PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…
AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…
After leading us through a door and down a dark hallway, the cowboy screeched his Segway to a halt in front of an elevator.
He pushed the down button.
“Here, buckaroos, is where I leave you.”
“OK then,” I said. “Happy trails, pardnah.'”
“Before I go…the rules.”
“The rules!” the cowboy repeated loudly. “You’ll follow them to the letter if you don’t want to get thrown out of here. Rule Number One. Do not ask Informant Zero his name. If he wanted you to know, he wouldn’t refer to himself as Informant Zero.”
“Makes sense.”
“Rule Number Two. Do not touch Informant Zero in any way, shape, or form.”
“But I like touching shadowy underworld characters,” I said. “It’s a condition. I can’t help it.”
Delilah tugged on my sleeve. “Now is not the time, Mr. Hatcher.”
The cowboy squinted at me, attempting to discern whether or not I was joking. Obviously I was, but he let it go.
“Rule Number Three, do not remove Informant Zero’s disguise. He takes a number of precautions to hide himself from the world, and he needs to keep it that way.”
“Kinda redundant, Jack,” I said. “Touching him would be required to reveal him. You could have stopped at number two.”
“NO, YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED AT NUMBER TWO!!!”
This guy was like a ticking time bomb, the slightest provocation set him off.
His comeback didn’t even make sense, but I didn’t want to rile him up any further.
“We like Informant Zero,” the cowboy said. “We want to keep him around. People are only allowed to conduct business with him when they follow the rules, capiche?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to…”
Another tug on my sleeve from Delilah.
“We capiche,” she assured our guide. “We very much capiche, thank you Mr. Redacted.”
“All right then,” the cowboy said as the elevator dinged. “As long as you kemo sabes capiche.”
The doors opened and we stepped inside.
“Enjoy your visit and tell old IZ I said hello.”
Just before the doors closed, I snuck in a, “Go suck some cottage cheese ya’ sick bastard.”
And just before our descent, I heard a fist pound the metal doors, followed by an, “OW!!! SON OF A…”
“Mr. Hatcher, that was quite uncalled for.”
“I’m sorry Ms. Donnelly. I just didn’t like the cut of his jib.”
“Well you’re going to have to get used to jibs of all different shapes and sizes if you’re going to make it in this world. The days when everyone marches to the tune of the same drummer are long gone.”
“Tell me about it.”
Like a trip to Veracruz, it was a long ride.
As we continued to plummet deep below the Earth’s surface, Delilah piped up again.
“Mr. Hatcher, were the olden days really that good?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Everyone foisted their personal beliefs on you and threatened to ruin you if you didn’t comply.”
“So why are you in such a hurry to get away from the present?”
I didn’t skip a beat.
“Because everyone foists their personal beliefs on me and threatens to ruin me if I don’t comply.”
Bookshelf Battle 