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Hightower, Episode IV

From The Journal of Dr. Rick Hightower, M.D., soon to be adapted into an ABC primetime drama entitled Hightower:

“Mrs. Featherstone, the operation was a success, we’ve cured little Jessica’s lethal disease,” I said to Mrs. Featherstone, Jessica’s mother. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more than that though, because the cure was too unconventional. You need to get out of here now.”

“What do you mean, is she…?” asked Mrs. Featherstone.

“There’s no time. You’ve got to move.” With that I left the waiting room, and motioned for little Jessica, who was standing around the corner, to run into her crouched mother’s open arms.

“Dr. Hightower, thank you! Thank you!” Mrs. Featherstone called to me. I pulled my pen out of my pocket, clicked it with my thumb and scribbled on Jessica’s chart, looking up to wink at the two as I turned away.

Just then, V.J. came up to me in his scrubs, looking worn out.

“You know, Hightower,” V.J. said as we walked down the hall of the New York City hospital we work at, “it’s been a while since we had some time off. We’ve been burning the candle at both ends. How many shifts in a row have you pulled this week, anyway?”

“Hmm, you’re right,” I replied. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen the sun. Have you got anything in mind?”

“Just what you need,” he said, and handed me a pamphlet for the 2011 Hawaiian Tropic Extreme Beach Assault in San Diego.

“This is the top surfing competition in the world,” I said. “Everyone who’s everyone will be there, including celebrities.”

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

“Surf’s up, buddy.”


As V.J. and I checked into our hotel, the lobby was full of hot models, famous rich people and surfers. Also, there were kids asking the surfers for their autographs. “Stupid kids,” I thought, “the hottest women in the world are here, and they’re…” Just then, someone bumped into my shoulder. It was a bodyguard for another celebrity. “Excuse me, partner,” I said.

“Move for King Dizzy,” he bellowed back, as another large group of bodyguards ushered their client through the lobby.

“V.J.,” I asked, who is King…”

“The hottest rapper in the world,” he replied, before I could finish. “He’s also a media mogul, fashion designer and energy drink tycoon.”

“Impressive,” I said as I straightened my collar. “Let’s get a drink.”

“Hightower, the competition starts at 7 a.m. tomorrow morning; maybe we should get some sleep.”

As a hot blonde supermodel walked by and turned as I checked out her hot body, I replied “Don’t wait up.”


V.J. and I sat in the bleachers as the competition began. That band that sounded like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but not them… I forget their name; anyway, they were playing on a stage closer to the water. Hot models were everywhere, talking to studs like me. In the water, pro surfers were shredding waves like the best of the best, which they were.

As I scanned the scene for more hot babes, I noticed King Dizzy and his entourage on jet skis out in the water, beyond the breakers. They were idling in a circular pattern. “That’s odd,” I said to V.J.

“Those must be the high roller seats,” he replied.

Just then, there was a scream from the beach, and we all looked to where the screamer was pointing to see the hot surfing judge, who was out on the water in a kayak, getting attacked by a shark. As V.J. and I began to race to the shore to help, we heard the firing of jet ski engines as King Dizzy and his entourage fled the scene.

The hot judge was bleeding badly. Thankfully, all of the injuries were to her lower legs. “Don’t worry,” I said as I crouched over her, “I’m a doctor, and you’re still going to be hot once we fix you.” Just then, the lifeguard who pulled her from the water spoke. He had an Australian accent.

“There was something about that shark that wasn’t quite right,” he said. “It seemed too… aggressive. Too hungry for blood.”

“Let’s get everyone out of the water,” V.J. said.

“Good idea. I’ll be at the hotel,” I said.

“Doing what?” V.J. asked.

“Getting Dizzy.”


I went up to the penthouse suite and buzzed the door. A huge bodyguard answered. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m here to see King Dizzy,” I replied.

“Get out of here, fool,” he said, “King Dizzy doesn’t want to see you.” He turned to the other huge bodyguards, and they all laughed.

