Orlando

Rick Ott spun around to his friend, Brock Mason, who was beside him grinning wickedly to himself. He sat in his living room, remembering and recounting the events that had transpired on the campus. “That Dallas Star is taking things too far. I’ve watched him enjoy himself and he must be dealt with immediately! He cannot be in Florida and enjoy himself!”

“Right, but how can we ‘take care of him’?”

Brock turned to him, cracked his neck, as he moved it around. “We ambush him of course.”

“But what about that girl?”

“Evelyna? She won’t be much trouble. She’d only a girl and though she may have gotten away the first time, she won’t the second time.” He chuckled to himself, as he thought about how things could happen. About how they could go down.

“I got someone spying on the apartment right now. If and when they come out, we’ll know and we can follow them and make our move!”

“After all, you do know what is best, Brock!”

“I’m an evil genius!”

“That you are.”

“That Dallas Star won’t be alive in Florida for much longer. I’ll see to it that he is captured and dealt with by the LOASP!” He slammed his hand down on the arm of his couch. Then he rose to his feet and stalked off to his room. “Come Rick, we must prepare for our showdown! We can’t screw this up.”

The smaller man scurried after his friend, like a rodent. They walked into the villain’s room, where posters of math equations, chemistry labs and experiments and nerdy science stuff was all over the walls. He had a lava lamp on his dresser in the shape of a beaker and it mimicked a chemical reaction taking place inside of it.

It was still rather a shock that a muscular man, like Brock Mason could actually be a nerd. He was into chemistry and math, smart people studies.

He had a dart board, which had the Dallas Stars’ logo on it. At least a dozen darts were pinning it in place. Holes dotted the NHL team’s symbol. And in amongst all the posters, were images of hockey players, mostly Dallas ones, with large red sharpie “X” marks over the photo. He had one for Jamie Benn, Tyler Seguin, Antti Niemi, Kari Lehtonen, Patrick Kane, Jonathan Toews, Sidney Crosby, Alexander Ovechkin, Sergei Gonchar, Evgeni Malkin and Valeri Nichushkin. All were violated with the red ink.

He also had a few signs hanging above his two doors and the window. One over his bedroom door read, “Hockey is for losers….it’s only violence.” Another over his bathroom door said, “Football, who cares? Just a bunch of sweaty assholes running about on a field.” The last one, over his window said, “Sports....who needs ‘em? Just a big waste of time. Jocks are idiots!”

The two men stomped over to his closet where a filing cabinet was place and he opened the first drawer. He reached in and withdrew some sketchy items. Rick slipped up to him, rubbing his fingers eagerly. He was soon passed: a roll of duct tape, a red and black bandana, a few coils of rope, zip cord ties, two neckties, a white towel, and a belt. All of these items were placed into a camera bag.

“We can see which one the Russian boy wants later.”

He dug into the second drawer and pulled out four pairs of gloves. Rick eyed him, bewildered at the extra two pairs. “What’s the other two for?”

“You and me get one pair. And we’ll probably need some help...you know, we’ll have to restrain the girl, so she can’t save her precious hockey player this time.”

The villain’s sidekick seemed to understand and nod, as he put on two of the gloves, stuffing the other two pairs into the bag. Then he saw his friend put on his set and walk out of the room, exiting it. Rick snatched up the bag and followed him out of the apartment.

“Let’s go see our little Dallas buddy.” Brock slammed the door shut and locked it.