[Note from the author: In recent weeks several tragic incidents have occurred taking the lives of decent, honorable members of our armed forces. This story is meant as satire and a reflection on how human nature can get totally out of whack. It should in no way be construed as dishonoring the memory or the honor of those who died.]

The scene around the prone figure of Mansur Elhessin had all the makings of an old style western B movie. 3 lined up on one side of the bed, 2 on the other – and one had his gun drawn.

“Seems a bit like overkill don’t you think?” smirked Georgie, “ the guy is hardly going to be making any sudden moves!”

At that moment Mansur Elhessin looked more like he had an appointment with the ‘Here After’ than mischief. Deathly white in his Pearly Whites suit, the miscreant breathing uncannily just like Sheriff Redbone, who didn’t take kindly to moving fast at all, let alone up 2 flights of stairs.

“Put that damn thing away afor’n you shoot someone!” gasped the Sheriff.

Agent Friendly commenced to going through the man’s pockets – which was done in short order as, of course, there aren’t many in a snowmobile suit.

He put on a pair of black rimmed spectacles and squinted at the slightly singed drivers license. “Hmmm!” he muttered with pregnant effect on reading the address as Dearborn Michigan. “As I thought,” he said half to himself. Agent Friendly was quite suspicious of ‘America as Melting Pot’ – being, of course, totally ignorant of his own family heritage being part Irish, part Polish!

Bull was monitoring the blood pressure cuff and shaking his head – this was not good. Shock had settled in and the man should have been on his way to an Emergency Room. Posie and he exchanged looks and silently agreed – they had to get this man out of here and quick.

Agent Friendly pulled out his hand cuffs and looked vainly around the room for something to pin the other comatose wrist to. It was all the fuse Georgette required – and the explosion was magnificent and mighty to behold. By the time she had f’d this and f’d that the two individuals on the other side of the bed needed burn ointment for their ears and wisely decided to retreat to the downstairs parlor.

Where they were just in time to welcome a gathered assembly of assorted characters, some of whom had been in the baying pack who had attempted to prevent the injured man being transported from the Park barely 4 hours ago.

Pastor Paul, never one to miss an opportunity to ‘troll for souls’, had gathered all the ‘concerned citizens’ and Sons of The Golden North who could still walk a straight line from the Sink Hole and walked them over to confront what passed for the Law. There was a definite OK Corral air about the place. The tinder was bone dry and Pastor Paul was Hell bent on leading them al to Glory – or at least up the stairs.

The scene had taken on a decidedly ugly atmosphere. One had grabbed the baseball bat and Cliff had loaned one patriot his 30 Odd 6. Having decided that two terrorists in the bar were worth one in the B&B – he had moved his prize back to the beer lockup in the basement and was already checking off what he would do with the reward money.

In the small front parlor there was barely room to swing a cat let alone the fire brand of righteous indignation now evident streaming from Pastor Paul’s one good eye.

Or indeed the baseball bats being carefully slapped into sweaty palms. A hand was caressing the shotgun barrel. The menace in the air was almost as evident as the sudden overpowering odor of too many winter clothes and not enough showers. An audible sniff was swiftly followed by “Jesus Mike would it hurt you to take a bath once in a while?!”

The mood being snapped out of fixation as surely as Cesar Milan flicking a snarly dog’s ear – the Law took back control, which was probably also due to Agent Friendly still having his weapon drawn and leveled at somewhere in the middle of the group of good citizens.

“We have come to offer our services as a posse,” intoned Pastor Paul, The Eye immediately seemed to swivel in its socket as Sheriff Redbone’s nose gave a reflex snort of derision.

“In what regard would that be required?” mused Agent Friendly, to no one in particular.

The general babble had come to a consensus. As with deer crossing the road in front of you, where’s there’s one there’s usually more – except in this case they believed the three unfortunate dentists from Dearborn were the forward vanguard of a streaming hoard amassed just across the Canadian border.

Scanning the assembled good citizens of Whipsaw Lake, Agent Friendly’s inner eye drifted back to happier days taking his niece to the Brookfield Zoo and feeding time for the hyenas ….

Life just wasn’t damn well fair. A little slip, a really once in a ‘mind fuck’ slip and now here he was, stuck in this piss ant backwoods B&B. Once he had had a life, a career, Starbucks in the morning, fly fishing on the weekend, cable TV, vacations in the Catskills, ….. and all at once he felt like sobbing. “And my damn feet are wet to boot!” he cursed – and then realized he’d said it out loud – which explained why everyone was silent and staring at him.

Too much bitterness makes an Agent less than Friendly – with considerable command of the situation he released his grip on his service revolver and slipped the safety back on.  A collective exhalation followed as he holstered the weapon.

                                      ……………………………………

While plots were being imagined downstairs, one was actually being planned on the upper floor.

Georgie had slipped out down the back fire escape and was at that moment rallying the troops – the Whipsaw Lake Book Club ladies.

And to cover the plot’s timeline Bull and Posie created a stunned silence by running down into the Parlor wearing full pull on coveralls and their air packs.

                     ………………………………………………………………….