I Hired A Security Guard Who Thought He Was John Wick

0:00This one is titled, I hired a security guard who thought he was John Wick. He declared martial law on the food court. Chapter 1 The Operator If you have ever worked in private security, you know there are two types of guards. Taipei is the retired pro. This is a guy who did 20 years in the Marines or the police. He is calm, he is bored, and he just wants to sit in the booth, eat his sandwich, and go home to his wife. He knows that 99% of the job is just being visible and giving directions to the bathroom. Taipei is the warm body. This is the college kid studying for finals or the retiree making extra cash. They are harmless, usually asleep by 10 pm, and generally pleasant to be around. But every once in a while, you encounter Taipei. Taipei is the operator. He's usually mid 20s, he has never served in the military, but he plays Call of Duty religiously. He owns a closet full of tactical gear he bought on Amazon.

1:00He refers to the mall food court as the AO, area of operations, and he is, without a doubt, the most dangerous person in the building. My name is Mike. I was the site supervisor for the security team at the Oak Ridge Mall. It wasn't a high speed gig. Our biggest threats were teenagers skateboarding near the fountains, and the occasional shoplifter at Sephora trying to snag a lipstick. We were unarmed. We carried radios and flashlights. Our job was observe and report. Then, I hired Kevin. I should have known during the interview, Kevin walked into my office wearing a leather trench coat and oakles, even though it was overcast and 68 degrees inside. He sat down without being asked, placed a metal briefcase on his lap. So, I said, looking at his resume, it was printed on thick textured cardstock, the kind you use for wedding imitations. It says here you have experience in asset protection and threat negation. Affirmative, Kevin said, his voice was a forced baritone, like Batman with a head cold.

2:04I did freelance perimeter security for high valued residential targets. I squinted at the paper. Kevin, under previous employer, it lists green thumb landscaping, you mode lawns. I provided visual deterrence while maintaining the grounds, Kevin corrected, leaning forward intensely. A well manicured lawn offers zero cover for insurgents, multitasking is critical in the field. It should have ended there, but we were desperate. We had two guys quit the week before Christmas and I needed bodies. The holiday rush was starting and corporate was breathing down my neck to have a full roster. Ok Kevin, I sighed, rubbing my temples. The pay is $14 an hour. The uniform is a white shirt, black slacks and a yellow windbreaker. No weapons, no handcuffs. Do you understand? Kevin nodded slowly. I can work with that. I prefer to be gray man anyway. Blend in, strike from the shadows. You're going to be wearing a bright yellow jacket that says security and reflective letters Kevin. There are no shadows.

3:05You are a highlighter. Roger that boss. Authoration to engage hostiles? No I said firmly. If you see a crime, you call the police. You do not engage. You observe. Copy, Kevin said with a wink. Observe, wink. He actually said the word wink. Kevin showed up for his first shift 15 minutes early. I did not recognize him at first. The uniform policy was strict. Black slacks, white button down, issued windbreaker. Kevin was wearing the white shirt, but he had modified it. He had cut the sleeves off to show off his guns. He was shaped like a pool noodle. He was wearing black tactical cargo pants bloused into combat boots that look like they weighed 5 pounds each. They had so many buckles, they looked like something from a Mad Max movie. But the masterpiece was the vest. He was wearing a black plate carrier style tactical vest. It was covered in pouches. It had a Punisher skull patch on the chest right next to a patch that said infidel written

4:06in Arabic. And on his thigh, he had a drop leg holster. I walked out of the office. Kevin, what the heck is that? He snapped to attention, executing a crisp salute that nearly knocked his sunglasses off. Ready for duty, sir? Gear check complete. Loadout is green. Kevin, you're a mall security guard. Why do you have a plate carrier? Threat levels are elevated during the holiday season, he said seriously. I need to be ready for active shooters, IEDs or flashmobbs. The mall is a soft target mark. It's a kill box. Take the vest off. Or this is for my safety. Take it off or you're fired. He grumbled, muttering something about sheep dogs and wolves, but he took off the vest. Underneath his white shirt was soaked in sweat. And the holster, I pointed to his leg. I told you no weapons. It's not a weapon, Kevin said defensively, shielding it with his hand. He unclip the strap and pulled out the object. It wasn't a gun. It was a stapler. A black swing line stapler.

