some moron could ask you for a password. Which is exactly what happened. The slot opened, and a pair of eyes stared out at me, and whoever belonged to those eyes asked for a password.
“Tom sent me,” I said.
“That’s not the password.”
“Tom didn’t say there was a password.”
“Tom who?”
“Tom,” I improvised, “from Accounting.”
“How is Tom?”
“Good. Just got over a cold, still kind of congested.”
“It’s great you know Tom, but I’m not supposed to let you in without a password.”
I was tempted to give him a Three Stooges eye poke through the slot.
“Look,” I reasoned, “why else would I be down here?”
“I have no idea. Maybe you got lost.”
“I’m wearing the robe.” I did a little sashay to emphasize the fact.
“Maybe you’re a cop.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because I don’t have a badge. You want to frisk me to check?”
“No. You smell like pee-pee.”
I set my jaw. “Doesn’t anyone ever forget the password?”
The eyes shrugged. “Sure. Happens all the time.”
“So what happens then?”
“I ask them for the back-up password.”
I drew my Magnum, jammed it in the slot.
“Is the back-up password
open the fucking door or I’ll blow your head off?
”
“Yep that’s the password.”
He opened the door. I considered smacking password boy in the head, and it seemed like a good idea, so I gave him a little love tap with the butt of my pistol. When he fell over, I gave him another little love tap in the stomach, with my foot. This made my ass hurt even more, so I kicked him again, which hurt even more, so I kicked him again for causing me pain, and again, and again until the pain got so bad I had to stop, but I didn’t, I kicked him once more.
Then I wandered through a short hallway and into a large open area, roughly the size of a woman’s basketball court, which is the same size as a men’s basketball court, but a woman’s court has bouncing boobs. I noticed little details like that. Unfortunately, this room didn’t have bouncing boobs. It had a dozen-plus boneheads in robes, all carrying flashlights, standing around and chanting something monkish.
I wormed my way into the group and considered the camera in my pocket. Mrs. Drawbridge had hired me to take pictures of her husband acting nutty. This qualified, but it was too dark to make out any details, and a flash might cause attention. Plus, these jamokes all had their hoods on, making positive ID pretty impossible.
I scanned the room, seeing if I could find Tom. I spotted him through my clever detective technique of looking around, and noticed his bag from the hardware store, still clenched in his hand. Maybe I could get up close, shove the camera in his face, get a quick snapshot, then run away.
“Attention, everyone!”
The chanting stopped. One of the wannabe monks had his hands up over his head, his knuckles brushing the dirt ceiling. Everyone stared at him.
“Let us form the sacred pentagon, and pray to Anubis, god of the dead, to bless the ceremony this evening. All hail, Anubis!”
“All hail, Anubis!” the monks chanted in reply.
Then we all arranged ourselves in a five-sided square around something in the center of the room. As I probably should have guessed—but didn’t because I was too busy rubbing my painful throbbing ass—in the center of the room was a coffin.
The head monk shouted, “Who shall be the first to partake in the carnal pleasures of beyond the grave?”
I looked around, wondering what idiot would be stupid enough to bone a corpse, then found myself shoved into the center of the circle.
“My friend will go!”
I spun around, aiming the flashlight. It was old caretaker guy, a big grin creasing his face.
“This first has been chosen!” head monk bellowed. Two other monks—big ones—grabbed my arms and escorted me to the coffin.
“Guys, I’m new here. I’d sort of prefer to wait until next time before
“Tom sent me,” I said.
“That’s not the password.”
“Tom didn’t say there was a password.”
“Tom who?”
“Tom,” I improvised, “from Accounting.”
“How is Tom?”
“Good. Just got over a cold, still kind of congested.”
“It’s great you know Tom, but I’m not supposed to let you in without a password.”
I was tempted to give him a Three Stooges eye poke through the slot.
“Look,” I reasoned, “why else would I be down here?”
“I have no idea. Maybe you got lost.”
“I’m wearing the robe.” I did a little sashay to emphasize the fact.
“Maybe you’re a cop.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because I don’t have a badge. You want to frisk me to check?”
“No. You smell like pee-pee.”
I set my jaw. “Doesn’t anyone ever forget the password?”
The eyes shrugged. “Sure. Happens all the time.”
“So what happens then?”
“I ask them for the back-up password.”
I drew my Magnum, jammed it in the slot.
“Is the back-up password
open the fucking door or I’ll blow your head off?
”
“Yep that’s the password.”
He opened the door. I considered smacking password boy in the head, and it seemed like a good idea, so I gave him a little love tap with the butt of my pistol. When he fell over, I gave him another little love tap in the stomach, with my foot. This made my ass hurt even more, so I kicked him again, which hurt even more, so I kicked him again for causing me pain, and again, and again until the pain got so bad I had to stop, but I didn’t, I kicked him once more.
Then I wandered through a short hallway and into a large open area, roughly the size of a woman’s basketball court, which is the same size as a men’s basketball court, but a woman’s court has bouncing boobs. I noticed little details like that. Unfortunately, this room didn’t have bouncing boobs. It had a dozen-plus boneheads in robes, all carrying flashlights, standing around and chanting something monkish.
I wormed my way into the group and considered the camera in my pocket. Mrs. Drawbridge had hired me to take pictures of her husband acting nutty. This qualified, but it was too dark to make out any details, and a flash might cause attention. Plus, these jamokes all had their hoods on, making positive ID pretty impossible.
I scanned the room, seeing if I could find Tom. I spotted him through my clever detective technique of looking around, and noticed his bag from the hardware store, still clenched in his hand. Maybe I could get up close, shove the camera in his face, get a quick snapshot, then run away.
“Attention, everyone!”
The chanting stopped. One of the wannabe monks had his hands up over his head, his knuckles brushing the dirt ceiling. Everyone stared at him.
“Let us form the sacred pentagon, and pray to Anubis, god of the dead, to bless the ceremony this evening. All hail, Anubis!”
“All hail, Anubis!” the monks chanted in reply.
Then we all arranged ourselves in a five-sided square around something in the center of the room. As I probably should have guessed—but didn’t because I was too busy rubbing my painful throbbing ass—in the center of the room was a coffin.
The head monk shouted, “Who shall be the first to partake in the carnal pleasures of beyond the grave?”
I looked around, wondering what idiot would be stupid enough to bone a corpse, then found myself shoved into the center of the circle.
“My friend will go!”
I spun around, aiming the flashlight. It was old caretaker guy, a big grin creasing his face.
“This first has been chosen!” head monk bellowed. Two other monks—big ones—grabbed my arms and escorted me to the coffin.
“Guys, I’m new here. I’d sort of prefer to wait until next time before
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