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Alex Eviscerates The Bourne Legacy: Chapter Five
[Rather unusually, the room is dark. And empty. It's as though our resident sporker has given up...
But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? Well, actually, it's a door that seriously needs some WD-40 on the hinges, but that's besides the point. Two men sneak in and gently, carefully, shut the door. It still squeaks. Loudly.]
MAN #1: Are you sure about this, Alex?
MAN #2: Come on, Mo, when have I ever led you astray?
MAN #1: Frequently. [sniffs]
[The lights come on, and yes, folks, it's our favorite main characters who were apparently unceremoniously killed off by a hack writer, ALEX CONKLIN and MO PANOV, carrying bags of sodas and snacks.]
CONKLIN: You know...I really thought this place would be more menacing.
PANOV: Well, we haven't even gotten started.
CONKLIN: Given the way they talk about it, you'd think it was the Marquis de Sade's torture chamber.
PANOV: Last time I saw them, they were rolling away. Literally rolling. Like they were a log. And screaming "BORED!". I think this broke them, Alex.
CONKLIN: [snorts] Serves them right. You know all the shit they put me through, right?
PANOV: [stiffly] You know I don't condone torture. Or revenge.
CONKLIN: Spoilsport. [He leans his cane against one of the armchairs and flops down into it with a can of Coke and some popcorn.] Roll tape!
PANOV: [Sits in his own armchair with another Coke.] I have a bad feeling about this...
PANOV: ...
CONKLIN: ...neat. So how do we...is it automatic, or...
A Composition in Heliotrope: 8
CONKLIN: Ah, there we go. So, literally all of this is idiotic. Why were all of these comparisons necessary? Is he getting paid by the word, perchance?
PANOV: Dollars to donuts.
CONKLIN: There's more exposition about the terrorism summit - because, lest we forget, there's a terrorism summit coming up - when the DCI gets a hand-delivered message of the utmost importance.
PANOV: [grimly] With a side of misogyny, to boot.
PANOV: ...and we're supposed to think this DCI fellow is a good guy and cheer that he's putting one over on mean old Dr. Alonzo-Ortiz, correct?
CONKLIN: [looking back through old notes] I believe so, yes.
PANOV: What I wouldn't give for this nasty human being to meet Marie. She'd throw him over the horizon.
CONKLIN: And furthermore, what is the point of keeping the information from her, aside from being a petty little asshole? If it's a matter of national security, shouldn't the National Security Advisor be kept abreast of it?
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 6
PANOV: I'd love to slap this with a "Because The Plot Says So", but it's not really plot-related. It's just him being a nasty swine.
CONKLIN: The point is to get him out of the briefing, though, and advance the "plot" along, such as it is.
PANOV: ...I'll allow it.
Because The Plot Says So: 8
PANOV: Why do I have a sinking feeling that the misogyny is only going to get worse from here?
CONKLIN: Because, my dear and all-too-perceptive psychiatrist, you were not in point of fact born yesterday.
PANOV: Given her name, it's not a stretch to read her as Hispanic or Latina, so this is also probably racist on his part.
CONKLIN: The DCI's or the author's?
PANOV: Does it matter? Some people don't like a woman in power. Some people don't like a, pardon the term, "ethnic" person in power. You and I both know that, in our own way. You were press-ganged into the CIA because you're ethnically Russian, and I don't think I need to go into anti-Semitism both in the U.S. and the rest of the world for my part.
CONKLIN: ...so either way, he's being a cunt.
PANOV: [winces] I wish you wouldn't put it that way, but yes.
How Are You This Racist?!: 20
CONKLIN: Come on, what's the worst that could happen?
PANOV: ALEX!!
CONKLIN: ...that. That's the worst that could happen.
PANOV: Alex, could you pass me that wastebasket, please?
CONKLIN: [does so]
PANOV: [retches]
CONKLIN: I'm not unused to seeing corpses...but seeing one that purports to be my own is a little unnerving.
PANOV: [raises his head] Just a little, huh?
CONKLIN: Yeah. You can look up now, Mo, they've taken the photos down.
PANOV: [still coughing]
CONKLIN: He's delicate, bless him.
PANOV: [raises his middle finger from where he's bent over the trashcan]
CONKLIN: A delicate flower, our Mo. Let's see. [cracks knuckles] Does that get another--
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 32
CONKLIN: Ah, apparently so. One for each of us! Isn't that nice.
PANOV: [sitting upright again, still looking a little peaky] Well, that was a pretty pointless bit of unpleasantness.
CONKLIN: Agreed. Especially since all that accomplished was to show the DCI's "compassion" by shouting that nobody should be looking at those crime scene photos.
PANOV: I agree wholeheartedly.
CONKLIN: Please. Be my guest.
PANOV: All right. Let's see... [begins to tick off points on his fingers] One: The Scotch. Why would there be Scotch? Why would you be drinking? Furthermore, why would I let you be drinking? Who decided this?
CONKLIN: An idiot.
PANOV: Hush, I'm working. Two: The fingerprints. So they see that his fingerprints are on the glass, but the gun is wiped clean, and they don't consider that suspicious at all? Not even a little bit? Three: This positively reeks of a setup. If - and I shudder to think - if the Bourne personality decided to kill us, he wouldn't use a gun registered to David Webb, for God's sake. It's obviously a setup. Four: Jason Bourne doesn't exist anymore. David and I got rid of him, broke him of that entire personality. Five: ...David's at least fifty by now, if it's supposed to be immediately following the last novel. If not...he's sixty-five. And he's acting like he's in his thirties. Six... [he puts his hand on his face] Why is this happening?
CONKLIN: Survey says...!
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 41
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 10
CONKLIN: Nice!
PANOV: Got some double counts in there, too.
CONKLIN: I'm so proud.
PANOV: Alex...
CONKLIN: [holds up finger in a "one moment" gesture while still staring at the screen, gouges a hole near the bottom of his Coke can with his thumb, puts his mouth over the hole, and proceeds to pop the top and shotgun the entire can of Coke before crushing the empty can against his head while screaming.]
PANOV: ...so I take it you're not pleased.
