HELL OF A DEAL, a supernatural satire

Chapter Fifteen

15

Within Al Smith's private sanctuary, atop the Smith Tower building in Studio City, Lou Seaford twirled with a bottle of tequila.

Lou barked ideas so that Bob Strohmeyer would type them up. "The squad's in Fallujah, and they grab this Arab guy, and it's gonna be a hilariously funny torture scene."

"Funny?" Al glanced over from the couch, which was set off to the side of the office near a row of windows. "Funny torture?"

"Fuck yeah," Lou yelled back. "They got the rag head tied to a chair, naked. Huh? And they cut off his pinky finger!" Lou laughed with an odd squeak.

Bob Strohmeyer typed frantically, and he tried to keep pace with Lou's outpouring of creativity. Bob smiled cautiously, and he nodded along.

Al held up his palm, which nobody but he saw. "Wait a minute. You're playing with fire. You could lose the aud here."

"They'll be too busy laughing to give a shit." Lou danced lightly about with his bottle.

"Why? What's funny?"

"All right boss man." Lou's tone waned. "They put the finger in the guy's mouth and tell him to eat it!"

Al squirmed. "That's supposed to be funny?"

"If he doesn't eat it, they're gonna cut off his pecker!"

Bob laughed out loud. Lou guzzled down another sip of tequila, and he shoved the bottle over at Bob.

Al shook his head side to side. "I'm not finding it funny."

"Wait for the punch line, L. When they start to slice into his dick and he screams, Allah! Priceless!"

Al's face froze, mortified. "Making a guy eat his own finger can't be made funny."

Lou spread his arms widely. "Sound effects make it crunchy."

Bob busted out in cackling laughter. Bob pinched his tongue between his teeth, and he banged out the word C-R-U-N-C-H-Y.

Lou paused so that Bob would finish. "And then, he can't swallow it. The bones are too much. It jams down in his throat. He's choking. Can't breathe. He's turning purple. Eyes popping out."

Bob typed along, fully entertained.

Al sat back, and his spine sank deep into the couch. He gazed over at Bob, and he assessed the responses. "Does the guy die?"

"No." Lou paused. "Iced Benz saves him, with a Heimlich maneuver. The guy spits the finger across the room. Poof!"

"All right."

"So, the boys figure he can't swallow the next digit, unless he has something to wash it down with!" Lou snatched a coffee mug from Al's desktop, and he held it in front of his crotch. "So the Latino Over-man pisses in the cup, fills it up!"

Bob exploded with guffaws. "That's fucking hilarious!"

Smith stood up, visibly disturbed. "So there's a good reason for this scene? They, they, they have a ticking time bomb, and this guy has the key to saving everyone?"

"Nah." Lou shrugged. "Somebody spray painted, 'Fuck America, Go Home,' on a wall. So this guy they grabbed probably knows who did it. They're gonna get him to give up the artist, so they can really deal some payback."

"I see. I see." Al needed some air. Stress had pent up inside, and his eyes were fatigued, dry. "I need to get on the treadmill." Al untied his tie, and he floated over to his machines.