ONLY CLUE AND JOURNAL PROMPT, SPORTS FANS. WHAT IF THE ‘GIRLFRIEND’ IN PORTLAND ISN’T THE REAL REASON OUR MAN BLOWS BACK INTO TOWN? WHAT IF THERE’S ANOTHER, JUICIER, MORE INTRIGUING, MORE INTERESTING, MORE, UMM, ALTERNATIVE STORY IN BACK OF THE ONE PRESENTED TO US? ENQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW, DON’T THEY? WELL, TOO BAD. IF WE TOLD YOU WHAT WE KNEW, WE’D HAVE TO KILL YOU.]

[SCRIPTWRITER 2: YOU JUST MADE THE CAPITOL HILL CONTINGENT ECSTATICALLY HAPPY. I HEAR CHAMPAGNE CORKS POPPING AT A DISTANCE. JUST CAN’T LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE OR LYING DOGS SLEEP, CAN YOU?]

[SCRIPTWRITER 1: THE TEXT HAS A LIFE OF ITS OWN. THE GODS OF STORYLINE WHISPERED THIS TO ME WHEN BECAME OBVIOUS THAT THERE WERE HUGE HOLES AND UNEXPLAINABLE SAGS IN THE PLOT LINE. FOR EXAMPLE, THERE IS UNEXPLORED BACKSTORY WITH THE SMIRKIN’ DUDE IN KOSOVO, WHO LATER SHOWS UP AS PART OF A FORCE OF THREE ORDERED TO MAKE OUR MAN PERMANENTLY “MIA.” FURTHERMORE, I JUST COULD NOT GET PAST THE COMPLETE AND TOTAL LACK OF CHEMISTRY IN OUR MAN’S SCENES WITH HIS “GIRLFRIEND.” IT SUGGESTS – WELL, I FORBEAR TO BEAR FUR…

[SCRIPTWRITER 2: FOR WHICH WE ARE INORDINATELY THANKFUL. YOU ARE A HOPELESS, DEPRAVED, UNREPENTANT CAPTIVE OF DUBIOUS SUBTEXT.]

[SCRIPTWRITER 1:THANK YOU, CAPTAIN.]

[SCRIPTWRITER 2: WHATEVER. BACK TO OUR MOVIE, ALREADY IN PROGRESS…]

WW: You are, indeed. While we’re at it, there was way too much blood, for so-called professionals. Messy, messy, messy.

BDT (SMIRKING): A certain percentage of underage kids sneaks into every violent flick. The movie people knew this, and I think they catered to it. But these are knife fights, and in a knife fight, everybody gets cut. And another thing - those hand-to-hand fights looked – well, pretty erotic to me, in a twisted kind of way, you know. I mean, that weird smile changing to an expression of anguish in the first full-body throw-down of the first fight, and then that thing the tracker does with the hair – at the very end…that was a caress. Ehhhhhhh….whazzit? Or, to be blasphemously cynical, maybe it was just “Ohhhh, ohhhhhh – you had hair – thick gorgeous beautiful hair - and I don’t – and I still don’t, dammit!” (THEIR LAUGHTER IS WICKED, UPROARIOUS, TOTALLY WITHOUT RESPECT)

WW (MORE SERIOUSLY): Do you think he deliberately threw that fight?

BDT: It did cross my mind. The FBI people kept saying that he wouldn’t come in alive. He probably realized the irrevocability of his actions, at some point. I think he wanted to die like a warrior, beaten by the only person he considered good enough to take him out honestly, man to man, in a fair fight. You remember that in one of his letters to the tracker-teacher, he ridiculed the people he thought were being sent out to “sweep” him. He said they were robots, not soldiers. He thought guns were a coward’s way of killing. And it turned out that those two guys in the woods were totally helpless and fatally inept without their high-tech guns. And the teacher was ambivalent about chasing him, in a certain way. Why does L.T. climb the bridge, when he’s so afraid of heights? Because the hounds down below are shooting at “his boy,” and he doesn’t want “his boy” to be picked off with a nameless bullet and put down like a rabid animal. “My boy.” “The kid – swims like a fish.” “The kid.” That’s how he sees him, but he also sees the psycho killer, and in his mind, the two just don’t go together. So he’s ambivalent, even as he knows that he must stop his “boy” before half of the FBI winds up sliced and diced. The tracker wants our man for himself, and he’s slick enough to maneuver the others into letting him have his way. “I made him what he is, and I can stop him.” And it worked. They held their fire. Our dark angel plunges feet-first into the abyss. And they meet on the killing ground, just the two of them, as it has been from the beginning. Remember in the train? “Let’s keep this between us!” Exactly.

