Thunder: A Nap Lapkin Story (part 1 of 6)

Only a few months removed from her training at Quantico, Agent Sam Brook jumped at the chance to get her first assignment in the field. It was certainly an odd situation for her to want to get involved in, but she’d also learned that Nap Lapkin, America’s top asset, was being brought in to consult. While his reputation at the agency was legendary, that wasn’t the reason she was so interested in working with him. She’d heard that he’d slept with every decent-looking woman in every department from the CIA to Mossad and she wouldn’t feel part of the team, or decent-looking, until she’d been with him.

As mentioned, the case was indeed an odd one. Two days ago an enormous bowling pin, roughly a thousand feet high, had dropped out of a clear blue sky and landed in the middle of Los Alamos, New Mexico.

“A bowling pin?” she asked when first told of the event.

“Yes. A bowling pin” came the reply.

Her mind immediately went to when she was younger, curled up on her mother’s lap during a storm. With every clap of thunder she would tense up and squeeze her eyes shut. “Don’t worry Samantha, that’s just the angels bowling” her mom would say comfortingly as she stroked her head.

She wondered what her mom would have to say about this one.

Nap waved over his server. The service had been abysmal and he wanted to share a few worlds about the decision-making behind his forthcoming gratuity. Or lack thereof.

When the gentleman finally made his way over to Nap’s table he found a customer eager to share some insights into the fragile nature of the relationship between customer and waiter.

“I use a scale based entirely on unbounded optimism when it comes to leaving a tip.” He dove right in. “I start at 30%. 30% for a meal served by a thoughtful and attentive waiter or waitress. That number is not arbitrarily. It is derived by the 30 things that I look for in a pleasant dining experience, gleaned over decades of fine dining. If I feel that any of these criteria have not been sufficiently met, I deduct 1% off of my tip. Just so we’re clear, it is not unusual for me to leave the full 30%. These criteria I mention are in no way demanding. With enough training, a chimp could perform the role of waiter and come away with 25% or more.”

It’s at this point where the young man with the neck tattoos, black fingernail polish and multiple piercings began to look uninterested in Nap’s council. Turns out there’s a pressure point behind the ear, that when pressed upon by the middle finger, while the thumb secures itself across the bridge of the nose, makes the recipient of said pressing much more interested in receiving helpful tips on pretty much any subject matter that the presser wishes to expound on. Nap had hold of that very pressure point and the waiter became completely absorbed in what Nap was saying.

“You sir, will receive 0.0. In fact, if there was a way to have you give me money for your poor performance I would seriously consider deducting it from the bill. 0 for 30. You are perhaps the worst waiter on the globe. Have you thought about a career change? Given all your ink and your surly attitude have you considered becoming an assassin?”

Nap released the young man and he crumpled to the floor. After a moment he began to collect himself and slowly rose back to his feet. Nap leaned in close, so only the waiter could hear him.

“Oh, can I get a to-go box for my fries?”