Awesomesquad! Assemble! 1! Revisited! (Part 2)

For those of you wondering just what the flying hell Awesomesquad! is, this post should tell you everything you need to know. Beware, there are spoilers. Since this is Part Two, you should read Part One if you haven’t already done so.

For those of you who have read it, or those of you who don’t feel like reading it (dicks) here is a reminder of what happened in Part One:

Back in May of 2009, Jessie James (our mechanic/ vehicle builder) came to us with the theory that Donald Trump was up to deeds more dastardly than his usual dastardly deeds. Against Damien Walters’s (our fighting/ parkour trainer) wishes, we flew to New York City to run some surveillance on the orange skinned millionaire. We stayed at a hotel the night before we were to carry out the stake out.

And that’s it. Enjoy:


When I awoke the next morning, the sun risen from the ocean and painted the sky an orange cream color. Also, Damien’s feet were resting on my face. Frantically I squirmed and smacked them away from my mouth and nose, and I took deep breaths of air not tainted with the smell of feet. I rolled onto my stomach, and rested my chin on the pillow and fully took in the light that shown through the curtain. Even with the curtains drawn and our window not facing the east, the golden morning light flooded the room. As I basked in the sunlight, it dawned on me what day it was- my 21st birthday. Holy shit, 21! I thought as a smile grew on my face, I finally made it! I’m going to get so hammered today. I lifted my head off my pillow and squinted at my sleeping teammates. I knew that Lady Caggiano knew it was my birthday, but I had never mentioned it to the rest of them. I pondered telling them for a few seconds before remembering what just about every action movie from the 1990’s had taught me: that mentioning your upcoming life event right before a potential action scene is a good way to get yourself dramatically offed. For my own health, I promised not to mention my birthday until after we had stopped Trump.

With my eyes fully adjusted to the light, I got up, grabbed the clothes I would be wearing for the stake out, and crept into the bathroom to take a shower before anyone else woke up. I wasted no time in the shower, and changed into my costume. I wore a grey and green plaid button up shirt, navy blue chino pants (which were not woman’s pants as I had believed before purchasing them), and a pair of standard black Chuck Taylor shoes. Obviously, I was meant to be a hipster, and I clearly rocked the look.

By the time I had finished in the bathroom, Damien was up and attempting to readjust his spine from the night sleeping on the chair by lying on the floor, and GMZ was sitting at the desk, typing something onto his laptop. As soon as he noticed I was out, Damien stood up and rushed into the bathroom, making sure to brush into me with his shoulder as he passed. Apparently, his night sleep did not better his feelings towards me or this mission today. As he showered, I woke up the rest of Awesomesquad! and had them start to prepare for the stake out set for later this morning.  I then went down to the continental breakfast to pick up some coffee and food for my group, and when I returned, the hotel room was crowded with my team members trying to get ready.

As my team got ready, we ate and talked about whether or not the Latest Terminator movie was going to flop when it came out in two weeks.

“Just as long as it’s better than the last one” GMZ noted, “But I’m not expecting too much with the movie.”

“Yeah,” Everett stated, “If their big shocker is that what there are robots disguised as people, they’re going to be disappointed to find out that was used in the first three Terminator movies.”

I added sarcastically, “But in this one there’s a robot who thinks he’s people!”

“That’s Sam Worthington’s character, right?” Criss asked, “Because I’m pretty sure that he really is just a robot in a meat husk.”

We all laughed at that, even when Criss added, “I’m being serious.”

The conversation died there, and I stuffed the rest of the blueberry muffin I was eating into my mouth. I looked around the crowded hotel room at everyone in their costumes, putting in their earpieces, and sipping their coffees and eating the assorted breakfast foods when I realized that we were missing a person.

“Where’s Lady Caggiano?” I asked the group.

“Minigan, I’m not wearing this. You can’t make me. It’s too humiliating and degrading.” Lady Caggiano’s voice rang out from inside the bathroom

“I’m sure you look fine in it,” I reassured her through the door.

“Fine? Are you kidding? I look amazing. But that doesn’t make it any less chauvinistic. Plus, I don’t see how I’m supposed to blend in when I’m clearly going to attract all the attention.”

“Well come out here and let me see,” I replied, “It cannot be as dehumanizing as you say.”

She opened the door, but did not step out. She was wearing a pair of polished black shoes with knee high red plaid socks. The socks matched her skirt, which also matched her tie. The tie hung in front of her dress shirt that she jokingly tied into a knot at her lower ribs, revealing her belly button. Over the dress shirt was a red school sweater from an all-female private school named the Bim-Bonia Academy. To top off her look, both figuratively and literally, she wore her light brown hair in two pigtails swayed back and forth as she moved. Honestly, she did look good, but she was right about how it would be too distracting.