CONKLIN: YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I'M NOT PLEASED! I don't know this man, I'm less of a patriot than someone who knows what has to be done, and if any Agency idiots are proud of me I'm fucking ashamed of myself! I retired long before either of these two botched abortions came on board, and calling me a "cowboy" is a complete and utter disservice to how I actually did my work! I was actually good at what I did, you know! I played the game, I didn't go in guns blazing! These assholes don't know what they're talking about! [screams in rage and upends his armchair]
PANOV: ...are you feeling better?
CONKLIN: NO!!!
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 48
PANOV: [dangerously] Alex, I'm going to need you to step back.
CONKLIN: ...okay. [does so]
PANOV: [takes a deep breath] YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT! NOT ONLY ARE YOU DISREGARDING THE PROPER SERIES OF EVENTS, YOU'RE DOING ALL OF US A COMPLETE DISSERVICE BY SAYING WE'RE NOT PROFESSIONAL - THAT I'M UNPROFESSIONAL ENOUGH TO LET MY LIKING FOR THE MAN INTERFERE WITH WHAT I KNOW HAS TO BE DONE TO ENSURE PROPER TREATMENT! YOU'RE ACCUSING ME OF NEGLECTING THE OATH I MADE AS A DOCTOR TO DO NO HARM, AND THAT INCLUDES NEGLECTING AND CODDLING PATIENTS OUT OF FONDNESS, YOU COMPLETE FUCKWIT! DAVID WAS FINE UNTIL HE WAS TRIGGERED INTO BEING BOURNE, EITHER BY YOU UNSCRUPULOUS BASTARDS TO ACHIEVE YOUR OWN ENDS, OR BY THE MAN HE WAS CREATED TO KILL! AND WHAT THE FUCK WOULD A FORENSIC PSYCHIATRIST BE USEFUL FOR IN THIS CASE? HE WOULDN'T TALK TO ANYONE ELSE BUT ME, BECAUSE HE TRUSTS ME! TURNING HIM OVER TO YOUR TEAM TO POKE AT WOULD BE LESS THAN USELESS! THIS IS THE BIGGEST LOAD OF BULLSHIT I'VE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE, YOU COCKSUCKER! [picks up own armchair and throws it several feet, Bobby Knight-style]
CONKLIN: ...holy crap. [sotto voce] Is it wrong that I found that incredibly hot?
PANOV: That was extremely cathartic.
CONKLIN: Let's just...summarize for a while, okay?
PANOV: Okay. Good idea.
[They take a moment to retrieve and right their armchairs, as well as get more snacks and drinks.]
PANOV: Right. So Bourne-Sue is to be assassinated, and speak of the devil, he's managed to break out of the refrigerated truck.
CONKLIN: [grumbles] More's the pity.
PANOV: I hate to say that I agree. I don't wish death on anyone - except for Carlos the Jackal, but he's been dealt with - but I'm starting to really dislike this creature masquerading as David. Maybe Marie will keep him from doing anything stupid.
CONKLIN: Yeah, apparently she's Sir Not Appearing In This Film.
PANOV: ...I have the unusual urge to commit violence upon this author.
CONKLIN: I'm so proud. [pats him on the arm] You're growing up.
PANOV: This is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted. [he rubs at his eyes] Okay, where were we. [he pauses] Oh my God. Okay. I'm done. [gets up and starts pacing]
CONKLIN: What? What is it?
PANOV: The racism is too much. The racism, Alex. We start with him referring to the "poor northeast district" of Washington, DC, and it only gets worse from there. It's like he thinks DC is still the murder capital of the U.S., but that was in the early 1990s. This book was written in 2005, long after gentrification had started to hit the city. Granted, the eastern parts of the city aren't as affluent as Northwest, but Northwest is full of, you know...politicians, lobbyists, ambassadors, and the white-collar workers who are scared of black people. You want to know how I know this? I fucking live here!
How Are You This Racist?!: 21
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 11
PANOV: [sits back down, grumbling] So Bourne-Sue steals a car and drives to a nearby diner. And then the bullshit starts. All right, strap in. This is going to be a doozy.
CONKLIN: [sam beckett voice] Oh boy.
CONKLIN: ...holy fucking shit.
PANOV: [buries face in hands] I told you. And we're not even done.
CONKLIN: I didn't think it would be this bad.
PANOV: Oh, God, where do I even begin?
CONKLIN: Let's start with the "dark" faces. According to the earlier notes, he sure is obsessed with skin color.
PANOV: And apparently, black people think white people are bad omens, which...oh my God. Oh my God. [opens a pack of Skittles with shaking hands] Oh my God.
CONKLIN: Hey, share.
PANOV: Get your own!
CONKLIN: [grumbles] Well, the waitress has "a face like Eartha Kitt", because nobody can imagine what a black person looks like without a famous person as a frame of reference. And seriously...the hair. I don't even know where to begin with the hair. Look, as a white man, I have no idea where to begin with this, because I honestly don't know, but I do know this is seriously not good.
PANOV: And we're all proud of you for admitting your shortcomings. Have a Skittle.
CONKLIN: I want a green one.
PANOV: They're apple-flavored now.
CONKLIN: ...no thanks. A red one, then.
PANOV: There you go. [gives him a Skittle] The makeup, for one - I'm blown away by this, because I bet you a hundred bucks that he won't call a white person "overly made-up", and the "care-worn face", which I'd also bet the same.
CONKLIN: The accent. And just. All of it? Can I cite all of it? Is that allowed? This is just not great.
PANOV: It is not great.
How Are You This Racist?!: 28
CONKLIN: So the damnable "NX 20" is referenced again, which is...stupid...you know, in case we forgot that there's allegedly a plot in here somewhere. And apparently I'm involved? I'm retired.
PANOV: Oh. I thought you said you were tired.
CONKLIN: Stop stealing jokes from Stargate.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 52
[There's silence again.]
PANOV: [pained] It keeps happening!
CONKLIN: I swear to God, if I hadn't sworn off the sauce, this would be enough to make me turn back to it.
PANOV: Alex!
CONKLIN: [holds up hands in surrender] I didn't say I was going to! Although apparently I have, according to this fuckwit.
PANOV: The Scotch could have been mine...?
CONKLIN: As if you would drink around me. As if I would keep liquor in the house. [bitterly] As if I would keep a wine cellar.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 56
PANOV: [gently pats his shoulder] ...I never thought I'd say this, but let's get back to the racism. Welfare, drugs, police brutality, friends being in jail...these are all stereotypes if not racist dogwhistles. I'm not sure what to make of the "family members dying suddenly", but you know what, let's throw that in there, too.
