DECKER: Episode Five (An Adaptation): The End For Now…
I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to show some DECKER love to @timheidecker, @greggturkington, @m_proksch, and @adultswim. I’ve had a wonderful time working on these adaptations and I hope you enjoyed reading them. Today I present you with the fifth and final adaptation to this exciting series. If you’d like to catch up on your reading, check out my adaptations of episodes one, two, three, and four. Thank you, dear readers. God bless America.
DECKER: Episode Five (An Adaptation)
It’s a long chug from Central Park to the White House.
Decker commandeers his seat across from President Davidson. His hands still tremble from the pressure of squeezing shut Abdul’s terrorist throat. But the cold chills of a national threat no longer stings his warrior brow. He feels lighter like a cruise ship born of risky cocktails and impossible missions. Decker’s mission was not impossible. It’s been cleared. He flicks a speck of bomb-ash from his black blazer and leans back, satisfied with one final request itching to luau off the tip of his tongue.
President Davidson’s ghostly face is illuminated by the video phone image of Agent Kington’s grinning mug. Davidson gives Decker the nod of approval. “On behalf of America,” he says, “I want to thank you for saving us from the terrorist.”
“You’re welcome,” Decker says, eyes narrowing into his signature squint.
Davidson’s neck-meat jiggles. He asks, “How did you do it?”
“Once we broke the code and figured out how to access the secret documents, it was easy.” Decker grins like a sleuth hiding a muddy hand. “You see, I can read and speak Arabic and I dis—have determined that the plot was in en—was to blow up Central Park.”
“Incredible.”
“Once I got that information,” Decker says, “I headed to the park and stopped the terror attack with brute force.”
“And I couldn’t be happier with the results,” Agent Kington blurts from the video phone.
“It’s what saved America,” Decker says.
“Incredible,” Davidson grunts, in awe of Decker’s single-minded cunning. “Decker, you’re, you’re a hero.”
“What’s incredible,” Decker says, cocking his heroic head, “is how you failed to use the constitutional authority guaranteed to you by our founding fathers to use force to protect the homeland from these savages. Don’t you realize that as Commander-in-Chief you have the power to bomb these people back to the stone age? When will you ever learn that your administration is a disgrace. You— all your pathetic attempts just to try to get through this term so that when you come out you can go on your stupid book tour and give your pathetic lecture circuit. You sold this country a bill of goods and now the chickens are coming home to roost.” And Decker’s lips curl into a grin of satisfaction.
President Davidson’s grimace sneers in shame, eyes dart to the left, those fingers fidgeting like he doesn’t want to face the truth, like pissing down a hill of broken promises.
“I agree,” Agent Kington says.
“Right,” President Davidson says. He blows a puff of hot air out his mouth, lets it fill the air. “I… I should just resign and make you president.”
“I would recommend this,” Agent Kington says.
But Decker’s eyes are truth-seeking missiles, keenly aware that the corruption wouldn’t stop even if he were to assume Davidson’s phony position. His index finger shoots into the air. “But I refuse,” he says. “I’m needed out there in the shit, protecting you and us from people that want to do us harm.”
“And thank God for that,” Agent Kington says, voice fuzzed and crackly like the ghost of George Burns echoing from a tin outhouse.
“You deserve the medal of honor,” President Davidson says.
“I know and I do accept the medal of honor,” Decker says. “That there’s anything else, Mr. President, I wouldn’t mind borrowing Air Force One and heading off to Hawaii for a vacation.”
“You got it,” President Davidson says, nods.
“Mr. President,” Decker says. “you’ll never get my vote, but you have my respect.” He rises, plants his palm firmly in President Davidson’s hand and squeezes. And for a moment, they’re close, closer than they might ever be again.
“Coming from you that means a lot.”
“All the best,” Decker says.
And he snatches the once-dangerous briefcase off the President’s desk, turns his back on President Davidson, and marches cool steps of victory out of the office.
Davidson stares slack-jawed like a sad dog, but he’s hopeful. “Decker truly is our most valuable national treasure.”
“And I am a big fan as well,” Agent Kington parrots, “We’re lucky to have him.
“Be safe in Hawaii, Decker,” President Davidson barks proudly from his seat.
And as we walk with Decker out through the White House and down the red carpet that leads to Air Force One, past soldiers saluting a real American hero, we are left with a strong snippet of admiration from Agent Kington, a declaration of admiration from the bottom of all our hearts, “I really love Decker.”
Don’t we all, Agent Kington. Don’t we all.
But we are not yet finished. For, the world is watching.
Some folks out there are settling in with their grease-slopped taco dinners, or roadkill burgers on a crusty bun, happy families on the verge of slopping into the meat of freedom. A young American husband and son dip hungry paws into a tub of buttered popcorn. Grandpa cracks open a bottle of piss-warm beer, and somewhere, a busy mother, beautiful and delicate and tired, rests her heels for the first time all day in front of the television altar.
Soon, it’ll be Super Bowl Sunday.
And it doesn’t matter if their regularly scheduled programming bleeps, snaps, and cuts to the blazen image of our grand country’s insignia, filling all channels with a live report from the White House. It’s always zero four hundred hours somewhere in America.
So they watch.
They listen.
Through popcorn crunches and sloppy spoonfuls of cranberry sauce and turkey, they listen closely to the words of President Davidson’s message to the United States of America.
“My fellow Americans, I come to you with disturbing and yet, great news. An agent of the United States of America has saved us from peril. Single-handedly, he has crushed a plot to destroy America. He has saved Central Park and he has saved the Super Bowl.”
They cheer.
They hang on his every word, held tight in unity: “And I designate the following Sunday, a parade in his honor, down Broadway in New York City.”
And hearts stir, drums march onward as President Davidson fills their hearts with joy: “Unfortunately, this brave, brave agent will not be able to attend, because of course, his identity must remain secret. And you know who you are. Our country owes you a gratitude of thanks.” The world is breathless, grateful, stuffed, and, for once, truly moved by their leader: “God bless you, agent. God bless America.”
And yet somewhere high above this world’s troubled waters, a black-clad stranger slips shades over his eagle eyes, and looks out of a window at miles and miles of turbulent waters far below. The sun is setting in the West. Air Force One feels to this man like a giant motorcycle plowing the wind to shredded wheat, charging into the end zone to overcome whatever evil forces might threaten to destroy the liberty and justice of our beautiful country.
Godspeed, Decker.
Godspeed.
The End
For Now…