I snorted before breaking out into laughter about her dress shirt. However, that laughter was short lived because Lady Caggiano slammed the door shut and locked it.

Confused, I immediately subdued my laughter and said to the locked bathroom door, “C’mon Lady Caggiano. You look fine. Just stop messing around and fix the shirt and come out here; We’re about to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Minigan,” she replied, “But the sound of you being a total douchebag is drowning out your voice.”

“What?!” I shouted.

“Sorry,” she yelled, “But you’re really going to have to scream if you want to be heard over your own douchery!”

“Lady Caggiano,” I commanded at a normal volume, “Come out here now.”

She yelled again, “Still can’t hear you. Maybe you should just go on the mission without me!”

“Fine!” I yelled through the door, “We don’t need you anyway!”

I walked away from the door when GMZ ran up to me and whispered, “Minigan, we totally need her.”

“I know,” I whispered back.

It was true. It was to be Lady Caggiano’s job to plant a bug in Trump’s private elevator as well as in one of the potted plants near the entrances. With her refusing to help, that means that a few of us were going to have to go out of our ways to plant the bugs.

After thinking over the plan for a minute or two, and pacing back and forth in the small amount of free space available to do so, I announced to my group, “OK, slight change of plans. Jessie, we’ll set you up with a wire so that you can catch as much of the conversation as you can. If Trump refuses to let you come up into his loft with him, try to plant the bug on the inside the cuff of his sport coat. If he lets you go up, plant a bug in as many places as you can without looking suspicious.” I then turned to Criss and Everett and continued, “You two will have to plant the bugs near the entrances now, because that CRAZY WOMAN LADY CAGGIANO-“

“Eat shit and die, Minigan!”

“-won’t come out of the bathroom. Also, this leaves a large gap in our stakeout formation that we’ll need to fix, so Nut’n Fancy, you and I will split up. You will browse the shops on the third and fourth floors of the Atrium, and I’ll go up to the second level and hang out at the Starbucks. Jessie, Criss, and Everett, stay on the bottom floor and watch for Trump. Jessie, hang out in the seating area until one of us spot’s Trump’s location and relays it to you. Criss and Everett, you’re supposed to be shooting scenes for Criss’s TV show, so make sure that both Criss and his private elevator door are both in the shot at all times. And Derren, you’ll take the top two floors of the atrium, but keep an eye on what’s going on below. You’ll need to be the one who talks us out of a jam if Jessie screws up.”

“Hey!” Jessie yelled, offended.

“I’m just saying hypothetically.” I reassured him. I then turned to Derren and mouthed the words, “When Jessie screws up.”

I looked down at my watch- It was quarter after seven, which meant that we had forty five minutes to get to the Trump Tower and into our positions before Trump exited the building for his morning workout. Thanks to Jessie being on the Celebrity Apprentice, he had learned and remembered Trump’s daily routine: 7:00 AM- Wake up, 8:00 AM- go workout, 9:00 AM- Go home, shower, take care of awesome hair (Trump’s words, according to Jessie), 10:30 AM- Devise plan to bankrupt another company that he owns (Lady Caggiano’s words from the trip over). Sure, we did have two chances to get to Trump, but I didn’t want to waste either.

Realizing that I still wasn’t wearing my fedora or my thick rimmed glasses with the hidden camera, I reached for my bag and found it to be at least thirty pounds heavier than what it had been before I took my shower. Curious, I opened it to find not my clothing, but a bunch of hoses, metal pipes and rods, and a large gas canister.

Everett smacked my hand away from the bag and snapped, “Get out of my bag!”

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Not important,” he replied. I pointed out to him that whenever someone says that it’s not important, it usually always is, and he replied to that by saying, “Yeah, but it’s not important for you to know, though.” He then picked up the heavy bag and set it in a corner far away from me.

“Again,” I replied smartly, “If you say something’s not important, it’s a good indication that it is.”

He didn’t answer, but just sat down on top of the bag.

“Whatever,” I replied as I rolled my eyes. I found my actual bag, and my hat and glasses inside it. I then turned to Damien, who was posing as an I.T. specialist, and said, “You can head down now. You need to have downloaded the hacking software into the system before the rest of us carry out with our plan. Good luck.”

“Same to you, mates,” he replied as he passed me, giving me a heavy pat on my shoulder, which I took as a sign that he had finally gotten over being angry with me.

