Wake Up, Asshole

 

In an unfamiliar, dark room, a voice gently calls out…

Tom… Tom… Wake up…

“Why do you guys insist on calling me that? I’ve told you, my name is not Tom,” mumbled Tom the waiter. “It’s–”

“Tom!” A voice interrupts as a tight fist swiftly and forcefully strikes Tom the waiter in the doodle sack.

“Umgh!”

“Wake up, asshole!” Katie yelled.

Still reeling from his nuggets getting pounded, Tom the waiter picks his head up and looks around.

“Where is everyone?”

“I don’t know. We got separated during the attack. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I remember seeing President Bacon heading toward us. His husband and Melvin were by his side. I remember we all starting walking their direction. And then… That’s it. Flash forward to you destroying my chances for children.”

“Well, we were attacked. The President was smiling at us and then his face went slack. He pointed above us and yelled, ‘look out.’ Before we could react, a small fleet of those sphere thingies were firing at us.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“You were knocked out; the first blast hit Lorenzo and he flew into you.”

“Lorenzo? No… Is he?”

“I’m afraid so. You were lying under him, unconscious. When I tried to roll him off of you, his body rolled to the right and his head rolled to the left.”

“Oh my god!”

“That’s what I said. It was pretty gross. Anywho, I picked you up over my shoulder and ran in here. I don’t know who survived or where they went; it was chaos.”

Tom the waiter couldn’t believe it. Lorenzo was like a third father to him. In just a little over a year since he met Lorenzo, he had been through a lot and Lorenzo was always there for him. He was there when his dads got divorced, when his one dad, Reginald, was remarried to some asshole named Dave from La Jolla, California, and when Reginald died on his honeymoon from what the doctors called masturbation complications.

Tom the waiter didn’t hear anything else Katie was saying. She continued talking while he thought about Lorenzo. He picked his self off the floor and tried to figure out where they were.

“You know?” Katie asked after she stopped rambling.

“Sure,” he responded; not knowing what she was talking about.

“Well, at least he can’t get pregnant now,” she ended.

He?  What the hell is she talking about? Tom the waiter thought to himself.He dared not ask. He didn’t want her to know he wasn’t listening, but more than that, he didn’t want her to start up again.

“Katie, where are we? I can’t see a thing.”

“I’m not sure. It was one of those double doors outside of a building that leads into the basement. I’m just not sure whose basement.”

Katie and Tom the waiter, moved slowly to one of the walls of the room, feeling for a light switch. The light from Katie’s Nintendo DS was the only thing keeping them from total darkness.

Tom found a switch and flipped it. Light spilled from the one bulb hanging in the center of the room; replacing what darkness it could. The two turned to find a large, awkward looking bench under the light source. It was bound in leather and had chains on the corners ending in pink, fuzzy cuffs. Next to it, a camera on a tripod and a table filled with sex tools. The walls were adorned with various costumes and more toys.

“Kanye Christ,” Katie said. “How many sex dungeons are in this town?”

 

 

 * * *

 

One year, one month, one week and a day before the invasion by the Inkaku, just outside Tulsa, Oklahoma, (Tom the waiter) is getting dressed in his hotel room before heading out to a Kings of Leon concert. As he stands before the mirror running pomade through his hair, he glances at the reflection of Onya Rubinoff seductively crawling across the bed toward him.

“Must you go so soon?” She asked in a thick Russian accent.

“I’m sorry, darling; duty calls.”

She reaches the edge of the bed and slowly rolls to her back. She reaches for his hand and pulls him down to her level. He drops to his knees as she pulls his head to hers and whispers in his ear, “But third time is the charm. Is that not what they say in your country?”

(Tom the waiter) makes for the door. He stops by the dresser for his Walther PPK, 7.65mm pistol and tucks it in his pants behind his jacket and disappears behind a door.

As he drives into Tulsa, (Tom the waiter) thinks about Onya and how his night could’ve gone differently, had she been successful and completed her mission. He wasn’t overly excited about attempts on his life, but as long as they kept sending women built like her, he’d happily take his chances.

Once the amphitheater was in view, (Tom the waiter) switched focus to the task at hand. The target was a man by the name of Lorenzo Abbatantuono. Every picture in his file was a picture of him eating. There was never a clear shot of his face. He didn’t get why, The Company wanted him dead and he didn’t care. All he knew was, it was supposed to look like an accident or a robbery gone wrong. Simple enough. He’d done similar jobs hundreds of times before. The less he knew, the better.

The Company got him seats next to Lorenzo. The plan was to make friends and get him too drunk to drive home. Lorenzo’s new friend would offer to drive him home and once he passed out in the car, simply drive to a lake and move him to the driver’s seat. The water would do the rest.

Now seated, the concert was well underway. Lorenzo had yet to show. The opening act was Vanilla Ice and (Tom the waiter) was beginning to wish Onya had been successful in assassinating him.

After an excruciating forty minutes of Ice Ice Baby and other songs that sounded exactly like Ice Ice Baby, his torment was over and still, no Lorenzo. (Tom the waiter) decided to freshen up and get some nachos. The line for the toilet was short, but the line for the nachos seemed endless. He decided to wait regardless. His mark might not even show.

He added himself to the end of the line behind a hulk of a man, who already smelled of food. “Geez. I guess everyone wants nachos tonight,” he said to the man in front of him, trying to pass the time.

“I know, hey,” said the man.

“Did you enjoy Vanilla Ice?”

“I just got here, hey. I hate that guy. I’m here for The Kings.”

“Me too. If I had already had the nachos, I’d have poured the melted cheese in my ear holes.”

