Now, the big thing to keep in mind here is that I can’t do anything small. Even the simplest of acts, like, oh, I dunno – shopping? – leaves me gasping with vitae and a rant to write. So something this monumental had to be marked with elaborate scheming. I mean, after all, how many times am I gonna get to do this in my life? Five or six at best? (No, no, honest, I’m kidding Kwipette my love; please put down that dagger…)
Where was I…ah, yes. THE PLAN. The original plan had been to just out and out pop the question at a romantic getaway we had scurried off to. But a close friend of mine pointed out that not only was that boring, but probably wouldn’t work. No, he suggested, for this to work, you’ve got to make her afraid of something WORSE than marrying you!
I suggested leprosy, but wiser minds won out.
After months of planning (that’s not an exaggeration), I had assembled my team of players:
Old army buddy:
Chase Car Crew:
Gaming Point posse:
Yellow Rat Bastard (YRB)
I had reserved the place it was going down, and had all the guests in place. Now…ACTION!
The evening starts of quiet enough. Kwipette got stuck working till 9pm that evening (which of course worked perfect for me, cause I could run around getting everything set up). She gets home around 10, and we visit for a little bit. I have told her that an old Military Intelligence buddy of mine is coming to town – I have also spent a few weeks before this hinting of how crazy this friend was, how he often revealed top secret info to me, and how he had previously almost gotten me in serious trouble.
11pm rolls around, and we boogy out to the bar that we’re meeting my friend in front of – important note here, we’re meeting that friend in FRONT of the bar, not IN the bar – why is that important? Read on: We’re standing out front, awaiting my friend. Suddenly, my friend (Mike) comes running up to me, carrying a large briefcase. I reach my hand out to shake his hand, and he slaps a handcuff on my wrist that’s firmly attached to the briefcase. Kwipette and I stare in bewilderment at him as he stammers, “Kwip, I’m in serious trouble. Whatever you do, don’t open that briefcase! Don’t go to the police! Go to Yellow Rat Bastard’s – I’ll call you later there!” and then takes off up the alley.
Kwipette and I share a stunned look at each other. Can this really be happening? At that moment, a sedan rolls slowly by us. The men inside are all wearing dark suits, straight out of some bad 70s spy flick. The man in the passenger compartment is looking right at us, talking on a cell phone. Kwipette, being the cool-headed chica she is, panics and drags me over to a doorway. We are completely flustered – she tells me she’s sure those men were looking right at us. We decide we should get out of there, but not go directly to YRBs (He owns a gaming shop in town that many of us frequent). Instead we’ll drive around a bit, in case we’re being followed.
For those of you wondering, the men in the sedan were the “G-men” team (the driver was Kampahn). Parked nearby us was the “chase” vehicle that held a driver, a camera-woman, and a radio operator that was in contact with the G-men, telling them where we were each step of the way. Hee hee – did I mention I do nothing on a small scale?
So we drive around in an attempt to loose any pursuers (funny thing here is that we had to do this anyway to give the G-men time to get to Yellow Rat Bastard?s, but since Kwipette suggested it, it worked out perfectly!). As we approach YRBs, we see the G-men’s vehicle parked outside with its flashers going. Two of the G-men are out front of the building, one talking on the cellphone. Kwipette sees them and warns me, urgently telling me to keep going past YRBs. We do.
After a few more minutes of driving around, we come to the conclusion that if the G-men were leaving Yellow Rat Bastard?s, it would be a good place to lay low, because they already checked there. We park up the street, and Kwipette scopes the area out (since she doesn’t have a large briefcase handcuffed to her wrist, we thought she might look a tad less conspicuous than I).