Once Damien shut the door behind him, I turned to Criss and Everett and explained, “You two will be leaving next. Do not take a direct route to The Trump Tower. And try to perform some tricks for people on your way there. Granted, we’re in New York, so everyone’s probably going to be in too much of a rush to even cast a lingering angry look at you, but try anyway. And everyone: remember that we’re going to be in a public place, and nothing is more noticeable than a man talking to himself. So do not use your earpiece to communicate. If you need to get a hold of any of us, call my cellphone. GMZ will have it and will relay your message to the rest of us. Everyone nodded, and after a few minutes Criss and Everett got up to leave. Everett had GMZ sit on the bag to protect it from me, and then he with his video camera, and Criss with his trick cards and whatnot left. A few minutes later, they were followed by Jessie, then Derren, and finally Nut’n Fancy and me.

Before Nut’n Fancy and I left, I kindly called through the bathroom door, “Lady Caggiano, we’re leaving. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

She didn’t reply.

Shrugging, I said, “Fine.” and Nut’n Fancy and I walked out the door.

As we walked down the hallway, Nut’n Fancy chuckled and said, “You two sure you ain’t married? You sure act like you are.”

I rolled my eyes, “Please. Like lady Caggiano or I would be able to get through a single date before we’d be bickering at each other. Besides, we’re best friends. Dating her would be weird.”

In silence, we boarded the empty elevator and I pressed the button for the lobby. Once the elevator began its descent, Nut’n Fancy added, “It’s prolly for the best Lady Caggiano doesn’t come with us today, anyway. Women ain’t really suited for spy’n or fight’n.”

“OK, I’m going to stop you right there,” I replied before he had a chance to continue, “Even if we ignore the existence of every female soldier before her, Lady Caggiano still managed to sneak up on me, attack me, pin me to the ground, and force me to let her on the team. Underestimating Lady Caggiano’s ability to kick some ass is stupid and dangerous.”

The conversation ended there, as the doors to the elevator opened and we were greeted in the lobby by early bird tourists and business men from out of town leaving for their appointments. Nut’n Fancy and I changed our conversation to topics more touristy in nature, and headed out the door, posing as father and son.

Together, we headed the exact opposite direction of the Trump Tower for two blocks. Nut’n Fancy lead the way while staring at a large map of the city, I was close behind looking towards the ground and with my hand covering my face in embarrassment. By the second block, we crossed 5th Avenue, and doubled back towards Trump Tower.

Confidently, Nut’n Fancy claimed, “Now we’re headed the right direction!”

I rolled my eyes and followed close behind.

Within a few minutes, we were crossing the street and walking towards the colossal monument to Donald Trump’s ego: The Trump Tower. Right above the main entrance hung an American flag that stretched across the windows, and above that were the words “Trump Tower” in polished brass. The Doorman smiled a wide smile as he opened the door, and Nut’n Fancy and I stepped through.

“Woah,” Was the word that came out of both Nut’n Fancy’s and my mouths as we took in our surroundings. Almost every surface was made from polished stone. The walls were covered in a dark burgundy with black and white mixed in, and the floor was tiled with stone that was closer to a cream color. Whatever free space that wasn’t covered in stone was either a window advertisement for a store or a sheet of brass polished to the point that it was a perfect mirror.

We walked passed Criss and Everett, whom had gathered a small crowd around them to watch Criss’s tricks. Neither Nut’n Fancy nor I stopped to watch, but instead made our way through the atrium to the seating area.

The further we walked in, the more we realized how cavernous the Atrium was. Maybe it was because I never was sure about the exact height of a story, but the six floors stretched much farther up than what I was expecting, even after I studied the floor plans. Behind the seating area was a stone waterfall/ lighting fixture that stretched up to the ceiling. Above us was a maze of escalators (each one coated in polished brass as well) that zig-zagged up the each of the floors.

“Well,” Nut’n Fancy said as he slapped me on the back, “I’m gonna go find someth’n nice for your mom for Mother’s day.”

“Great,” I replied dryly, “I’m going to sit at Starbucks.”

We made our way up the first escalator, and then we split up. At the Starbucks counter, I ordered a mocha frappucchino, and once I received it, sat down at a table where I see the elevator. I was sitting there for perhaps a minute when I noticed Derren enter the building. We made eye contact for a brief moment before he walked under the Starbucks seating area, and I turned my focus onto GMZ’s iPhone which he let me borrow, and started to play a game.

Maybe about a minute after that, GMZ’s voice came in through my earpiece. “Alright, everyone is in their positions, and we have about ten minutes before Trump exits the elevator. Be ready to approach him, Jessie.”

Jessie coughed, which meant he understood. I took another sip of my frappuchino, and then looked around the seating area. It wasn’t full by any means; most of the people buying something were leaving right afterward, but there were a few scattered people sitting at tables within earshot.

