Tuesday, June 22, 2010

The Streak - 93

We sit at the isolated end of the bar, hunkered against the threat of recognition. Up on the screen the All-Star Game is going on. It's a seven-seven tie in the seventh inning.

"What do you make of all these sevens?" Kyle asks with a spooked look.

"End of the world," I reply. "End of days."

"The big whaddaya call it? The agony and ecstasy?"

"The Rapture."

"I bet it's something worse."

We drink in solemn silence. Then Kyle slams his glass onto the bar and sits bolt upright.

"What the fucking Christ?!" he yells.

I look up where he's looking. There's a breaking news crawl at the bottom of the screen:


"That's weird," I say. I can't think of what else to say.

Kyle leans back and examines me with a frown. As though from across a divide.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" I say. I laugh a little. It does seem funny.

"Call one of those fucking guys. Call Joe."

"Good idea."

I pull Joe's card out of my wallet and dial.

"Hello Evan."

"Joe? What the fuck is going on?"

"Ah. I suppose you've seen the news. Good."


"Long story short, Evan. We've dispatched your double."

"My double?!"

"He's in the hands of Moo now."

"What? Aren't they gonna kill him?"

"Maybe. Except we enlisted Thelxiepeia to plant a sophisticated tracking device on his person."


"She swapped his fake World Series ring with my real one using her mouth."

"Good God."

"Thanks to her patriotic service, federal authorities will soon be storming the miscreants' lair."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing at all, Evan. Nothing at all. Don't go anywhere. Don't speak to anyone. To anyone but me and Matt."

"And Kyle?"

"Sure. Kyle."

I hang up, dumbfounded. Kyle orders us another round.

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