CONKLIN: And how is the life of your fellow Americans more alien to you than a completely different culture? Granted, he's an Oriental Studies professor - or at least David is, the real one - but he's not an oblivious racist.
PANOV: The whole thing with the police car is just...oh my God. [rubs his temples] Yes, every black person in an underprivileged part of DC is frightened of police cars. I hate this. I hate this.
How Are You This Racist?!: 36
CONKLIN: There's a weird flashback, which no doubt will become important later, and...okay, you have to take this part.
PANOV: What? Why me? I did the last one!
CONKLIN: [tightly] Because it's about "Khan", and I know who he's supposed to be, and I know that the actual person he's supposed to be is dead, because I saw his tiny body floating in the river, gunned down by an aircraft.
PANOV: Yeah. Okay. I'll take this part. [clears throat] So, the alleged Khan calls Spalko, and he apparently knows all of Spalko's secrets because he's special. He's displeased because Bourne-Sue's dossier was incomplete. [sarcasm] Really? The one-page dossier was incomplete? Color me shocked. Oh look. And apparently we're murdered again. And he killed us.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 60
CONKLIN: I hate every part of this.
PANOV: I know. But I think we're at least...[checks]...halfway done.
CONKLIN: I'm going to put a fucking gun in my mouth.
PANOV: Well, Spalko says "Because we're the same under the skin, you and I. Our nostrils dilate at the scent of death." Which is just terrible. Who talks like that?
A Composition in Heliotrope: 11
PANOV: Then Khan just shuts his cell phone, as though to say...oh, what is it the kids say these days..."bye, Felicia", and looks at a mother and child across the street. And he obsesses over them. Because that's normal.
Subtle Foreshadowing™: 6
PANOV: ...oh, dear. Alex, you might want to leave the room.
CONKLIN: [grimly] I stepped on a land mine. I can handle this.
PANOV: ...Alex, whatever you're thinking about, don't--
CONKLIN: [gets up from his chair, slowly walks over to the wall, and begins slamming his head into it]
PANOV: [gets up and drags Conklin back] Alex! I'm not going to let you hurt yourself like this!
CONKLIN: [struggling] Let me go! I need to kill the brain cells that just read that!
PANOV: I'm going to fucking sit on you if you don't calm your ass down!
CONKLIN: [stops struggling, and it's clear he's mulling over whether he should say this, but...] haha and then what ;)
PANOV: I'm taking away your internet. Sit down, Alex!
CONKLIN: [sighs and flops back down in his armchair] Okay, well, since I knew him, I'll take this sentence by sentence. [cracks knuckles] One, this is impossible. Two, still impossible. Three - and I know this is a shocker - still impossible. Four, still impossible. Five, still impossible. Six, Joshua was five, he already knew how to read! And impossible. Seven, still impossible. Eight, what the fuck is even happening. Nine, what the fuck is even happening. Ten, what the fuck is even happening. I'm scared, Mo.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 71
PANOV: I know. Me too.
CONKLIN: We're good people. Well. You're a good person. What did you ever do to deserve this?
PANOV: Because if I let you do this alone, you probably would have gone on a rampage by now.
CONKLIN: Hmm. That's not a bad idea.
PANOV: [firmly] Nope.
CONKLIN: [pouts]
PANOV: ...that's a disturbing look on you.
CONKLIN: [rubs at his eyes] Let's get this over with.
PANOV: [sotto voce] Title of your sex tape.
CONKLIN: [socks him in the arm]
PANOV: [socks him in the arm right back]
CONKLIN: [deadpan] Ow. So, the alleged Khan is stalking Bourne-Sue at the diner, and-- oh, for shit's sake!
PANOV: What?
CONKLIN: [gestures futilely at the screen]
CONKLIN: [sotto voce] Title of your sex tape.
How Are You This Racist?!: 37
PANOV: [flicks him on the head]
CONKLIN: [flicks him on the head right back] Yep. White people need to be afraid of too many black people, apparently. More purple prose - Their laughter drifted back to him, insubstantial as a dream. - Jesus, really?
A Composition in Heliotrope: 12
PANOV: Now we're going to Old Town, Alexandria--
[There is a sound like rolling and screaming from outside.]
PANOV: Oh, they're back. Or at least they're outside. Is this because they live in Old Town?
CONKLIN: [snorts] Probably. And...oh, dear. The sewing machines were midway back behind the counter, manned by three Latinas who did not even glance up when he entered. Why are you like this, you hack?
How Are You This Racist?!: 40
[There is a scream from outside that sounds oddly like "BECAUSE WE'RE ONLY GOOD FOR SEWING YOUR CLOTHES, IS THAT IT?!"]
PANOV: Well, now I'm starting to worry about them. There's some really ham-fisted description of Leonard Fine, the "tailor", done with short, choppy sentences--
EVL = Jerry Jenkins: 5
PANOV: --before we get to the oh for the love of God he introduced himself as Jason Bourne in public.
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 12
CONKLIN: This is so stupid. This is so stupid. A wanted man introducing himself without an alias, in broad daylight, in a heavily-trafficked - by tourists, no less! - area?
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 15
CONKLIN: Oh, I think it added one for each point. Nice.
PANOV: The sound of the sewing machines made the air sparkle and hum. I cannot even believe what I'm reading.
A Composition in Heliotrope: 13
CONKLIN: Please, Mo, if you have any love for me in your soul, kill me.
PANOV: Four pages left. Buck up, Alex, we can do this.
CONKLIN: My mind is full of hatred and death.
PANOV: So...normal Tuesday?
CONKLIN: Haha, hahahahaha. >:|
PANOV: Oh, unbunch. We're almost done. [adjusts his glasses] All right. Let's make the last bits as painless as possible.
CONKLIN: Said the interrogator.
PANOV: Hush. Fine takes Bourne-Sue back to his office, and of course doesn't realize that Fine thinks he killed both of us until there's a gun practically jammed up his urethra.
CONKLIN: That's an excellent idea. Let's go jam a gun up his urethra.
PANOV: How about you do it, and I'll watch?
CONKLIN: Title of your sex tape.
PANOV: Oh my God. Stop stalling.
CONKLIN: Do we have to recap? Please, I'm so tired...