From one table, I heard the woman say to her husband, “Did you hear that Tila Tequila is dating Ray J?”

“Really,” he said in surprise, “Ray J?”

I immediately stopped listening to them and focused my attention to two young women watching a music video on one of the girl’s laptop. Both girls had their backs to me, so I managed to catch a glimpse of the video. My best guess at the time was that it was about twin Taylor Swifts fighting over some guy.

GMZ’s phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from Damien. It read: Still haven’t reached the Security room yet. Have Jessie stall Trump.

“Jessie,” GMZ’s voice said, apparently getting the same text and me, “Try to keep Trump talking. Damien isn’t ready.

“The new Star Trek movie was amazing!” some guy exclaimed as he walked passed my table with his friend.

His friend replied, “Hell yeah it was! But what was with all those lens flares?”

GMZ’s phone rang. It was Damien. I answered it, but before I had a chance to say “hello,” he said in a hushed tone, “They’re on to me. I had gotten into the elevator with the security guard leading me down when he got a message that the actual I.T. guy arrived. I knocked him unconscious, but the others were alerted.”

“I’ve got Trump!” GMZ said into my earpiece. I looked down and saw the tall 62 year old man and his tuft of greying red hair step out of the elevator, flanked by aggressive looking bodyguards.

In the phone’s background noise, I heard a man’s voice yell, “There he is!”

Jessie’s voice burst in, “Mr. Trump! It’s me, Jessie James! Can I have a quick word with you?”

“Shit.” Damien’s voice muttered from the phone

I stood up, and turned away from the balcony. “Damien, are you close?” I asked not as calmly as I should have, “Do you think you’ll make it?”

I then heard several muffled “pampfs”- the sound of pressurized air shooting a tranquilizer dart.

Trump’s voice replied to Jessie flatly, “I’m sorry, Mr. James, but I’m late for my workout. Good day.”

“But Mr. Trump!”

“Yes, Minigan, I’ll be able to make it there. Just make sure Jessie plants that bug.”

I turned back to the entrance just as Trump and his body guards walked out.

“Too late,” I said.

“Damnit,” Damien replied.

“No,” I said, “Sure, Jessie screwed up just like we thought he would…”

“Hey!” Jessie shouted.

“…But we still have another chance. And now you have an hour to get that program running. Take your time with it.”

“Not that,” Damien said in a hushed voice once again, “There are more security guards coming. I need to go.”

Well, shit.

I crammed the phone back into my tight pants pocket, and sat back down. I took a couple of big gulps of my frappuchino, and then began to stir the whipped cream with the remainder of the frozen coffee. I stared at nothing in particular, my mind racing over various bad scenarios that Damien may be facing down in the security area. I should’ve listened to Damien, I thought, If I would’ve listened to him and slowed this mission down, I could’ve set up a security diversion that would’ve made it easier for Damien to reach the control room and not run into so many security guards.

I took another nervous sip of my drink. I got a second’s worth of cream, and then just the hollow slurping sound from the empty cup. Seeing as though I had an hour to kill before the next opportunity to bug Trump, I ordered another frappuchino. I waited patiently as the two female baristas behind the counter made my drink and talked about whether or not Twilight was going to win at the MTV movie awards (their analysis: yes it would. In every category.)

I got my drink, and sucked a large gulp down as I made my way back to my seat. Looking over the balcony to the ground floor, I watched as a couple of security guards rushed from their positions near the doors and to a hallway marked “Employees Only.” Knowing that they were headed for Damien, I quickly pulled out the phone and texted GMZ, “Have Criss distract the security guards.”

What felt like thirty (but was probably only five) seconds later, GMZ’s voice came through the earpiece and commanded, “Criss, distract those security guards.”

“OK,” Criss announced, “For my next trick, I’m going to need a volunteer.”

Many of the women around Criss raised their hands, but instead, Criss grabbed one of the passing security guards and pulled him in. The guard was short and thin, and despite his best efforts, could not fight off Criss’s grasp.

“Excuse me sir,” Criss said to the flustered man, “But I need your help with something.”

The security guard tried to pull away while saying, “Sorry, but I have a situation that needs to be dealt with-“

“It will only take a minute,” Criss replied, cutting off the end of the guard’s sentence.

Noticing the camera, the guard smiled smirked and said, “Sure.” He made a quick glance over his shoulder to see if his fellow security guards were watching, and once he saw that they were, he puffed out his chest in confidence.