5:06But why do you have a tactical stapler, Kevin, for putting up posters, he said, rapid deployment. If he lost child alert goes out, I can up flyers up in sector 4 in under 30 seconds. I was too tired to argue. Put the yellow jacket on, go patrol the east wing, do not talk to anyone unless they talk to you first. Moving out, Kevin said, he tapped his earpiece, which wasn't connected to anything. And whispered, alpha one is mobile, step off. Get in the game with the college branded Venmo debit card. Record your team with every tap and earn up to 5% cash back with Venmo stash, a new rewards program from Venmo. No monthly fee, no minimum balance, just school pride and spending power. Get in the game and sign up for the Venmo debit card at Venmo.com slash college card. The Venmo master card is issued by the bank court bank NA, select schools available, Venmo stash terms and exclusions apply at Venmo.me slash stash terms. Max $100 cash back per month.

6:32Chapter 2 The Rolling Thunder. The first sign that things were going to go wrong wasn't the stapler. It was the Segway. We had one Segway for them all. It was an older model, scratched up. Used mostly by old men Jenkins to get from the food court to the exit without his arthritis flaring up. Kevin saw the Segway and his eyes lit up. Is that the mechanized unit? He asked breathless. It's a Segway Kevin. Do you know how to ride it? I am certified on multiple light armored vehicles, Kevin said. I authorized him to use it for the parking lot patrol. 20 minutes later, I looked out the window. Kevin had modified the Segway. He had duct tape a flashlight to the handlebars. He had attached a small orange bicycle flag to the back. And most concernedly, he was wearing a bicycle helmet with night vision goggles, which were definitely plastic toys flipped up on his forehead. He wasn't patrolling. He was conducting maneuvers. He was weaving in and out of the park cars at full speed, leaning aggressively into the

7:33turns like he was on a motorcycle. He would speed up, slam on the brakes, spin 360 degrees, and then speed off again. I keed the radio. Alpha one, stop doing donuts in the handicap spots, negative bass, I'm performing a face of driving patterns to confuse potential snipers. Kevin, the only sniper in the parking lot is the sun. Slow down. Fast then, a soccer mom in a minivan backed out of a spot. Kevin was going too fast to stop. He swirled, the Segway hit a curb. Kevin went airborne. He flew over the handlebars. His tactical boots flailing in the air. He landed in a bush. The Segway continued rolling, ghost riding itself until it slammed into a shopping cart return car. I ran outside. Kevin was tangled in the shrubbery. His toy night vision goggles hanging off his ear. Coming down, he screamed, I've been clipped, possible spinal trauma. I helped him up. He was fine, just a few scratches. The vehicle failed me, Kevin spat, dusting off his cargo pants.

8:34The suspension couldn't handle the terrain. We need to upgrade to ATVs. You're walking from now on, Kevin. No more wheels. Chapter 3 The rules of engagement. The first three hours of his next shift were surprisingly quiet. I sat in the control room watching the CCTV feeds. Kevin was on the monitors. He didn't walk. He patrolled. He moved in a crouch walk, hugging the walls, slicing the pie around corners. Shoppers were staring at him. Mothers were pulling their children closer. He looked like a glitching NPC from a video game. At 1pm, the radio crackled. Base, this is Alpha 1. I have a situation in sector 4. Sector 4 was the food court. Go ahead, Kevin, I side. I have a hostile, non-compliant subject. Male, roughly 6 years old. He is refusing to vacate the tactical lane. The what? The tactical lane, sir. The walkway between Sparrow and Panda Express. It's a choke point. I ordered the subject to move, but he is maintaining position. Kevin, I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, is a 6 year old kid standing in line for

