“I like Constable. He’s a good kid. In fact, he might be a good one to execute. Tell the goddamn writers not to make Constable’s questions too hard. I don’t think he’s very bright. Except the last question, of course. Make that one very hard. The writers know what to do.”

The commercial break was over.

Neither Rip Puckett, the first game’s contestants, nor the studio audience were aware of the shooting that took place in the green room.

“And now let’s welcome the second of our three contestants for the first game!” shouted host Rip Puckett over the applause. “He’s from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, he’s a hotshot in the Catholic Church….” Here host Puckett decided to ad-lib a cute remark he had just thought of and said, “Who knows, he may be our next pope. Ladies and gentlemen…Father Daniel Patrick Brady!”

Father Brady walked across the stage to the master of ceremonies.

“Nice to have you on our first show, Father Brady.”

“Nice to be here,” answered the priest with a smile.

“Ha ha ha ha. You’re all boned up on your specialty, I presume?”

“I am.”

“And what might that be?”

“Catholicism.”

“Catholicism. How about that! Happy-go-lucky subject if there ever was one. Catholicism. Well, great! Ha ha ha ha. Wonderful! Tell me, Father Brady, what are you going to do with all that money if you answer the big question correctly?”

“Give it to the Catholic Church.”

“Ha ha ha ha. Give it right back to the church, right?! Ha ha ha ha. What splendid joke, Father. Ha ha ha ha.”

“It’s not a jo—”

“That’s wonderful, Father! Now if you will allow our model Beautiful Monique to take you to your soundproof capsule…the one in the middle, Monique. He’s all yours, Beautiful Monique. Just make sure you remember your celibacy vows, Father. Ha ha ha ha ha ha.”

Before Beautiful Monique turned to lead the priest to his soundproof tube, she angrily whispered, “Goddamn it, you asshole, stop telling me where to take the fucking contestants. I know what the hell to do with the fucking contestants,” loud enough to be heard from coast to coast on Rip Puckett’s lapel microphone.

“Good luck, Father Daniel Patrick Brady,” yelled Rip Puckett into a television camera, flashing once again his new capped teeth and ignoring Beautiful Monique.

After the shooting of Rasheed Jamal, the original green room was off-limits to everyone except the police. It had become a “crime scene” and had police guarding its entrance. The new green room was down the hall, farther away from the studio. Instead of ushers and pages, it now had police standing guard there. The producer was ecstatic: The shooting of Rasheed Jamal and now the police guarding the entrance to the new green room were all great publicity hooks. He could see tomorrow’s newspaper headline:

BIG QUESTION CONTESTANTS NEED
POLICE PROTECTION
EX-CON LOSES BEFORE THE GAME BEGINS

“Contact our PR guy…what’s his name…?” the producer asked Ms. Pickle excitedly.