07.25.2008
Quantum of Picket Crossing (part two)
Sunday December 1st, 2007 - Day 28
Thanks for meeting me Matt
Van Damme says,
You know Matt the first time we met, back in Hammill Sandwiches, I felt we had a lot in common - almost like we were twin brothers separated at birth but both trained in the martial arts.
His eyes become distant for a moment before he continues.
Hey... Maybe that'd make a good movie.
Uh.. I think you already did that JC... a couple times.
Ha! No Matt, you're thinking of Double Team. Dennis Rodman wasn't my twin in that, we were just buddies.
He smiles broadly, his leathery European face wrinkling up handsomely.
This strike has thrown me Matt,
he says, more seriously.
I know you're not WGW but I'd appreciate your thoughts.
I'd like to advise you JC but to be honest I'm not even sure I know what we're striking over.
Van Damme reaches into his jacket and pulls out a waffle.
The strike is best explained through allegory Matt... Do you know what this it?
Sure. It's a waffle.
He stares at me, completely motionless, as if I hadn't replied. The silence drags on. Eventually a waiter steps over and speaks.
I'm sorry Mr. Van Damme, but you can't bring your own waffles in here.
Still no movement. The waiter looks at JC, then at me, then backs away. Suddenly I remember what JC is waiting for:
It's a Belgian waffle
Exactly Matt. It's a waffle.
He examines it closely, turning it around in his hand.
A delicious waffle Matthew, but not enough to satisfy some people.
He reaches into his left jacket pocket and pulls out a squeezy bottle of double cream. He layers it generously all over the waffle.
Some people like cream on their waffles Matt... Some like chocolate.
A bottle of chocolate syrup appears from his right pocket, and he drowns the waffle in it. The brown-white mixture slides onto his hands.
Some like strawberries.
He searches his jacket, finds nothing, and then stands up to search his figure-hugging jeans.
Excuse me Mr. Van Damme,
the store manager interrupts,
You can't bring your own Belgian waffles in here.
This is an allegorical waffle!
he shouts.
Are you going to eat it?
Did Jesus eat the Good Samaritan!?
That was a bad turn. Van Damme, coffee shops, and religious discussion don't mix.
Hang on JC,
I say. I take the owner aside.
Look man, this guy's from Belgium. Telling him he can't take a waffle into your place is like telling an American he can't wear a flag pin, or like telling a Canadian to stop grinning at you. He's a long way from home and that waffle's the only thing holding him together. Show some pity, please.
We turn to Van Damme, who tries to look innocent while a messy mixture of cream and chocolate drips down his chin.
Get the hell out of my place!
Tuesday December 4th, 2007 - Day 30
No progress on the Kilfex job. I haven't tracked down Sting, and Brian Henson isn't returning my calls. With nothing else in the pipeline, I finally have time to get to work on my novel. I flick record on the dictaphone while I'm driving home.
Matt Evans' John Target in Frozen Ice: A John Target Story... by Matt Evans.
I turn onto an overpass over the interstate.
Chapter One: Target on Ice.
"I've never known a man like you John Target," said the stunningly beautiful Veronica Ice. Before Target could respond the door to the room shattered into a billion pieces and a masked man stormed in carrying an AKMS assault rifle - the upgraded version of the AK-47 which the Soviets had developed and deployed in the late fifties. Target admired how the intruder handled the 7.3 lb weapon so deftly, the 16.3 inch barrel coming to bear on him. At any moment, Target knew, a 7.62 mm round could leave the muzzle at 2,346 feet per second. Target's lightning fast mind estimated that, Ice and himself being no more than 6 feet from the door, a bullet would take 2 and a half thousandths of a second to cross the distance between the shooter and the bed. The bed where, only a moment before, he and Ice had been - F***!
I swerve just in time to avoid the car that had braked in front of me. The driver gets out and begins walking toward me.
Hey Matt!
It's LeVar Burton. I step out. The overpass is pretty busy and cars swish by us every few seconds.
Long time no see Matt. Last time I saw you must've been-
TNG... Relic.
Right, when you electrocuted James Doohan.
He electrocuted himself! I just didn't understand what he meant-
When he asked you to turn the power off? Yeah.
Electrocuting Scotty was a bad career move for a young writer trying to find work, but who the hell knew what they guy was saying when he wasn't doing the accent?
So Matt. Writers' Strike, huh? How're you doing?
I'm fine LeVar.
I try not to look him in the eyes... I've never gotten used to post-visor LeVar. He goes on:
Glad to hear you haven't felt the sting yet.
Uh... what?
Damn. This is awkward. Does he know I'd cost him the Kilfex gig by promising them Sting?
Lot of writers on tough times now Matt. Some of them even turning tricks to pay the bills. I hope you wont have to turn on the red light.
No LeVar, I'm... not... doing that.
Good to hear Matt... Every little thing she does is magic.
What?
You cost me the Kilfex job Matt! You don't even have the guts to admit it?
Come on LeVar...
His right arm had been hanging limp at his side the whole time. Now, a baseball bat slides out of his sleeve and he catches the grip tightly.
