Inside Straight

Presently he drags himself out of the cave, emerging to a clamor of voices—Wild Fox roaring in his latest animal persona, Rustbelt yelling like a drunk at a tailgate party, Art and the other producers keeping their cameras aimed. Something is going on out of his line of sight. Fine. It gives him time to search further.

He performs a flanking maneuver, putting one of the caves between him and the snorting rhino, who seems—if possible—to be growing more agitated at the presence of multiple aces in the habitat.

In the shadows Jamal sees not only the expected foliage and the odd box or barrel—presumably filled with feed—but other obstacles, including what could only be a limbo bar.

Who is that stupid production designer again? Or is this the work of the “writers” Jamal had seen lurking with the camera crews?

Maybe it’s his experience on films, where the action is usually broken into pieces, but he feels a strange sensation, as if he is seeing his quest as it will appear on plasma screens days or weeks hence… wide-angle habitat… lion, bear, rhino… snakes in moat… face of Tiffani… Wild Fox with his ears pricked up and his tail swooshing. Cut, cut, cut!

Rustbelt kicks over a bucket of feed, starts pawing through it.

Wild Fox is in the habitat now—and he’s taken the shape of the bear! Which one is the ace? Ah, the one stopping to search.

Tiffani, where’s Tiffani? Got to have that eye candy, people! There she is, glittering and glowing. And to Jamal’s amazement, then fury, she simply steps on the electrified wire—balancing like an acrobat as St. Elmo’s Fire envelopes her harmlessly—then simply dropping to safety in the habitat.

Of course. Stuntman is flesh and blood. He gets hurt, then bounces back. Tiffani is transformed into one of the hardest substances known, a lousy conductor. A few stray volts of electricity wouldn’t even curl her hair, assuming it could be curled. She shoots the camera a smile so bright that Jamal can see it from behind, the way it shines on the crew’s faces.

She turns. “Get going, Stuntman!” Cut. Cut. Cut.

Then it’s Rustbelt, ducking under the sweeping paw of the brown bear. (What the fuck does he think he’s doing?) Cut.

Wild Fox-as-the-bear pulls apart one of the cavelike habitats and begins picking through its contents in a very fastidious, unbearlike manner. “What have we got here?” he says. Shit, does he have the Jetboy idol? Jamal wonders. Am I screwed? Cut.

Then Jamal himself, Stuntman, is suddenly face-to-face with a lion. For one fraction of a second, he wants to laugh at the image… black man with a lion! Like some black-and-white jungle movie.

He’s been electrocuted and stomped. He can’t handle being slashed. Gotta go, gotta move. Make it more like the football field: run, spin, stop, reverse.

His bad leg slows him as he tries to clear a casing that covers pipes and a faucet. Wham! Jamal hits again, not hard by Stuntman standards, but enough to knock his wind out.

Tiffani screams at the lion, causing the beast to turn—it freaks out, if a lion can freak out—at the sight of her.

Under the tipped casing, Jamal sees the damned idol, Jet-boy, lying on his back. He rolls so he can crawl toward it.…

Zap. He can’t fucking do it! That grid in the habitat floor—it’s some kind of nonlethal weapon, a wireless taser, slowing him down! Reach, crawl, reach.…

“Hey, Rusty!” He can hear Wild Fox.

Where? Jamal turns away from the glittery idol—still out of reach—can’t see either Wild Fox or Rustbelt—no Tiffani, either. But they must be closing in. Three camera crews are scrambling closer.

Then there are the animals. He can smell them.…

Boom! Here comes Drummer Boy, all arms and attitude, yelping as he hits the taser field, but snatching Jetboy out from under the casing before Jamal is within five feet of the thing. “Tough luck, superstar!”

Not Drummer Boy: Wild Fox! As he turns, Jamal reaches out, finds his tail. He can’t see it, but it’s there. He gives it a yank, and “Drummer” loses his balance, turns back into Wild Fox… and sits down in a pile of bear shit. He hits hard and loses the idol.

Jamal finally gets to his feet. Dragging himself after the figurine, he sees it picked up by Rustbelt… it instantly changes color and texture. Seeing his immunity in the Minnesotan’s hands—a stocky, stupid-looking kid who acts like an ape with a hand grenade—Jamal loses his temper. “You ruined it, hotshot!” Jamal shouts.

Rustbelt reacts as though Jamal has slapped him. And while he is distracted, Tiffani appears next to him and snatches the idol from his hand.

“Hey!” Rustbelt is even more wounded.