“Good,” Criss said as he raised his right hand up and placed it directly in front of the guard’s forehead. To the crowd, Criss explained, “You see, reality is all about the person perceiving it.” He made a quick glance up at me before he continued, “What seems like a law of nature to one will seem like a crazy hoax to another, but both views are true in the eye of their beholder.” Criss turned to the guard whom he had is hand in front of and asked, “Sir, what is your name?”

“John Mil-“

“And John,” he continued, “how much do you weigh?”

“About 140 lbs”

“One Hundred and forty pounds.” Criss announced to the audience, “This man says he weighs one hundred and forty pounds, and to him I’m sure he does. But to me, he weighs as much as a human shaped, helium filled balloon.”

With that, Criss pulled his hand away from the security guard’s head, flattened it under his mouth as if there were something on it, and blew. The security guard went flying into the air. He screamed, but his voice was no longer mid ranged, but high pitched- as if he had just been breathing helium. The squealing balloon man zoomed up towards the ceiling.

“John!” one of the grounded security officers cried as he jumped up and grabbed the floating man by the ankle. Unfortunately for both security guards, this only slightly slowed John’s ascent, and within seconds, both men were high off the ground and drifting higher up to the ceiling. The crowd that had surrounded Criss erupted with applause, cheers, and laughter.

With a mischievous grin, Criss mimicked the motion of twirling a lasso, and then mimed throwing the lasso at the floating men. Suddenly, as if pulled by an invisible wire, both men stopped their ascent and spun around about John’s wrist. Both men screamed in horror, one high pitched, and one regular, as Criss gently tugged on the invisible cord and bounced them mid-air. The crowd cheered and clapped some more. Then, Criss walked over to the only other Security guard who stopped, and pretended to tie the string around his wrist. Criss walked away, and then the third security guard began to float off the ground. It was only by a couple of inches, but the man frantically kicked his legs in the free space below him and clawed at the nonexistent rope attached to his arm.

As the three men yelled and struggled to find the ground, Criss turned back to the crowd and said, “Remember, just because you’re perceiving something to be real, it doesn’t mean that your perceptions of what’s real are not mislead.”

And with that, the three security guards crashed back down to the polished tile floor. They scrambled to their feet and ran screaming out the door, John’s voice still squeaky and high pitched. The crowd around Criss and Everett went berserk with applause, filling the whole Atrium with the echoes of their laughter and cheers. Criss bowed, cast some fire from his hand, and then grabbed a rose that materialized from within the flames. He handed it to an attractive young blonde woman, who from even where I was sitting, I could tell was blushing.

I turned away from the commotion below, and called GMZ.

Before he could say “hello,” I asked, “Have you heard anything from Damien again? Did the distraction help?”

GMZ sighed, “I haven’t. Judging from everyone’s cameras, Criss’s trick did distract some of the guards- not just the ones he harassed, but I don’t think it was enough- there were still a few that went to see what was going on in the security area.”

I took a nervous sip from my frappuchino. I felt jittery. I wasn’t sure if it was from the sugary coffee drinks I had been guzzling for about h half hour or the fact that Damien could be in trouble and there was nothing I could do about it. With my right leg bouncing on the ball of my foot, I tried to think of something else.

“Has Lady Caggiano come out of the bathroom yet?” I asked GMZ, breaking the silence on my end.

“No,” GMZ replied, “And she really needs to come out soon. I feel like I have the Hoover damn in my bladder.”

“Did you tell her you needed to piss?”

“Yeah! And all she did was open the door enough to hand me a paper cup! And she won’t even take it back now that I’ve filled it up.”


“I know! You’d think she’d at least want it away from her stuff.”

In the background, I heard Lady Caggiano yell, “Is that Minigan?”

“Yes,” GMZ answered.

“Tell him I said that he can go fuck himself.”

“Only if you let me into the bathroom.”

There was a pause, which I assumed meant that Lady Caggiano was thinking it over. Eventually, she agreed.

I could hear rustling from the other end, and then GMZ’s voice saying, “Lady Caggiano wants you to go fuck yourself, Minigan.”

“Yeah, I heard her.” I spat.

He didn’t reply, but instead put down the phone so that he could pee. It was almost immediately picked up by Lady Caggiano who stated, “You’re a dick.”

“It’s good to hear from you too, Caggiano,” I replied sourly, “I hope you’re planning on saving some of faux feminist rage for later in case someone makes a crack about you spending so much time in the bathroom.”

“You know what, asshole?” She snapped, “You can take this costume and this job and shove it up your…”

She stopped. I checked the phone to make sure we weren’t disconnected. Nope- the call was still going.

“Lady Caggiano?” I asked uncertainly into the phone.

