So there I was, walking in the dark again, all the while hearing the booming reverberations of what sounds like music. It sounds like I’m approaching a club of some kind; strip club,night club, if it was a chess club it was the coolest sounding chess club ever.

I get to a flat wall that has an outline of a door. There’s a switch on it just like the one back in the bathroom stall I came from. I flick it up with the knife and the door slides open.

A woman is there. She’s wearing a shiny gold sequence mini dress and the largest earrings I have ever seen. Two small birds could sit comfortably on each.

She doesn’t say a word as she flies by me, running toward the elevator. Her eyes said everything though: terrified.

Makes me wonder if she got dragged into this the same way I did.

I wonder if she is being blackmailed like me.

I wonder what she’s doing later and if she has a boyfriend.

I quit the wondering and look forward. Guess what? It’s another bathroom stall! This one has dimmer lights and it’s difficult to hear with the blaring beats.

I sit on the toilet seat and wait.

My resolve feels like steel. I’ve got a steely resolve.

Until I hear the restroom door squeak open and the outer music bursts in.

An authoritative, dare I say, presidential voice says, “Wait out here, don’t come in unless I call you in. Don’t let anyone else in either.”

I can’t hear the response, but the message apparently gets through. I hear his steps coming my way.

“Baby? You in there?”

You know that steely resolve I was talking about? Turns out it was made of cotton candy. My hands are trembling.

“I’m right on time, baby,” the man says, approaching the stall. Chuckling, he says, “Time to open up!”

I thought I could do it. I didn’t want to do it, but I thought I had to do it. I had to kill this man. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

I lift the seat and drop the knife into the toilet bowl. It makes a SPLUNK sound.

“Oh, you dropping a deuce in there? I can wait,” the man says.

As quietly as I can, I begin to slide under the stall wall to the left. I move under another stall after that. Then I sit and wait. With any luck, maybe he will think I’m just another pooper and his girl stood him up. That’s reasonable right? Then I’ll just go my own way.

“Hey, come on,” the man says, banging on the now empty stall door, “what’s going on in there? Say something!”

I figure nows the moment. I flush my toilet and causally walk to the sinks.

“Who’s there? Who’re you?” The President says, stumbling toward me. Now that I see him it’s clear he is very drunk.

“Me?” I say, washing my hands but so nervous that I forgot to on the water. “Nobody. I’m was just using the...”

“Where’s the girl that came in here?” He says.

“Girl?” I say, like I’ve never heard the word before.

The President turns around and squats down.

“There’s no one in that stall, but there was!” He says. He walks over to it and kicks the door in as I walk casually to the exit.

“You. Hold it,”He says to me.

I stop.

He walks up to me and holds a dripping knife inches from my face.

“This yours?” He says in my ear.

“It really isn’t,” I say.

“Empty your pockets,” he orders and I comply.

“You know,” he says and I can feel the creepy drunk presidents lips graze my poor, poor ear, “I’ve had two attempts on my life before. So many nights I’ve dreamed what I would do if I was alone in a room with one of them. Looks like tonight I get my wish!”

The President goes to stab me. I dodge just in time to avoid the first blow, but his second swing slashes my left shoulder. The pain vibrates through my whole body.

I stubble back into the closest sink. Teeth gleaming, the President charges again. I catch his arm. It takes all my stretch to hold him back.

“I was an officer for twenty years, punk!” The President growls, so close his spittle splashes my face, “your nothing! Nothing!”

“I know! I know!” I yell. Panic sets in. With all the force I can muster, I slam my forehead into is face.

He yelps and falls back, clutching his nose. He still holds the knife.

I don’t want to fight him, but it’s clear he is not going to stop unless forced. So I sprint full speed and collide with his gut. I ram him into a stall, slamming open the door and crashing into the porcelain pot. The knife clatters to the ground.

We’re both on the ground and now he has the advantage. He starts pounding my back. This sixty something guy has the strength of a seventy something gorilla; which is to say, not a ton but more than to be expected.

“Stop! Just stop! Let me explain!” I say. I pull free of his grip and back off. My shirt is damp with blood oozes from my shoulder.

“Begging won’t help you!” The crazy President says as he lifts the toilet tank lid off and raises it over his head. He’s gonna throw the damn thing at me.

“Listen, old man! I’m not here to kill you!” I say.

“Your gonna have to if you want to live, punk!” He yells and hurls the tank lid at me.

I duck and it hits the bathroom mirror, shattering down in a loud crash.

Then he picks up the knife again.

I am so glad I didn’t vote for this guy.

I pick up the tank lid to use as a shield. He thrusts and I block it with a CLINK. He smiles and slashes again. I block again.

