Holed up in this shitty hotel room, we’re bathed in television glow. My fine friend sleeps like a baby on one of the beds. He has finally developed Stockholm syndrome as I hoped he would. He doesn’t care anymore if he lives or dies. That’s where I needed him to be all along.
The program on the TV ends and the news comes on. I turn up the volume a few notches. The top news stories narrate our shenanigans from last week: A local man is still missing after police found a blood trail leading to his missing vehicle. Suspects still sought in the destruction of three cellphone towers in the area. If anyone has information about the man in the shoe store fire video, please call CrimeStoppers.
Finally, the story I’d been waiting for. The one that hasn’t happened yet:
Renowned physicist, scheduled to speak at the local university, kidnapped.
“Wake up partner!”
Mister pussypants starts to stir.
“Wake the fuck up!”
He sits up, rubs his eyes, and looks in my direction.
“Saddle up cowboy. We’ve got work to do.”