Back on stage, Monty Reigns sits at his desk, glaring at his guest. The show has just returned from a commercial break and Monty looks as if he has seethed through all of the adult diaper and Super Beta Prostate commercials.
The crowd catcalls and throws insults at the guest. A young man, no older than twenty-two, unshaven, sits wearing an “I Heart Clowns” T-shirt. He holds his chin high, ignoring the insults. The graphic underneath him reads “Orzo39.”
“Welcome back, true believers!” Monty announces, turning toward the camera. “This thing just keeps getting more and more strange, right?” Monty motions over to Orzo39. “This puke’s name is Orzo39. That’s his name because he refuses to give us his real name.”
Orzo39 shakes his head and turns toward Monty.
“Wait a minute…”
“Not yet, puke!” Monty interrupts. “This guy’s screen name is Orzo39 because he is the moderator of the Online Orzo Fan Club! Do you people believe this?”
The assembled audience, as if on cue, erupts in boos, hisses and even louder catcalls.
“Should we let him explain himself?” Monty asks the mob.
“Noooooo!” reverberates around the studio,
Monty laughs and gives his audience a thumbs up.
Orzo39 simply shakes his head. He looks at the crowd and raises his voice. “The same thing happened to Dan Prescott on this show! All we want is for the world to appreciate family entertainment!”
The crowd, mollified by the incredible statement, quiets a bit. They trust Monty to stand up for logic and fairness, like they have been trained. Monty rarely disappoints. He turns and looks at Orzo39 incredulously.
“Family entertainment? Are you telling me that a murdering pedophile is family entertainment?”
The audience boos again, feeling a ramping up of the rhetoric.
“This is such crap! Orzo was a brilliant comedian and actor and…”
“And you’re a psycho. What about Orzo’s victims and their families?”
“It’s tragic…”
“Tragic? That’s the best you can come up with?”
The audience shifts and undulates, on the verge of picking up pitchforks and torches.
“Orzo fans feel terrible,” Orzo39 continues, trying to be heard. The vibe in the room is frightening. “We just want them to know, especially Mikey Talbot, that we are there for you and we love you just like Orzo!”
Monty dramatically retches, playing to the crowd. “I think I’m gonna vomit. How dare you…”
Before Monty can finish, Orzo39 bends over quickly and reaches behind him, pulling out a vintage kid’s Orzo the Clown Halloween mask. He puts the mask on, crosses his arms and stares at the crowd.
The audience surges forward as one. Screams and death threats fly through the air. Monty ducks behind his desk as the studio security rushes into the room, making a fragile human barrier between the crowd and Orzo39, who continues to stay still, staring ahead.
“Oh for crying out loud! Take that thing off!” Monty calls to Orzo39 with no effect.
A soda can flies through the air and pelts Orzo39, opening a floodgate of debris. Orzo39 finally gives up his stoic position and ducks behind the chair as both he and Monty, as well as the security staff, are pelted with any manner of objects.
“Calm down, everyone!” Monty squeaks out from behind his desk.
Orzo39 and Monty continue to hide as the show pops off, cutting quickly to another fine sponsor of The Monty Reigns Show.
The penthouse stretches over the entire top floor of the luxurious high rise apartment building. Large windows surround the penthouse providing a beautiful view of the city in any direction. For someone who isn’t used to the opulence, it would be literally breathtaking.
The interior of the penthouse resembles a large loft area as if it had been decorated by Christian Dior with an unlimited budget. It is very posh and very expensive. The center of the penthouse features a large living area, complete with huge HD television, beautiful furniture, and a mantle over a fireplace featuring a row of Emmys and other entertainment awards.
Monty Reigns, waist wrapped in a towel, enters the room. In one hand he carries a tumbler with some type of amber booze, in the other he has a cell phone up to his ear. Still dripping, Monty leaves wet footprints through the penthouse as he makes his way to the living room. He stares out of the window, grinning at the view, as he speaks.
“Hell yes! That was a great show! That freak almost caused a riot!” Monty pauses, waiting for the person on the other end of the phone to finish. “Screw that! I feel great. Fuck the world!”
Monty drops his towel and raises his arm, exposing himself out of the glass window. He shakes his hips, dangling his middle-aged penis at the little people down below.
In the window’s reflection, a brightly colored shape moves quickly behind Monty. He does not notice.
Monty laughs and sets his drink down as he bends and pick up the towel.
“The clown is ratings, Angela, pure and simple. I’m going to keep working on Michael. That kid could be bigger than the pedo!”
Smiling from ear to ear, Monty turns toward the couch, trying to get the towel wrapped around with one hand. The same brightly-colored shape, white and red and fast as hell, slips behind him.
“Good work, kid. I’ll talk to you later.” Monty hangs up the cell phone and throws it on the couch. He manages to get the towel reattached and bends over the coffee table, grabbing a cigar and lighting it.
He turns and heads back to look out of the window, a big grin on his face.
As Monty stares out, the shape moves in behind him. Monty’s grin drops as he sees the reflection of a clown in the window. Monty grabs the cigar out of his mouth, unsure of just what is happening…or how.
“What the fuck!”
He starts to turn. A white gloved hand shoots out and grabs Monty’s throat. Monty is pushed back. He struggles against the shape, but can’t make any headway. Monty is finally slammed against the glass of the large windows, his greasy head squeaking against the pane. The erratic movements cause the towel to drop once again.
“What…do…you…want…?” Monty gasps.
There is no response. The shape rams Monty’s head into the glass. Repeatedly. The glass cracks and splits. The expensive, up-to-code security glass designed for the top of tall buildings is very durable. The shape bashes Monty’s head into the glass again and again and again. After a while, the skin on Monty’s head splits causing blunt force lacerations. Blood sprays and smears. The shape only stops when the glass finally cracks all the way through and shatters.
Monty is not thrown through. The stiff breeze from the now-open window jogs Monty a bit, preventing him from slipping into total unconsciousness. He grins at the shape, eyes focusing on the large, red nose of his assailant.
“You’re another…goddamn…Emmy…” Monty smiles as blood seeps from his mouth. His large, white teeth are uncharacteristically stained.
The broken glass leaves a large shard sticking up into the air like a stalagmite the width of an average man. Say, the size of Monty. The shape pushes Monty backward, his lower back positioned over the shard.
The shape pushes down. As the shard pierces Monty’s back, his eyes go wide. The shape uses its own body weight to force Monty down, little by little, as the glass shard digs deeper and deeper. Blood gushes and Monty can only open and close his mouth in complete agony. It takes a full two minutes of concerted effort from the shape to push the glass through Monty’s spinal column. Once that has been breached, the rest of the job goes a bit quicker.
Monty’s torso tumbles from the broken window to the street below. The lower half of his body just slides to the floor of the penthouse.
The shape disappears. Crime scene investigators will have no luck finding Monty’s cell phone.