9:38pizza. He is loitering, sir. He's obstructing the flow of potential evacuees, requesting backup for extraction. Kevin, do not touch the child. I repeat, do not engage. Walk away. Negative base, he is mocking me. He is displaying aggression. I looked at the monitor. The kid was eating a breadstick and looking at Kevin like he was an alien. Kevin was standing in a wide combat stance, hand hovering over his tactical stapler. I grabbed my radio. Kevin, stand down. Go to the break room now. Copy, following back to the FOB. I thought that was the worst of it. I was wrong. Two days later, I came in to work to find a stack of papers on my desk. They were incident reports. Kevin had been busy. Usually we file maybe two reports a week. Kevin had filed 14 in one shift. I started reading them. They were written in military time. Using a typewriter, he must have brought from home because the font was messy. Incident report number 001.

10:39Time 1400 hours. Location the fountain. Subject, elderly female. Code name Granny Smith. Narrative. Subject was observed throwing pennies into the water feature. This is an unauthorized disposal of currency and potential shrapnel hazard. I approached the subject and issued a verbal warning. Subject claimed she was making a wish. I informed her that wishes are not recognized currency. I confiscated the remaining pennies for sense approximately as contraband. Evidences bagged and tagged in locker 4. Subject report number 004. Time 1630 hours. Location Victoria's Secret. Subject. Manicans. Narrative. While on patrol, I observed several humanoid figures in the window display. Upon closer inspection, they were identified as inanimate. However, their placement creates a blind spot for security cameras. I entered the premises and rearranged the mannequins to optimize sight lines. The store manager became hostile and ordered me to leave. I have flagged her as a potential insurgent sympathizer.

11:39I rub my eyes. He rearranged the mannequins at Victoria's Secret. My deputy, a solid guy named Dave, nodded grimly. Yeah, the manager called. She said Kevin moved them into a phalanx formation to defend Belangerang. I called Kevin into the office. Kevin, I said, holding up the report. You cannot confiscate pennies from old ladies and you cannot touch the merchandise in the stores. Kevin crossed his arms. I am tightening the perimeter mic. This place is a soft target. You have civilians wandering around with zero situational awareness. If a squad of paratroopers dropped through the skylight right now, we would be defenseless. Paratroopers? I stared at him. Kevin, we are in Ohio. Who is invading us? You never know, Kevin whispered darkly. The rescues. The cartel. The girl scouts. They're everywhere. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of zip ties. That's why I upgraded my loadout. Kevin, I warned. I told you no handcuffs. These aren't handcuffs, he said triumphantly.

12:41These are flex cuffs. Special op cues them. I bought a pack of 500. Give them to me. Sir, with all due respect, if I have to detain a tango, I can't just ask him to sit nicely. Give me the zip ties. He handed them over, looking like a puppy that just got kicked. You're neutering me, Mike. He muttered. You're sending a sheep dog out without his teeth. For a mall guard, Kevin, you're not a sheep dog. You're a scarecrow. Just stand there and look yellow. I confiscated the zip ties. I confiscated the pennies. I confiscated a laser pointer. He was using to paint targets from the second floor. But I missed one thing. I didn't check his boots. If I had checked his boots, I would have found the throwing stars. Chapter 4 The Black Sight. Before the throwing star incident, there was one event that I didn't learn about until much later. It was the incident involving Santa Claus. It was mid-December. The Santa photo station was in full swing in the Central Atrium.

13:43We had hired a local guy named Bob to play Santa. Bob was a nice guy. Heavy sat real beard. One afternoon, Bob didn't show up for his shift. The line of crying kids was getting long. I was frantic, calling Bob's cell phone with no answer. Then I saw Kevin. He was standing near the maintenance corridor, guarding the door with his arms crossed. Kevin, I asked, have you seen Santa? He's late. Kevin nodded slowly. The asset has been secured. Secured? What do you mean? I intercepted him at the employee entrance, Kevin whispered. His beard looked fake. His ID looked forged. He fit the profile of a sleeper agent, attempting to infiltrate the child population. Kevin, where is Bob? Kevin pointed to the janitor's closet. I opened the door. There was Bob. He was sitting on a bucket looking terrified. Kevin had used yellow caution tape to bind his hands. Since I had taken the zip ties, a desk lamp was shining in his face. Bob, I yelled ripping off the tape. I am so sorry.

