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“I think the yellow bellies have tucked tail and run! That’s what happens when you mess with the USA!” Terry Gold leered at the camera. “And let me tell you something. The sound of gunfire? That’s just the rat-a-tat-tat of the little drummer boy at Lexington and Concord!”
“I think the little drummer boy was a Christmas thing,” Roddy said.
“Brother, there’s a little drummer boy beating in the heart of every true patriot.” He raised his rifle in the air, lifted his head to the sky, and let out a long, high-pitched howl. He had done it! He always knew he had it in him, but now there was proof.
He and his team had driven off the dirt bags, whoever they were, and had suffered no casualties. Each man had acquitted himself admirably. Not a coward among them. Even Roddy had remained calm and fired off a single shot for the benefit of the camera. And to top things off, Gold had wounded one. He had seen the man go down clutching his leg.
“Are you saying the people you fought weren’t Americans?”
Gold shrugged. “I don’t know who they are or where they came from, but if they’re out here shooting at innocent people, that’s as un-American as it gets.”
Platt seized him by the arm. “Pops. Somebody’s coming.”
“Is it Ace?” he asked, raising his rifle and moving behind cover. Ace and another team member had gone out scouting.
“No. It’s one dude and he’s just walking directly toward us.”
Gold spotted him. He didn’t look like any of the guys they’d been shooting it out with, but he looked familiar.
Platt raised his rifle. “Put your hands up!” he shouted.
“Lower your weapon, son,” Gold said to Platt. “Relax. That’s Yoshi. He’s Segar’s cameraman.”
“What the hell, dude?” Yoshi was a fair-skinned young man, but right now his face was scarlet. “You’re pointing guns at me? It’s just a TV show!” Fists clenched, he stalked toward Platt, who had a good foot and sixty pounds on the smaller man.
“Chill, man.” Platt laid down his rifle and held out his hands in a placating gesture. “Some dudes have been shooting at us.”
The words stopped Yoshi in his tracks. He scratched his head. “Shooting at you? We just thought you guys were shooting at beer cans or something.”
The camera was still rolling, and Gold seized the moment.
“No, son. War was declared, and we emerged victorious.” He turned to Yoshi. “Now, what can we do for you?”
“Segar is missing. He said he wanted to be alone for one of his weird spirit sessions. After a while I got worried. But when I went to look for him, he was gone. I’d heard you guys shooting so I came looking for help. At first, I figured he’d just gotten lost.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. If it’s not a buffet line, Segar has a hard time finding it.”
Yoshi looked nervously in the direction of the camera, then back to Gold. He lowered his voice.
“Come on, dude. This might be serious. What if he ran into the guys who were shooting at you?”
A wave of shame washed over Gold. Drunk on his victory, he had allowed himself to act the fool. This was still a serious situation. “I apologize. You’re one-hundred percent right. Where’s the rest of your team?”
“They stayed back at camp. To be honest, I don’t think any of them care very much,” he admitted.
“That ain’t going to pass muster.” Gold gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze. “Our crews are going to team up. We’ll find Seagull and bring him back.” And he will be indebted to me for the rest of his life.
“Shouldn’t we call the authorities?” Roddy asked. “I mean, what if we run into those guys again?”
“If they’ve got Segar then I damn sure hope we run into them.”
Roddy threw up his hands. “What the hell, Gold? This isn’t television, this is real life!”
Gold fixed the camera with a side-eyed glare, then turned to his co-host.
“This, mi amigo.” He poked Roddy in the chest. “Is reality television. And let me tell you a little something about the real world. We’ve been trying to contact authorities since the moment hostilities commenced. And if we ever do get in touch with them, they can’t just hop in the old prowler and cruise out here. You know why? Because we’re in the middle of nowhere. Maybe you’ve noted there’s no green screen behind us.”
Roddy’s face was beet red. His fists were clenched, elbows cocked. That was good. Better angry than scared.
“It could be days before the manhunt begins. He could be dead by then. In short, it’s up to us.”
“I get it,” Roddy said loudly, trying to save a little face.