PANOV: We're almost done. Come on. You're stubborn. I know you can do this.
CONKLIN: [rubs at his eyes] Okay. Okay. [sighs] Apparently this Fine person is supposed to be my secret backup guy. Bourne-Sue tries to convince him that he didn't kill us, and that clearly doesn't work, we get some tidbit about "Dr. Schiffer" and DARPA and Bourne-Sue is an idiot, and Fine manages to get a call out to the CIA because this Mary Sue in our friend's body is an idiot.
PANOV: But before we can actually see a fight scene, there's more exposition about the security situation at this terrorism summit--
Subtle Foreshadowing™: 7
PANOV: --and it turns out the number Fine dialed was your secret Agency emergency line, Alex.
CONKLIN: The hell it was.
PANOV: They do a reverse trace - and there's a note left here that says "make a joke about backtracing the IP", whatever that means - and teams of "agents" are dispatched to kill Bourne-Sue.
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 16
CONKLIN: Aside from the jurisidction issues brought up previously, we don't have agents. [sigh] Come on, man! [shakes himself] We're almost done. We're almost done. One more page. Phew. Okay. Bourne-Sue gets Fine to trust him by saying he knows about NX 20, Fine loses his goddamn shit and says I could never be coerced to tell about NX 20 - no shit, given that I haven't ever heard of it - and then he freaks out because obviously Bourne-Sue is telling the truth with this shibboleth and oh God I can't take it anymore, the potato passes to you, Mo.
PANOV: Wuss.
CONKLIN: You're hurting my feelings. And this book is hurting my soul.
PANOV: Bourne-Sue manhandles Fine into leading him out by the secret back entrance, and just when he thinks he's made it out, "two Agency suits" burst through the door with their guns out, and now we don't have to read anymore. I think they're right. This book is so boring I could prescribe it instead of sleep aids.
CONKLIN: Wait a minute. What's that noise?
PANOV: ...it's getting louder.
[There is an increasingly loud yell and ALEX smashes through the ceiling.]
ALEX: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-- [smack] oof.
CONKLIN: Oh, so you finally decided to show up?
PANOV: Don't yell at them, Alex, they might be hurt.
CONKLIN: Good. What do you have to say for yourself, bringing this atrocity into our house?
ALEX: [gently peels face off the ground] I say that nobody asked you to fall on your sword doing this chapter, but you did it anyway. And isn't that what Christmas is all about?
CONKLIN: [sigh] Mo, I think they're concussed.
PANOV: All right, let's get them some medical attention.
CONKLIN: So they don't die.
PANOV: And make us have to do the rest of this book.
CONKLIN: Hear, hear.
ALEX: [whimpers]
EVL = Jerry Jenkins: 5
I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means: 6
A Composition in Heliotrope: 13
Physics? What Physics?: 2
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 71
Because The Plot Says So: 8
How Are You This Racist?!: 40
'80s Ninja Choreography: 1
Subtle Foreshadowing™: 7
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 16
But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? Well, actually, it's a door that seriously needs some WD-40 on the hinges, but that's besides the point. Two men sneak in and gently, carefully, shut the door. It still squeaks. Loudly.]
MAN #1: Are you sure about this, Alex?
MAN #2: Come on, Mo, when have I ever led you astray?
MAN #1: Frequently. [sniffs]
[The lights come on, and yes, folks, it's our favorite main characters who were apparently unceremoniously killed off by a hack writer, ALEX CONKLIN and MO PANOV, carrying bags of sodas and snacks.]
CONKLIN: You know...I really thought this place would be more menacing.
PANOV: Well, we haven't even gotten started.
CONKLIN: Given the way they talk about it, you'd think it was the Marquis de Sade's torture chamber.
PANOV: Last time I saw them, they were rolling away. Literally rolling. Like they were a log. And screaming "BORED!". I think this broke them, Alex.
CONKLIN: [snorts] Serves them right. You know all the shit they put me through, right?
PANOV: [stiffly] You know I don't condone torture. Or revenge.
CONKLIN: Spoilsport. [He leans his cane against one of the armchairs and flops down into it with a can of Coke and some popcorn.] Roll tape!
PANOV: [Sits in his own armchair with another Coke.] I have a bad feeling about this...
The Director of Central Intelligence was in a dawn conference with Roberta Alonzo-Ortiz, the National Security Advisor. They met in the president's Situation Room, a circular space in the bowels of the White House. Many floors above them were the woodpaneled, beautifully dentiled rooms most people associated with this storied, historical building, but down here the full muscle and might of the Pentagon oligarchs held sway. Like the great temples of the ancient civilizations, the Sit Room had been built to last for centuries. Carved out of the old subbasement, its proportions were intimidating, as befitted such a monument to invincibility.CONKLIN: ...
PANOV: ...
CONKLIN: ...neat. So how do we...is it automatic, or...
A Composition in Heliotrope: 8
CONKLIN: Ah, there we go. So, literally all of this is idiotic. Why were all of these comparisons necessary? Is he getting paid by the word, perchance?
PANOV: Dollars to donuts.
CONKLIN: There's more exposition about the terrorism summit - because, lest we forget, there's a terrorism summit coming up - when the DCI gets a hand-delivered message of the utmost importance.
PANOV: [grimly] With a side of misogyny, to boot.
The DCI, though an old hand and, therefore, a wielder of his own power, knew better than to butt heads with the one person the president relied on most. He remained on his best behavior even though he deeply resented Roberta Alonzo-Ortiz both because she had usurped his traditional role with the president and because she was a woman. For these reasons, he employed what little power was at his command—the withholding of what she wanted most to know: the nature of the emergency dire enough to take him away.[Both men are shocked into silence for a long moment.]
The National Security Advisor's smile tightened further. "In that event, I would appreciate a full briefing of the crisis, whatever it may be, as soon as is practicable."
"Absolutely," the DCI said, beating a hasty retreat. As the thick door to the Sit Room swung shut behind him, he added, dryly, "Your Highness," eliciting a gust of laughter from the field agent his office had employed as a messenger.
PANOV: ...and we're supposed to think this DCI fellow is a good guy and cheer that he's putting one over on mean old Dr. Alonzo-Ortiz, correct?
CONKLIN: [looking back through old notes] I believe so, yes.