The coast is clear. We duck into YRBs. Inside, there are several of our friends, including Phillip Ian. Phil has just gotten a new toy – a digital video camera – which he is showing off to everyone. Somehow, in the confusion, he just forgets to stop taping and records the rest of our time at YRBs…heh…
Our friends ask us what sort of trouble we’re in. Why, we ask. It seems that two men in dark suits just appeared, flashing some sort of IDs and looking for us and another person…
We make our way to the back of the shop and duck down at a table. Kwipette is admonishing me to keep the briefcase down out of sight of the passing cars on the street. We spend the next 15 minutes or so discussing what sort of trouble my friend Mike could be in. Kwipette is not certain that the men following us are government agents – she thinks they may be foreign agents, or maybe just mercenaries working for someone. During this conversation, I do my best to subtly feed her fears and make funny faces at the camera without her noticing.
The phone rings – its Mike. He refuses to answer any questions, instead insisting that I meet him about two blocks away at a local park. In that park there is an overpass. He says he’ll meet us there. Kwipette states that we should not take the car, as “they” may be looking for it. We duck out of YRBs, taking back streets and alleyways to the park.
At this point, the chase crew is parked across from the park, filming the whole thing.
We begin following the path through the park. As we approach the overpass from below, we see Mike already on it. He waves to us. As we approach, he turns and seems to notice a car approaching him. He begins walking quickly, and drops a keychain over the railing to the path below. We see a car pull up next to him, and two of the G-men get out. Mike puts his hands up in the air and is forced into the car. The G-men appear to drive off. I tell Kwipette that I think Mike dropped something; maybe the keys to the briefcase. I tell her to stay put while I go get them.
Now, truth be told, I didn’t see him drop a DAMN thing – we were too far away! But I knew the script, so I cheated… But when I got up there, heck if I could find them. I must’ve spent five minutes pawing at the ground, digging around for them. This may not sound like a lot of time, but when you’re running as tight a schedule as I was, it was a nightmare! Plus, the chase crew wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing, and they were clueing in the G-men for the next scene, so it was just chaos…
I finally found the keys. Kwipette and I went to leave the park, but saw the G-men?s car approaching from that direction. We took off the opposite way, which leads to an independent film theater run by our friends (the same friends that claimed earlier in the week that they were closing early tonite, and that they’ve been having trouble with the door locks, so the doors wouldn’t always stay locked…see how deep this goes?). As we approach the theater, I tell Kwipette that we can duck inside the theater to hide – and that I’ve got to see what’s in this briefcase.
At this point, disaster damn near strikes. YRB and the other idiots (yes, Anson, that means you) were supposed to leave YRBs shop right after us and get to the theater before us. But this group, comprised of people that have lived in this city their whole life, manages to get lost. Going two blocks away, they get lost. Sigh…anyway, as we round the corner, I see them just getting to the theater. I grab Kwipette and drag her back. I tell her I thought I saw someone. She says, “Who?”
I, being the brilliant and quick-on-my-feet-genius, say, “Uhhh…people. Hold on a second.” I peek around the corner and see that Fiddle Dee and Dumber have made it into the theater and are safely out of sight. Phew.
The coast is clear – we sneak up to the theater, and after a strong pull on the doors, they give way. We enter in to darkness – but by the dim light coming in from outside, I see a couple of heads peeking up in the back. Grabbing Kwipette, I drag her to the front of the theater before she can notice them. She is COMPLETELY spooked. I fumble with the keys and manage to get the case open just as the theater lights come up. Kwipette stares around her in amazement; in the theater are all of our family and friends. The only thing inside the case is a diamond ring. I pull it out, get down on one knee, and pop the question. True to ceremony, we both begin crying – me, from the great release of stress that I’ve had since this thing began; her, no doubt from the thought of being doomed to spend the rest of her life with me.
She says yes, and the audience erupts into applause, cheers, and moans of, “Oh, that poor girl!”
So yup, I’m a bastard. Pretty evil in my scheming. But DAMN, this was the most incredible thing I’ve ever done, and it WORKED!!!! PERFECTLY!!! After this, I fully expect the CIA to be contacting me to arrange schemes for them…
So that’s it. We then spent a great deal of effort on eating, drinking and being merry.