Some moments after Joanna drove off with Blake and Olly stuffed in the trunk, she's closing in on Glendale, solemn, pensive, taking in the true risks in what they’re about to do. But of course she's with mixed feelings; everything'll probably go according to plan, and they'll live a glorious, transcendent life---That's if God's Plan TV’ll last for as long as required, and that's out of anyone's hands---So, Joanna knows all's intact, and that she'd be doing exactly the same if it ever came up again, but she can't help but be just that little bit worried. And then, there's the road sign welcoming her to Glendale, and she sighs anxiety. Glendale’s a beautiful suburban town with upscale neighborhoods. Joanna wonders why she’d never been there before; it's not that far away, and a few of her clients back in the day, ought to have been from here. “Hmm,” she shrugs it off, focusing on the task at hand. She turns into an adjoining street, sighing again. She knows she's very close now, and she drives slow, looking for house number 22. And there it is, a magnificent one-story house. She parks at the side of the street, looking over the surroundings. She cracks the trunk, and takes out a walkie-talkie from purse, whispering into it, “Okay, guys, we're here. Lay low. I don't know why we planned for you guys to hide in the trunk, you guys ought to have come separately. What if someone sees you getting outta the trunk?”
Blake, squeezed up in the trunk, whispers into his own walkie-talkie, “Yeah, we didn't think this part through. We couldn't think with Olly running his mouth crazy how perfect the plan is.”
Olly grabs for the walkie-talkie, whispering, “If we came separately in a second car, it would draw attention. This is the best way. All we gotta do is get out of this trunk without drawing attention to ourselves, which is pretty simple if you asked me. It's a lonely street.” And just then, four cars zoom by them, and two pedestrians walk past, chattering. Blake and co pause, contemplating…
“Yeah,” says Joanna, “we didn't think this part through.”
“Right,” concedes Olly.
“Yeah,” says Blake, “if someone catches us in the trunk, we just tell ’em we lost a bet, or it's some prank or something.”
“Right,” says Joanna and Olly.
“Okay,” says Joanna, “I’m going in, wish me luck.”
“Good luck, honey”
“Good luck, sis, we're right behind you.”
“Thanks, guys, see you in the house.”
“See you,” says Blake, “don’t let the man up too close, I get jealous.”
“Well that's up to you,” says Joanna, “show up on time, and get him on his ass.”
“Right,” says Blake, “Love you.”
“Love you too. Going in.” She leaves the walkie-talkie on, concealing it in her purse so that it keeps transmitting, and Blake and Olly can hear her ambient noise, knowing when it's time to strike. She renews her lipgloss, and preens her hair in the visor mirror, then grabs her purse, gets out of the car, and shuts the door, sighing. She heads for Mr. Henry Cassidy’s front door.
A moment later, she rings the door bell, doing well hiding her anxiety, and the front door swings open to a smiling Henry Cassidy, as I said earlier, he’s an obese man of age fifty-five. He's in his house coat, smoking a cigar. His eyes narrow on Joanna's face, inquisitive. Then, he can't help but look down to her cleavage, focussing. “Not that I'm complaining, but who are you?”
“Roxanne,” says Joanna, jovially “filling in for Natalie, she called in sick.”
“She’s not well?!” says an alarmed Cassidy, “Hope it ain't serious. It ain’t STD's, is it?”
“Nah, it's probably just the flu. Or she's gone and gotten knocked up again.”
“It better be the flu,” says Cassidy, “Hey, how come I never seen you before at the club?”
“I’m kinda new there,” says Joanna, “I only started a couple'a weeks back, and then had to take time off for my college exams.”
Meanwhile, Blake and Olly, still in the trunk, listen to the exchange through the walkie-talkie, taking care not to make any noise of their own.
“Oh, how was your exams?” Mr. Cassidy asks.
“Hard, I should say. And long.”
“Awn,” says Cassidy, “pretty girl like you shouldn't have to take anything hard and long that isn't premium cock.”
“Tell me about it,” says Joanna(Roxanne)
“Well, you're in the right place for the best of long and hard. Come in, baby, make yourself at home.” As Joanna walks in, he has to pat her on the butt, and is glad by how it feels; the woman’s natural there, and if she's also natural in the boobs, hell, she just might become his new favorite. And of course, Joanna, or Roxanne, plays it cool, giggling. “We gonna have tons of fun,” continues Cassidy.