14:45Bob looked up at me trembling. He asked me who I work for. He asked me where the North Pole really is. He asked for the nuclear launch codes. I turned to Kevin. You interrogated Santa Claus. I was betting him, Kevin protested. He cracked under the pressure. He couldn't name all the reindeer. He forgot Donner. Get out. I pointed to the hallway. Go patrol the parking lot. If you come within 50 feet of an elf, I will end you. Chapter 5 Ghost Protocol. The week after the Santa incident, Kevin changed tactics. He stopped filing reports. He stopped chattering on the radio. In fact, he stopped talking entirely. When I passed him in the corridor, he wouldn't make eye contact. He would just tap the side of his nose and nod grimly, as if we shared a dark secret. I foolishly interpreted this as improvement. I thought finally he's settling down. He's doing the job. I was an idiot. Kevin wasn't settling down. He was initiating Ghost Protocol.

15:47It started on a Tuesday afternoon. I was in the control room reviewing the schedule. Based to Alpha 1, I said into the radio, Kevin, what's your 20? I needed to unlock the loading dock for a delivery. Silence. Alpha 1, copy, static. Kevin, answer the radio. Nothing. I checked the GPS tracker on his radio. It showed him stationary in the men's department of dillards. It had been pinging there for 40 minutes. He's asleep, I thought. He's found a changing room and passed out. I grabbed my keys and marched down to dillards. I walked into the men's department. It was empty, safe for a few shoppers browsing ties. Kevin, I called out. I checked the changing rooms. Empty. I checked the bathroom. Empty. I looked at the GPS locator again. It said I was standing right on top of him. I looked around, just racks of suits, a display of belts and a circular rack of winter coats. Then I heard heavy breathing. It was coming from the coats.

16:48I walked over to the circular rack of wool pee coats. I parted the hangers. There sitting cross-legged on the floor in the center of the rack was Kevin. He had a map of the mall spread out on the floor. He was illuminating it with a red tactical flashlight. He was eating a bag of beef jerky. Kevin, I said, he screamed, a high-pitched curdling shriek. He scrambled backwards, knocking over the rack. 30 heavy wool coats crashed down on top of us, burying us in a pile of clearance menswear. I clawed my way out. Kevin, what are you doing? Kevin popped his head out of a pile of tweed. He looked terrified. You blew my cover, he hiss. I was in deep cover. I had eyes on an HVT. A what? High-value target, he whispered. I've been tracking a subject for three clicks. He's putting items in his pockets. Kevin, you're hiding in a coat rack. You are not tracking anyone. Get up. He stood up, brushing lint off his tactical pants. I can't wear the yellow jacket anymore, Mike.

17:50It makes me a target. I need to go plain clothes. I need to be a ghost. You are not a ghost. You are an employee. Put the jacket back on. I lost it, he muttered. You lost your uniform? I had to ditch it, he said seriously. I was compromised. I stashed it in a trash can in the food court. It was a burn bag situation. I closed my eyes. I counted to ten. Go find the jacket, Kevin. Go find it. Put it on. And go unlock the loading dock. If I find you in a rack of clothes again, I will fold you up and mail you back to your mother. Chapter 6 The Throwing Star. I should have fired him then, but the HR paperwork for termination was a nightmare. And frankly, I was morbidly curious about what he would do next. The answer came 48 hours later. It was 7 p.m. on a Friday. The mall was packed. I was patrolling the West Wing near the entrance to the movie theater. Suddenly, I heard a commotion.

