The Alarm Clock at the End of the World

Part 55: The Following Evening.

The terrace is largely obscured by a wall of potted shrubs. All I can see around it is three terrified and surprised security goons with pistols drawn. The smoke is starting to fade and no more firecrackers are going off. Nepotism steps from behind some old money in peach dresses lined with pearls. Now that the attack appears to be over, guests are calming. A few are still hysterical, and some crying, but the frantic screaming and dashing about has stopped. The more resolved men are already smoothing their suits and internally raging about how they will whip the Chinese girl they bought if she can’t get the stains out, growing steadily more excited as they decide to whip her either way, just to prove a point.

The proper authorities will be notified and the appropriate forms will be signed. In the mean time, there is a party to be had, and too much money has been spent on booze and cocaine to ignore that. All these people want is to forget their ordeal before they can be questioned for culpability. Nep and I make eye contact and I point my thumb to the crystal doors. Nep has that big black briefcase clutched tightly to his chest. “Let’s do it,” he whispers.

People are still panting and looking around frantically. A few have even been able to encapsulate what has happened, but are overwhelmed with insurmountable disgust that someone would have the audacity to launch such an embarrassing attack. What kind of petty enemies did SpectraCom have that they wouldn’t even use real bombs? By Rockefeller’s Ghost, this event is barely worth a soundbite! Surely no one will even think of buying the interviews that a few chosen reporters have already started to collect.

“I have a good mind to go home right now,” says Clive Prince, owner of the “MKDonalds” fast food and morphine bars that have become overwhelmingly popular in the last decade. “If I wasn’t waiting for the call girls to get here, of course.”

“I know what you’re saying,” says Mark Lehner, who is best known for playing “Andy” on the hit WB prime time dramedy, “People in Desperate Positions with Sad Music to Pull Your Heartstrings.” It ran a record ten seasons until cancelled for “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” reruns despite Desperate’s reputation as “...one of the most heartwarming shows this reporter has ever been bribed to praise...”

“We need to hurry,” I whisper. “Someone is going to recognize us, or at least get a picture. I don’t want one of these shots ending up in ‘Entertainment Weekly.’”

Mephis nods in agreement. “I’ve met every person here at least once.”

“We don’t have time for the two of you to go around sticking your face in some paparazzi’s camera,” Nepotism scolds.

“Come on, Nep,” I say. “Think of the column headings.” I trace a line of the column subtitle to aid in his visualization. “‘Was terrorist attack a cover to get uninvited cryptozoologist Dr. Filth in to party?’”

Nepotism snorts. “You’re pathetic.” He turns away, stomping toward the crystal door, briefcase still clutched to his chest. “Come on.”

Go to Part 56