Wingtips

         Mercutio awakened promptly at five o'clock a.m. He brushed his teeth, moved his bowels, and did one hundred and one push-ups. He put on white cotton shorts, a United States Marine Corps sweatshirt, and a brand new pair of Nike running shoes. He chinned himself thirty-three times, and ate a large bowl of Wheaties.

         At exactly five thirty, he stepped through his front door into the December chill for his five mile run. At six o'clock and forty-six seconds, he was back on the porch. He checked his silver Rolex wristwatch and frowned; the day was not off to a good start.

         Mercutio showered, shaved, and weighed himself. One hundred and eighty-two pounds. At six feet tall and twenty-nine years, he was in prime physical condition. And pretty damn attractive, too, he decided, eyeing his new haircut. He smiled. No, it was going to be a good day after all, even if he was a few seconds slow.

         At six thirty the telephone rang. Mercutio picked up after the sixth ring. "Yes," he said.

         "Hello. I'd like to order a clown for my nephew's birthday party." It was a familiar voice.

         "I'm sorry, ma'am. This is 555-1234. Bobo's Balloon's is at 555-1243," he said.

         "Oh, I'm sorry. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you."

         "Not at all. It happens all the time."

         "Good day," she said.

         "Good day," Mercutio grinned, hanging up. No, it was definitely turning out to be a good day.

         By seven o'clock, Mercutio was on the beltway. He was wearing a dark grey, three-piece Armani and a white silk shirt, complemented nicely by black wing tips. What an absolutely beautiful day, he beamed as he eyed the cold blue sky. The radio was playing "I'll be home for Christmas" and Mercutio sang along. Seated behind the wheel of his blue 1963 Corvette Stingray, he could hardly contain his excitement; he was going to work. He sipped his iced coffee, and lightly drummed his manicured nails on the steering wheel.

         At seven twenty-two, the driver of the third car forward from Mercutio fell asleep, and plowed into the guardrail. Mercutio deftly avoided the pile up, and almost avoided spilling his coffee. "Damn it!"

         He pulled over, parked, and walked back to the accident. Nine broken cars were completely blocking both lanes. Good thing I got through when I did, Mercutio decided. He spotted an fat businessman wandering around aimlessly. It was the man who had fallen asleep. Mercutio looked at the man's car and noticed the large spiderweb pattern in the windshield where his head had impacted the glass.

         "You!" he yelled to the fat man.

         "Huh?" he looked around dazedly.

         "You! Come here now!" he called. The fat man wobbled over to the grass where Mercutio was standing. "Lie down," he commanded, and the fat man obeyed. Mercutio went from car to car, checking for injuries, and found a young woman with a compound fracture of her left humerous. "Hi, there,” he said, ever the charmer. “What's your name?"

         "Mary," she answered. She was very pale, and her voice was strained.

         "Mary, you're going to be fine. Let me see if I can help you there." He took out his handkerchief and applied pressure to her wound. She winced and he apologized. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Your neck feel okay?"

         "Just ... just the arm," she said. She sounded a bit stronger now.

         "Let's get you to lie down here on the seat, okay?" As he laid her down he noticed a large form behind him. Without relieving pressure, he looked around and saw a large man wearing a John Deere hat.

         "Anything I can do to help?" the man said, scratching his head.

         "What's your name?"

         "Billy Critzer," the man answered.

         Mercutio noticed the orange tractor trailer twenty yards back. "Is that your rig, Billy Critzer?" he said.

         "Uh ... yeah."

         "You already call the cops on the CB?"

         "Oh yeah," Billy nodded vigorously.

         "Excellent. There is something else you can do for me, Billy-boy. This is Mary, and she has a broken arm. I need you to take my place here and keep holding pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding."

         "Oh, Jesus," Billy blanched, taking a step backwards.

         "Don't go chicken shit on me now, Billy Critzer. Nothing here to be afraid of. The medics and the po-lice are on the way, and Mary is a very lovely young girl. Now come back here."

         Slowly, Billy and Mercutio traded places. Mercutio checked Mary one last time, and walked away. He checked on all the other victims, but by now there were other bystanders helping them. He gave advice where it was needed, but didn't actively intervene. Mercutio marveled at the way the citizens were pitching in to handle the accident; it recharged his faith in America.

         Mercutio checked his watch: seven forty-nine. "Shit." As he ran back to his car, he paused by the fat man. A woman in a flowered dress was talking with him. "Tell the medics that he probably has a skull fracture," he said and leaped into his car. By seven fifty-one he was traveling down the beltway at one-hundred and seven miles per hour. Traffic was light, and he knew where all the cops were anyway.

         At one minute till eight, Mercutio walked into the Pentagon like a child invading a toy store. He barely slowed as he flashed his badge at the M.P.'s, and he nearly sprinted to General Hoffman's office.

         "Hiya, Gladys," he called to the receptionist. "Ya miss me?"

         Gladys Underhill was a plain looking woman of approximately twenty-five, but she dressed like a woman twice her age. A devout professional, Mercutio had never seen her reveal a single human emotion. "Go right in, Mister Havasham. He's expecting you." She looked up, "Mister Havasham, you're bleeding."

         Mercutio bent over the desk and kissed her full on the mouth. "Great to know you care, babe, but no worries. Not my blood." He laughed, and skipped away into the General's office.

         Gladys, dumbstruck, just sat there and watched the door close behind him. A smile slowly crept into the corners of her mouth, and grew into a grin. The smile vanished and she glanced around nervously. Seeing nothing, she lowered her head and returned to her paperwork.