A Moll At The Mall

I had a spot of trouble recently. Not entirely my fault, but it might have been avoided. Just can't see how -- you be the judge.

I was on the way back from an excellent lunch with some colleagues in The Trade, during which we had evolved a solution for Iran. Can't relate the details, other than to mention that the cost would be minimal, and the results spectacular. The proposed action, involving a sound cleric's discussion of where Islam had gone off the rails, would certainly "kindle" a highly revolutionary flame. Further deduction of the precise technique I leave to you; enough information is given.

Anyway, as I reclined in the back seat of the Bentley, I thought the proposal had a chance, particularly given the low cost aspect. Suddenly, I felt a twinge, cursed, and spoke to my driver.

"Ahmed, I need something at a pharmacy. Soon." The Gucci purse I had was tamponless.

"My lady, we're not far from a major mall. Should be one there. But Irving said not to let you out in a public place. I will get the item for you."

"Not this item you won't, and Irving occasionally takes his protectiveness too far. I will be fine."

Shortly after, Ahmed dropped me at the mall entrance. I quickly made my way to a drug mart, obtained what I wanted, and headed for the nearest washroom. Even in my haste, I couldn't help noticing that, at least at two in the afternoon, the mall had been taken over by the senior set. Everywhere one looked were rickety individuals trundling about with canes, walkers, Zimmers, and various kinds of electronic conveyances. I assume as the day wore on they would be replaced by hordes of teenagers, but for now, the difference between the mall and a seniors home would be difficult to tell. Who knew?

The washroom was at the end of narrow, extended corridor. I entered, unzipped my skirt, and, well, that's enough about that. Suffice it to say that God was back in His "undisclosed location", and all was right with the world.

Not entirely.

As I emerged, I was confronted with three of the brothers, one brandishing a Smith and Wesson. Oh dear, I thought, reaching quickly into my purse and grasping my own Glock 9mm. This was going to get messy. Must have been my outfit -- the Armani skirt, Burberry jacket, the Gucci purse already referred to -- here would be easy and profitable pickings.

I looked up, and saw the gunman's eyes widen. I had seen that look before, too many times, and dove, rolling to one side as far as I could. Gunfire erupted, and the gunman fell writhing to the ground. Some distance away, but directly behind where I had been standing, another person was stretched out, but he was not moving at all. Good shot, bro' I thought. That second person I realized had been aiming for me.

The sound of gunfire was still ringing in my ears. Before anyone realized just what had happened, I decided to get out of there as quickly as I could. I calmly walked into a nearby store, Champagne and Ice, I think, and hid among the party frocks until things subsided a bit. I had no desire to be interviewed by a mall cop, let alone a real one. Too many awkward explanations.

I managed to leave by a side entrance, walked around to the Bentley, and ordered Ahmed to get moving. As we left, four police cruisers were entering, along with a vehicle marked RCMP.

Later, back at the Manor, I duly received a tongue lashing from Irving. I also learned that the person behind me had been shot dead (not really a surprise to me) and that the gunman who had shot him, though wounded, was now being considered some kind of hero. (Wonder how he explained the Smith and Wesson?) Apparently the guy who had me briefly in his sights turned out to be an Al Qaeda assassin. Alleged, of course, although Irving said that he was the real thing.

Does go to show, however, that malls can be interesting places. And a further thought. I recalled that after the gunfire, all the seniors had suddenly disappeared. Speedily and effectively. So I guess there is truth to the adage, as you head downhill, you pick up speed.