From The Journal of Dr. Rick Hightower, M.D., soon to be adapted into an ABC primetime drama entitled Hightower:
“Your honor,” I said, “I was frankly too busy being hit on by hot babes to notice every little detail. The bottom line is that man belongs in jail.” I was in court, testifying as an expert medicine practicing secret crime fighter, which I get called upon to do a lot.
“I rest my case,” I said, and left.
Back at our penthouse hideout, V.J. was busy with his cloning experiments. “Man, V.J.,” I said, “why don’t you clone some hot chicks? That way there would be more hot chicks, ones that would look to us as gods…”
“Hightower,” V.J. said, “I’m not sure that’s ethical. By the way, have you been drinking?”
“I was in court, buddy,” I said. “So yes, after that I had something to drink, because I hate going to court. Or going to the police to help them with boring paperwork stuff. Or showing up to my job as a hot male doctor in a Manhattan hospital. If only there was a way to have a stand-in do all of that for me…” Just then it hit me. “I’m starving,” I said. “Let’s get some food.”
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As we ate some Domino’s new Artisanal Pizza, I said, “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I said before about how you should clone me.”
“When did you say that?” asked V.J.
“Before we got pizza,” I said. “You should start paying attention. Anyway, I say it’s a go. You should clone me so that I can send my clone to do all of the boring stuff that gets in the way of the awesome stuff. When do we start?”
“Hightower,” V.J. said, “I’m not sure I can do that. I mean…it would be risky.”
“Listen buddy,” I said, “I believe in you. What could go wrong?”
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V.J. unstrapped me from the cloning machine. “There he is,” V.J. said, pointing to my clone in the other part of the machine, “have a look.”
I checked him out in a totally straight way. “Looks good, in a straight way, “ I said.
“That’s not all,” said V.J. “I’ve fitted him with a special chip so that we can track his movements and give him basic directions. We can’t have him getting into trouble.”
“Or falling into the wrong hands,” I said.
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“Man V.J.,” I said, “these last few weeks with my clone doing all of the boring stuff for me has been great. When he gets back from court in a few minutes, let’s remind him that he can’t wear leather pants on the witness stand. Speaking of which, shouldn’t he be back by now?”
Just then, the phone rang. V.J. answered. “Sure, he’s right here,” he said into the phone, and handing it to me said “it’s Commissioner Kenner. He sounds upset.”
“Commissioner,” I said, “what can I do for you?”
“You can start by explaining exactly what that little stunt was in the courtroom, Hightower!,” the Commissioner yelled.
“I, uh…”
“That was some act you pulled, testifying that Tony “The Hammer” Santucci was an innocent man, and exposing our undercover agent! You’d better start explaining yourself!,” the Commissioner kept yelling.
“I, uh…”
“You’d better be in my office in…” just then I heard yelling and shots on the other end of the line. “Hightower? But… What the…NOOOO!” the Commissioner said before there were more shots and the line went dead.
“I didn’t like the sound of that,” I said to V.J.
“Then you’re not going to like this,” V.J. said. “Your clone is offline. I can’t get a signal.”
“Sounds like I’m out of control.”
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V.J. and I stayed at the penthouse hideout working on a plan. “It seems like my clone has fallen into the wrong hands, but whose?” I asked. “Who would try to turn a clone against the person he was cloned from?”
“Well,” V.J. said, I’ve been searching the internet, and it looks like the Benedetti crime family are the number one clone thieves in Manhattan.”
“The mafia,” I said, “of course. I’m always testifying against them. We’ll need to come up with a plan.”
“This seems risky,” V.J. said, “maybe we should take the clone out.”
“We have to find him first, which means that I have to go undercover. Double undercover.”
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TO BE CONTINUED
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