18:51Screams. People running. My radio screamed. Contact. Contact. Shots fired. I am taking fire. It was Kevin. My heart stopped. Shots fired. Kevin. Report. Who is shooting? I am under attack. He screamed. The audio clipping. Subject is deploying aerial drones. I am engaging. I am engaging a base of maneuvers. I sprinted towards the disturbance. As I rounded the corner near the pressol stand, I saw the scene. There was no shooter. There were no drones. There was a kiosk selling those remote controlled toy helicopters. The cheap plastic ones that break if you look at them wrong. The vendor, aboard teenager named Jason, was flying one around the atrium to attract customers. And then there was Kevin. He was using a trash can lid as a shield. It was combat rolling between the benches. Ground the aircraft. Kevin screamed at Jason. They are violating restricted airspace. Jason looked confused. It's a toy, dude. Chill. It's a surveillance platform. Kevin yelled.

19:52I will not let you paint targets for an air strike. Jason annoyed. Buzz the helicopter closer to Kevin's head to mess with him. Kevin panicked. Incoming. He dropped the trash can lid. He reached into his boot. Time seemed to slow down. I saw the motion. I recognized the stance. It was the same motion he used when he showed me his ninja moves in the break room. Kevin, no, I yelled. Too late. Kevin whipped his arm forward. A piece of jagged black steel flew from his hand. It was a shuriken. A four-pointed throwing star. He was aiming for the toy helicopter. He missed. He missed by a wide margin. The throwing star sailed past the helicopter. It sailed past Jason. It sailed past a woman eating a churro. It slammed with a thickening slack into the rear of a giant cardboard cutout of Jason Momoa, promoting the new Aquaman movie. The star embedded itself right in Aquaman's chest.

20:53The cutout wobbled, then slowly tipped over, crashing onto a display of wet floor signs. It's descended on the atrium. Shoppers stared. Jason stared. I stared. Kevin stood in a follow-through pose, hand extended, breathing hard. He looked at the fallen Aquaman. He looked at me. Threat neutralized. He whispered. I walked over to the cutout. I pulled the throwing star out of the cardboard. It was heavy. Sharp. If that had hit a kid, my hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage. I walked up to Kevin. You threw a ninja star, I said. My voice was dangerously quiet. It was a calculated risk, Kevin said, though he looked pale. The drone was entering an attack vector. I had to make a decision. You threw a ninja star at a toy helicopter in a crowded mall. I saved lives, Mike. If that drone had a payload, it's a toy.

21:54It runs on double-a batteries. Office now. Chapter 7, the interrogation. In the office, I slammed the throwing star onto my desk. You're done, I said. You're fired. You're banned. If I see you on this property again, I'm calling the real police, and I'm going to tell them you're a danger to society. Kevin sat in the chair looking solid. You can't fire me, he said. I'm the only one who knows the patterns. What patterns, Kevin? The syndicates, the sleeper cells. They're testing our defenses. The drone was a probe. The mannequins were signals. It's all connected. Give me your badge, I said. He handed it over. Give me your radio. He handed it over. Do you have any other weapons on you? No. Stand up and jump. He stood up and jumped. Clang. Something heavy fell out of his pant leg and hit the floor. I looked down. It was a pair of nun chucks. Wooden ones. Connected by a chain. One chucks, Kevin. For close quarters combat, he mumbled.

22:56In case the ammo runs dry. You don't have ammo. You don't have a gun. Ideally, he corrected. I escorted him to the exit. It was a long walk. He kept stopping to clear corners, even though he was fired. When he got to the glass doors, he turned to me. You're making a mistake, Mike. When the balloon goes up, when the mall falls, don't say I didn't warn you. Goodbye, Kevin. He walked out into the parking lot. He didn't go to a car. He walked to a beat up bicycle, chained to a lamp post. He put on a helmet that had a GoPro duct tape to the top. He gave me a final salute, mounted the bike, and peddled away into the night. His tactical cargo pants flapping in the wind. I thought it was over. I thought the saga of Maldoninja, Kevin, had ended. But I forgot the first rule of Kevin, he always fails upward. Number 8, the dossier. Three weeks later, the regional manager, a corporate suit named Mr. Henderson, came for a sight

