Get Them Bad Guys!

Gerry Lopez, aged twenty-four, deemed himself a hero and when he wasn't defeating bad guys on his X-Box, constantly imagined himself in different situations saving the day, after which he would appear on the TV News, nodding humbly while the reporter hailed him as a hero, before going on talk shows and late night, to regale the viewing audience about his heroics. 

Whenever he got on an airplane, (which he did once a year, every Christmas to visit his mother back in Jersey,) he always imagined a hijacking, some band of brown-skinned terrorists trying to storm the cockpit, about to rain down death and fire until he, Gerry Lopez, stepped in.  Ever ready for chance, he always took an aisle-seat, and when the flight attendants ordered them to put away all electronic devices before take-off, he would sit, rehearsing in his mind the ways he'd disarm the culprits. 

Ever since he was a kid and saw the TV movie, Death at 30000 Feet, he'd always played the scenario out whenever he flew.  It gave him peace to imagine kicking a terrorist in the groin, grabbing the gun and pumping a few rounds into the first bad guy, then using him as a bullet shield while he unloaded into the other two. Of course, a couple innocent bystanders would have to get hit, maybe the middle-aged gay guy flight attendant or the frumpy lady in the chair in front of him, but not the hot blond babe in 32C. She had to survive so that she could leap into his arms and kiss him.  Then there would be heroic music as the plane touched down safely and he was led off the plane to the press conference, where he’d frown humbly while they hailed his heroics, telling them how anyone would have done it, and all the while his ex-girlfriend Margaret would be watching and she would feel terrible for breaking up with him, and she’d burn with jealousy at the sight of him with the babe in 32C.  Or maybe it would be the mousy but chic brunette in 30A.  Or both of them at the same time.

Gerry smiled, fired up by the chain of events unfolding in his head.  All he needed now was a culprit, and scanning the coach section his eyes locked on a brown skinned guy sitting two rows up. Not the black guy in 35A. No, black guys were always good guys on airplanes, which made Gerry happy, because that was not always the case in dark alleys or liquor stores, but if there was a battle in the skies, the black guy and him would no doubt bond, and maybe talk about their common love of rap music and basketball during a lull in the shootout with the terrorists.  Terrorists didn’t love rap music or basketball, just killing for Allah and portraits of angry-looking men with rags on their heads.

Gerry’s eyes widened as he scanned the seats in front of him, fixing upon a different brown-skinned guy in 34C.  Middle-eastern? Check. He even had that terrorist scowl as he poked the screen on the seat in front of him.  He wasn't wearing a rag on his head, but...that might mean he was trying to blend in, with a white collared shirt, and khaki pants.

He didn't fool Gerry, though, who was keeping a watchful eye for the safety of the passengers, crew, and all of the freedom-loving world. He kept turning around staring at it until the man sensed his presence and gave him a rude look.

Gerry kept a wary eye on him, making sure he wasn't sending messages to the other plotters, seated in random places elsewhere on the plane, which Gerry couldn't see, cause when he tried to stand up, the stupid gay flight attendant guy gave him an angry look and told him to sit down and the pilot came on telling everyone to stay seated cause there was going to be turbulence, and then Gerry imagined the plane crashing, or breaking apart in mid air, and how most everyone would get blown to bits, while he would pull the emergency raft button and climb inside it like Indiana Jones in The Temple of Doom, and then he'd grab the hot babe in 32C, and the cool looking black guy in 31A, and the mousy brunette in 34D, while the gay flight attendant and the suspected terrorist fell like a road runner cartoon and went pluff in a cloud of dust.

But none of that happened. The plane leveled out, pretzels and soft drinks were served, and the pilot turned off the fasten seatbelt button.

As for Gerry, he returned at the Game Station in his lap, clicked on Call of Duty, and went back to killing bad guys.