Page 21 - Just Deserts

The Decimator

apartment building, followed a moment later by the Decimator in his
familiar customized Ford Thunderbird convertible. In the next
instant both cars appeared on a nearly-deserted interstate highway at
dawn, Rod Deal in hot pursuit. Sunderbar blinked, waiting for his
long-term memory to kick in with the film’s title: ‘Decimator VI:
High Road to Hell.’ Then the helicoptering camera zoomed in on the
Ford, going flat out with a bad muffler and sparks flying out the tail
pipe. Two figures could be seen in the front seat, not distinctly
enough to distinguish them from stand-ins, but close enough in
appearance to Rod Deal and his girl Friday, Marsha Law.
The noise and vibration ceased abruptly as a tight close-up
revealed the heads and shoulders of Deal and Law, the former
gripping the steering wheel with iron determination, the latter
clutching her purse and gazing at her employer with dogged but
hopeless devotion. “Rod!” she cried. “How are you ever going to
catch them? They’ve got a brand-new Borgia-Funghini!”
Never taking his eyes from the road, the Decimator laughed. “No
problem, Angel. That imported piece of pastry can’t keep up the
pace; it’ll burn out any minute now. I’ve got a good, solid American
car, built for comfort as well as speed. Those crooks will soon wish
they had one, too.”
The screen went dark.
“This one should be obvious, right?” Keller was getting hoarse. “I
couldn’t believe my luck when I found this bit. Of course, it’s
Japanese and German cars that scare everybody today, but otherwise
it’s a perfect fit. The fear that American products have become
inferior is tackled head-on here: the foreign car is not merely about to
fail mechanically, but it is the choice of criminals. American virtue
and productivity, always linked by the Protestant ethic, will triumph
in the end; the idea that one could fail the other has deeply troubled
the congregation, or electorate. The breezy confidence you have in
your Ford is exactly what our good old boys want to feel again, an
exorcism of the foreign devils. Neo-isolationism, undoubtedly a
plank in your platform, is well served by a dose of import-bashing.”
Crag Sunderbar frowned, a result not of comprehending the sense
of Keller’s words, but of definitely disliking the tone of their delivery.
But the final clip was rolling.
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