Chapter 106: Who is afraid of TV ... me

My play dead weekend got interrupted by only one thing, I rented one of the last two units. It went to an EMT, but not EMT Eddie. He never had any intention of doing anything but leading Kate along the path of deception. The EMT who rented it was a young man fresh out of the community college and new to Aster.

His name was Roy Rogers, no relation, he was quick to point out. Roy was more than willing to play along though. He told me, when discussing how he would be moving in, that he and his friends from the base would be moving furniture in his Ford pickup named trigger. I just shook my head and took his check. Part of the appeal of my place for him was the need for only a few pieces of furniture.

I watched Roy and two of his friends as they moved in his full size, but still somehow small bed. then came a dresser which had been painted black and matched nothing. Followed by lots of cardboard boxes, which reminded me of my place. Then finally a truck arrived two hours after everything else had been moved in. The big ass box, which the two large black delivery men carried into the forth apartment read, 'Flat Screen TV'. They also took in a sofa, chair, table and lamps. I decided that he had bought the Combo package, I saw advertised all the time on TV. You know "Buy the room, get the TV." Roy had sprung for the entertainment unit with his new found credit. It was a bit of a mystery how he could rent the apartment in the morning and get it all delivered that same afternoon. Who knows how desperate they were to sell that crap.

I stayed in the game until it was apparent that Roy had finished with the strangers running in and out. When it seemed that things were back to more or less normal. I took a late afternoon nap. I knew that my security awareness had slipped some. I also knew that unless I bought into some really heavy duty crap, I didn't need more security than I had built into the apartments. It was way more than the street thugs and gang bangers would expect. Even the Russians would most likely get swept up in it. The Swamp Thing's black bag guys would laugh at it, but then why would they be coming for me.

All security systems are based on the level of threat. They guard nuclear secrets with more security than the president gets when he travels. It's all about how sophisticated you think the threat will be, that determines the level of security. I didn't think I needed as much protection as either a nuclear warhead or the president. Since that was the case, falling asleep late Saturday afternoon was easy.

Sunday my walk at the mall was pretty much alone. It appeared that most people had a family to spend the morning with. It didn't matter. I walked for the exercise not the camaraderie. When I finished my two miles, I rode the bike back to the apartment. The bike went into the utility room, and I went inside my apartment.

You had to love computers. Even though it was Sunday morning, I was able to cancel my ads for the apartment rental.

By Monday I was not only fully rested, I was pacing the floors. My mind had switched gears yet again. Nothing but trouble could come from my new frame of mind. I knew it, so forewarned should be forearmed. I had breakfast still not sure what decision I would make, but knowing I was about to make yet another change in my life. I wanted to throw my hand up and yell "Why me God". Since god had never answered me, I didn't bother.

Instead I went to the Mall to walk. I was going to be late arriving at Jen's office, but I didn't really care. Let them all get together and have their guns locked and loaded. At least then it would be a fair fight. I was more than ready for them. During the walk I worked out what I wanted to say, even if I didn't have a decision yet. I really did appreciate Irish Martin's heads up.

When I left the mall, the bike ran out of gasoline. In the excitement I had forgotten to fill it up. Since the bike required oil and gasoline to be mixed, I couldn't just push it to the service station. That explains why I had a high impact plastic, pancake style canteen filled with gas strapped into the handlebar basket. It would also make a nice fire if I needed one in a hurry.

The little delay made me a few minute later than I had expected to be. "So how late am I?" I asked the receptionist upon my arrival.

"Twenty minutes by the clock but only five minutes later than one of the others," she said.

"If I knew who all was in the room, I could tell you which one it was." I said smiling. I just walked on back to the conference room. "Sorry guys," I said upon entering. "I had trouble with one of Marty's piece of shit bikes." No, I didn't tell them that I let it run out of gas.

"Come on in we have been waiting," Jen said smiling at me. She wasn't a bit upset. That should have scared the hell out of me. "I think you know almost everyone. Marty of course," he nodded. "Martin from Executive Security, " he gave me a big smile. "Last but not least, Thurman Slope from Real TV Network."

"Ah the cable network which is home to all the crap housewives love to hate," I suggested.

"And damn proud of it," Slope said smiling.

"You are much younger than I expected. Are you head of programing or even farther down?" I asked smiling.

"Head of new product development. I'm the one who decides what crap we put on for the horny housewives."

"Tell me Mr. Slope, does your boss know what kind of snakes he is getting into bed with?" I turned to Marty the bike peddler and Irish Martin, the washed up Mercenary, as I spoke.

"Actually we do. This is one of those symbiotic relationships. We don't come in with the cleanest of hands. As you said we program crap and we know it. They want to produce crap that we get really cheap. In exchange they get the product placement which amounts to an infomercial. Marty's Internet infomercials were a big hit. We would just like to do the same thing on real TV. It would be revolutionary, if it works. Of course you will be a TV star in the process."

"You can't sell me, so save the grease for someone who needs it. This ain't my first ass fuckin' cowboy. I must be stupid as hell to even be here listening. Marty there has lied to me, set me up, and used me shamelessly, but here I am again."

Martin started to speak. He should have sat quietly. "And then there is Swamp Thing, represented by Irish Martin. You knew they had to change their name a half dozen times. Once for each time a country kicked them out. Marty will use you, try to cheat you, and generally double cross you at every turn, but Swamp Thing, they just might kill your ass. Now, did you know all that Slope?"