“I do love fun,” says Roxanne, “And I'm all yours. You’re the only the V.I.P. tonight.” And then, Joanna reproaches herself, thinking that she's overdoing it. She doesn’t want this ugly man all over her. But my Cassidy takes the invite, grabbing and caressing her sweet ass,
“Yeah, I have the only V.I.P. pass to ass town.”
Blake on hearing this through the walkie-talkie, swears at himself, hoping that damned man isn't grabbing his girl on any sweet spot. Then, Joanna genuinely giggles, Mr. Cassidy’s genuinely funny. She walks into the house, and he shuts the door behind her. Joanna looks the interior over, “Wow, nice house.” Blake and Olly hear this, and Blake turns off the walkie-talkie, even takes out the batteries.
“That’s our cue,” whispers Blake, “let’s move.”
“Right,” says Olly, and he and Blake start sneakily getting out of the trunk.
Meanwhile, in the house, Mr. Cassidy comes up behind Joanna, wrapping his arms around her, caressing her curves and kissing her neck and shoulder.
Some man carrying a bowl of spaghetti and a beer comes into the living room from the kitchen. This is Archie, a close confidant of Cassidy, and an accomplice in all vices. He also works at Ent, as an editor (Cassidy’s underling), and looks a much younger man than Cassidy, say mid thirties, but both men share a likeness in flirting with indiscriminate women, and being threatened with a sexual harassment suit at the office. As opposed to Cassidy, Archie's in shape. Or at least, approximately. He keeps a large beard with no moustache, and has big, high cheek bones that likens his face to a woman's. He has highlighted, symmetrical lips with the bottom one very pouty. He has thick brown hair with the side-burns removed completely, making his head and face a bony structure with thick hair at both ends. “Woo hoo!” says Archie, “Natalie’s here.”
“Hey,” says Roxanne, “No one told me it was gonna be a double party.”
“The more the merrier, baby,” says Cassidy. Then, he regards Archie, “This ain’t Natalie, it's … What’s that your name again, baby?”
“Roxanne at your service,” says she, shimmying, so her boobs jiggle, and the men can't take their eyes off it. Then, again she reproaches herself, thinking that she has to back up a bit, and take things slow.
“Wow Roxanne!” says a smiling Archie, “Ain’t that the sexiest name I ever heard in my goddamned life.” He puts down his grub, moving to Joanna and grabbing her in his arms, “Come here, come here.” He moves to kiss her lips, and just then, BASH! The front door busts open as Blake bashes it in, and he and Olly, balaclavas drawn down, charge in, Blake pointing the pistol at everyone,
“Get on the ground!” Blake takes care not to make too much noise, Get on the fucking ground!” Olly looks the room over, lest, there be surprises.
“Hands where I can see ’em!” continued Blake.
“What the--?” says Mr. Cassidy, not in the least bit scared. Although, not much can be said for Archie, who instantly has his hands in the air, getting on the ground, jittering.
“I said get on the fucking ground!” Blake grabs Mr. Cassidy by his house coat lapel, pulling him to the floor. “Hands where I can see ’em.” Cassidy, despite being incensed that these motherfuckers didn't pick a better time to come than when he has sweet ass to get, he complies---It's no use getting shot and jeopardizing the ass that'll eventually be available---‘God damn these mothers!’ he thought.
Joanna now takes her place with Blake and Olly, much to Cassidy's dismay, who now thinks he's probably not getting ass tonight. His heart skips a beat, and his anger grows, “You stupid bitch, I let you into my home, and this is how-”
“Shut up, man,” Blake puts the pistol on Cassidy’s head.
Olly gets to work, taking out his laptop from his backpack, and connecting to Cassidy’s TV.”
“Hey,” says Cassidy, “what the hell are you doing to my TV?!”
“Shut up!” Blake kicks him in the gut, although rather weakly, and Cassidy himself starts thinking, “These guys are a joke.” But Archie still can't help but tremble, his heart pounding out of his chest.
“Don’t worry, boys,” says Joanna, “we’re not here to hurt anyone, or even rob anyone, for that matter.” And at this, Archie relaxes a bit, trying to do away with his jittering, and the lump in his throat.
‘Except rob me of my ass-time, you goddamned pricks,’ Cassidy did not say. He says, “Then the fuck d'you want?!”
“Actually,” says Blake, “to give you the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Cassidy ponders a moment… “There’s something familiar ‘bout all this.”