PANOV: What I wouldn't give for this nasty human being to meet Marie. She'd throw him over the horizon.
CONKLIN: And furthermore, what is the point of keeping the information from her, aside from being a petty little asshole? If it's a matter of national security, shouldn't the National Security Advisor be kept abreast of it?
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 6
PANOV: I'd love to slap this with a "Because The Plot Says So", but it's not really plot-related. It's just him being a nasty swine.
CONKLIN: The point is to get him out of the briefing, though, and advance the "plot" along, such as it is.
PANOV: ...I'll allow it.
Because The Plot Says So: 8
PANOV: Why do I have a sinking feeling that the misogyny is only going to get worse from here?
CONKLIN: Because, my dear and all-too-perceptive psychiatrist, you were not in point of fact born yesterday.
PANOV: Given her name, it's not a stretch to read her as Hispanic or Latina, so this is also probably racist on his part.
CONKLIN: The DCI's or the author's?
PANOV: Does it matter? Some people don't like a woman in power. Some people don't like a, pardon the term, "ethnic" person in power. You and I both know that, in our own way. You were press-ganged into the CIA because you're ethnically Russian, and I don't think I need to go into anti-Semitism both in the U.S. and the rest of the world for my part.
CONKLIN: ...so either way, he's being a cunt.
PANOV: [winces] I wish you wouldn't put it that way, but yes.
How Are You This Racist?!: 20
It took the DCI less than fifteen minutes to return to HQ where a meeting of Agency directorate heads was awaiting his arrival. The subject: the murders of Alexander Conklin and Dr. Morris Panov. The prime suspect: Jason Bourne.PANOV: ...did we really pick the right chapter to come in on?
CONKLIN: Come on, what's the worst that could happen?
PANOV: ALEX!!
As soon as the DCI entered the conference room, the lights were dimmed. On a screen appeared the forensic photos of the bodies in situ.
CONKLIN: ...that. That's the worst that could happen.
PANOV: Alex, could you pass me that wastebasket, please?
CONKLIN: [does so]
PANOV: [retches]
CONKLIN: I'm not unused to seeing corpses...but seeing one that purports to be my own is a little unnerving.
PANOV: [raises his head] Just a little, huh?
CONKLIN: Yeah. You can look up now, Mo, they've taken the photos down.
PANOV: [still coughing]
CONKLIN: He's delicate, bless him.
PANOV: [raises his middle finger from where he's bent over the trashcan]
CONKLIN: A delicate flower, our Mo. Let's see. [cracks knuckles] Does that get another--
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 32
CONKLIN: Ah, apparently so. One for each of us! Isn't that nice.
PANOV: [sitting upright again, still looking a little peaky] Well, that was a pretty pointless bit of unpleasantness.
CONKLIN: Agreed. Especially since all that accomplished was to show the DCI's "compassion" by shouting that nobody should be looking at those crime scene photos.
PANOV: I agree wholeheartedly.
"W—Bourne was last seen on the Georgetown campus approximately an hour before the murders. A witness observed him hurrying toward his car. We can assume he drove directly to Alex Conklin's house. Bourne was definitely in the house at or around the time of the murders. His fingerprints are on a glass of half-finished Scotch found in the media room."PANOV: [sighs] Do you want to address this, or shall I?
"What about the gun?" the DCI asked. "Is it the murder weapon?" Lindros nodded.
"Absolutely confirmed by ballistics." "And it's Bourne's, you're certain, Martin?"
Lindros consulted a photocopied sheet, spun it across the table to the DCI. "Registration confirms that the murder weapon belongs to David Webb. Our David Webb."
"Sonuvabitch!" The DCI's hands were trembling. "Are the bastard's fingerprints on it?"
"The gun was wiped clean," Lindros said, consulting another sheet. "No fingerprints at all."
"The mark of a professional."
CONKLIN: Please. Be my guest.
PANOV: All right. Let's see... [begins to tick off points on his fingers] One: The Scotch. Why would there be Scotch? Why would you be drinking? Furthermore, why would I let you be drinking? Who decided this?
CONKLIN: An idiot.
PANOV: Hush, I'm working. Two: The fingerprints. So they see that his fingerprints are on the glass, but the gun is wiped clean, and they don't consider that suspicious at all? Not even a little bit? Three: This positively reeks of a setup. If - and I shudder to think - if the Bourne personality decided to kill us, he wouldn't use a gun registered to David Webb, for God's sake. It's obviously a setup. Four: Jason Bourne doesn't exist anymore. David and I got rid of him, broke him of that entire personality. Five: ...David's at least fifty by now, if it's supposed to be immediately following the last novel. If not...he's sixty-five. And he's acting like he's in his thirties. Six... [he puts his hand on his face] Why is this happening?
CONKLIN: Survey says...!
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 41
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 10
CONKLIN: Nice!
PANOV: Got some double counts in there, too.
CONKLIN: I'm so proud.
"It's clear that Jason Bourne has gone rogue." The Old Man, still standing, fairly shook now. "Alexander Conklin was an old and trusted friend. I cannot remember or list the number of times he put his reputation—his very life—on the line for this organization, for his country. He was a true patriot in every sense of the word, a man of whom we were all justly proud." Lindros, for his own part, was considering the number of times he could remember and list when the Old Man had ranted at Conklin's cowboy tactics, his rogue missions, his secret agendas. It was all well and good to eulogize the dead, but, he thought, in this business it was downright foolish to ignore the dangerous tendencies of agents past and present. That, of course, included Jason Bourne. He was a sort of sleeper agent, the worst kind really—one not fully under his own control. In the past, he had been activated by circumstance, not by his own choosing. Lindros knew very little about Jason Bourne, an oversight he was determined to rectify the moment this briefing was adjourned.CONKLIN: ...
PANOV: Alex...
CONKLIN: [holds up finger in a "one moment" gesture while still staring at the screen, gouges a hole near the bottom of his Coke can with his thumb, puts his mouth over the hole, and proceeds to pop the top and shotgun the entire can of Coke before crushing the empty can against his head while screaming.]
PANOV: ...so I take it you're not pleased.