WW (SERIOUSLY): I think you may be right. We’re excellent psychoanalysts, Elf-boy – we should re-write this script, next time we get snowed in. Or at least do backstory on it. But let’s return to the first part of your statement. (SMIRKS) Gratuitous grappling, incongruous facial expressions, anomalous gestures – yup, you’re an excellent subtext detective. The fights are strangely and spookily erotic, especially if you just listen to the audio with your eyes closed. Football, wrestling and hand-to-hand combat, in our culture, are the only acceptable ways for ostensibly heterosexual human males to have full-body contact with each other. (HER TONE BECOMES A BIT PROFESSORIAL AND A LOT FACETIOUS) In the mass mind, it’s all about power – throwing down or being thrown down. Men overpower women, sexing. Men strive to overpower each other, fighting. This movie had a couple of token females, but to my perception, not a whit of overt or covert sexual energy passed between them and any of the males. It was all about man to man, man on man, mano a mano - I had to laugh to myself. Full-body hand-to-hand combat, armed with penetrative weapons – even the Feds’ creepy little “painless kill” gizmo was phallic in design and use. And all that rolling and grappling and grunting and grimacing and open-mouthed gasping – yeepers, c’mon, puhleez, gimme a break here!! Where’s Sigmund Freud when you need him? Acting, eh?? Right. Art imitates life. Here’s a prediction for you. When this one goes to video, guess who’s going to empty the rental stores for at least the first month? Gay men. I would bet money on it. Those guys can’t be fooled. They know subtext. And while we’re at it, remember Kirk and Spock in the old Trek series? Another prime example, one that slash fanfic scribblers and astute psychosexual cultural commentators and analysts will explore and dilate upon for years to come. But the movie-going public, bless ‘em, isn’t about subtlety. I feel better now that we’ve talked about this. I think I really do like this movie – a lot! It’s cunning and subtle, and it’s actually quite racy in a way I never expected. I think I’ll watch it again. You’re a maven of subtext. I’m a connoisseur of ambiguity. (STRETCHES, SHOWING OFF HER TOTALLY BUFFED, ENVIABLY DANGEROUS PHYSIQUE) Woofie – I sound like Sandman now. Well, anyway - this thing had plot holes big enough to fly a 747 through. But - it does make me feel like throwing blades tonight. Dang – if I weren’t so full of choco and Jolt, I’d say we go down to the workout room and practice.

BDT: Why not? I’ve never known you to be too full to fight.

WW (PSYCHO GRIN): You’re right, as always. Let’s rock and roll! We’ll work off some of that sugar. (LOGS OUT OF SITE, STANDS UP, STRETCHES, GRABS TWO FRESH ICY COLD BOTTLES OF JOLT FROM THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY, HEAVY SILVER ICE BUCKET. THEY HEAD FOR THE STAIRS.)

LH (MEETING THEM IN HALLWAY, SIMULTANEOUSLY BOOGYING AND HOLDING A HEAVY SILVER TRAY PILED WITH FRESH HOT TRIPLE-CHOCO PUFFS): Hey, what about these? I just took them out of the oven. <<What’s love – got to do with it got to do with it, hey!>>

BDT (GRABS TRAY): Perfect! We’ll be down in the workout room, trying to filet each other. This’ll be great for a break. (LISTENS, SMIRKS) Thanks - Tina.

LH (SOMEWHAT SULKY): Don’t I get to keep one? <<Who needs a heart – when a heart can be bro – o – ken? >>

BDT (HANDING HER TWO HOT PUFFS FROM THE TRAY): Here. Enjoy. There’s plenty of Jolt on ice in the ‘puter room. The secret URL for the movie is bookmarked, if you want to watch it again.

