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“I’m saying, I don’t believe a fucking word of it. How the hell would that even work?”
“Very slowly,” he said, tipping his glass of champagne in my direction.
I sat in a robe in a reclining chair at the spa as we got pedicures. It was ridiculous, but I wanted answers. Well, real answers. I wasn’t sure what the hell kind of story he was telling me right now, but I’d get the truth out of him one way or another.
“Very slowly. That’s all you’re going to tell me.”
“Well, I’m not sure what more there is to tell,” he said thoughtfully. His brows furrowed in thought, and then he snapped his fingers. “It was like mice.”
“Mice.”
“Yep, you know, I was digging like a mouse. Or maybe an armadillo,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “Either way, yeah, that’s how I did it.”
“With chopsticks,” I repeated.
“Pretty classic, right?” he asked, taking another sip of champagne.
I shifted in my seat, really trying to get through to him how outrageous this story was. “Tell me, if it was impossible for anyone to get on the island, how did they have Chinese takeout?”
“Ah, you know, as I was laying in my dirt grave, the same thing crossed my mind. I was digging with those sticks, and I realized they were new. So, they hadn’t been in the house before. And there were takeout containers from the mainland. And as I started using them to dig, I was thinking, where did these come from?”
“You never said that in your story.”
“Well, you interrupted me before I could get to that part.”
“And which part was that?”
“Well, I was digging like an armadillo, and I was about halfway to the surface when I looked at the chopstick and realized it was new.”
“Except, you had already been digging at that point. The chopsticks would have been dirty, thus making it impossible to tell if they were new or old.”
He sighed heavily. “Are you going to tear apart every detail of my story?”
“Yes,” I said without a moment’s hesitation. “Because I call bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit.”
“Then how did they get the Chinese food?”
“Same way I got there. They airdropped it.”
I nodded slightly, my eyes widening at the incredulity of the story. “So, they ordered Chinese food from the mainland, had someone fly overhead and airdrop it. And what is this amazing restaurant that owns a plane and can airdrop food? And how is it possible that they were allowed in the airspace over the island if this guy is so private? And why would they order Chinese food when it would be cold when it arrived?” I shouted.
He stared at me for a moment. “Wow, you really don’t think outside the box. Okay, see, the way I figure it, the people at the restaurant must be forced to work for this guy. And you’re right, they wouldn’t be allowed to fly over the island. I figure there’s a special contractor who gets the order and has to pick it up, then is forced to fly over the island with the implicit instructions to never land, or face death.”
“And how did they keep the food warm?” I asked.
“You know they have warming bags for that,” he laughed. “Man, you are way too much of a stickler.”
“For the truth.”
“I’m telling you, every word is true.”
It was really fucking hard to control my temper when all I was hearing was a bunch of tall tales. When I said I wanted the real story, I stupidly thought I would get it. I wasn’t sure what he was telling me, but it couldn’t possibly be the truth. There was no way he dug himself out of that grave using only chopsticks.
Right?
“Okay, let’s pretend for a moment that you were able to dig yourself out of the grave?—”