CONKLIN: YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I'M NOT PLEASED! I don't know this man, I'm less of a patriot than someone who knows what has to be done, and if any Agency idiots are proud of me I'm fucking ashamed of myself! I retired long before either of these two botched abortions came on board, and calling me a "cowboy" is a complete and utter disservice to how I actually did my work! I was actually good at what I did, you know! I played the game, I didn't go in guns blazing! These assholes don't know what they're talking about! [screams in rage and upends his armchair]
PANOV: ...are you feeling better?
CONKLIN: NO!!!
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 48
"If Alexander Conklin had one weakness, one blind spot, it was Jason Bourne," the DCI went on. "Years before he met and married his current wife, Marie, he lost the whole of his first family—his Thai wife and two kids—in an attack in Phnom Penh. The man was half-mad with grief and remorse when Alex picked him up off the street in Saigon and trained him. Years later, even after Alex enlisted the aid of Morris Panov, there were problems controlling the asset—despite Dr. Panov's regular reports to the contrary. Somehow, he too fell under the influence of Jason Bourne.CONKLIN: Okay, well, none of that is true or makes sense. I knew him way before he lost his f--
"I warned Alex over and over, I begged him to bring Bourne in to be evaluated by our team of forensic psychiatrists, but he refused. Alex, God rest his soul, could be a stubborn man; he believed in Bourne."
PANOV: [dangerously] Alex, I'm going to need you to step back.
CONKLIN: ...okay. [does so]
PANOV: [takes a deep breath] YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT! NOT ONLY ARE YOU DISREGARDING THE PROPER SERIES OF EVENTS, YOU'RE DOING ALL OF US A COMPLETE DISSERVICE BY SAYING WE'RE NOT PROFESSIONAL - THAT I'M UNPROFESSIONAL ENOUGH TO LET MY LIKING FOR THE MAN INTERFERE WITH WHAT I KNOW HAS TO BE DONE TO ENSURE PROPER TREATMENT! YOU'RE ACCUSING ME OF NEGLECTING THE OATH I MADE AS A DOCTOR TO DO NO HARM, AND THAT INCLUDES NEGLECTING AND CODDLING PATIENTS OUT OF FONDNESS, YOU COMPLETE FUCKWIT! DAVID WAS FINE UNTIL HE WAS TRIGGERED INTO BEING BOURNE, EITHER BY YOU UNSCRUPULOUS BASTARDS TO ACHIEVE YOUR OWN ENDS, OR BY THE MAN HE WAS CREATED TO KILL! AND WHAT THE FUCK WOULD A FORENSIC PSYCHIATRIST BE USEFUL FOR IN THIS CASE? HE WOULDN'T TALK TO ANYONE ELSE BUT ME, BECAUSE HE TRUSTS ME! TURNING HIM OVER TO YOUR TEAM TO POKE AT WOULD BE LESS THAN USELESS! THIS IS THE BIGGEST LOAD OF BULLSHIT I'VE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE, YOU COCKSUCKER! [picks up own armchair and throws it several feet, Bobby Knight-style]
CONKLIN: ...holy crap. [sotto voce] Is it wrong that I found that incredibly hot?
PANOV: That was extremely cathartic.
CONKLIN: Let's just...summarize for a while, okay?
PANOV: Okay. Good idea.
[They take a moment to retrieve and right their armchairs, as well as get more snacks and drinks.]
PANOV: Right. So Bourne-Sue is to be assassinated, and speak of the devil, he's managed to break out of the refrigerated truck.
CONKLIN: [grumbles] More's the pity.
PANOV: I hate to say that I agree. I don't wish death on anyone - except for Carlos the Jackal, but he's been dealt with - but I'm starting to really dislike this creature masquerading as David. Maybe Marie will keep him from doing anything stupid.
CONKLIN: Yeah, apparently she's Sir Not Appearing In This Film.
PANOV: ...I have the unusual urge to commit violence upon this author.
CONKLIN: I'm so proud. [pats him on the arm] You're growing up.
PANOV: This is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted. [he rubs at his eyes] Okay, where were we. [he pauses] Oh my God. Okay. I'm done. [gets up and starts pacing]
CONKLIN: What? What is it?
PANOV: The racism is too much. The racism, Alex. We start with him referring to the "poor northeast district" of Washington, DC, and it only gets worse from there. It's like he thinks DC is still the murder capital of the U.S., but that was in the early 1990s. This book was written in 2005, long after gentrification had started to hit the city. Granted, the eastern parts of the city aren't as affluent as Northwest, but Northwest is full of, you know...politicians, lobbyists, ambassadors, and the white-collar workers who are scared of black people. You want to know how I know this? I fucking live here!
How Are You This Racist?!: 21
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 11
PANOV: [sits back down, grumbling] So Bourne-Sue steals a car and drives to a nearby diner. And then the bullshit starts. All right, strap in. This is going to be a doozy.
CONKLIN: [sam beckett voice] Oh boy.
Bourne's white skin was silently remarked upon by the dark faces that turned as the door shut behind him with a little tinkle of a bell. No one returned his smile. Some appeared indifferent to him, but others of a different nature seemed to interpret his presence as an evil omen of things to come.[Both men are silent for a moment.]
Aware of the hostile glares, he slid into a lumpy booth. A waitress with a frizz of orange hair and a face like Eartha Kitt dropped a fly-blown menu in front of him, filled his cup with steaming coffee. Bright, overly made-up eyes in a care-worn face regarded him for a time with curiosity and something more—compassion, perhaps. "Don't you mind the stares, sugah," she breathed. "They're scared of you."
CONKLIN: ...holy fucking shit.
PANOV: [buries face in hands] I told you. And we're not even done.
CONKLIN: I didn't think it would be this bad.
PANOV: Oh, God, where do I even begin?
CONKLIN: Let's start with the "dark" faces. According to the earlier notes, he sure is obsessed with skin color.
PANOV: And apparently, black people think white people are bad omens, which...oh my God. Oh my God. [opens a pack of Skittles with shaking hands] Oh my God.
CONKLIN: Hey, share.
PANOV: Get your own!
CONKLIN: [grumbles] Well, the waitress has "a face like Eartha Kitt", because nobody can imagine what a black person looks like without a famous person as a frame of reference. And seriously...the hair. I don't even know where to begin with the hair. Look, as a white man, I have no idea where to begin with this, because I honestly don't know, but I do know this is seriously not good.
PANOV: And we're all proud of you for admitting your shortcomings. Have a Skittle.
CONKLIN: I want a green one.