“Ha! I like you, hey.”

The two men talked their way through the line. The huge man proceeded to tell (Tom the waiter) all about his wife and how she hated Kings of Leon. He was working hard in construction, trying to earn enough money to bring her to the states. Just days before he would have had all the money ready, she sent him a text message to say that she was leaving him for his younger brother, Calrenzo.

Lorenzo decided to take all the money he had saved for her and open his own business. He wanted to open a café in DC, because his wife hated café’s and politics. Currently, he was taking some much needed vacation and following Kings of Leon as they toured around the country, as a giant fuck you to his ex-wife.

(Tom the waiter) really liked his new friend. Finally reaching the counter, Lorenzo ordered his food and before leaving, turned to (Tom the waiter) to hand him a business card.

“If you’re ever in DC, look me up, hey.”

“I will; it was nice to meet you.”

He glanced at the card briefly, placed it in his pocket and turned to order his nachos. There was a tray of them already on the counter along with a tall tube of beer.

“From your friend,” said the nacho lady.

Damn, I love that guy, he thought.

(Tom the waiter) made his way back to his seat. Kings of Leon would be starting soon. He looked to see if his mark ever showed. To his surprise, he did and unfortunately, it was his new friend.

“Whoa! What are the odds, hey?”

“Astronomical. Thanks for the nachos and the beer.”

“It was the least I could do for my new pal, hey. I’m Lorenzo by the way.”

“I’m–”

He was interrupted by a roaring crowd as the lights went down, signaling the start of the show. I can’t kill this guy now, he thought. He felt a connection with Lorenzo. But if he didn’t do it, The Company would just send someone else. He couldn’t let that happen. Lorenzo reminded him so much of one of his dad’s and much like Lorenzo, his dad also smelled of beer and bratwurst. Just like Lorenzo, his other dad, Reginald, just recently broke things off with his biological father over a text message. (Tom the waiter) couldn’t let anyone kill Lorenzo. He had to protect him, but to do that, he needed an excuse to be around him often.

“Hey Lorenzo,” he yelled over the music. “You doing any hiring at your restaurant?”

 

 

* * *

 

Katie sighed. She wished Rose were here. She picked up a ball gag and leather whip and gave it a crack, kapow, startling Tom who was starting to dose off.

“Sorry, I just always wanted to do that.”

“No worries; we need to gather up supplies and find the rest of the group. What’s left of them,” Tom said. He looked at Katie, who looked crestfallen, so he quickly added, “I’m sure Rose is fine.” He found a tool box, opened it up and took out a hand full of washers. “No good sex dungeon is without a tool box.” He scanned the shelf and his eye rested on a jar of vinegar. No doubt it was used for some weird sex thing. He removed a knife and started cutting small squares from a card board box.

“What are you doing?” Katie asked.

“I’m making batteries. We’ve been lucky so far that most places still have power, but that will soon be over, and that’s when you will really start to see panic. The bigger the battery, the more you can power, but they’re just temporary. Still, they have come in handy in my line of work.” He took a wrapper off a stick of gum and laid it on the ground with a washer and then dipped the cardboard in vinegar and put it on top. He repeated the process a bunch of times, until he had a large stack. Tom found some electrical tape in the tool box and wrapped it around the whole thing, so it wouldn’t topple over.

“What line of work? You mean waiting tables?”

Tom looked at Katie and shrugged. “What the hell, the world is ending anyway and Lorenzo’s dead, so there’s no point in secrecy any longer. I’m not really a waiter; I mean I did do that briefly, but it was just a cover. For the past six years, I’ve worked for a place, only known by the name, ‘The Company.’ No one knows who’s really in charge. Long story short, I’m basically a hit man for hire.”

Katie dropped the ball gag she was still holding. “Holy fuck! You’re like Jason Bourne. I’ve been waiting for you to die all this time. I mean…” she trailed off looking embarrassed.

“You’ve been waiting for me to die?”

“Well, we all have. I mean, you have no last name; you’re like a guy in a red jumper on Star Trek.”

Tom laughed. “Actually, I do have a last name and my first name isn’t Tom. It’s just that no one has bothered to ask me about it.”

“I’m sorry; we’ve been very rude and condescending to you.”

“It’s okay, I got used to it waiting tables. You know, people should treat waiters and waitresses with a little more respect. We sometimes have to serve real assholes.”

“So, how did you go from the A-Team to waiting tables?”

“Lorenzo was a mark and after spending some time with him, I realized I couldn’t do it any longer and left the business.” Tom said while finishing up another battery.

“That’s incredible and so is that battery trick. You’re just full of surprises. We may have to try some of these toys out.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh. Nothing. How do those batteries work exactly?”

Tom scanned the shelves and picked up a small, cheap calculator. He took the back off of it and pulled out some wires, which he placed on either side of his battery. The calculator came to life. “You know, in the years that I’ve been doing this, I find it’s the little things like this that keep you alive. It’s more than just big guns, you have to have survival skills.”

Katie picked up a backpack that was full of rubber dildos. She dumped them out and discreetly put one in the side pouch, because it could get lonely in the apocalypse.

“Here, put those batteries in here.”

Katie and Tom grabbed anything of use they could find and placed it in the backpack, which included some bottles of water and a box of crackers.

“We should prob—”

Tom held up a finger to silence her and whispered, “Do you hear that?”

There was a shuffling upstairs and some loud footsteps. Someone was definitely up there.

“Hello? Katie?” It was a welcoming and familiar voice; it was Rose.

“Rose! We’re down here!”

“Who is we?”

“What did you say your name was?”

“My name is Apollo. Apollo Greyskull.”