He really isn’t going to stop. I have to stop him before he cuts me open. More, before he cuts me open more. My shoulder hurts.

The President goes to strike. With two hands on the tank lid, I rear back and swing. I bat the knife out of his hand, sending it flying. Then, in a move that takes be back to little league, I connect with his left knee,. He crumbles to the floor with a cry.

I drop the tank lid and grab the man by the hair, dragging him to the toilet. I lift seat and dunk his head underwater. I hold it there.

I feel my steely resolve return as I continue to hold him under, his limbs flailing.

I swear I’ve never done anything this violent before. Fights, sure, lots. But this level of putting the hurt on is new to me. Truth be told, it’s a bit exhilarating.

When I’m pretty sure the President is going to ready to surrender, I let go. He splashes out with a loud desperate gasp for air. He lies on the ground, taking huge, he’s leaving gulps.

I try to stand and realize I don’t have the strength to do it.

“Damn son,” the President breathes out, “looks like you’ve done your job.” Just don’t gloat about it. Just finish it.”

Breathing heavy as well I say, “I guess I would say it’s an honor to meet you but you stabbed me in the shoulder.”

“The girl,” the President says, “She was with you. You lured me in here, knowing I’d be alone with little security. Not many know about my....activities here. Someone in my cabinet betrayed me. You were sent to kill me, right?”

“Well, yeah but...” I start.

“Is this about the Ukraine incident ?” He interrupts.

“I really don’t know,” I say.

“The women?”

“I don’t know.”

“The voter fraud?”

“I don’t...”

“It’s the hit on the Kentucky Senator, isn’t it?”

“I....”

“That time with the underaged....”

“Holy crap please stop talking!” I shout. “Listen, your right. You got it straight. I don’t know about your inner cabinet stuff, but there’s people out to kill you. I accidentally got mixed up in this and then they said they’d kill me and my family if I didn’t do what they said.”

I tell him my whole story.

“Looks like you’re not going to do what they said,” the President says.

“Can you protect me?” I ask.

“I suppose we can,” he says. “Get you to a safe house, change your name. What is your name, by the way?”

“Mickey.”

“George.”

“I know.”

“I know you know, it’s just always weird for me to not say it back.”

Turns out the corrupt, cheating bastard who I had to nearly kill to get him to listen was pretty understanding.

“We’ll need you to tell us everything, be willing to testify to help put these bastards away.”

“Absolutely,” I say, suddenly not feeling so scared of ‘Ol Darth Vader Voice.

We help each other up and make our way through the glass covered floor to the sink. We run water over our faces.

“Not a bad fighter,” the President says, smiling.

Thanks, same to you, sir,” I say. Movies tell me you always call the President either Mr. President or Sir.

“I apologize for stabbing you in the shoulder, my boys will get that cleaned up for you,” he says.

“Speaking of your boys, why didn’t they burst in here with all the yelling and banging going on?” I ask, tossing water on my cut.

President George chuckles. “Oh, they know better than to come in during that racket. The more unusual sound for them to hear would be silence.”

Creepy.

“What’s this? Some kind of candy?” I look over and he’s got the baggie in his hand.

“Yeah, friend of mine invented it. Milk bombs,” I say.

The President tosses three of them in his mouth.

It doesn’t happen right away. It takes a moment.

I’m trying to look at my stab wound in the reflection of a shard of mirror when I heard him gagging.

I turn and his eyes are wide and begging. He’s clutching his throat. Milk is dripping from his mouth and nose. He runs to the toilet like he’s going to throw up.

“Hold on! Lemme do the Heimlich” I yell. I’ve never done the Heimlich. Again, movies.

The President is still choking or maybe drowning in milk, and he’s on his knees in from of the toilet. I run over to help, but I make it worse. Much worse.

See, the floor is all wet from when I was giving him a swirly. As I sprint to save the President’s life, I slip and fly towards him. My full body weight piles onto the back of The President’s neck, squeezing it into the porcelain bowl edge with a faint CRUNCH.

You heard that right.

CRUNCH.

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, you ok?” I say as I get off him and to my feet.

He doesn’t move.

“Mr. President?” I say, kind of afraid to touch him. He lays still, head dipped over into the toilet bowl, arms dangling.

“George?” I say. I figure after what we’ve been through, I’ve earned the right to call him by his first name.

When he doesn’t respond, I go to lift him up, and that’s when I realize he’s dead.

Sitting there next to him, I don’t know exactly what did it. Was it the choking? Did I snap his neck? It did look extra wobbly, but who knows? Maybe all dead guys’ necks and heads wobble lifelessly like this.

All I knew was that the President was dead.

I killed him.

It was then that the restroom door creaked open.

——————————————-

To Be Continued