23:57visit. Henderson was a man who had never worked a day of security in his life. He focused on synergy and liability metrics. He called me into the office. He looked angry. Mike, Henderson, said, I've been reviewing the logs. Why did you fire Kevin Vance? Because he threw a ninja star at a cardboard cut out of Aquamancer. Henderson frowned. That's not what I heard. I received a dossier from him. A very detailed 40-page dossier. He slammed a binder onto the desk. The cover read, Operation Shattered Pretzel, the infiltration of Oak Ridge Mall. He claims he was fired for exposing a corruption ring. Henderson said, he claims you are the leader of a smuggling operation run out of the sabarro. My jaw dropped. Sir, that's insane. He's crazy. Maybe, Henderson said, opening the binder. But look at this. He pointed to a page. It was a blurry photo of a pretzel. He says the salt pattern on this pretzel is actually braille.

24:59Henderson said, he translated it. He said it spells, drop the package a done. I stared at the pretzel. Sir, it's salt. It's random salt. And this, Henderson flipped the page. It was a photo of the janitor. Old Mr. Gonzalez taking out the trash. He says Mr. Gonzalez is a retired cartel enforcer known as the mop. He says the trash bags are full of laundered money. Sir, I said slowly. This is delusions. He threw a weapon in the mall. Corporate gets nervous when people use words like rico-predicate and money laundering mic. We have to investigate. Investigate what? Everything, Henderson said. And until we clear this up, I'm bringing Kevin back as an independent consultant. He says he has evidence hidden in the building. I stared at him. Kevin wasn't just coming back. He was coming back with a promotion. And he was coming back to find his evidence. I knew exactly where the evidence was.

26:00It was in the ceiling tiles. Because before he left, Kevin had mentioned something about booby traps. Chapter 9. Return of the King. Monday morning 9 AM. I am standing at the main entrance waiting. Mr. Henderson stood next to me, checking his watch. He looked like a man who regretted every decision that had led him to this point. He's late, Henderson grumbled. Consultants shouldn't be late, especially ones charging a hazard fee. He's not late, sir, I said. Staring at a decorative bush near the parking lot entrance, he's infiltrating. Sure enough, at 9.02 AM, the bush moved. Kevin emerged from the foliage. He wasn't wearing his tactical vest this time. He was wearing a suit, but it wasn't a normal suit. It was a gilly suit jacket. Basically, a coat made of fake moss and leaves. Warned over a dress shirt, paired with khaki cargo pants, bloused into his boots. He carried a silver briefcase, handcuffed to his left wrist.

27:02He walked up to us, pulling dead leaves out of his hair. Perimeter is porous, Kevin said, not looking at me, but addressing Henderson directly. I breached the south wall in under two minutes. You have massive gaps in your coverage, Henderson. A sleeper cell could walk right in. Henderson blinked. Kevin, just let's get to the evidence. You said you have proof of the tomorrow smuggling ring. It's all here, Kevin said, tapping the briefcase with his free hand, but the physical evidence is secured on site. I had to stash it in a dead drop before I was compromised. He glared at me. Lead the way, Henderson sighed. He walked through the mall. It was the walk of shame in reverse. Kevin strutted. He pointed out tactical flaws to Henderson as we pass shoppers. See that bench? Sniper bait. Too exposed. See that trash can? Perfect blast radius for an IED. You need blast shields. Henderson was taking notes, looking increasingly tired. We passed the kiosk where Jason sold the helicopters.

28:04Kevin stopped. He lowered his sunglasses. Still flying your birds, I see. Kevin whispered menacingly. Jason didn't even look up from his phone. Go away, Kevin. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Kevin said. The tribunal is coming. We arrived at the food court. Kevin stopped in front of Sparrow. The pizza is the cover. Kevin whispered loudly. The dough, it's just a vehicle. A vehicle for what, Henderson asked. Bondering currency, Kevin said. I've been tracking the pepperoni distribution. The ratios don't add up. It's a classic Fibonacci sequence used by the cartels. He turned into a maintenance closet next to the restrooms. The primary cash is in the ceiling. Kevin said. I established a forward operating base in the plenum space. You lived in the ceiling, I asked. Horrified. I conducted surveillance. Kevin corrected. Give me a boost. Chapter 10. The Dead Drop. I refused to boost him. Henderson refused to boost him.