“We’re God's-Plan-dot-com, dude,” says Olly.
“What, oh, you’re the pot-heads that sent me that cleverly contrived email that got me thinking about writing a novel.”
“That depends,” says Blake, gesticulating with the pistol as he speaks, “That depends on what email exactly you're talking about, but we told you everything, man, we poured our hearts out much to your own endowment, much to your own transcendence-”
“Yep,” says Cassidy, “definitely the pot-heads.”
“but,” continues Blake, “you blew us off like we were a nuisance; like we were a thorn in thine flesh.”
“What exactly,” Cassidy asks, “d'you want from me?”
“No,” says Blake, solemn, “Mr. Henry Dwight Cassidy, it’s not what we want from you, it's what you want from us.”
Cassidy ponders a moment, but he doesn't quite see where this is going, “Gimme a break. Do I know you people? Had we met before?” Then he gets another thought, “Are you Crystal's boyfriend?! Father?! I swear to God, man, she said she was eighteen.”
Blake can't but sigh frustration. He now takes the pistol to Cassidy’s face, tapping the face with the pistol as he speaks, “You’re not getting it, my dear stupid Mr. Cassidy; The message was real. We've come all the way down here to show you just how real it is.” He now motions to the TV, that now shows Ent News---and although the picture quality's not top notch, as it's a video of a video, that was then transmitted by mediocre digital wireless, it's clear and easy to follow---“Voila! I give you God's Plan TV.”
Mr. Cassidy looks at the TV, staring; If nothing, why is the picture quality of his Ent compromised? It's his job to make sure shit like this doesn't happen. The he realizes; There's something … off about the programming---The Ent News caption reads, “Dustin Kramer arrested for having sex with a minor.” And the footage is of Dustin Kramer, an A-list popstar, being arrested and put in a cop car on the street in front of the building that houses the studio he hangs out at. Paparazzi and onlookers crowd the scene. Constance and Richard, the news host, give the breakdown, talking about how the allegation has been made against Dustin Kramer that he had sex with fifteen year old Samantha Patterson, a groupie.
Mr. Cassidy watches, transfixed, “Where did you get this?”
“I told you, man, it just happened one night; My TV went out during a thunderstorm, and then my house got struck by lightning, and the TV came back like this.”
“But,” says Cassidy, “this,” He ponders a moment, staring at the TV “How could this be? Whose production is this? When did Dustin Kramer get arrested for statutory rape? I ought to be one of the first to know. This makes no sense… Am I on Punk'd?”
“Trust me, man,” says Blake, “you wouldn’t want this to end up being any kind of practical joke. And in its own unique way, it does make perfect sense.”
“How?” asks a puzzled Cassidy.
“Come on, Mr. Programs director, get your head in the game.” Of course, Blake wouldn't tell him to ‘get his head outta his ass.’ No need to be rude to a person whose authority and influence you need. And anyone’s head anywhere, would need quality time, wrapping itself around TV that seems to be showing stuff that just has never ever happened.
“Get your head in the game, man,” reiterates Olly. And Joanna rolls her eyes.
“Get with the program, Mr. Program director,” says Blake, “I told you,” he now motions to the TV, “this is the opportunity of a lifetime. It is beyond your wildest fantasies. This ... is your channel, Ent. But it's not the Ent of tonight, no no. It's the Ent of the night, seven nights ahead of tonight. The Ent of exactly one week's time. In the future.”
Mr. Cassidy stares at the TV, processing… “This is insane! How's this even possible?!”
“Get past the ‘how?’ cuz I don't know. No one knows. Or I know!; It's possible cuz we deserve it. Now, you can either get on the bus, or miss out on the deal of a lifetime. What we have to do now is maximize this gift that has been endowed us by the cosmos.” Then, out of nowhere,
BANG! BANG!
Gunshots in the room. Blake, Joanna, and Olly rush, ducking behind the seats. Panic ensues. Archie has enough reason to start jittering again, as he just lays there, face down. And Mr. Cassidy, still lain on the floor, is pissed. He projects his voice to the upstairs landing where the shots came from, “Don’t shoot, you fuck! You're gonna get me killed!”
“Tell ’em we're friends,” says Blake, desperately.
“David, now listen,” shouts Cassidy, exhorting his son he knows to be considerably mentally unstable in a way that there's a fair chance he kills somebody here, “these people are my friends! We're only talking business for Christ’s sakes! No one's under threat, no one's getting hurt!”