* * * * *

They called themselves "the Smith family: Manny, Moe, Jack and Joe." But, in truth, the closest thing they had, to a family resemblance, is that they were all white men who insisted on wearing black and white suits, with Polaroid sunglasses.

"May I ask how you gentlemen were referred to me?"

"We have certain mutual acquaintances," replied Manny (the oldest one) from the top left corner of the four-way window on my laptop computer screen.

"Eastern businessmen, you might say," added Moe (the second oldest) to his right: "They highly recommended your services to us."

"And, I charge for them, just as highly," I smilingly informed him.

"If you can rid us of this man, it'll be worth it," said Joe (the youngest, bottom right).

He held up a photograph of a white man, in his late thirties, with brown hair just starting to go gray. And, the smile he displayed in the photo was (for lack of a better term) infectious.

"What's his name?"

"Joshua Buckler," replied Jack (the second youngest, bottom left): "CEO of Jericho Cablevision, in Cranston, Illinois."

They went on to explain that he had been beating their respective networks, in the Nielsen ratings, for nearly five years. Apparently, because he telecast college football games without the usual half-time updates of other games. Instead, he telecast the half-time performances of the college marching bands...in their entirety!

I chuckled: "I've never seen the value of those segments, myself. After all; the only ones who find those half-time stats useful are compulsive gamblers and bookies!"

"We don't care," said Manny: "We want him gone. Preferably, by New Year's Day!"

"Very well," I replied: "I'll do it. For five hundred thousand dollars a piece."

"$2 million bucks???" exclaimed Jack.

I nodded: "Half, in advance. The rest, on completion. Both installments to be electronically transferred to a certain West Indian bank account. The number to which, I am now uploading to your respective servers. And, needless to say, these terms are non-negotiable."

All four windows closed for a minute. Then, with simultaneous "pings," they reappeared.

"You've got a deal," said Manny: "But, remember; the deadline is New Year's Day. Consider that...equally non-negotiable."

I nodded. And, they signed off.

* * * * *

JOSH BUCKLER'S P.O.V.

I was born and raised in Cranston, Illinois. There, I made a name for myself as captain of, and star quarterback for, the Cranston High School Starlings. My girlfriend, at that time, was Bonnie Sue Barton. Captain of, and feature twirler for, the Cranston High Darlings majorette line.

Whenever she had worked a little too hard, practicing for each home game, I would massage the backs of her legs. From where they emerged, from within her sensually curvaceous leotard, all the way down to the soles of her feet. Which, as I'm sure you've guessed, is how I developed my foot-fetish!

Unfortunately, graduation forced us to part ways in 1977. She went off to Purdue University. While I attended the University of Southern California ("Go, Trojans!"). And, I did so well for them that, in 1981, I got drafted by the Washington Redskins.

I played three seasons for them before being clipped by a drunk driver running a red light. It took me a full twelve months of very painful physical therapy to get the use of my legs back for just regular walking! So, resumption of football was out of the question. Luckily, I had minored in journalism at USC, as I had already mapped out my post-NFL career, before I was even a college freshman. And, that's how I came to be a sportscaster for ESPN.

That lasted till 1992.

I was at the Lucky Stars Casino, in Atlantic City, to cover some heavy-weight wrestling: "Sergeant Slaughter vs. Biff Stroganov (the Psychotic Cossack)." And, as I had arrived a little earlier than anticipated, I decided to kill the extra time playing one of those Jumbo Jackpot slot machines. And, believe it or not,...

...I WON! $15 MILLION BUCKS!

Now, it's right about then that I received an invitation to my fifteenth high school reunion. I had initially considered declining it. Needless to say, however, I reconsidered (regarding the monetary amount of my prize as a sign to go). And, guess who I met there?

Bonnie Sue Barton.

tbc

* * * * *

Bonnie Sue told me that, after graduating from Purdue, she had become one of the end-zone baton twirlers for the Detroit Lions. But, she soon grew bored with that, and came home to Cranston. Here, she went to work for the local cable television company, hosting an aerobic exercise program that she called... "Twirlercise."

The show quickly became popular throughout Lamont County. But, it now looked like it was in danger of being cancelled due to the financial trouble the company was in. It seems they needed fifteen million dollars to stay in the black for, at least, another year.

Guess who had that exact amount handy to invest?

Well, suffice it to say that the president of the company was so grateful, he hired me as his new Senior Executive VP. And, his whole board of directors was so grateful, they renamed the company "Jericho Cablevision!"

"Face it, Josh," said Bonnie: "It's only appropriate. Without you, this company would have fallen and never gotten back up."

By the turn of the millenium, I had become the new president of the company. And, using both the experience and the contacts I had made, while working for ESPN, I soon expanded Jericho Cablevision to the point where we came between ESPN and Fox Network Sports in the Nielsens!

Eventually, we also overtook the Big Three. Which brings me to how I wound up going to Los Angeles in November of 2004.

