Don’t Shoot the Messenger

The weatherman’s smile goes from giddy to demonic while he swipes his hand over the red portion of the map.

“Our heatwave continues. This week’s gonna be a real scorcher. Don’t go outside if you can avoid it, and if you do, stay hydrated.”

Wink.

Finger guns.

“Over to you, Michelle.”

“That was Brock with the weather. And now for our top story. A new outbreak of explosive diarrhea cripples the nation…”

Michelle suddenly falls silent, interrupted by a commotion in the studio.

“Nobody move!”

A short, angry man confronts the stunned news anchor and her colleague with a gun. He is naked except for his sneakers and a camo bucket hat with a matching fanny pack. His shriveled manhood is on full display. No one is sure where to look.

“You two! We’re going outside.”

The naked assailant marches the anchor and weatherman at gunpoint to the back door of the studio. The tense trio is immediately struck by a thick wall of heat and humidity that greets them when they open the door. It takes their breath away.

Out in the alley, they ask the gunman, “What do you want?”

“It’s too damn hot,” he says.

Michelle and Brock look at each other, confused.

Without taking his finger off the trigger and without taking his eyes off his targets, the gunman unzips his fanny pack. He rummages around in there for what feels like an eternity and pulls out a handful of plastic zip ties. He places them in Michelle’s hand.

“Tie yourselves to that.” He motions to the dumpster.

“Eww”

“Do it!”

Michelle reaches inside her blazer.

“Hey!” shouts the gunman. “No sudden moves!”

She puts her hands up.

“I’m just taking my jacket off first, see?” She slowly sheds the garment and tosses it onto the grass on the other side of the curb to reveal a pink silk camisole underneath. Brock rolls up his sleeves. They both have long dark sweat stains on their arms, chest, and back.

“Go on, now!”

The hostages take the zip ties, looping one end to their wrists and the other to the dumpster’s sticky metal handle. This dumpster happens to be shared with the Chinese restaurant on the other side of the parking lot. The garbage is extra pungent on account of the hundred-degree weather.

The gunman comes closer to check their work, pulls on the ties to make sure they are tight enough. The hostages turn away from their captor to avoid his sweaty, sunburned genitals. The captor remains unbothered by his nudity even in the presence of local celebrities, Brock Sloan and Michelle Constantinople.

Satisfied that the hostages are secure, he takes a few steps back.

Michelle looks him straight in the eye. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are your demands?”

“I said it’s too damn hot!”

“Yes sir, you mentioned that. What can we do for you? Do you want money?”

He points his gun at Brock.

“Fix it!” He gestures towards the sky.

Michelle starts losing her patience. “Wait, you think Brock caused this heatwave? Do you also think I give people explosive diarrhea?”

“I know how you liberals in the media like to conspire.”

“Alright sir, let me speak to my colleague here. Let us figure out how we can help you.”

The gunman nods and starts rummaging in his fanny pack again.

“Damnit, I forgot my smokes.”

He wipes the sweat from his forehead and pulls out a little eight-ounce plastic water bottle.

Brock and Michelle gulp with envy until they recognize the liquid inside.

“Nothing quenches thirst like raw milk.”

“This guy’s insane,” whispers Brock.

“Yeah. I know. I’m sure someone in the production booth called the cops, right? And they’re probably filming from one of the windows. We have to distract him until help comes. Maybe you can talk to him, man to man.” She elbows him in the ribs. “Offer him a cigarette.”

“Yeah, alright.” Brock looks terrified.

“Uh, sir. I don’t think I got your name.”

“Carl.”

“I have cigarettes, Carl.” Brock pulls the pack out of his pocket with his free hand. The men light up and start talking.

Carl begins to relax a bit. He tucks the gun under his arm while he takes a drag and launches into his story. “You see, I grew up in this town and every year the summers get longer and hotter. It’s like a trend or something.”

“Yeah, imagine that. The climate is changing.”

Carl scowls at Brock. “That’s a hoax.”

Brock begins to interject, but Michelle shakes her head.

“Every time there’s a storm or a heatwave, there you are on TV grinning like a jackass. How do you explain that? Why do you look so happy?”

“For weathermen, that means job security.”

Carl growls and furrows his brow.

“Look, man, weather happens. I report it. That’s it.”

“Are you saying you can’t fix it?” Carl points his gun right between Brock’s eyes.

“Shit. Um…Maybe we can talk to our congressman or something.”

“I’m done talking.”

Carl tosses his lit cigarette butt into the dumpster, and it doesn’t take long for the trash inside to ignite.