Working Healthcare Web Site – The Golden Parachute Continues!

Here are Week 40 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

“You’re not helping.” Someone shouts “Medic! Oh My God! We need a medic or maybe a golf pro!” The Chancellor says “Who’s on that gurney?”

“I’ll ask the questions. How long has your school been dealing in the underground cadaver market?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” “Better think again.” I thought again. After a moment lost in thought I said “I still think you deal in dug up cadavers.”

Rubbing his head, the Chancellor manages to sit up. “You are trespassing on my island, stealing academic property. I wield the sword here.” 

“Big deal. The pen is mightier than the sword.” He pulls out a sword. “Unless it’s a real sword in which case the pen should run away fast.”

“Last chance. What’s on the gurney?” He brandishes his blade. “Very impressive sword. You know what Freud would say?” “It’s your funeral.”

“No. Freud would say ‘It’s your penis.'” He raises his sword for the kill stroke. Suddenly Yorick appears and parries it with his golf club.

My life passes before my eyes and I reassess my opinion of monkeys. Before the Chancellor recovers Regi knocks him down with the gurney.

“Arkaby let’s go!” The Chancellor screams “You monkey, you!” This time, against my better nature, I leave him be. Yorick says “Tsk tsk tsk.”

As Regi and I push the gurney bearing Granger’s body toward the parking lot, Yorick and the Chancellor continue dueling, sword to golf club.

David waits for us at the entrance, his Jeep ready to go. “What have you got there?” he asks. “A cadaver the school acquired illegally.”

“What gives you the right to skyjack a school body?” “He was my father” says Regi. “Condolences. When did he pass?” “Four years ago.” “Huh?”

“You’re stealing a four year old corpse?” “Confiscating.” “At this point isn’t he just bones and goop?” “Apparently he’s not biodegradable.”

We load Granger’s immortal remains onto the back of David’s Taxi. Regi looks back at a campus in ruins and says “I leave everything behind.”

“I’ve lost my clothes, my books, prospects for my future.” I take Regi’s hand. “I’m in up to my neck, but you can return to your classes.”

The eponymous foghorn that tops the largest lecture hall teeters and crashes down. Fire alarms, bells, whistles and shouts fill the air.

The campus below us fills with salt water. Students on upper dormitory floors leap to watery deaths. Regi says, “No. I’ll stick with you.”

“It’s amazing what you can accomplish with a handful of monkeys and a good set of golf clubs. We climb in the jeep and David hits the gas.”

Our tires squeal as we pull onto the road. I say “I have one request. Stay on the ground ’til we’re in the air.” “No problem.” “No. Really.”

David looks over at Regi. “Better buckle up.” “I’m way ahead of you” she says. I clip my own seatbelt as David puts his pedal to the metal.

As we speed into the mountains I ask “Can your plane fly all the way to the States?” “Not without refueling.” “So we stop in Puerto Rico?”

Regi asks “What plane?” “An air taxi.” “Your plan is to fly to Puerto Rico in an air taxi? Are you crazy?” David pulls papers from his coat.

“Please sign here.” “What’s this?” “A covenant for our flight time releasing me from all liability.” Regi looks back at me. “Seriously?”

“You want me to sign a preflight pre-nup?” “Don’t get excited. It’s standard operating procedure.” Regi looks over at David. “He’s a pilot?”

“Sure. He can fly your pants off.” “I’m not signing anything.” David says “Then you’re not flying. Where do you want me to drop the body?”

We leave the main highway and turn up a sloping mountain trail. As Regi and David argue in front, I consider what I’ve gotten myself into.

It seems I was instrumental in the destruction of a major Caribbean medical school. Now I’m trying to undig an illicitly disinterred cadaver

I’ve discovered licit corpus delicti for some kind of illicit activity. Was Regi’s school trafficking in stolen corpses, or something worse?

Willum Granger’s non-recyclable remains represent the pivot point of this exploit. Why was he up-cloning his body parts in the first place?

We must get home with Granger’s body of evidence to shut down the med school corpseline. That means we have to fly back in David’s air taxi.

Once again, I remember my teenage rollercoaster ride. I re-recall the heart-stopping plummets, gut wrenching rolls and upside-down twists.

That backwards second run was much worse than the first! Then I flash forward to the surface skimming air acrobatics of the ride down here.

I was ignorant of terrors pending on the first pass. Anticipating the second flight I envision the air taxi flying backward and upside down.

I’m about to fly again with the world’s worst air taxi pilot, this time with the girl of my dreams riding co-pilot. It couldn’t get worse.

David interrupts his debate with Regi long enough to say “Check behind. We’re being followed.” I turn around and see headlights in pursuit.

OK. That’s worse. Our pursuers could be seeking to repossess their cadaver. How did they find us? “Are you still tweeting?” asks Regi. Oh.

“Yes I’m still tweeting.” “Now?” “Yes.” “While talking to me?” “Yes.” “In this jeep, in this jungle, driving at this breakneck speed?” “Yes”

“I thought you have no reception here.” I check my cell’s signal bars. “I don’t.” “Then how?” “Maybe because you’re my personal hotspot?”

David snorts. Regi says “That makes no sense. If you’re tweeting, our followers can follow you in Twitter to follow you in the real world.”

“Huh?” “Check your account.” Sure enough, there’s the Chancellor’s name listed among my Twitter followers. No wonder he picked up my trail!

Regi holds out her hand. “You’ve got to stop.” “Wait. If the Chancellor is tapping my Twitter signal, maybe we can use it to our advantage.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

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