PANOV: They're apple-flavored now.
CONKLIN: ...no thanks. A red one, then.
PANOV: There you go. [gives him a Skittle] The makeup, for one - I'm blown away by this, because I bet you a hundred bucks that he won't call a white person "overly made-up", and the "care-worn face", which I'd also bet the same.
CONKLIN: The accent. And just. All of it? Can I cite all of it? Is that allowed? This is just not great.
PANOV: It is not great.
How Are You This Racist?!: 28
CONKLIN: So the damnable "NX 20" is referenced again, which is...stupid...you know, in case we forgot that there's allegedly a plot in here somewhere. And apparently I'm involved? I'm retired.
PANOV: Oh. I thought you said you were tired.
CONKLIN: Stop stealing jokes from Stargate.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 52
Glancing up, he observed the denizens of the neighborhood drifting in and out, discussing Welfare checks, drug scores, police beatings, the sudden deaths of family members, the illness of friends in jail. This was their life, more alien to him than life in Asia or Micronesia. The atmosphere inside the diner was darkened by their rage and sorrow.A Composition in Heliotrope: 10
Once, a police cruiser slid slowly by like a shark skirting a reef. All motion in the diner ceased, as if this significant moment was a frame in a photographer's lens. He turned his head away and looked at the waitress. She was watching the taillights of the cruiser disappear down the block. An audible sigh of relief swept the diner. Bourne experienced his own sense of relief. It seemed that, after all, he was in the company of fellow travelers in shadow.
[There's silence again.]
PANOV: [pained] It keeps happening!
CONKLIN: I swear to God, if I hadn't sworn off the sauce, this would be enough to make me turn back to it.
PANOV: Alex!
CONKLIN: [holds up hands in surrender] I didn't say I was going to! Although apparently I have, according to this fuckwit.
PANOV: The Scotch could have been mine...?
CONKLIN: As if you would drink around me. As if I would keep liquor in the house. [bitterly] As if I would keep a wine cellar.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 56
PANOV: [gently pats his shoulder] ...I never thought I'd say this, but let's get back to the racism. Welfare, drugs, police brutality, friends being in jail...these are all stereotypes if not racist dogwhistles. I'm not sure what to make of the "family members dying suddenly", but you know what, let's throw that in there, too.
CONKLIN: And how is the life of your fellow Americans more alien to you than a completely different culture? Granted, he's an Oriental Studies professor - or at least David is, the real one - but he's not an oblivious racist.
PANOV: The whole thing with the police car is just...oh my God. [rubs his temples] Yes, every black person in an underprivileged part of DC is frightened of police cars. I hate this. I hate this.
How Are You This Racist?!: 36
CONKLIN: There's a weird flashback, which no doubt will become important later, and...okay, you have to take this part.
PANOV: What? Why me? I did the last one!
CONKLIN: [tightly] Because it's about "Khan", and I know who he's supposed to be, and I know that the actual person he's supposed to be is dead, because I saw his tiny body floating in the river, gunned down by an aircraft.
PANOV: Yeah. Okay. I'll take this part. [clears throat] So, the alleged Khan calls Spalko, and he apparently knows all of Spalko's secrets because he's special. He's displeased because Bourne-Sue's dossier was incomplete. [sarcasm] Really? The one-page dossier was incomplete? Color me shocked. Oh look. And apparently we're murdered again. And he killed us.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 60
CONKLIN: I hate every part of this.
PANOV: I know. But I think we're at least...[checks]...halfway done.
CONKLIN: I'm going to put a fucking gun in my mouth.
PANOV: Well, Spalko says "Because we're the same under the skin, you and I. Our nostrils dilate at the scent of death." Which is just terrible. Who talks like that?
A Composition in Heliotrope: 11
PANOV: Then Khan just shuts his cell phone, as though to say...oh, what is it the kids say these days..."bye, Felicia", and looks at a mother and child across the street. And he obsesses over them. Because that's normal.
Subtle Foreshadowing™: 6
PANOV: ...oh, dear. Alex, you might want to leave the room.
CONKLIN: [grimly] I stepped on a land mine. I can handle this.
For a moment, his eyes lost their focus and he was back in the jungles of Cambodia. He had been with the Vietnamese gunrunner for over a year, tied up in a shack like a mad dog, half-starved and beaten. The third time he had attempted to escape he had learned his lesson, beating the unconscious gunrunner's head to a pulp with the spade-shaped head of a shovel he used to dig latrine pits. He had spent ten days living off what he could before he had been taken in by an American missionary by the name of Richard Wick. He had been given food, clothing, a hot bath and a clean bed. In exchange, he responded to the missionary's English lessons. As soon as he was able to read, he was given a Bible, which he was required to memorize. In this way, he began to understand that in Wick's view he was on the road to not salvation but to civilization. Once or twice, he tried to explain to Wick the nature of Buddhism, but he was very young and the concepts he'd been taught at an early age didn't seem so well formed when they emerged from his mouth. Not that Wick would've been interested in any case. He held no truck with any religion that didn't believe in God, didn't believe in Jesus the Savior.CONKLIN: ...
PANOV: ...Alex, whatever you're thinking about, don't--
CONKLIN: [gets up from his chair, slowly walks over to the wall, and begins slamming his head into it]
PANOV: [gets up and drags Conklin back] Alex! I'm not going to let you hurt yourself like this!
CONKLIN: [struggling] Let me go! I need to kill the brain cells that just read that!
PANOV: I'm going to fucking sit on you if you don't calm your ass down!
CONKLIN: [stops struggling, and it's clear he's mulling over whether he should say this, but...] haha and then what ;)
PANOV: I'm taking away your internet. Sit down, Alex!
CONKLIN: [sighs and flops back down in his armchair] Okay, well, since I knew him, I'll take this sentence by sentence. [cracks knuckles] One, this is impossible. Two, still impossible. Three - and I know this is a shocker - still impossible. Four, still impossible. Five, still impossible. Six, Joshua was five, he already knew how to read! And impossible. Seven, still impossible. Eight, what the fuck is even happening. Nine, what the fuck is even happening. Ten, what the fuck is even happening. I'm scared, Mo.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 71
PANOV: I know. Me too.
CONKLIN: We're good people. Well. You're a good person. What did you ever do to deserve this?
PANOV: Because if I let you do this alone, you probably would have gone on a rampage by now.
