A Jack Smack Thriller
Jack Smack, international man of action, was not about to be stopped by a mere Customs and Border Patrol agent. He’d seen too much, been too far, gone there and back with enough frequency to know he had his God-given Constitutional Rights, not to mention a valid visa granted only the day before by the High Ambassador of Sushikistan himself.
“Ain’t no such place,” The Customs and Border Patrol agent sneered, “And this here ain’t no valid-like passport neither. Looks like something you just cut out of a breakfast cereal box.”
Jack Smack drew a deep breath, and considered his options. He could take this punk-ass uniformed geek no question about it, the only decision was where to snap the neck, left side or right. It’s just that the whole dang airport was crawling with these jackals.
“Can’t you see I’m white,” he calmly said.
“Got eyes,” the agent nodded.
“And I am a Christian,” Jack Smack declared. “My one true God’s the bloody fricking Jesus.”
The agent nodded again. Only a true red-white-and-blue American Christian would use that kind of phraseology, he reckoned.
“Go on,” he drawled, handing back Jack Smack’s docs. “Ain’t got all day, you know.”