Authoritative Voice (AV): Turn on the light.
Small room, small table, with one chair and a lightbulb hanging from a thin wire
Boner: Huh!
Subordinate Voice (SV): Shall I take off the cuffs?
AV: Yeah, why not? You aren’t going to hurt anyone, are you Mr. Boner?
SV takes ‘em off, leaving the seated caped crusader somewhat stunned
Boner (shit scared but playing the tough guy): Where the hell am I?
AV: All in good time, Mr. Boner… or should I call you Media Man?
Boner (thinking to himself): ‘Shit, I’ve been foiled.’
AV: But that’s not what’s really important: Bret Boner, Media Man, Chief Editor of the Kyiv Poster, Sausage Sleuth (to your Internet acquaintances – hmm) – call yourself what you will. We’re more concerned with getting what belongs to us, if you know what I mean…
Boner (eyebrows knitted): Yeah, Mister, I know exactly what you mean, and you can go take a jump in the lake, you pathetic shit…
A large meaty paw backhands Boner’s stiff thumb-sized head
Boner: Arghh!!!
SV: Watch your mouth…
AV: Please… let’s have none of that, now. Our friend Bret is a representative of the international media, who covers our country’s current events in the utmost objectivity…
Boner: You’re damn right, you… (suddenly recalls backhand from SV and winces in anticipation of another blow … and when it doesn’t come) I knew this was about the Poster’s reporting… (now smiling wryly) Getting a little too close to your skin, Igor, or whatever your name is, huh, huh? What article of ours was it that touched you off, anyway? Probably that Interfax report from yesterday, in which I had our guy Marko Ratshitcageitch follow up with a few well-placed phone calls? Granted, he’s not the brightest bulb on the Kyiv Poster’s Christmas tree, but there’s nothing like a bit of commentary from our select and well-worn contact list to get creeps like you in a huff.
The subordinate raises his meaty paw again in preparation to do more thumb-rattling – this time kind of aiming or maybe just transfixed by the shape of Boner’s cranium…
AV: No more of that now, Misha. Really! I won’t tolerate it.
Boner (no longer frightened): No, No. I know now. It was that editorial that I wrote for the website, which no one reads now anyway because of Boss Lard’s stupid paywall. But it only takes a couple of well-placed readers to create a stir in this town… doesn’t it now? Come on, tell me: was it the title of the thing that got to you? Those question marks of mine really jump out at you, don’t they? Heh, heh…
AV: In fact, Bret…
Boner: Fact? What facts? I just pull that shit out of my back pocket… or Google it at most. You stupid ex-Soviet cog, I don’t need facts to bring you down. I can smell corruption from a mile away, and I’ve got a team of teenybopper journalists ready to jump on a story at the snap of my fingers, ha ha…
AV: I see. Interesting that you should mention your team of dedicated news girls, Mr. Boner. Not as keen on hiring young men, are we?
Boner: No, what for?
AV: No, indeed. Your interest in, shall we say, barely mature-breasted beauties also extends to…
Boner: Hold on there, Igor…
AV: It’s Vasily, for the record – not that you could get a name right if your job depended on it, and it obviously doesn’t, but just may one day if Boss Lard has his way…
Boner: My record speaks for itself: There are just as many big-titted teeny bopper reporters at the Poster as there are flat-chested ones, and…
AV: Yes, yes, of course. I have no doubt. Mr. Boner. But you must admit that it’s no coincidence that we took you into custody during yet another Fem Girls rally in Kyiv, or am I mistaken?
Boner: I came up through the ol’ school of journalism, where you don’t just sit on your ass in a newsroom, but catch the news on the spot, while it’s happening…
AV: I see. Well, we certainly caught you, didn’t we? You’ll forgive us, of course, for taking such drastic measures. I was just telling Misha that I almost wished we could have waited for you to finish your freedom-of-speech dance outside the parliament… wasn’t I Misha?
SV: Yup (snickers).
Boner: Duh…
AV: Indeed, it was a shame. We almost mistook you for part of that Fem Girls protest in those red tights, except you didn’t resemble a bare-breasted, self-promoting bimbo… No, no. Instead, you most certainly resembled a thumb-sized dork in a cape (of all things)…!
Boner: That’s for effect…
AV: Of course it is, Mr. Boner. And as you jumped up and down with that “Stop Censorship” sign above your head – just behind one of the bare-breasted Fem Girls – Misha and I couldn’t help noticing what I believe is becoming your trademark, eh-hem, that is to say, a most conspicuous erection, er…
Boner: So, it’s come down to that, has it? I don’t know what your angle is, Mister, but I don’t go soft…
AV: We noticed.
Boner: Duh… All right, let’s cut to the quick, you reporter-murdering thug. What do you want from me… a public retraction, an interview with Rubber Chicken Woman? What, damnit, what?
AV: We want what’s ours, what you owe us, what we’ve been trying to recover for at least two months… by email, SMS, and most recently, a visit by our pimply-faced employee in the red sports jacket.
Boner: You mean…?
AV: That’s right – Lonely Planet Cable TV, and you owe us a bundle.
Voice over the intercom: Boss, some clown who looks like a perverted stock character from a Christmas card has arrived claiming we’ve detained his client…
To be continued…
Filed by Dirk Dickerson, March 21, 2013