The subway killer topples down the stairs as I collapse against the railing, wondering why he was tailing me, and who is "The Frenchman"?
OK. it isn't quite a French Connection Tail-adega night. My actual experience is a bit tamer, more tortoise and hare than ire of the tiger.
I drive a wind-powered hybrid maxing at 55 MPH. I leave the expressway several times but on each return the Zipcar moves in right behind me.
Who is that guy? No matter how I zig and zag through traffic the Zipcar stays with me. I use every trick I know to shake him with no effect.
It doesn't help that I must pull over to the shoulder to tweet each update. The Zipcar zips past me but is behind me when I resume driving.
I finally give up and go all the way into town, the Zipcar in tow. I pull up in front of my office and the Zipcar parks across the street.
Who is that guy? Not one to shrink from confrontation, apparently. His persistence is disquieting. Without effort he tracked me to my lair.
Is he a stooge for the medical school I just left? Or could he be someone I sent up the river at some point in the past, out for revenge?
There were those losers in the "Rough in the Diamond" gang who stole the pedestal holding the Hopewell Diamond, but left the diamond behind.
Then there was the infamous "Wall in the Hole" break-in where I found the rotund perp in an awkward position after consuming too much honey.
I don't know why I ate so much honey but I sure was alert to trapped trangressors! I also recovered a missing juvenile doing his wild thing.
I investigated and brought to justice the French pilot responsible for a minor regicide, trusting my heart, not my eyes to see the truth.
I was the only cop on the force to scope out where the elusive Waldo was hiding, forcing him to exchange his street stripes for prison bars.
Over my combative career I’ve busted a hodgepodge of offenders, including garrulous auto-toads, wordy web spinners and melodramatic dragons.
I’ve collared furtive teens, rascally rabbits, grasping grinches, mischievous mice and flying freaks. Any of them may be out for vengeance.
Any of them could be my Zipcar shadow, although some of them are too young to have a driver's license and many of them don't have hands.
I walk over and tap on the tinted windshield. No response. I say "Whatever juvenile fiction you operate under, come out with your hands up."
No response. There's a place you go in your mind at times like these. You don't know who's behind the glass. You don't know what to expect.
Anticipating possibilities, I turn sideways to shrink my target area. I shift to my heels and bend my knees to lower my center of gravity.
Without taking my eyes off the Zipcar, I remove my jacket which I wrap around my left arm and my necktie which I wind around my right fist.I'm ready, certain I'll withstand a gun blast, a knife stab, a fistfight, jujitsu or anything else, up to and including a vehicular assault.
(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)