LH (SMIRKS): Oh no, I can’t. Tonight is chat night for my journal/crafty group. I’m just in time to go online. <<She works hard – for the money>> (JUGGLES PUFFS WITH ONE HAND, SNAPPING FINGERS OF OTHER HAND, BOOGYING HARDER) <<haaa-aard for the money>>

BDT: Don’t forget to use the filter, okay? (ONE SLOW-DANCE, SLOE EYE EYES THE BOOGYING WITH APPRECIATION – THE OTHER EYE EYES THE STAIRS, WITH SOME TREPIDATION.)

LH (ANNOYED): Hey! I’m the one who set it up, homeboy. I won’t forget. (BOOGYING INTO COMPUTER ROOM, SHAKING IT WITH A FLIP, PONYTAIL BOUNCING IN ITS PINK CAMOUFLAGE PATTERNED HOLDER) <<Ba-a-ad girls – Talkin’ bout>> (MUNCHING CREAM PUFF) Mmm-mmm-hmm!!

MEANWHILE, IN THE HOT TUB, THINGS ARE HEATING UP.

KDL (LAZILY): This is good, Sandman. Many thanks.

LN: I’m glad you approve. (SWIGS FROM HIS TUMBLER, CRUNCHING A PIECE OF ICE). Hmmm, Pellegrino and P.T. – now, that’s my way to spend a Saturday evening. Unless – you have other plans…?

KDL (PRETENDING NOT TO TAKE THE BAIT): Like – what?

LN (LEERS): I heard something about one-armed pushups – oh, the other day when you got in. Seems you and the boss have an ongoing thing with calisthenics.

KDL: We’ve been keeping a running tally since we first met and decided to embark upon our lives of crime.

LN: Who’s ahead?

KDL: Depends on which calisthenics you’re talking about. I’m ahead in full-body pushups – by 3. She’s ahead in one-armed, by 11. I’m ahead in chin-ups – by one-half.

LN: One-half?

KDL: I was singing at the time – my best Patsy ever. I unfortunately sneezed.

LN: Ohhh? Well, the night is yet young. And I think I heard her and the young man go into the workout room. Obviously some kind of — (MEANINGFUL PAUSE, LEER) — workout — is being conducted even as we speak.

KDL (FROWNING): Hmm?? Well, I think it’s time to crash the party, don’t you?

LN (GRINNING): Sure. Don’t forget your water.

(SPLASH – THUD – PAD – PAD – PAD ACROSS FLOOR - EXIT)

IN THE WORKOUT ROOM:
MUSIC UP: “Respect” – Aretha Franklin

WW (CHUCKLING AS SHE REMOVES HER FATIGUE SHIRT TO REVEAL HER SPLENDID, TOTALLY BUFFED AND INHUMANLY DANGEROUS UPPER BODY CLAD IN A TIGHT DARK GREY T-SHIRT): Okay, Elf-boy – you’re on. (TOSSES HIM A GREAT WICKED BLADE. THE DIM LIGHTING DANCES OFF RAZOR-SHARP EDGES AS IT TWIRLS IN MIDAIR).

BDT (CATCHING IT DEFTLY BY THE BLADE, TURNING IT OVER, LOOKING MORE CLOSELY) Hey – a tracker knife! Just like the movie!

WW (LOOKING OVER WEAPONS RACK, PICKING UP BLADE FOR HERSELF, TOSSING AND TWIRLING IT): Yup – (MIMICKING MOVIE CHARACTER’S VOICE AND ACCENT) – He didn’t use a hat-chit – he used a nahff. With a sehr-rated edge on one sahde an’ a fee-layin’ blade on th’ uhtha. (EVIL SNICKER, RETURNING TO HER NORMAL, CRISP, PSYCHOTICALLY ACCENTED DICTION) I’m not an aging hunk with an incipient pot belly, a seamed face, a supremely unflattering beard and thinning hair, but just for fun I thought it might be nice to exercise a bit of verisimilitude. Want to start with some simple target throws, or just whip right in with the martial arts stuff?

BDT: Well…

WW (TOTALLY WHACKED OUT, PSYCHO GRIN): C’mon! Want to role-play? Four blades or just two? Three to one? You be the psycho, then I’ll be the psycho.

BDT (SOTTO VOCE): Tell me something I don’t know, already.