“Ok,” I said, “then I’ve got some room service.” With that I did some karate moves on the bodyguard at the door, and a couple other ones. Then, another bodyguard pulled out a gun, so I pulled out mine. It was a standoff. It was pretty tense. Just then, we heard a voice.

“No violence in King Dizzy’s room.” It was King Dizzy. He went on, “who is this that brings violence into my sanctuary? What is your name?”

“Hightower,” I said, “and I want to know what you were doing out on the water this morning.” The men laughed, except for the ones I had knocked out cold.

“Silence,” said King Dizzy. “You ask too many questions. Who sent you? Was it the Beat Man?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“You tell the Beat Man we don’t need him anymore,” he said “and we’re keeping the money.”

With that I turned to go, and King Dizzy called out to me “Hightower…I never forget a name.”


Back in the hotel room, V.J. had spread out our laptop computers all over the place, and was searching for information. “From what I can tell,” he said, “the Beat Man is an underground criminal, specializing in illegal gambling.”

“Hmm…,” I said. “Not the kind of guy you’d want to double cross.”

“Precisely,” said V.J. “Here’s where it gets interesting. He’s the most famous organizer of illegal animal fights in the world. So what would King Dizzy be doing involved with him?”

“We’re going to find out,” I said. Just then, we heard screaming from the beach. We raced out to our balcony to see another shark attack victim being pulled from the water. This one didn’t look as hot, and didn’t look like she was going to make it. As I raced out of the room to get down to the beach, I encountered King Dizzy and his men in the hall. They were wearing wet suits.

“So Hightower,” King Dizzy said. “I want you to come with us tonight, so that I can show the Beat Man’s man how we roll. Meet us on the dock at sunset.”

“I’ll be there,” I said, and continued down to the beach. The victim was already being put into an ambulance when I arrived. The Australian lifeguard was there. “Hightower, mate,” he said, “This was another aggressive shark. Too aggressive. Something is definitely going on here.”

“I know,” I said, “and I’m about to find out what.”


As I arrived at the dock, I figured out that I’d been invited to a private party on a huge yacht. As I boarded the yacht, a few members of King Dizzy’s entourage gave me some trouble, so I said “your boss wants to see me, remember?” and they let me pass. The yacht was filled with hot people, but no celebrities. “Something’s not right,” I thought. Just then, strobe lights started going off all over the ship, and the roar of jet skis could be heard from the water. “What’s going on?” I asked a hot blonde standing next to me.

“The fight is about to start,” she replied.


“The shark fight, silly!” she answered as she sipped a drink through her straw. “Oooh, there they are.”

I looked down to see a group of sharks enter into the ring that the idling jet skis created. “Not on my watch,” I said, and started shooting the jet ski pilots. They pulled out machine guns, so I ducked for cover. The guests all ran off of the yacht pretty quickly, so soon it was just me and the bad guys. I shot most of them, used some karate on the rest, until it was just me and King Dizzy, who was still on his jet ski next to the ship, shooting at me. As he stopped to reload, I jumped over the side, landing on a jet ski.

King Dizzy took off, and I chased him. We were racing towards the shore. “He’s going to do that thing where he rides up onto the shore real fast and jumps off his jet ski,” I thought. Then, King Dizzy did that thing where you ride up onto the shore real fast and jump off your jet ski. “Crap,’ I thought, “I can’t do that. He’ll get away.” As Dizzy started to run away down the beach, he looked back to see if I was chasing him. Just as he turned back to look in front of him – BAM, he was clothes-lined. By V.J.

I jogged up to them, out of breath. King Dizzy was out cold. “How did you…,” I asked.

“I was watching from the balcony,” V.J. replied.

“Like a hawk,” I said, and laughed.

“Like a hawkshark,” V.J. said, and we laughed as the blue light of approaching S.D.P.D. squad cars began to bathe us.


As V.J. and I sat in first class on our flight home, the hot stewardess asked if she could get us anything.

“What are you in the mood for, sir?” she asked.

“Anything,” I replied. “Anything but sushi.”

Just then it occurred to me that if my awesome life were a t.v. show, it would be really cool if the camera panned out through my window, and this episode ended with a panoramic shot of my plane as the screen faded to black.


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