A: Do you have any 8s?
B: No, I don’t have any fucking 8s. You’ve asked for 8s like a billion times! Go fucking FISH!
A: Oooookay, jeez. Chill.
B: Sorry, I’m just irritated because we haven’t found that Bin Laden guy yet
PS: Knock Knock
A & B: Come in . . .?
PS: Hi, I’m a spy from Pakistan. I know where Bin Laden is.
B: Okay, have a seat, we’ll be right back!
They leave the room.
A: Do you think he’s for real?
B: No idea. Let’s call Pakistan Intelligence.
Beep boop bip, etc.
PI: Hello?
B: Hello, is this Pakistan Intelligence?
The sound of hand over phone, muffled sounds, someone saying something with the tone of "How the fuck did they get our number?’ shhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . .
PI: Uh . . . yes?
B: Well, we have one of your guys here claiming he knows where Bin Laden is.
More muffled talk, shushing . . .
PI: Uh, Bin Laden, no, we have no idea where anyone with that name might be.
B: Are you sure?
PI: I’m sure. No Bin Laden here, uh, anywhere, uh . . .
Line goes dead.
A: What’d he say?
B: He said they don’t know.
A: Do you believe them?
B: Fuck no. Let’s ask the Spy.
Spy is chained to a desk. (no idea how, since the only two people have been in the other room. Plot hole).
B: Your guys say they don’t know where Bin Laden is.
PS: Spies saying they don’t know anything. Shocker! Of COURSE they know.
A: Well, how do we know you’re telling the truth? Where is he?
PS: They move him around every day.
A: Seriously? How do we find him then?
PS: He has a guy who pops over to Starbucks every morning to get him his carmel macchiado. You can follow him.
A: What’s this guy look like . . .?
Interior Starbucks. A and B waiting for their coffee.
SB: Americano for Mary Canspie.
B: Seriously?
A: I know, “American Spy”! Clever huh!
B: Shhhhhh . . .Look, there’s our man . . .
They follow the guy to this resort . . .
A: Woot! Look at this place. You think they have Jacuzzi tubs?
B: First rule of spying. Don’t WOOT! while on reconnaissance. Jeebus this guy is dim.
A: What?
B: Shhhhhhhhh. Spying now.
. . . .
A: Are we done spying? I gotta pee.
B: Look! There he is.
Up sitting in a window smoking a nice cigar and reading Playboy while on the john is Bin Laden.
Back at spy headquarters. A is sitting with PS. B walks in.
A: Do you have any 8s?
PS: Go fish.
A: Goddamit no one ever has any fucking 8s!!
Throws his cards on the table. None of them are 8s.
PS: You do know how this game works, right?
He begins to deal another hand.
B: Everyone shut the fuck up. I talked to HQ. HRC and BO are sending in some blackhawks to take out the compound and get Bin Laden.
A: You mean the resort?
B: Compound. Terrorists don’t hang out in resorts.
A: Why not?
B: Because they hang out in fucking compounds, dumbass, that’s why not.
A: And the Starbucks guy?
B: Courier.
A: What about the Playboy.
B: A treasure trove of info on terrorist networks.
PS stops in mid-deal. Everyone looks at one another, each with one eyebrow raised.
PS: And my help?
B: Painstaking intelligence gathering.
A: Do you have any 8s?