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« Alan Smithee | Main | Friday Mourning »
Tuesday
Jan222008

There's No Place Like Home

No work yesterday because of the holiday (Martin Luther King Jr. Day), so I didn't post anything. I didn'tglenda.jpg want to post anything anyway until I heard back from Detective Curran regarding further details on the murder of Alan Smithee, a.k.a. Nick Zima, a.k.a Johnny Boz. I was hoping the continued investigation and discovery of new evidence would eliminate me as a suspect and lead them to the real culprit. Unfortunately, the real culprit had more than just murder in mind.

Curran showed up at my office about 10:30 this morning. He made himself comfortable in the chair across from my desk clutching his Starbucks Venti non-fat, no whip, seasonal pumpkin spice latte. He really enjoyed that coffee--or maybe he was just getting a kick out watching the beads of sweat form on my forehead.

"I"m sorry," he said. "I borrowed one of your pens when I was here last week. Didn't bring it back."

"That's okay," I said. "I have plenty."

"I lifted your prints off it," he said. "And guess what?"

This is the exact moment I realized the killer had more in mind than just murder. I was about to be framed.

"They match the prints on the ice pick..." I said already resigned to inevitability.

"Correctamundo."

At that point, I didn't just shit a brick; it was a whole goddamn house. My life, the good life, the carefree life, the immoral life, the irresponsible life, the life all wrapped up and tied with a bow of undeserved luck, was about to meets its demise. Yep, Karma is a bitch my friends.

It's one thing if you get caught doing something illegal or immoral and have to face the consequences; that I could handle. But in this case, I didn't do the crime. I kept trying to figure out, who would do this to me? Okay, so a lot of names came to mind. But it had to be the person responsible for the anonymous death threat. That person wanted me dead, but came up with a much better plan.   

"We also have a witness that places you at at Nick's place just before midnight," Curran said.

A witness? Someone saw me at Nick's place when I wasn't ever there? This witness must be the actual killer. This person is the person who framed me.

"Who?" I asked, almost panting. "Who is this witness?"

 Curran took a sip of his coffee, took a moment to enjoy the taste. Yum yum.

"I believe you refer to her as..." he said and then paused for effect. "Wheels..."

Holy shit... The day Nick Zima was missing, so was Kristy. She was out all day. Setting everything up. Setting me up. Why the fuck would she do this to me? And how did she get my fingerprints on that ice pick? An eye witness and a murder weapon with my fingerprints.  

Apparently, on his way out of the building last Wednesday, Nick ran into Kristy who had been trying to meet him ever since she first saw him. It doesn't take much for a porn star and a babe called "Wheels" to hook up. Apparently they went at it like animals until about 11:30 that night, when she said she left his place and saw me drive up, park my car, and head up to his apartment. She didn't come into work the next day because she apparently couldn't walk. Fucking porn stars and their gigantic dicks...

At that point, I was slumped in my chair, still in shock, but resigned to walk the green mile. Only William Peterson and CSI can save me now.

Curran stood up.

"I have to take you into custody now," he said. "I have two officers waiting outside."

Great. I'm going to be hand-cuffed and walked out of the building in front of everyone. And even though it was a career limiting exhibition, I imagined there would be a lot of women in the company turned on by the whole criminal persona I was about to convey. The thought made me smile inside. But then I thought of becoming a member of Bubba's user pool in prison and that mild feeling of glee left my body. I had sunk to the deepest, darkest place I'd ever been. Well, with the exception of how my marriage makes me feel at least once a week. Sometimes daily. 

Curran walked over to the door to call his officers. I thought about escape, but there were only two options. One was a nose dive to the street from the 6th floor. The second was tapping my heels together and saying, There's no place like home three times. I put my head in my hands and sunk to the desk.

Then I heard the voice of Glinda, the Good Witch of the North.

"Don't worry," the voice said. "I'm sure you'll get out of this somehow. Just like you get out of everything."

I raised my head slowly thinking I was dreaming. It wasn't actually Glinda's voice I heard, but it was as good as Glinda's voice. Because it was Nick Zima's voice.

And there he stood with a big grin on his face, alive and well and I'm sure, still hung like a horse. Kristy stood next to him with Curran, both chuckling. My heart stopped a while ago, so jump starting it again was not an immediate process. I sat staring at them with the same look of doom I had on my face a minute ago, still not fully realizing I had just gotten the greatest reprieve of my life.

"This is my buddy Rob Jackhoff," he said, pointing to Curran. "A.k.a. Detective Curran. He works in the adult film industry with me and when I told him about my legitimate acting gig on the Jason X show, he begged me for a part."

Well well well well well. Who would have fuckin' thought? The student becomes the teacher. I have never been taken by anyone. Well, except by my older brother. When I was 7-years-old he convinced me that the planet had been taken over by flesh eating zombies and I hid in the dryer for four hours until my mom came home. But other than that, not once.

The part about Nick and Kristy hooking up was true. But then Kristy told him about all the shit I pull here at the office, and he realized he had been scammed into leaving. So Nick and Kristy decided to give me a taste of my own medicine. And I have to say, it was beautiful. Nice touch using characters and plot from Basic Instinct (Johnny Boz was the first victim and Detective Nick Curran was the main character). I should have known. ("The Bridegroom" even pointed this out in one of the comments posted)...

After I recovered and learned to smile again, we all went to lunch at the corner cafe.  

"So you're back?" I asked Nick.

"Yes," he said. "Back to porn. This was fun, but I can't compete like this every day."

Nick offered to either pretend to stick around so that Smithee can continue to be leveraged, but only as the imaginary Smithee everyone believes is real, or he could go to Mulhausen and resign. I wasn't sure. I said I'd think about it.

Well, it's been quite a day. Nick's back doing his thing, and well, I guess I'm back doing mine...

Reader Comments (5)

That was a great twist, I didn’t see that coming!!! My heart was pounding so hard for you at the beginning of the post…thank God it was all a hoax :o) Wow, Nick Zima all of the sudden is more appealing a hung porn star with half a brain…Hot!!!

January 22, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterBitten

Muther Fucker!!!!!!

January 22, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterTech Babe

Thumbs up for Nick Zima..he pulled it like a pro!

January 22, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterZaeem

:)

And here's where I say it, whether what I say is true or not ;)

~C

January 23, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterTildesee

Jason, you're still everyone's hero, but I believe you did no shit just a house, but the whole empire state bldg.!

January 23, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterPaul

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