Vincent got in the man's green Buick and put on his seatbelt. He then checked around for anything suspicious. "There are no bombs in here," said the man, "No poisonous gases either." The man started driving.
"That's nice to know. Why did you poison me?"
"You really want to know?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"I don't have much time left, now tell me already!"
"All right, all right. I didn't poison you."
"What do you mean? You knew I was poisoned, you told me I drank it, you poisoned me!"
"The poison was mailed over here."
"Great. The poison was mailed over here. Little aliens in Arkansas came and beamed it over and a man put it in a mailbox and the mailman delivered them to the chef who put in my drink. How accurate am I?"
"The poison was from Arkansas but the aliens didn't deliver it. It was put in a mailbox by a man and a mailman delivered it to the building and the chef put it in your drink."
"I can't tell if you're serious or not. Start from the beginning."
"I can't start from the beginning. I can start from the middle, though. The poison was mailed from Arkansas to here by my enemy. I am in a group called the Secret Human Organization for Events and Happenings Over and Round the Nation. We keep secret events and happenings in America that even the CIA doesn't know. We have no identity. We are hand-chosen by the leader.
"One of our members, Garth Grass, turned against us and is using our information for his own plans. We have to stop him from getting what he wants. What he wants is you and I.
"He sent the poison to the chef. His primary targets were in that building. One person I took away his drink and offered him a new one. Another I 'accidentally' knocked his glass onto the floor. One went to you. I switched the last one's drink with the chef's drink. Don't worry; the chef's on the bad side too. I hope I don't sound too mean, but it's pretty funny that he's about to die and doesn't know it."
"Yeah. That's funny. Almost as funny as me about to die and knowing it."
"Now we're out to stop this man from succeeding in any other plans. He doesn't expect me to know where he is, but I found this in the chef's pocked," he took out a note, "He's hiding in a church in Bransway."
" long will it take to get there?"
"One hour."
"So I'm going to spend one of the last two hours of my life sitting in a car. Are we there yet?"
"No."
"I was being sarcastic. You know, all those little kids in car rides saying, 'Are we there yet?'"
"I don't get it."
"I bet I don't get more than you. What's your name?"
"Fifty-two."
"I would've named my son that, but my wife wanted James. Can you tell me why I was in this line of people who had to be killed?"
"Not yet."
"I hate it when people do that."
"We all have our pet peeves."
"Shut up."
Vincent turned on the radio and got Creedence. He sang along.
"What's your favorite band?"
"I don't know."
"Song?"
"No idea."
"Movie?"
"A Clockwork Orange."
"Now there's a movie that suits you. Bloody, disturbing, and evil."
The two sat and stared out the window. Cars passed by. Vincent thought about what all of them might be thinking. He shifted in his seat.
"I'm going to sleep. Tell me when we're there."