CONKLIN: Hmm. That's not a bad idea.
PANOV: [firmly] Nope.
CONKLIN: [pouts]
PANOV: ...that's a disturbing look on you.
CONKLIN: [rubs at his eyes] Let's get this over with.
PANOV: [sotto voce] Title of your sex tape.
CONKLIN: [socks him in the arm]
PANOV: [socks him in the arm right back]
CONKLIN: [deadpan] Ow. So, the alleged Khan is stalking Bourne-Sue at the diner, and-- oh, for shit's sake!
PANOV: What?
CONKLIN: [gestures futilely at the screen]
He watched Webb now, knowing what Spalko already knew: that Webb was a very dangerous man. A man like that surely had no concern about being the only Caucasian in the diner.PANOV: [screaming:] IT KEEPS HAPPENING!
CONKLIN: [sotto voce] Title of your sex tape.
How Are You This Racist?!: 37
PANOV: [flicks him on the head]
CONKLIN: [flicks him on the head right back] Yep. White people need to be afraid of too many black people, apparently. More purple prose - Their laughter drifted back to him, insubstantial as a dream. - Jesus, really?
A Composition in Heliotrope: 12
PANOV: Now we're going to Old Town, Alexandria--
[There is a sound like rolling and screaming from outside.]
PANOV: Oh, they're back. Or at least they're outside. Is this because they live in Old Town?
CONKLIN: [snorts] Probably. And...oh, dear. The sewing machines were midway back behind the counter, manned by three Latinas who did not even glance up when he entered. Why are you like this, you hack?
How Are You This Racist?!: 40
[There is a scream from outside that sounds oddly like "BECAUSE WE'RE ONLY GOOD FOR SEWING YOUR CLOTHES, IS THAT IT?!"]
PANOV: Well, now I'm starting to worry about them. There's some really ham-fisted description of Leonard Fine, the "tailor", done with short, choppy sentences--
EVL = Jerry Jenkins: 5
PANOV: --before we get to the oh for the love of God he introduced himself as Jason Bourne in public.
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 12
CONKLIN: This is so stupid. This is so stupid. A wanted man introducing himself without an alias, in broad daylight, in a heavily-trafficked - by tourists, no less! - area?
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 15
CONKLIN: Oh, I think it added one for each point. Nice.
PANOV: The sound of the sewing machines made the air sparkle and hum. I cannot even believe what I'm reading.
A Composition in Heliotrope: 13
CONKLIN: Please, Mo, if you have any love for me in your soul, kill me.
PANOV: Four pages left. Buck up, Alex, we can do this.
CONKLIN: My mind is full of hatred and death.
PANOV: So...normal Tuesday?
CONKLIN: Haha, hahahahaha. >:|
PANOV: Oh, unbunch. We're almost done. [adjusts his glasses] All right. Let's make the last bits as painless as possible.
CONKLIN: Said the interrogator.
PANOV: Hush. Fine takes Bourne-Sue back to his office, and of course doesn't realize that Fine thinks he killed both of us until there's a gun practically jammed up his urethra.
CONKLIN: That's an excellent idea. Let's go jam a gun up his urethra.
PANOV: How about you do it, and I'll watch?
CONKLIN: Title of your sex tape.
PANOV: Oh my God. Stop stalling.
CONKLIN: Do we have to recap? Please, I'm so tired...
PANOV: We're almost done. Come on. You're stubborn. I know you can do this.
CONKLIN: [rubs at his eyes] Okay. Okay. [sighs] Apparently this Fine person is supposed to be my secret backup guy. Bourne-Sue tries to convince him that he didn't kill us, and that clearly doesn't work, we get some tidbit about "Dr. Schiffer" and DARPA and Bourne-Sue is an idiot, and Fine manages to get a call out to the CIA because this Mary Sue in our friend's body is an idiot.
PANOV: But before we can actually see a fight scene, there's more exposition about the security situation at this terrorism summit--
Subtle Foreshadowing™: 7
PANOV: --and it turns out the number Fine dialed was your secret Agency emergency line, Alex.
CONKLIN: The hell it was.
PANOV: They do a reverse trace - and there's a note left here that says "make a joke about backtracing the IP", whatever that means - and teams of "agents" are dispatched to kill Bourne-Sue.
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 16
CONKLIN: Aside from the jurisidction issues brought up previously, we don't have agents. [sigh] Come on, man! [shakes himself] We're almost done. We're almost done. One more page. Phew. Okay. Bourne-Sue gets Fine to trust him by saying he knows about NX 20, Fine loses his goddamn shit and says I could never be coerced to tell about NX 20 - no shit, given that I haven't ever heard of it - and then he freaks out because obviously Bourne-Sue is telling the truth with this shibboleth and oh God I can't take it anymore, the potato passes to you, Mo.
PANOV: Wuss.
CONKLIN: You're hurting my feelings. And this book is hurting my soul.
PANOV: Bourne-Sue manhandles Fine into leading him out by the secret back entrance, and just when he thinks he's made it out, "two Agency suits" burst through the door with their guns out, and now we don't have to read anymore. I think they're right. This book is so boring I could prescribe it instead of sleep aids.
CONKLIN: Wait a minute. What's that noise?
PANOV: ...it's getting louder.
[There is an increasingly loud yell and ALEX smashes through the ceiling.]
ALEX: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-- [smack] oof.
CONKLIN: Oh, so you finally decided to show up?
PANOV: Don't yell at them, Alex, they might be hurt.
CONKLIN: Good. What do you have to say for yourself, bringing this atrocity into our house?
ALEX: [gently peels face off the ground] I say that nobody asked you to fall on your sword doing this chapter, but you did it anyway. And isn't that what Christmas is all about?
CONKLIN: [sigh] Mo, I think they're concussed.
PANOV: All right, let's get them some medical attention.
CONKLIN: So they don't die.
PANOV: And make us have to do the rest of this book.
CONKLIN: Hear, hear.
ALEX: [whimpers]
EVL = Jerry Jenkins: 5
I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means: 6
A Composition in Heliotrope: 13
Physics? What Physics?: 2
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 71
Because The Plot Says So: 8
How Are You This Racist?!: 40
'80s Ninja Choreography: 1
Subtle Foreshadowing™: 7
Bro, Do You Even Lift?: 16