“I know you do, brother. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve got the anger brewing and you’re ready to take action.” He doubted that last bit, but the boy needed an injection, 20ccs of cojones, stat. A little praise from the alpha dog just might do the trick.
With his left arm draped around Roddy’s shoulders and his right hand resting on the top of Yoshi’s head, he addressed the camera.
“Our brother has gone missing. Even if foul play is not involved, which we hope it isn’t, the desert is still a dangerous place, where even the most experienced among us can get into trouble.” He paused to give the camera a long, solemn look.
“Segar, we are coming for you, brother!”
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Steven Segar stumbled forward and fell hard to the cold stone floor. He groaned and rolled over onto his side, mentally adding bruised cheek to the list of today’s injuries. His wrists were bound behind him, the nylon cord already cutting off circulation.
He still couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be captured. His body had betrayed him at a critical juncture. Now, here he was, taken prisoner by a punk twenty years his junior. It was almost like one of his movies.
The room was pitch black, the air cold with just a hint of humidity. He was in a cave.
He heard voices from somewhere close by.
“...the hell you think you’re doing bringing him here like that?”
“I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t kill him. He’s a celebrity, dog!” This the voice of the man who had taken him captive. “He’s got to be worth some serious cash.”
Segar was embarrassed to realize he was smiling at the thought of how high his ransom might be.
“Brian, his movies are so old they don’t even get taken down from YouTube. Bro, he’s a has-been.”
Segar flared up immediately. “No, I’m not. I’m working on a new show as we speak!”
“Will you shut up?” a woman’s voice spoke from the darkness.
“Who is there?” he whispered.
“I said, shut up,” the woman hissed. “I’m trying to listen.”
“...not what we do.”
“Come on. The boss has brought in, like three new people this week. One more won’t hurt. Look, I don’t even want to be here. I thought we were helping people avoid the border patrol.”
“Yeah, well the boss doesn’t care what you thought you were getting into. And you better not let people think you’re not all in. They’ll kill you without a second thought. Now, let me see this dude.”
A flashlight clicked on, bathing the space in light. He was, indeed, in a small subterranean chamber. There were three other prisoners: a woman with brown hair and red cowboy boots, a blue-eyed blonde who glared at their captors as if trying to decide who’s face to bite off first, and a girl with a Rosie the Riveter tattoo who took in her surroundings with an air of impatient disinterest. The latter’s eyes fell on Segar and she quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, what do you know?” she said. “They really did capture a former celebrity.”
“Former and current. I even have a new book out.”
“Did you get a nice advance, or did you publish it yourself?”
Segar didn’t reply.
“Listen up,” the man with the flashlight said. He was built like a tree stump. Segar was surprised they’d found a suit to fit him, and even more surprised that he’d found enough neck to wrap a tie around. He did them the courtesy of aiming the light at the ceiling to prevent blinding their eyes. “You guys don’t give us any problem, and we won’t mess with you. That’s the deal.”
“What do you have planned for us?” the officer demanded.
No-neck shrugged. “The boss is going to have to decide what to do with you.”
“Where is Rockwell?” the girl with the tattoo demanded.
“You don’t need to know that,” he said.
“Can I get some water?” Segar asked. “And some for my friends,” he added hastily.
“Sure. I’ll get the craft service people right on it.”
“Would you mind leaving us a light?” the blonde asked in a tremulous voice incongruent with her wolverine glare of moments before. “It’s scary in the dark.”
Their captor leered down at her. “Sure, sweetheart. Just for you. But I’m going to tell the boss you owe me.” He winked as he laid the flashlight on the floor of the cave, then blew her a kiss as he walked away.
“Neanderthal,” the girl whispered. “You don’t even realize how easy you are to manipulate.”
“Nice work,” the woman in red boots said. She turned to Segar. “I’m Franzen. I’m a police officer. Our fake damsel in distress is Spenser.” The blonde gave a nod. “And that’s Riv.” The girl with the tat winked.
“I’m Steven Segar. Now, nobody panic. I’ve gotten out of plenty of situations like this.”
“In real life?” Riv asked.
Segar shook his head. “No, but this is my chance to finally do it for real.”