“Hold on a sec, Minigan, something just happened on GMZ computer.” She then pulled the phone away from her face and called, “GMZ, Get in here!” I heard his footsteps over the phone and then her mumble, “Is your computer supposed to be doing that?”

“Lady Caggiano, GMZ what’s going on? What is the computer doing?” I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

“Don’t worry Minigan,” GMZ assured me, “I set my computer to automatically link up with the program that Damien was supposed to be downloading onto the security system. It’s doing it now.”

“So that means-“

“Yep, Damien was able to get into the security control room.”

I let out a sigh of relief and said, “That wonderful limey bastard did it.”

“I’ve got access to the security cameras!”


“Oh shit.” Lady Caggiano and GMZ said simultaneously.

My euphoric feelings of accomplishment and pride in my team vanished and the feelings of panic and dread returned almost instantly, “What’s happening?”

“It turns out there were more security guards  than we thought.”

“Is Damien in trouble?”

“Well, right now they have him trapped in the elevator, so we’ll see,” Lady Caggiano replied.

“Wait,” GMZ added, “He’s climbing out the top of the elevator now.”


“Well,” GMZ replied, “They’re trying to force the doors open, what would you want him to do?”

He had a point. I thought for a few seconds, doing my best to focus through the sugar buzz to figure out how to help Damien. After about a minute, I instructed, “Lady Caggiano, I need you to look up the blue prints and see if you can find Damien another way out of the building. GMZ, if you can access the camera footage, use it to throw the guards off of Damien’s trail.”

“Alright,” GMZ answered, “We’ll keep you posted on what’s happening down there.”

“Ok, thanks.”

We both hung up, and I drank another couple of sips from my drink. For the next few minutes, I stared directly ahead of me, chewing on my straw and worrying about what was happening several floors beneath my feet. After a while (I’m not sure how much time had passed), I had finished my drink and once again was in line for another. The barista eyed me like you would a crack addict when I stepped up to the register and ordered another drink. Thankfully, she didn’t make any comment about me ordering my third frappuchino because my mind was bouncing all over the place too much to come up with a snappy comeback for her. I took my drink and sat back down in my chair near the ledge, promising myself that this would be my last one of these drinks for the day.

The next half hour or so went by without an incident: the most interesting things to happen were me taking the most satisfying pee ever, and overhearing a conversation about how the two worst people on the planet, Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt, had officially gotten married two Saturdays before. I quietly prayed that they would never produce an offspring, for I was certain that that offspring would be the antichrist and bring about the fall of man.

9:00 rolled closer, and Jessie got into his position to intercept Trump. From where I was sitting, I could see one of his hands clenched into fist, which I suspected was actually holding the bug he needed to plant on Trump. Criss and Everett, who had been wandering about the atrium after levitating the security guards, found their way back to their original location. I drummed my fingers on the table to a fast paced song playing in my head when Nut’n Fancy came down from the levels he was supposed to stake out, and sat across from me at the table.

“There’s noth’n on 3 and 4 that’ll do us any good,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. He then looked at me and how obviously tweeked out I was and asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I said so quickly that it sounded suspicious. I explained, “I’ve just had a few of these frappuchinos-maybe three-they’re really good- I’m trying to cut myself off though- after this one.”

I took a long sip of my drink and gave Nut’n Fancy a wide eyed stare from over the dome of the plastic up.

“Shit,” he laughed, “How do you think you hav’n a sugar high’s gonna help us today?”

“I dunno” I replied, “Maybe my sonic energy arms and legs will punch and kick through any security guard that gets in my way. Look, they’re vibrating so fast that you can’t even see them!”

Plainly, Nut’n Fancy replied, “They’re just jigglin’ at your sides.”

I looked down. They were. “Well,” I said, “That doesn’t mean that I won’t be able to fight 100 times better than normal”

“I have a feel’n that’s exactly what that means.”

GMZ’s voice interrupted out conversation with, “Trump’s limo just pulled up. Everyone get ready.”

Reflexively, Nut’n Fancy and I looked down to the doors. Criss and Everett were ready at their location, and Everett looked like he had a clear shot of the elevator doors. Criss had begun to fling playing cards in the air and have them fly circles around him at varying heights and arc sizes. Jessie walked out from under where Nut’n Fancy and I were sitting and stood near Trump’s elevator with his arms crossed and his feet shoulder width apart. I’m guessing that was his, “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me” stance.

After about ten long seconds, the door man opened the door, and Trump, flanked by his two large, aggressive looking bodyguards, stepped through.

“Mr. James,” Trump said in his forced Brooklyn accent, “I’m sure what you have to say is important, but I really don’t have time for failed contestants on my show to proposition me all day.” The words “failed contestants” had some particular venom behind them that even I felt, and my sugar high had left my face feeling numb. He continued, “Just leave me a voicemail and I’ll get back to you.”

