II – MR. RAINES

“Put on some gas, baldie!”

If anyone had asked me ten years ago where did I hope to be today, my answer probably (perhaps hopefully) would have been: “Running The Centre.”

Ten years later, the truth is slightly different. Today, not only am I not running The Centre, there isn’t even a Centre to be run.

One of the most powerful companies in the whole world was now a supermarket. They could at least have turned it into a slaughter-house. You know, have some respect for the place's History.

So much for my pets... My experiments... My achievements. It was all taken away. And all because of I don't know who.

Damn him! Whoever he or she is... To me, that is the hardest part. The not knowing. That and no longer being able to kill a bunch of suspects without having to worry about the law. In the old days, I'd ask Willy to collect some bums from the street and I would fry their brains or something.

Hey! Don't criticize me! Sydney used to trim his bonsais constantly and I don't remember anyone complaining. Plants have feelings too, you know?

Anyway, enough rambling, let's start my story.

Two weeks past that event, and having my bank accounts all dried out (I hadn't realize how expensive these oxygen tanks could be) I was forced to look for a job.

One week later I found something I'm very good at: working at a gas station. Hey, I’ve been dealing with gas for quite some time now. I know the substance. Besides, it’s not such a bad job. I get well paid (already paid the rent at the sleazy motel where I’m staying) and I get to choose my own shift.

The only problem is that it’s a very lonely job. I miss having someone to dissect. Oh well, might as well forget it.

It was my fifth night since I started working there. It was 4 a. m. and apart from me, there was no one else around. Which was good, in a way. My supervisor told me that Saturday nights are usually the most dangerous nights.

“A lot of robberies, some murders. And quite a bit of violence,” he said.

I have to wipe a tear with a scarf every time I remember saying those words. It always brings me back memories from my kindergarten years.

Inside my cabin I felt like a king and the music playing reinforced that statement. “Queen – God Save The Queen.”

Actually, I would prefer if the music was called “God Save The King”. Maybe I should have brought my Freddie Mercury clone and have him sing a new version.

Ahhh! Who am I kidding? I know it wouldn’t have worked. I had Jarod sim it once and he told me the song would only work if the song was called “God Save The Queen”.

So I asked him: “Why?”

And then he said: “Because the song is going to be dedicated to the queen of England.”

“Why don’t they dedicate it to the king of France?”

“Because they’re British and France doesn’t have a king.”

I decided to stop the discussion at that point and electrocuted Jarod for a while. It always made me feel better. That and performing lobotomies on babies.

Suddenly, I got pulled back to reality. The powerful headlights told me that I had a customer. I grabbed my tank and exited the cabin.

“Good evening sir, how may I be of assistance?”

(Man! If anyone knew the trouble I had to memorize this kind of speech. Luckily, I had acting lessons when I was in High School. I also had ballet lessons, but I’m not going to say another word about it.)

“I need some gas,” he began with an arrogant tone.

I think I liked him. Reminded me of mommy.

“And you’re gonna get me some, baldie,” he finished, with an even more arrogant tone.

On second thought, I didn't like people making jokes about my lack of hair. Except from Lyle. And that was only because-- Sorry, I made a promise not to tell.

For a moment I consider saying “I don’t think I like your tone of voice.”

If I had my previous job, that’s what I would say (even though the odds of something like this happening if I was still the chairman of The Centre were very slim). Unfortunately, my supervisor always told me I to be patient with the customer. So instead of what I meant to say, I said:

“Certainly, sir.”

I began to fill up his tank with a smile on my face. The house policy determined we had to smile all the time. It made the clients feel welcomed. It also made us look like complete idiots. Maybe that was the whole point.

“How much will it be, sir?”

“All of it. I want it full.”

And so I did.

Once the tank was full, I turned to him to tell how much it was. It was at that moment that he decided to draw a gun and point it at me.

“I have an even better idea. You give me all your money and I’ll let you live. How's that sound?”

I considered his offer, because I don't like answering questions without thinking about them first. “I’m sorry but I’m not allowed to do that, sir. My supervisor would not appreciate it.”

“Screw your supervisor. If you don’t give me the money, I’m the one who’s gonna screw you.”

I felt like I was at a dead end. There was no one else around to call. What could I do?

Then we heard a sound. A car was approaching. We looked at it at the same time. It was a police car. I thought to myself: Damn! They found me!

The car door opened and – I swear, this is absolutely true – Robocop, exited the vehicle and asked me in his (its?) mechanical voice.

“Dead or alive you’re... Sorry, what story is this?”

“Who forgot to pay the rent?, chapter two.” I answered.

“Oh, sorry about that. Wrong story.” He was about to return to his car when he turned to us again and asked: “Which is the fastest way to Detroit?”

“Follow the yellow brick road,” someone said.

We all looked around but didn’t see anyone. Nevertheless, Robocop returned to the car and drove away.

“Where was I?” The robber asked me.

“You were considering the chance of engaging in sexual intercourse with me.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“But you said...”

“I meant it metaphorically!” He snapped.

“You don’t need to get upset. It was only a misunderstanding.”

“You know what? Forget it, I’m off. This is getting too silly.”

He walked to his bike and started the engine.

“You can’t leave! The story isn’t over yet!”

THE END

“There. There’s your end. Happy now?”

How the hell did you do that? I'm the only one who gets to write THE END.

“Shut up, author! No one asked you!” said the biker.

I handed him a card. “Here’s your bonus card.”

“Thanks, baldie.” He put the card on his pocket and asked “Same time next week?”

“I’ll be here.”

Hey, author! Can I just say that your intervention did nothing but confuse the readers?

Oh, yeah? Well, as soon as I finish the other chapters, I'm going to rewrite this one and describe you as wearing a summer dress.

Just as long as you don't make it beige.

I'll make it beige. And with stripes.

Vertical?

Horizontal.

Nooooooooo!!!