29:05We got a ladder. Kevin climbed up, balancing his handcuffed briefcase. He reached for a ceiling tile near the sprinkler head. Cover your ears, Kevin mourned. I rigged a claymore. A what? Henderson shrieked, backing away. A sonic claymore, Kevin said calmly. To protect the intel. If you don't know the code, it deploys countermeasures. He reached into the dark hole. There was a click. Then a worrying sound. Then chaos. Kevin had rigged a motion-activated Halloween decoration. A screaming ghoul, he must have stolen from the seasonal aisle to a can of glitter spray. Screech. The electronic ghoul screamed at 100 decibels. The spray can detonate it. A cloud of silver and neon pink glitter, exploded out of the ceiling tile. Shaoering Kevin. The ladder. And Mr. Henderson. A board. A board, Kevin yelled. Flailing blindly in the glitter cloud. He lost his balance. He grabbed the drop-sealing grid for support.

30:05The grid was not load-bearing. Crunch. The entire metal framework gave way. Kevin fell. The ceiling tiles fell. And with them came the evidence. It rained down on the food court floor. It wasn't money. It wasn't drugs. It wasn't ledgers. It was hundreds. Literally hundreds of packets of sparrow parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes. Henderson napkins. Thousands of napkins with numbers scribbled on them in sharpie. Kevin landed on top of the pile of napkins, covered in glitter and drywall dust. Henderson stood there looking like a disco ball. A piece of acoustic tile stuck in his expensive tie. Is this Henderson picked up a napkin? Is this the evidence? I looked at the napkin. It read pepperoni count 14. Cheese density. High. Suspicious. Another one read. Heard about two slices, paid cash, no receipt, asset flipped.

31:06Kevin groaned sitting up. Their code, he weased. The parmesan. It represents the shipments. The pepper flakes are the hitmen. Kevin, Henderson said. His voice trembling with a mix of rage and glitter inhalation. You collected 3,000 packets of cheese. I was building a case, Kevin yelled. I was connecting the dots. I was one packet away from bringing down the syndicate. Henderson wiped glitter from his eyes. He looked at me. Mike he said softly. Yes sir. Called the police. The real police. And tell them I want to press charges for everything. Trust passing. Vandalism. Assault with glitter. Chapter 11. The burn notice. The police arrived 10 minutes later. They found Kevin trying to stuff the cheese packets into his pockets to preserve the chain of custody. When they cuffed him, he didn't resist. He looked at Henderson with pity. You're a part of it, aren't you? Kevin whispered as they pated him down. The pizza cartel got to you.

32:07They compromised the regional command structure. Get him out of here. Henderson said. Rubbing his temples. Kevin was led away. Trailing glitter and red pepper flakes throughout the atrium. As they put him in the squad car, he saw me standing by the sliding doors. He didn't look defeated. He looked vindicated. I'm going deep underground, Mike. He shouted through the window. If you don't hear from me, assume the worst. Assume the calzone has been folded. The mall banned Kevin for life. Henderson banned Kevin from the entire tri-state area. We spent three weeks cleaning up the glitter. To this day, if you look closely at the grout near Sparrow, you can still see a sparkle. We never found out what the tactical stapler was really for. But six months later, I got a postcard. It had no return address. The front was a picture of a beach in Mexico. On the back in typewriter font it read, the seagulls are drones. Watch the skies. Signed K.

33:07I pinned it to the bulletin board in the security office right next to the ninja star. A warning to all future guards. The line between a hero and a Kevin is razor thin. And it usually involves a plate carrier from Amazon.