“I know about your plan to develop expensive condos in low income neighborhoods!” Jessie blurted out.

Several passersby looked at the two men and were ushered on by the body guards. One looked up at me, and I immediately looked at Nut’n Fancy and asked, “So, did you hear that Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt got married two weeks ago?”

“Who’s Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt?” Nut’n Fancy asked.

“So, you did know what my plan was after all.” Trump’s voice said through my earpiece, “I guess it was a good thing I fired you.”

“They’re just the worst people ever.” I replied to Nut’n Fancy, doing my best to keep the conversation flowing naturally despite the more important conversation taking place inside my ear.

“Well,” Jessie replied, “I wasn’t sure until I saw the episode on Sunday. You had a map with all the low income districts circled. I’m telling you this because I think it’s a bad idea. It could ruin a lot of people’s lives and possibly your own fortune.”

“How dare you try to claim that one of my development projects will fail!” Trump snapped, “I know what I’m doing, unlike you.”

Nut’n Fancy cleared his throat, also distracted by the conversation going on below us, and then asked, “So, why are these people famous?”

“Mr. Trump,” Jessie pleaded, “You need to understand-“

“I don’t need to understand anything,” Trump interrupted, “You easedropped on my conversation, and now you’re telling me that I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to business? Do you even know who you’re talking to, you overly tattooed rat?”

“Because people love watching shitty human beings being shitty to other human beings,” I said to Nut’n Fancy.

“I’m The Donald. And I don’t need to listen to trash like you.”

Again, Jessie pleaded with Trump. I glanced down and watched as he grabbed Trump’s wrist in an attempt to keep him from entering the elevator and to hopefully plant the bug.

“Hey! Get your filthy mechanic hands off of me!”

In a flash Trump’s body guards had pinned Jessie hard against the wall. Jessie yelled in protest, but it was no use; they weren’t letting him go. I watched as Jessie opened his hand and let the bug drop to the floor, and the elevator doors close.

“He was trying to bug you, sir,” the spray tanned and bald body guard said once he noticed the round object on the ground.


“There’s another one in his ear sir,” the other body guard, a black guy who was more “fat” than “built,” added. He pulled it out of Jessie’s ear and threw it on the ground.

Double shit.

Breaking the rule I told everyone earlier, I pressed the button on my earpiece, turning my speaker on and commanded, “Criss, You need to get a bug in that elevator- do it now!”

“And for my final trick…”

The guard raised his foot over the earpiece.


Criss vanished it a plume of white smoke that erupted out of nowhere. The crowd cheered. The guard stomped down. My earpiece shrieked inside my skull. Everett, Nut’n Fancy, Derren , and I yelled and clutched our ears. The guards noticed. We were fucked.

A couple of security guards dragged Nut’n Fancy and I down from our table at the Starbucks to Trump and the rest of my apprehended team. Up close, Trump looked more artificial than real. His hair was perched upon the top of his head in an unnatural way. His skin, especially the skin on his face, was orange and was wrinkled and yet overly stretched. And I’m pretty sure he was wearing makeup. His eyes were dead, not even the slightest twinkle of light shown through as he stared down at me while I struggled against his body guards. I could tell from those eyes that he saw me as nothing more than an ant- a nuisance in his home that needed to be crushed.

“Who are you?” he said to us, finally.

“We’re here to stop you from making a horrible decision, Trump!” Jessie yelled, his face still pressed against the polished stone tiled wall.”

“Then why does that kid have a camera?” Trump asked as he pointed to the terrified Everett, who was tightly hugging the video camera he had been using all day.

“He was videotaping the magician,” the spray tanned body guard said, “We don’t know where he went to.”

Just then, as if it was waiting for the perfect time to appear, the elevator doors opened. White smoke poured out of the elevator as white doves flew through the open doors and into the atrium, and the horn solo for “The Final Countdown” rang out from the billowing smoke. Criss’s form confidently stepped through the smoke and into the atrium, and he was met with roaring applause from the crowd that had been watching his tricks. He was also met by the thick, meaty arms of the fat security guard.

Criss twisted himself free from the guard’s clutches, turned to Trump, and said, “Trump, listen to what Jessie is saying. Your plan will leave thousands of people without a place to live.” He waved his arms up in the air, and showered Trump with pennies that materialized from nowhere. “Sorry,” Criss apologized, “I got a little too excited.”

If my hands weren’t pinned against my back, I would’ve covered my face from embarrassment.

