Main Ingredients:
nemesis
assistant
kohlrabi
radishes
cell phone
Spice Pack:
1 dollop of exhilaration
1/8 pinch of joviality
A scrap of paper, one word: "Kohlrabi."
Did it slip out of his hand? Did he drop it on purpose?
I was sick as a dog, a dog sick with rabies. I broke into a sprint. He glanced over his shoulder, and then began to run. I overtook him, a bucket of fury washed over me. Fury, with a dollop of exhilaration. (A little bit of joviality). I grabbed him by the throat.
"Kohlrabi! Where the hell is Kohlrabi?"
"You mean, you're looking for Kohlrabi, too?"
Clearly, this man was some sort of underling, an assistant to an assistant. "Where is he?"
"Who?"
"Don't play dumb with me, punk! You help me find Kohlrabi and I might let you live! Give me your cell phone! Give me your cell phone!"
He fumbled for his phone. I crushed it under my foot.
"Drones! Are we being followed?" He shook his head. I looked in the sky. No drones in sight. The beef rub was working. "Kohlrabi!!!!"
"H-he-here, t-t-take these radishes. Take them all. I couldn't find Kohlrabi. B-b-but daikons are mild... r-r-related to Kohlrabi... D-d-don't kill me."
I snatched the paper sack. These were like no radishes I'd ever seen. More like carrots after a bite from Bunnicula, the orange sucked clear out of them. I tossed the bag at him.
"Who sent you?"
"Muh-muh-muh-mom."
"Mom?"
"Y-y-yeah."
I could see now, he was just a kid, in over his head. "Go. And don't come back."
If my mom was involved, that meant only one thing: My nemesis, Andrew RockeHearst.
I vomited.