The Competition

51

He smiled. It made him happy to see the line of people waiting for the seven o’clock showing of Hail of Metal. They’d been right to pick a Saturday night at the Cinemark in Woodland Hills. No matter how crappy the movie, the idiots always had to have their “date night.” The place would be packed to capacity. A pimply young man dressed in a black shirt and trousers opened the doors, and the line slowly filed into the theater. Pathetic sheep.

It was hard to wait. The digital clock in the dashboard felt torturously slow. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. One minute crawled by. Then another. Then another. Finally, it was time.

Moving quickly up to the doors past the usher, then moving slowly, with deliberate nonchalance, into the theater. The clock above the concession stand read 7:15. Perfect. They’d planned it all so well. The movie would start any minute. This was it. Go, go, go! Up the staircase. Down the hall. To the door on the right.

Knuckles rapped hard, with authority, on the door of the projection booth.

A voice from inside the booth called out, “Who’s there?”

You’ll see, dickweed. “The manager. It’s important. Open up.”

The door opened just a crack. It was enough. Slam! The door flew back, throwing the projectionist to the ground. The knife plunged into his gut, right up to the hilt. He exhaled with a grunt. The knife plunged again, this time straight into his throat. Gurgling, choking sounds bubbled out of the projectionist’s mouth. It would’ve been fun to watch, but there was no time.

Ready.

Two assault rifles, locked and loaded, poked through the window to the theater.

Aim.

As the lights dimmed, the guns tipped down toward the audience. One shifted to the right, the other to the left.

The opening scene-a four-car pursuit-began to play. The sound track blasted the screech of tires, the clash of metal on metal as the cars careered through tight city streets, slamming into walls, parked cars, and mailboxes.

Finally, the cue: a long hail of bullets.

Fire!

The projection booth filled with manic laughter and gunshots. Blam! Blam! Blam!

Down in the theater below, people began to scream.