There I was balls deep in my Administrative Assistant when I heard the phone ring. "Christ", I gasped, "Of all times for the god damn phone to..." Dropping her nail file she reached for the receiver. I marvelled at her ability to multi-task and made a mental note to give her a raise. I drove into her like a Toyota Land Cruiser through a deep ravine on the savannah. My fingers grasped her ample buttocks leaving indentations in the firm flesh. A white light flashed inside my brain, my knees began to buckle and from far away I heard Takiyah's voice...
"Nick O'Tyme, Urbane Guerrilla's office, how may I help you?" Silence. "Yes, Lieutenant? Well, sir, I expect him any moment...he's just coming now, sir...yes, thank you, sir." She pressed mute and turned slightly, watching me pulling up my trousers. "Nick, its Lieutenant Ryan on line one. Nick? Nick, did you hear what I said?"
My mind wasn't on work this morning. Carolyn had awoken me with a cup of steaming hot joe and with her mouth firmly around my shame she had brought me off so suddenly I hadn't had time to warn her of the impending consequence of her warm, wet wake-up call. She was annoyed. She expects a shoulder tap and if she doesn't get it she thinks she's got a green light. For all her good-naturedness Carolyn remains reluctant to be nourished with andro-protein. Her east coast WASP roots the most likely reason for her bulimic like response to fellatio.
"Ryan? What the hell does that bastard want at 9 o'clock in morning?"
"He says its urgent, Nick," she continued, arranging her skirt at the same time.
"Takiyah, call those payroll people and tell them I have authorised a raise for you."
"A raise? Nick, didn't you just give me a raise?" she smirked.
"Hey, boundaries there girlfriend. Without boundaries we are lost as a society...oh hell, never mind. I'll take the call in my office."
"Yes sir, Boss," she smiled warmly.
I don't know what I'd do without her I thought..."Oh, send Carolyn some flowers, you know what she likes..." Walking into the office and closing the door behind me I prepared to hear my best friend's voice.
"Ryan, don't tell me you're cancelling lunch! Its St. Paddy's Day fer Christ's sake! What's up?"
"Nicky, turn on CNN. The live feed they're posting isn't pleasant."
From his inflection I knew immediately that the news was bad. Was it ever good?
I watched the aerial camera shots from the Time-Warner owned helicopter appear on the plasma screen.
"Nick...brace yourself...its Abu Garcia...they've overtaken the Bass Pro Shops operation in Missouri. Nick, they've got hostages...among them are members of the Bass Pro Tour, in town for a promotional tournament."
"Jebus! Is it ever gonna stop, Ryan? I mean, we can't let these bastards get away with this crap..."
"Nicky, it gets worse...they...they've got Roland Martin in that building."
The chill up my spine was like the feeling you get when you check online to see your 401k is worth a quarter of what it was the day before. "Martin? I thought he was at Sam Rayburn for the season? What the fuck is going on, Ryan?"
To be continued...
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