You’d better get to Graceland so you can finish this thing, whatever it is. After you save the Secret of rock ‘n roll, you’ll have plenty of time to listen to the Blues. Regretfully you maneuver onto Elvis Presley Boulevard and cruise along until you spot Graceland’s sprawling façade, surmounted by packed parking lots and swarms of tourists all simmering together in the June heat.
Perhaps heat is the reason why, after squeezing Kathy into the closest space you can find, you are too careless to have a good look around. If you had tried, you could have picked out the telltale black leather jackets and wraparound sunglasses that would have alerted you to the presence of the secretive Frenchmen from Bubba’s.
You didn’t think you’d be able to steal an important document out from under their noses without putting them on alert, did you? After all, they have your description… and Kathy’s.
As you pick your way uncertainly through the crowd and queue up at the ticket booth, you feel the hard nose of a revolver press into the nylon fabric of your riding jacket.
“Bonjour, monsieur… scooter trash,” rasps a sinister Gallic voice, chuckling into your ear. “Why don’t you just take a leetle walk here with us, away from ze crowds, where we can talk?”
Helplessly you shuffle away from the crowds at the entrance to Graceland flanked by the two odious criminals who can barely contain their glee.
First they force you to make a stop at Kathy, where you are obliged to pass over your keys and then watch in helpless horror as one of the thugs opens your gas tank and pours sugar inside.
Quivering with rage, you choke back a scream, focusing all of your energy into thoughts of sweet, sweet revenge.
Any notion of that, however, is quashed by their next action, which is to approach an idling cab and shove you rudely into it. One of the Frenchman whispers harsh instructions to the driver while the other zip-ties your hands behind your back. The envelope is then removed from your jacket.
“Bye-bye, American idiot. Enjoy your swim in ze river,” they mock as the cab speeds away.
Too late, you realize that the driver is also wearing a black leather jacket.
You’re about to be dumped into the Mississippi by a frog-leg-eating, wine-tasting, cheese-making, crappy-car-designing garlic-chaser.
This event is DEFINITELY not on the Amerivespa 2016 event schedule.
Adieu, mon ami…