Officially, I was out there to bid on the telecast rights for one of the college bowl games that come on just before Christmas, and end just after New Year's. And, the night before I was to meet with the NCAA media relations representative, I went to a basketball game between the USC Trojans and the Golden Bears of UC-Berkley.

That's when and where I first noticed her. An attractive Sansei woman wearing an orange blouse beneath a white blazer and matching midi-skirt. The latter showing off her legs (complete with black, open-toed high heels), quite exquisitely.

Between all that, plus her black-rimmed eyeglasses and attractively bunned hair, she was a dead ringer for that research assistant in Thomas Dolby's classic music video, "She Blinded Me With Science!"

* * * * *

HANA NOZAMA'S P.O.V.

My background research on Joshua Buckler had paid off. He was, indeed, a leg man with a foot-fetish. Indeed, at the risk of sounding immodest, I diverted half his attention from the basketball court for the rest of the game. I attracted the rest of it when he found me blubbering away over finding that the tires of my car had been slashed!

Naturally, I blamed it on some over-zealous Trojan fan, retaliating for my cheering on the Golden Bears. And, naturally (again, as indicated by my background research), he chivalrously offered to drive me home.

We began seeing quite a bit of each other, after that. Yet, despite my best efforts,...

...I wound up falling in love with him.

A fact that "Manny Smith" had quickly come to suspect, when he insta-messaged me for a progress report, half way through December.

MANNY: "YOU'VE GOT LESS THAN TWO WEEKS LEFT. FINISH THE JOB WE PAID YOU FOR, OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!"

"What consequences?" I defiantly typed back.

He sent me a picture of a bank statement. The account number of which was alarmingly familiar. Yet, only half as alarming as the five-digit number listed on it.

"$10,001.00."

Before I could type in a demand as to how he had done that, and where he had put the considerably higher sum that had originally been there, he interrupted with this final warning.

"ELIMINATE BUCKLER BY XMAS, AND YOU'LL GET EVERY PENNY, BACK. FAIL US, AND BANKRUPTCY WILL BE THE LEAST OF YOUR PROBLEMS."

I shut off the computer screen, and began to cry.

tbc

* * * * *

I invited Josh over to my apartment for Christmas Eve dinner. I even hinted that I had something special planned for him. In gratitude for all those truly exquisite foot massages he had given me, during our two months together!

Like all the rest of my intended victims, Josh accepted my offer without the slightest hesitation. This time, however, it was difficult keeping my voice from cracking with sadness as I uttered all those half-truths.

When he showed up at seven o'clock, that night, I was dressed in a red kimono with white floral printing and matching sash. I also had my hair pony-tailed, and draped downward over my left shoulder. The look of drop-jawed astonishment on his face made me half-smile with sadness.

I served steak tempura as the main course. When that was finished, I poured green tea into a pair of small, handle-less cups. We clinked them together, toasting each other's good health. Then, we drank.

* * * * *

JOSH BUCKLER'S P.O.V.

I had never seen Hana look so beautiful, as that night. She was absolutely captivating! Then, it happened. My vision started to blur. Followed by a brief case of vertigo.

When I reawoke, I found myself stripped of everything but my tighty-whities. I also found myself looking upward at what I initially thought was one of those giant Trinitronic billboards. You know; like the ones in Tokyo and Times Square? Only, for some reason, this one featured an image of Hana in tears.

Then, the "image" moved. Picking me up in the palm of "its" right hand!

"Are you alright, Josh?"

"Hana?!" I exclaimed: "What...? How...?"

That was when she explained it all. How she had only been half-truthful with me, when she said she was a biophysics teacher at Cal-Tech. How she was actually a "bio-logistician" for NASA. Using feng shui to design the interiors of next-generation spacecraft for them. More specifically; interplanetary colony ships!

"Through an obscure variant of feng shui, I discovered I could actually shrink both people and things! Which, you must admit, would certainly go a long way towards conserving limited resources during slower-than-light space travel. The only problem was, while I could easily re-enlarge inanimate objects, it proved much harder to do the same for living organisms (like white mice and guinea pigs). Mostly, because they tended to die of hyper-accelerated aging upon regaining normal size!"

That was when she had begun her side-line; professional abductress-for-hire. Using those people she kidnapped as test subjects in her (admittedly still-unsuccessful) efforts at improving the re-enlargement process.

"Up until now, I've been able to remain...scientifically detached...from them. But, you proved different, Josh. I actually fell in love with you!"

"Then, let me go, Hana," I pleaded with her: "Better yet, take me to the local field office of the FBI! They can help us nail these bastards!!"

She shook her head: "It's too late. I have to get my research funds back. But, I can't subject you to experimentation, either! So, I'm...going to give you up. Put you into someone else's...protective custody."

I tried to protest further. It was no use, though. Using Scotch tape, she bound and gagged me into a fetal position. Then, she gently lowered me into one of those pre-wrapped gift boxes certain department stores use. With the bow pre-tied, and adhered to the lid?

