End of the Party

On New Year’s Day, Wilson gingerly sat up at 7 am and tried to clear the throbbing pain from his head. When he opened his eyes he found a 50s-era classic pinball machine wrecked and laying destroyed in a corner of the barroom.

Disgusted and on the verge of vomiting, he fell back into a deep sleep that led him into a nightmare that never seemed to stop replaying.

In his dream he had gone to the same country club party to which one of his software clients had dragged him for the last three years. It again featured the usual inane gossip, too-loud music and guests robotically rattling off resolutions they knew they had no intention of keeping.

Only one positive outcome had come out of each year’s turning-of-the-calendar-page ritual. A stunningly beautiful blonde lady stood seductively across the room at each annual gala. Aside from her tantalizing appearance and aura, she seemed to have enthralled several of the male party guests in conversation for more than a half hour.

It didn’t take Wilson long to figure out he was way out of her league socially. Despite their yearly game of locking eyes across the room, she never seemed interested in approaching him. He could have made the first move, but he found her appearance extremely intimidating. Seeing no point in staying at the party, he had left early every year.

Unlike in past years, three ominous-looking men dressed in black apparel from head to toe trailed him to the area of his apartment. The men never closed to more than a block of him, but they still seemed very interested in every move he made.

Also, for a half hour after he entered his apartment, they stood on the sidewalk in front of his building staring up at his living room window.

It seemed the men took an interest in Wilson as soon as he showed an interest in the blonde bombshell. After he had stared at her for several minutes and turned to leave they seemed to pop up out of nowhere and began tailing him.

Wilson couldn’t take the suspense any longer. Although an extremely shy introvert, he decided to swallow his fears and confront the trio.

As he turned and closed to within spitting distance, one of the trio raised what looked like a .357 magnum and aimed it in his direction. He took shelter behind a parked car and the bullet only grazed his head.

“Wait, who are you and why are you shooting at me?” he shouted.

“The annual party you have attended is open only to a very exclusive guest list,” the apparent leader of the group yelled back. “Those who approach our female colleague must either be a member of her team or one of our enemies. We cannot tell you more until you come with us.

“Should you decide to turn down our kind invitation and again appear at our meeting next year, your partying days will end–permanently. It will do you no good consulting any authorities because we have spies at every level and if you reveal any of this we will terminate you even sooner.”

While Wilson wondered why his humble life suddenly warranted such hostile attention, it still put his sense of self-preservation on high alert.

Yet his sense of curiosity temporarily overcame his temptation to turn away and run for his life. At least they would fill in the details of their mysterious mission and, perhaps, reunite him with their stunningly beautiful and intelligent leader.

Before he had time to weigh all his options further, the trio grabbed him, tied him up, blindfolded him and threw him into the back of a windowless van, which then sped away down the street and onto what sounded like a major multi-lane highway.

After driving around for about an hour, the van stopped in front of a rundown motel and his captors dragged him up to the second floor before throwing him onto the bed and removing his blindfold and the ropes that bound him.

Standing in front of him in a skin-tight leather outfit was the blonde bombshell.

“I have done nothing wrong or illegal,” Wilson shouted. “Why did you and your henchmen bring me here? What do you hope to accomplish by kidnapping an ordinary salesman and roughing him up like this?”

“Enough of this insolence,” the blonde replied. “I am Zelda, mistress of the silver global kingdom. Your so-called full time occupation is of no interest to us. You have violated the confidentiality of our annual conferences and you must not tell others about us.”

“I have nothing that you possibly could want,” Wilson replied, “unless you need software to upgrade your computer system or want to learn new techniques for hacking into the systems of a rival gang. In either of those cases, I can probably make you a very reasonable offer.”

“You have absolutely nothing with which to bargain,” the blonde shouted. “We have all the chips on our side, and, if you do not follow our rules it will result in the endgame for you.”

“Okay, you win,” Wilson said. “Have your men take me back out to their van and I will lead them to a place that will explain my presence at your parties.”

The three mysterious men then roughly loaded their captive back into the van. Following Wilson’s directions, they rode around for about three hours along many darkened local streets and back onto a major highway before entering the parking lot of one of the most gaudy looking buildings they had ever seen. The structure looked to them like an oversized pinball machine.

Wilson used an app on his smartphone to open the door of the building. A supersized electronic game flipper dominated a huge room inside

To the surprise of the three henchmen, four robotic creatures carrying huge paintball guns charged from four aluminum doors on opposite sides of the building.

“Don’t underestimate the firepower of their guns,” Wilson shouted. “They can wipe you all out with one squeeze of their triggers.”

With that the robotic creatures led each of the henchmen into what looked like a convoluted section of an electronic game. Then Wilson pushed a button on his smartphone and each of the three men was forced along a path until they stood before a huge sign reading “Game Controller Champ–One Million Points.”

Then the entire pinball machine lit up and Wilson and his captors and supporters found themselves standing on a huge, glitzy stage.

From another side door a larger robotic creature led the blonde bombshell, now blindfolded and tied up, to the center of the stage.

A man who looked like a 1960s gameshow host then appeared in the center of the stage. He presented Wilson with a gold trophy and announced, “You have won the New Year’s Eve Paintball-Pinball Competition and the prize of $1 million.”

He ordered one of his men to free Zelda and declared, “for three years your team has secretly plotted a plan to capture the crown by cheating at the game Wilson invented. This has earned you no more than also-ran status. You are lucky to escape with your lives.”

The curtain then closed on the presentation as “Auld Lang Syne” blared in his ears and Wilson found himself sprawled on the floor of his favorite bar with Joe, the bartender, glaring down at him and two local cops ready to handcuff him and put him under arrest.

“This is the end,” Joe shouted. “Every New Year’s Eve you come here, get tanked up and start a brawl. This time you have gone too far. You wrecked a pinball machine I’ve had here since I opened this bar and destroyed most of my glassware. After you sober up in jail for a few days you better figure out a way to control your temper and pay me back for the damage you’ve caused.”