Trump stood there for a few seconds, staring us all down with his cold, dead eyes, when finally his lips curled into a smile that made blood run cold and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. While wearing that horrible smile, he said to his guards, “Throw them out.”

And that is exactly what they did. The two body guards, assisted by some security guards, dragged us to the doors, and, one at a time, threw us onto the sidewalk. I struggled with the man dragging me the entire trip from the elevator to the door, twisting on the ground and trying to grab anything within reach. I managed to latch onto a large potted bush, and was able to drag it several feet across the floor before my hands lost their grip. Once we were at the door, the fat body guard picked me up by my collar and the waist of my pants and tossed me out onto the sidewalk.

I landed on my face on the cool pavement, and whoever was thrown on top of me, landed on top of me. My knees bounced off the concrete, and a shot of pain traveled up and down my legs.

I heard one of the guards, I wasn’t sure if it was a security guard or one of Trump’s thugs, yell, “And don’t come back!”

Standing up, I groaned and said, “well, that sucked.” I then turned to Criss, and added, “I’m guessing you planted the bug?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” I replied, “that makes up for you shooting pennies at Trump.

Each of us in pain from the beating the pavement gave to us, we marched the block and a half back to our hotel. Back in our room, GMZ was hard at work trying file through all the security footage from the security area, trying to find where Damien went. Immediately, I went into the bathroom and washed up. My right cheek and the tip of my nose were scraped, and my forehead was cut and had a bruise forming. As soon as I was out, I sat down with GMZ and Lady Caggiano to assist them in their search for Damien. Sporadically, I sent text messages and called his phone, but each call went directly to voice mail. GMZ continued to search through the security footage, while I nervously paced in what little room we had.

After a few hours of no success, Criss suggested that we do some spying on Trump. “That is why we’re here, and why I had to plant the bug in the elevator,” he explained, “besides, the fact that we haven’t seen anything dealing with Damien yet means that they haven’t caught him.”

“He’s got a point,” GMZ noted, “I’ve got eyes all over that building now, so at this point, no news is good news.”

Not feeling any less worried, I conceded and said, “Alright, but if he doesn’t show up soon, we’re going to continue the search.”

Everyone agreed, and GMZ  pulled up the security cameras in Trump’s loft. Nothing that Trump did seemed out of the ordinary for him- he mostly just yelled at people, barked orders, and sat and stared at a blank wall. Finding noting of use in his apartment, GMZ decided to play the footage from the elevator along with whatever conversations Criss’s bug picked up.

Almost immediately, we had something.

Right after the body guards threw us out and returned to Trump, the three entered the elevator and Trump began to yell. “What the hell was that about?!” he screamed, “Jessie James thinks he can come in here with his biker gang and threaten me?

“Biker gang?” Jessie asked, bemused.

“And he thinks that he’ll be able to convince me to not move forward with my project? What an idiot.”

“Well, sir,” the spray tanned body guard replied, “none of them are going to be your problem anymore. We dealt with them.”

Trump went quiet for a second. Then he replied, “No. They’ll be back. Did you see the scowl on that young hipster one’s face? They’re not going to give up so easily.”

“What do you want to do then, sir?” the fat body guard asked.

“Get my private security up to my apartment,” Trump demanded, “And make sure they’re packing heat. If anyone tries to break in here tonight, I want them to be filled with so many holes that I could use their skull as a colander.”

The two body guards looked at each other uneasily.

“NOW!” Trump barked. The men jumped backwards. They stopped the elevator at its current floor, and rushed out the door. The doors closed behind them. Once the elevator started moving again, and with his head turned away from the camera, Trump muttered to himself in a voice unnaturally gravelly for him, “It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I let the host of Monster Garage ruin my plans.”

Then, even more bizarrely (if that’s possible), Trump repeated the phrase in his normal voice.

Jessie exclaimed, “That’s the voice I heard! The voice that was planning the whole thing! Holy crap, Trump has a split personality!”

Just then, Damien burst through the door, breathing as if he had been running for several miles. Droplets of sweat had formed on his bald head and were running down his face onto his I.T. uniform which was covered with dirt, oil, and dust. Even from where I was standing, I could smell various awful smells coming from him, one of which I swear was food grease.

“What happened to you?” Everett asked, “Have you been crawling around in the air ducts?”

“Yes, I have,” Damien replied, “And I have a story to tell all of you.”


To continue reading this story, follow this link to part three.



  1. […] Awesomesquad! Assemble! 1! Revisited! (Part 2) […]

  2. […] Awesomesquad! Assemble! 1! Revisited! (Part 2) […]

  3. […] Awesomesquad! Assemble! 1! Revisited! (Part 2) […]

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