When that lid went on, all I saw for the next several hours was pitch-blackness.

* * * * *

LAX HILTON HOTEL,
CHRISTMAS DAY

Linda Chun had been born and raised in Taiwan, of Macauese parentage. So, the Portuguese she spoke as a second language had allowed her to converse with some of the Mexican-American staff members at the hotel. Making her feel less lonely during this, the second trip to the Unites States, in nine years, for the Taipei First Girls' High School Marching Band.

Linda was the drum major, and she had just returned from a rather arduous dress rehearsal for next week's Tournament of Roses Parade. Hence, her ensemble: white pleated skirt with matching boots; green shako with yellow plume; and orange-sleeved green tunic with yellow epaulettes and matching ribboned buttons.

As she approached the door of her hotel room, she noticed a small box on the floor in front of it. It was wrapped in red paper, dotted with white snowflakes, and it was topped with a green bow.

Leaning on her master baton like a crutch, she crouched down and picked it up in her left hand. The white card attached to it was unsigned. All that was written on it was the phrase:

"Feliz Navidad
y Prospero Ano
y Felicidad."

Unlocking the door, she entered the hotel room and went over to the bed. Leaning the master baton against the foot board, she sat down on the bed's lower left corner and removed the lid of the box.

Imagine her surprise at seeing a half-foot tall, almost-naked white man inside it.

tbc

* * * * *

When I was a sophomore in college, I remember going to see this medium-budget movie called "Invasion of the Baton Twirlers From Outer Space." Co-produced by Roger Corman and Ray Harryhausen, the story had involved a beauty pageant winner possessed by the astral body of an Egyptian-mummified ancient astronaut. And, then, using her baton-twirling skills to hypnotize this Russian-defector scientist to help her communicate with her old spaceship. Which immediately starts mass-producing this army of female robots, in her image, in order to conquer the Earth!*

And, the shrink rays they fired with their pseudo-batons helped them come real close to doing so.

Anyway, at this moment, I felt just like one of those stunt-double soldiers as my new keeper lifted me up out of the box, in her cupped hands, to look at me in wonder. She was a Chinese girl, with close-cropped hair (which came into full view after she removed her helmet). Probably around sixteen or seventeen. And, according to Hana (who had talked to me, through the box, as she brought me here), I would be able to speak with her using my own personal brand of "Spanglish." This would help the poor girl realize she wasn't seeing things, or mistake me for some kind of high-tech Japanese toy.

So, the moment this girl un-gagged me, I introduced myself.

"Hola!" I shouted upward: "Mi llamo Joshua. Como te llamos, senorita?"

She gasped in amazement, naturally. But, after a few seconds, she collected herself enough to introduce herself as Linda Chun. Explaining all about herself and the band she would be leading down Pasadena's Colorado Boulevard on New Year's Day. Then, she asked (more haltingly) about me. How had I become so small, etc.

That took half an hour, at least. And, when I came to the part about being transferred to her custody, for safe-keeping, she grinned rather shyly. She then used the fingers of her left hand to peel away the Scotch-tape (as gently as possible) from around my ankles, wrists, and knees. When that had been accomplished, she laid me down flat on my back, atop her lap. There, she proceeded to massage me...after first removing my jockey briefs.

When my blood flow had resumed its normal rate of circulation (as evidenced by my "flagpole" flying at full mast), her grin became a full-fledged smile. Whereupon, she laid me down on the bedspread to her right, before proceeding to take off each of her boots. Then, she put me down on the carpeted floor, directly in between her feet! Pointing to them, and saying (in clear-yet-broken English):

"You-return-favor-and-massage-these-now?"

* * * * *

I wasn't introduced to the rest of the band until their final dress rehearsal, New Year's Eve afternoon. Naturally, they were quite startled upon their first glimpse of me. And, even more startled by Linda's explanation of me (in Mandarin Chinese).

Seeing that half of them were still slightly incredulous, she gently passed me around to them. Each one becoming joyfully convinced of her veracity upon confirming the legitimacy of my "anatomical correctness" for themselves. And, each time they did, Linda evidently instructed them to kiss me!

By the time I had been kissed by all three hundred plus-members of the band, their faculty director had returned, accompanied by the bus driver who'd be returning us to the hotel.

It was only on returning to the privacy of her room that Linda felt safe in doffing her shako, and removing me from the top of her head (where I had been lying down, flat on my stomach, clinging to strands of her hair).

She then explained, with a very toothy grin, the significance of all that kissing.

"You-now-property-of-whole-band. Our-sexy-little-secret."

I've been giving six hundred foot-massages a day, ever since!

Naturally, I've become a little more fluent in Mandarin Chinese over the years. And, in all that time, not one of the band members has accidentally revealed my existence to any of the teachers at their school. How much longer that luck will last, though? I have no idea.

The End?