Chapter 5
Miller and Log crouched behind the bushes overlooking the Avenue Mansion. Two security guards were pacing the perimeter and several Great Danes were roaming the yard, waiting for the taste of raw flesh.
"You know, Claremont, this is just the type of challenge I love in a mission the Adventure Team takes on." Ron Log studied the yard, paying special attention to details that might reveal some trap or security system as yet undiscovered.
"Are you going to surprise the guards with some plan, or do we wait them out." asked Miller.
"Don't you worry your little pus maggot on this one. Who do you think you're talking to? I make the impossible possible. That's why they call me the Messiah Guy."
"I know, I know. Just let me in on the plan. What are you going to do to get past the guards?"
"Wouldn't you love to know. I bet you'd like to know how I plan to get past the guards, wouldn't you."
"Yes, actually. That's what I was getting at. What's the plan?"
"Only if you really want to know."
"I really do. You should tell me the plan so I know what I'm doing."
"You don't know what you're doing?" Ron peered into Miller's eyes digging deep for the shadow of doubt he thought he had just heard.
"I know what I'm doing," Claremont corrected, "I just don't know what you're doing. If I don't know what you're doing, what I do might screw you up. So why don't you tell me what you're doing so I know."
"Ah ha, you'd like that wouldn't you." Then slyly, "But maybe there's a reason I'm not telling you. You didn't consider that, did you? Maybe I'm trying to get you to figure out what I'm doing so you'll learn something from this. Did you think of that?"
"Are you going to tell me what you're doing or not?"
"Maybe."
"Just tell me the friggin' plan."
"No."
"All right, fine. Never mind. Forget it. If you want me to screw things up and then blame it on me because you didn't tell me the plan, then that's fine. I don't care anymore."
"Oh, so now you don't care. Is that it?"
"I care, but I don't care about what you have to tell me." Claremont was reaching an emotional height of anxiety, a height to which only high wire artists or those who ride in airplanes, or other professions that require great heights aspire.
"You don't care," said Ron.
"Yes I do. Just forget it."
"Do you want to know the plan?" teased Ron.
"No. Not anymore."
"Sure? I'll tell you if you want to know. I was just kidding before."
"Forget it." Claremont said.
"OK," said Ron, "never mind."
"Good."
"Fine."
And so things would seem to have reached a natural conclusion, but it was not to be. Some moments went by before Miller's curiosity having been peaked, caused him to break the silence.
"OK, tell me the plan."
"Never mind now, you said you don't care."
"You said you would tell me."
"No I didn't, I asked if you wanted to know. I didn't say I would tell you."
"Look," said Miller, "will you or will you not tell me the plan?"
"Do you or do you not want me to?"
"I do. Tell me."
"No."
"Fine then. Fuck. Forget it." Claremont gestured in disgust.
"All right, I'll tell you."
"Forget it."
"No, let me tell you."
"TELL ME!" Miller shouted. And then, after an awkward moment of silence, Ron Log dropped his head and began to fidget for something in his pocket.
"I don't actually have a plan yet," Ron said.
Miller reeled back in awe, his mouth open, his eyes wide. "You just put me through this whole extended diatribe, and you never had a plan to begin with?"
"I was just kidding."
"Well it's not funny!"
"I thought it was funny."
"It made me angry. It makes me angry and frustrated. Can't you tell I'm angry and frustrated?"
"I thought you were playing around. I was just having fun. Don't you like fun? Let the child in you come out."
"I love fun, but if I am shaking with anger like this, and raising my voice and being upset and speaking with a tonality similar to an angry upset person, then you might infer that maybe I am not having any kind of fun at all."
"Oh," Ron interjected, "I thought you were putting on an act. I didn't read you weren't having fun, I thought you were joking around."
"Well you just aren't real sensitive, I guess."
"Claremont, couldn't that just maybe be your perception? Isn't it possible that I am actually a very sensitive person, and maybe your perception of how you think I am, isn't the completely reality? Isn't it just possible that you're not really mad at me, but you just think you're mad at me based on your own experiences of what it means to be angry, which isn't the same as my experience of what it means to be happy, and maybe if you were me given the same situation, you might interpret yourself as only kidding around whether you were mad at me or not?"
"Well, I don't know what you just said Ron, but maybe so. I didn't realize however that such a simple question could turn into a philosophical debate of absurd proportion. Perhaps, and I cite quantum mechanics here, everything in the universe is all made from the same basic quantum matter, or empty stuff as it were, and therefore I am possibly simply having an argument with myself in the darkness of infinite potentiality.
"Who's arguing? It's just a spirited debate."
"Perhaps," continued Miller, "we are, in fact, just the dream of some butterfly flying around in a beautiful meadow, and neither one of us perceives any true reality at all, because the only reality going on is that of the butterfly. Maybe we're just a butterfly dream."
"When your butterfly wakes up Monkey, you'll have some serious subjective explaining to do it since given your quantum theory, you are the dreamer and the dream. Besides, I'm paying your salary, so you have to listen to me philosophize."
"Hey, I could leave any time I want to and simply get another job."
"So fine, leave."
"No." Miller said.
"Why not?"
"I like it here."
"Well I like you working here too, even though you are a dick licking pus sucking monkey boy."
"I say, we wait until nightfall and go in under cover of darkness." Miller said.
"That's a great plan!" Ron replied.
Meanwhile, back in the office, the phone rang.
"The incredible and amazing Adventure Team, this is Frahn speaking, how may I help you?"
"Frahn," came the strong deep voice on the other end of the line, "You're always working. Take a break for Christ's sake. This is Matheson Avenue. I was calling in regard to my ad campaign to get Matheson Avenue Lemonade with a Twist 'O Lemon into the markets of Asia. Have you had a chance to fly the office over and speak with the ambassador on this matter?"
It's Matheson, Frahn thought to himself. Don't tell him about the fish. Don't tell him about the stakeout or about the Gem. Don't compromise the client. Conflict of interest. Conflict of interest. Conflict of interest.
"Well," Frahn replied, "We've been checking into it, but as yet no response. There's no reason why it couldn't happen, though. It's a brilliant idea and as a representative of the Adventure Team, I can assure you we will follow up and score the deal. No gem-laden fish is going to stand in our way… oops.
"What was that?" asked Avenue, "That last bit..."
"I said… uh… no uh… germ ridden fist is going to get up in our way. Yes, that's what I said, all right."
"What's this about a fish?"
"Nothing about a fish. Fish? Who said fish?"
"You said, 'gem laden fish,' clearly."
"Well," Fragn continued in a failed effort to correct his horrible blunder, "It's not like Ron and Claremont are sneaking into your house to cut your rare fish open and get some magical gem or something… oops."
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