[Every time I get one hundred more followers, I publish another chapter of The Moosehead Stratagem. If you’d like to catch up, the previous chapters are here. I hope you enjoy or that you at least not hold his against me]
The two night guards stared into the cell, mouths slightly agape.
“It’s a cot”, stated the heavy-set guard. The smaller guard squinted, then said,
“It’s the prisoner”
The heavy-set guard leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly, “It hasn’t moved in two days. What makes you think it’s not a cot?”
The slimmer guard replied, rubbing his chin, “Unlike the cots we normally keep around here, this one has a head, neck and mustache”
“Looks like a pillow to me”
“Pillows don’t have eyes”
The heavy-set guard took off his guard hat and ran his fingers through where his hair had once been, “You’re right. It kind of looks like a flounder looking up from the ocean floor”
“So, it’s the prisoner”
“Yeah… I guess”, heavy guard admitted, “So, what do we do? It might be a trick”
The smaller guard snorted, “It’s obviously a trick. The man’s pretending to be furniture”
“Should I call a doctor?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should leave the room for a while. It’s creeping me out”
Resnick, immobile as a frozen duck, listened with great interest. Many years ago, he was widely known for impersonating a cot and he pretended to be a water bed for three months in the summer of 1983. Soon, they would send in a doctor. As with any person Resnick encountered, he would kill the doctor, then use his spine and ear cartilage to saw through the bars. If the guards came in to stop him, he’d kill them as well. Then, he’d kill his way out of the police station, kill himself a cab ride to a nice restaurant then, kill his way to a nice table by a window. After killing himself a nice meal, he’d kill his way to a non-descript motel and kill his way to a room with a double bed and cable television.
The door opened and an older man in scrubs walked in.
“He’s over here, doctor”, the heavy-set guard said, “In this cell”
The doctor wiped bloody hands on his shirt, “This had better be important”, he snapped, “I was delivering a baby. You came along and rushed me and I had to just drop it in the mailbox”
“It is important, doctor. Look.”
The doctor looked over his round glasses for a moment. Then, he stated, “I can’t do anything for him: He’s a cot”
The smaller guard responded, “That’s what we thought; but, look at the eyes…”
“You mean the eyes on the pillow with the mustache?”
The doctor pondered for a moment; then, he offered, “Reminds me of a flounder, or one of the ghosts in Pac Man”
“So, what do we do?”
“Well”, the doctor replied, “I guess I’d better go in and examine him. Is he dangerous?”
The smaller guard said, “He is the world’s foremost assassin… except of course for Mike Wistersheshenham”
The doctor’s expression brightened, “Oh yeah. Good man. Speared my adam’s apple once…” The cot grumbled. No one spoke for a moment, then the doctor recapped, “So, you want me to go into that cell with a trained killer who is pretending to be a cot?”
“We’ll both be out here ready and waiting to notify your next of kin”, said the heavy-set guard.
“Seems fair”, said the doctor, “Open the cell”