Monday, November 21, 2011
The 404 Documents, Installment Four.
In a similar way, all of us were having a Grand Olde Time playing dress up in our MotherHiveBrain issue hazmat suits, when - as if out of nowhere - sirens and loudspeakers blared through the acoustically reflective mall: STAY WHERE YOU ARE.
Everything froze and then broke into chaos, like a giant pane of glass that shudders for a moment and then POOF! explodes in a great huff of shards. Down the hallway, we could see a group of mall cops pointing in our general direction, throngs of those mannequin people pushing and shoving in all directions, and behind them stood real cops in SWAT gear. We all took one look at one another and tore off in the opposite direction. Ripping off our masks, we scattered down side corridors and into random stores, depositing pieces of our costumes in trash bins and clothing racks as we went.
I was feeling pretty superior as I made a turn around the bend behind Basking Robbins when I plowed full speed into a blur of black. Skidding backward on the floor with a squeal, I looked up to see a scowling face and a nightstick. As if in slow motion the stick raised another few inches, and then came down on my shin. Hard. I wailed spontaneously, uncontrollably, and curled into a ball. He grabbed me by my neck and somehow managed to lift me to my feet, in one fluid motion slapping cuffs on my hands and dragging me down the corridor. He certainly outperformed the stereotypes I knew of donut eating cops.
“Look,” I managed to get out, “we were just- it was just a fucking joke, OK?”
“You really don’t want to talk right now,” he said, still dragging me, my toes barely kissing the ground.
“Wait. How did you know where we’d be?” I asked. “You got here real fast.”
“We got a tip telling us exactly what you planned to do.”
He elbowed me in the ribs as a reply. “I said shut up.”
“You’re not going to read me my rights?” I felt momentarily like the kid in the record store must have felt.
He stopped and stared right through me. His eyes were made of chiseled ivory. “You have no rights.” He dropped me on the floor. I could hear boots clacking on the floor behind me, the hushed whispers of onlookers, my stomach growling in agitation. Then everything went black as a bag went over my head.