Even though it really violates all that you hold dear as a person, you find yourself irresistibly drawn in to the whispers of the two men at the next table as they hunker over their untouched breakfasts.
“After ze courier receives ze combination from zose… bikers Americains… he will rendezvous avec moi at ze Malco Drive-in. It shall be during ze Thursday showing of Zoolander 2.”
“Oh, I have heard zat zis movie, she is magnifique!”
“Never mind ze movie! You know what to do!”
“Ah, oui. I shall prepare ze speed boat and wait for you among ze Memphis Riverboats. Do you sink we shall have ze time for an historic tour?”
“Non, you imbecile! We shall be in possession of ze secret…”
“Ze secret to… ze American rock ‘n roll!”
“And zen, mon ami… we sell it to ze highest bidder!”
“And who, mon ami, is zat?”
You shudder, silently cursing your curiosity. Frenchmen! No wonder they’re dressed strangely. Bubba’s famous Livermush Double-Stack slouches, like a morose boulder of animal fats, in front of you. There will be no more eating today.
Who would want to sell the secret of American rock ‘n roll?
Is there really a secret to it? Are you going to let some scheming Europeans steal it away, if that is the case? Could you stop them, even if you wanted?
You stare out across the gas islands and your eyes rest lovingly on Kathy, waiting for you out in the sunshine. Is it all some kind of silly dream?
But somehow, as the two men exit the gas station under your intense scrutiny, you find yourself mulling over their words.
In that moment, you realize that your destiny might hang in the balance. Heck, America’s destiny might hang in the balance!
You bolt out the door and round the corner at the back of the shop just in time to watch the men furiously kick-starting a pair of Lambrettas.
Those are some nice rides, and you can’t help but admire their sense of style. After two or three minutes, they whiz away toward the distant, but beckoning, city that holds the Secret, whatever it may be. It’s a secret that they have no right to take!
“Come on, Kathy! Let’s ride,” you mutter, twisting the throttle and heading out in hot pursuit.