Page 28 - Just Deserts

The Decimator

who set this up! I could have burned my fingers!” “Cut!” yelled the
director, as the frightened Decimator staggered off-camera.
Kenostaphos pushed a button on his control pad. “Again we see
the truth behind the mask—but I needn’t belabor the point, need I?”
Constantine Kalogeros’s campaign manager could barely manage
a reply between gusts of bitter laughter. “No, no, I get it. The guy’s a
coward. Going to mess with dynamite and blow us all to kingdom
come. Not going to play well with the right-wing head-in-the-sand
pro-military bunch. For sure! What a clown! This is great stuff! Do go
on, Mr., uh—” she groped for his card. “—Kenostaphos.”
He obliged, and the racial harmony scene from ‘Tough Enough’
played out as released worldwide in all markets. Then the
unauthorized version: the black cop and Rod Deal, guns in hand,
again unwittingly backed toward each other. This time what should
have been a carefully controlled maneuver choreographed with pieces
of masking tape on the floor failed in execution.
Detective Johnson stumbled at the last moment and tripped over
the Decimator’s heels. Both men dropped their prop weapons as they
scrambled to regain balance. As the camera remained fixed on the
pair, the black man started to mumble an apology. But Sunderbar was
looking down at his feet. He glanced up and screamed, “Watch out,
you clod! These are my own custom-made shoes!” Then he sneered.
“You people may have rhythm, but you got no sense of timing!”
“My God,” expostulated Ms. Gegenschein, as the screen went
dark. “He really said that, didn’t he? And he can’t stop us from using
it? I can hardly believe our luck. He can kiss off whatever percentage
of the black vote he had counted on after that charming bit of racist
aggression. Is there more? I’ve got to see it.”
Her guest nodded and started up Cyril Keller’s fourth choice for
political exploitation, the pro-American industry car chase from
‘Decimator VI.’ Rod Deal and his female companion went through
their paces cleanly, the former heaping scorn upon their adversary’s
foreign-made vehicle. Then Kenostaphos flicked the switch to reveal
a different outcome: after Marsha gushed, “How are you ever going
to catch them? They’ve got a brand-new Borgia-Funghini!”
Sunderbar began his response, but stumbled on the script’s
unintentional alliteration. “No problem, Angel. That imported pace
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