Henchmen in love

I have enemies, I am not proud to say it.

Recently a henchman from the West Coast, the town of Turbuculosis I believe, or somewhere close, caught my attention at a coffee roaster outside of Seattle. I was there on business, he was there to do me bodily harm. Lucky for me there have been people who hate me for a very long time and many of these people have tried, in a variety of creative ways, to do me harm. So over the years, I have seen many try and even more fail, to beat me, kick me, punch me, shoot me and one, inject me with some sort of evil syrum. A couple have been successful, most have failed miserably and now one has fallen in love with me.

So, there I was in this Seattle coffee roaster shop, getting pissed off because they did not serve tea. I gave up coffee when professor TMI warned me that a man of my age could get prostate cancer from the amount of caffeine I ingest on a daily basis. It is true, from my morning pots of coffee, to the Red Bulls in the mid-morning, to the 5 hour energy drinks that I consumer on the hour, I take in way too much caffeine for a fairly healthy 28 year old man. Which is even made stranger by the fact that I have not been 28 for decades.

I was about to punch the illegal immigrant working behind the counter in the face for not bringing me a tea when I noticed Hector Valenzeula dart into the women's restroom. Hector has tried to beat and or kill me well over 7 times in the last 12 years. One time he pushed me off a slow moving train in India. Another, he stabbed me with a green banana in Bangladesh. When I saw Hector instinctively my left hand reached behind my back, into my belt, looking for my handgun, which of course I did not have with me, since I was traveling and ever since Obama got elected you can no longer carry hand guns onto planes, so there I was, standing in a coffee shop in the outskirts of Seattle, defenseless, with Hector Valenseula less than 37 feet away, in the women's restroom no less.

Which was just starting to dawn on me. Instead of punching the illegal I told him that another illegal had just dashed into the women's restroom and I think he was a known "serial rapist". The frightened clerk grabbed the phone, dialed 9-11 and mouthed the words, "are you sure?" I nodded knowingly, which is one the few things I mastered in my master acting class I took while living in Los Angeles in the mid-90s while living with a stripper named Feliz Unger.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at a table and waited. In about 7 minutes three police cruisers were infront of the building and Hector Valenzeula was in the back seat of one of them, scowling at me like I had hurt his feelings or something. I was actually kind of proud of myself when a petite Latin man with no body hair sat down in the chair opposite from me and looked directly at my face, his smoldering eyes burning right into my very soul. "You must be very proud of yourself right about now," he seemed to whisper is a sultry and seductive tone. He pulled his chair closer to the table and leaned in. "I like the way you handle yourself." He stared at me for an uncomfortable moment. I did not say anything and allowed our eyes to remain enraptured. I am like that, what the hell I think to myself, what's the worse that could happen?

He broke off the stare to look over at the slight woman sitting at the next table, she was reading some fashion magazine and talking on her cellphone. "Scuse me miss, but I am having trouble concertrating while you keep talking." He actually said the word concertrate, which I was pretty sure was on purpose, but she got this tart look on her face, like she was sucking on a lemon, stood up, clutched the magazine to her breast and walked to the opposite side of the shop, all the while continuing her cell conversation.

"I was hired to kill you," he said to me, matter of factly, as a way of introduction.

"Yeah?"

"It's true."

"You and what army?"

"Oh, you a comedian?"

"No. Well, yeah, I guess."

"Seriously?"

"No, I was joking."

"Well, here is my dilema. I had a cousin, Salvador Pinto Salamdifference, he was shot in the finger and he dies. You know who does that to him? You got an idea? Hector Fucking Valenzuela. So, I was standing over there in the corner, thinking about sliding into the backseat of your car and slitting your throat when you come out after you have some coffee, and then I see Hector and all I can think about was how he killed my cousin, I can't think about you no more. See, now all I can do to not kill Hector is knowing there is a video camera above the counter over there, that's why I was gonna kill you in your car, see? So, I can't kill Hector now, but I see him, and then I see him jump in the girls room. Then the police come and you and he, what, you wave to him? And then you blow him a kiss and he all cuffed and shit, and he was spitting and shit? You and Hector, you got a history?"

"No, not really, he's an evil henchman, been hired a couple times to beat me up."

"How come people hire henchmen to beat you up?"

"How come someone hired you to kill me?"

"Oh, yeah, well, I was hired cause you piss someone off."

"Right, see, somehow, innocently enough on my part, I end up pissing people off, or owing the wrong people money, or neglecting to pay a parking ticket, and all of a sudden there are evil henchmen, laying in wait."

"Must be tough."

"You have no idea."

"I can see it in your eyes. Let's get out of here, let me buy you lunch."

"You're not going to kill me?"

"How could I?"

We drove to the wine country of Yakima County and shared a wonderful bottle of Merlot and some great basil and fresh tomato sandwiches. My new friend Antonio ended up dropping me at the airport and wishing me well. Strange how those things work out. Now, at the oddest times, I get these wonderful text messages, wishing me good health and updating me on the trial status of one Hector Valenzeula, apparently facing numerous felony charges in a court on the outskirts of Seattle.