Time for a LeVar Hurtin'
Woh.. LeVar, come on.
Come on nothing Matt. I'm gonna reverse the polarity of your knee joints.
He draws the bat back for a powerful swing - I'm frozen in place, nowhere to run with the swift-moving traffic of the overpass - and then BAM! An SUV swerves out of its lane and connects with LeVar. He gets flipped up in the air, the bat flying from his hand, and he falls out of sight over the edge of the bridge.
Dave Twohy steps out of the SUV.
Perfect hit! Any faster and I might've separated his saucer section, right Matt?
Holy crap Dave! You killed LeVar Burton!
Gimme a break Matt. Think of all those years he worked with Frakes. How many times must he have rolled over Number One's hood?
It's true of course. Jonathan Frakes was notorious back in the Next Generation days for driving around the Paramount lot trying to run over his co-stars. The most serious collision put Gates McFadden out of commission for the whole of the season two. But the cast and crew took it in the spirit Frakes intended, even giving him a friendly nickname: Hit-and-run Frakes... And there's no question as to whether that is fact or fiction.
What did he want Matt?He nods.
I got a corporate promo job and cast someone else instead of him.
Corporate videos? What are you wasting your time with that stuff for?
Guy's gotta eat Dave.
You just need better financial management - an accountant. Seriously, I can give you the number of a guy. Does great work. Wesley Snipes put me onto him.
Sure thing Dave, thanks.
Oh, and I dunno what you said to Van Damme, but the WGW just came on board. It's an all-out strike.
Van Damme, really?
Yeah. Said something about wanting some cream on his waffle. You ask me he's just like Pope Joe in Chronicles of Riddick: Escape from Butcher Bay.
Man, he made another cartoon?
Pope Joe... Remember? Riddick ran into him in the tunnels, helped him get his radio back... I leant you my Xbox for two months so you could play it Matt.
The game! Right! Yeah, Pope Joe... see I just remember him as Joe, so... that'd be... Yeah, Van Damme, Pope Joe. I get it.
Friday December 13th, 2007 - Day 40
Mr. Evans? Silas McKenzie here from Kilfex. I guess I missed you... again.
The voice on my hastily repaired answering machine continues..
I'm just looking for an update. We'd really like to have you and Sting come in to discuss the project. Dr. Gwok is very excited about meeting him. It's really all he's interesting in at the moment... and um... it would really be good for all concerned if we could get this done quickly. I uh... don't like to keep Dr. Gwok waiting...
He goes on for a little while but I get the gist. I need to get Sting and fast. It's time to tap the British connection again.
Half an hour later I'm walking down a busy L.A. street next to Alec Trevelyn himself - Sean Bean.
No problem mate. Sting, I can get for you.
He takes another bite of his soggy pastry.
Yeah Sean, that's what you said a week ago.
He throws me a shocked look.
Sting's a busy man Matt. He can't just drop everything every time I call!
I'm sorry Sean. It's just the Kilfex people are chasing me up and I've got nothing to tell 'em.
Sean nods and stuffs the rest of the snack into his mouth.
What is that?
This?
He replies, crumbs bursting from his mouth.
Bloody good eating, that's what. Pastry puff. Part of a healthy Yorkshire diet, and one of your five daily portions of melted cheese. I had two crates FedExed over last week.
Grinning widely, he pats me on the back.
Listen Matt, how about a brew to wash it down, eh? Starbucks up here.
Uh... I can't go to Starbucks Sean. I'm barred.
How did you get barred from Starbucks?
I was there with Van Damme last year. There was an incident... He was drawing a picture on a napkin, some people got offended. JC insisted it could have been any Middle Eastern prophet... Ordinarily it might have been a good defense except that we were out in Westminster on the same block as the California Zoroastrian Center and two of the baristas were Baha'i... so...
Tough break mate.
Yeah.
Saturday December 29th, 2007 - Day 56
I jam record on the dictaphone.
Chapter Seventeen: Through the Looking Glass
"I finally have you where I want you," said Dean Miller, the Gene Hackman-like megalomaniac behind the attack on the Nicaraguan consulate.
"F*** you Miller," came Target's quick-fire response.
"Your quips wont get you out of this one," Miller spat, both figuratively and literally. Target had to admit he was in a bad situation - tied to a chair in Miller's lavishly decorated office with no obvious means of escape. And who could forget Miller's huge Samoan bodyguard, ready and waiting to come charging into the room should his evil employer call for help? John Target - that's who not could.
"Don't even think of escaping," Hackman began, "You see this mirror?" He pointed to an ornate gold-framed mirror on the wall to Target's left.
"Judging by the detail in the carving, I'd say it's the work of Arkady Illych Golov... if I had to guess," Target replied.
"I'm impressed Target. You know your 17th century Russian artisans."
"No more than a passing interest."
"Well I think this piece should hold your interest... given that there's an expert sniper on the other side of that mirror, ready to kill you at the least sign of... stupidity. Yes Target, that mirror is one of a kind, just like everything else in this room."
