WARNING: NEIL TYPOS AHEAD...
You think I’m crazy, right? By now you know my decision-making skills (starting with my ill-fated choice of buying a motorcycle) leave more than a bit to be desired. But that’s a conversation for another day.
Let’s get back to the knock on the door and the sweet voice on the other side.
Mr. DEA Agent, calm as can be, saunters to the door. All the while the gunfire keeps going. And going.
I’m still hunkered down. I’m crazy not stupid.
Mr. DEA opens the door. There stands a dude dressed on in black. Even his face is painted like he just jumped out of an old Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. He’s leaning against the door jam picking at his teeth.
“So, you want me fluff pillow?” the man says in a high-pitched voice.
“Took you long enough,” Mr. DEA says.
“We didn’t plan on your biker buddies being here. You know I don’t like complicated. I like vanilla, easy peasy out and cheesy.” The man cranes his neck around Mr. DEA. “And who’s that guy?”
Mr. DEA lies. “Another inside guy. I’d tell you who he is but then I’d have to—“
The man in black holds up a hand to stop the line. “Okay, okay. I get it. You do super duper top secret squirrel stuff now. But you can’t tell me you don’t miss the shoot em up bang bang.”
“I think I miss the facepaint more than the bang bang getting shot at.” Then he leaned in closed and whispered to his buddy. They look over at me twice.
The guy in black disappears just as I realize the shooting has stopped. Mr. DEA walks over to me and I rise to standing, careful not to wobble.
He puts his hands on his hips and says, “Now, what are we going to do about you?”
All I wanted to do was go home.
When I have time I’ll tell you the rest of the story.
Here’s to crazy!