Hackman stepped to a drinks' table and picked up a bottle of whiskey.
"Brewed at St. Clavert's Monastery on a remote island off Scotland. One of the most sought-after whiskey's in the world... and that was before I had the monks tortured, killed and their brewery burned to the ground."
He smiled, then gestured towards a tall grandfather clock.
"This clock was one of Napoleon's most prized possessions. In his memoirs he mentions how he went so far as to have it shipped to him during the Egyptian campaign."
Miller crosses the room and stands over Target
Hang on a second Matt.
Dammit Dave!
I stop the dictaphone and throw an angry glance at Twohy.
You can't talk when I'm recording!
Sorry Matt... I just wanted to ask something. Is this guy Gene Hackman, or is he just like Gene Hackman?
Miller?
Yeah.
He's like Gene Hackman - I couldn't go around writing real people into the story!
But you keep saying Hackman instead of Miller. And another thing, why did he torture the monk-
Before Twohy finishes the sentence a huge wooden stake bursts out of the corridor wall and blasts straight through his chest in a bloody mess! A red gorge bellows from his mouth and splatters all over the stake. With his last spark of life he turns to me...
Matt..... goodb- ... goodby... bleugh....
Another wave of red vomit cascades down his torso, and with that Dave Twohy - the man who was rocketed to the world's attention with his 1988 script Critters 2: The Main Course - is dead. He slumps to one side but remains standing, eerily, because of the huge stake pinning him to the wall.
A friend, a colleague and a great American has just died in front of me, but somehow I manage to fight down the wave of emotion building - and my ninja-like preparedness for battle - so I can pay my respects:
Goodbye Dave. You died just like you lived - in a really awesome way.
Just to be absolutely clear at this point, Dave Twohy is dead.
Saturday December 29th, 2007 - Day 56 - An instant later
I spin at the sound of laughter from behind me. There, emerging from a hidden doorway is Brian Henson and - torso intact - the real Dave Twohy. Dave and I had come to see Brian about pulling the Glass Spider switch, only there was no one around when we arrived at the house. We walked in and, a maze of corridors later, Twohy was apparently killed by a huge spring-loaded stake.
Nice job guys, but when did you pull the switch? I didn't take my eyes of Dave the whole time.
I've been here all day Matt.
Dave explains. Brian steps forward and shakes my hand, passing me a towel to wipe off some of Muppet Dave's stomach contents.
We sent the muppet to come and pick you up this morning. You were talking to him all day... Nice to finally meet you Matt.
You've done a helluva job Brian, he's identical to the real Dave.
On the surface, maybe. Muppet technology has come along way in the last fifteen years, but anyone with some pretty rudimentary equipment could do a bone marrow analysis and tell the two apart.
I nod.
So I guess Dave told you what I'm interested in. Do you think you could put together a Sting muppet for me?
Henson shakes his head with regret.
I'm snowed under with work Matt, I'm really sorry. The only reason I had this muppet around the house is that Dave had me put it together to help him direct A Perfect Getaway.
Dave cuts in,
They've been filming down in Puerto Rico. It's a real pain in the ass to travel over and back, but I guess I'll have to bite the bullet now... Still, it was worth it for the look on your face.
So the Glass Spider is a no go, which puts all my eggs in one basket - I have to find-
Crap! Brian you're on fire!
I shout, before I can finish my thought. Henson looks down at his left arm, which has spontaneously burst into flame. Dave whips off his jacket and starts smacking Henson while I charge and roll him onto the floor, but the fire spreads too quickly - it's as if his clothes have been doused with an accelerant.
I watch... unable to do anything, as Brian Henson turns to a charred heap. Puzzling though his death is, I find some words to mark his passing:
Farewell noble dream-weaver. You truly were really.. good... at muppets.
Dave joins me in a moment a silence - a silence broken by a familiar laugh - we turn to see Brian Henson, alive and unburned, standing before us. I feel a great sense of relief knowing that we'd been fooled once again. It was almost as if-
Blam! The laughing Henson's head explodes in a burst of bright sodium-infused flame. Dave and I are splattered with droplets of blood and we watch motionless as the headless Henson collapses to the floor.
Uh...
Dave begins. We look at each other and then around the corridor to see if another Brian Henson will appear. Nothing.
I guess we should go...
Sure.
Minutes later we're driving back into the city in Dave's car.
So what now Matt?
Well I've still got to deliver Sting.. and right now the only way it looks like I'll do that is if Beanbag can pull through for me.
He nods, then squirms a little after the motion.
What is that?
He rolls onto one ass cheek and searches his seat with his right hand, pulling up a crumpled piece of paper.
Did you leave this on my seat Matt?
He hands it to me and I try to decrumple it.
Never seen it before Dave.
As I finish speaking I recognize the little origami piece as a miniature Riddick, in full Necromancer Lord Marshal costume. Cool.
You wanna get some lunch?
I ask. Dave nods,
Sure.
Special Features
Frozen Ice - Chapter 17: The thrilling conclusion to John Target's confrontation with the Gene Hackman-like villain Dean Miller.