The Weekly Suspense Theater: Murder At The Movies, Part Two.

   Sitting behind his desk at the station, Detective Patrick McCarthy was running out of steam, and leads. M Night Shyamalan seemed to be a cunning adversary, disappearing into thin air like a ghost, or the attendance to his feature films ... Or like, his fans. But I digress. McCarthy was loosing his grip on this case and all he needed was for Shyamalan to make that inevitable slip-up. Piles of paperwork stood on his desk, taking on the appearance of a small paper city. Cigarettes littered his ashtray so much that there was no discernible tray left in the pile of butts and ash. Bottles of Jameson littered the floor alongside crumpled pieces of paper, full of maddening scribbles of failure. A rapping came at the door to his office, waking McCarthy out of a deep "whiskey-nap," as he liked to call them.

   "Hu-huh? Wha? Can I help you?" McCarthy slurred, knocking over one of the paper towers with a stray elbow.

   "Hey, McCarthy, Its Maddox. I have something you should probably see."

   "If it has anything to do with the Double-Rainbow Guy, I've already seen it. Like a hundred different ways."

   "What? No, it has to do with the Shyamalan case." Maddox said, prying the door against the squadron of bottles keeping it from opening. "Shit, McCarthy. Maybe take it easy on the sauce, huh buddy?"

   "Whaddayou, my mother?" Groaned McCarthy.

   "Anyways, we've got something good on where M Night is going to be tomorrow. Apparently he is making an appearance on some shitty daytime talk show to promote his upcoming masterpiece mountain of crap, Devil."


Seriously, fuck this movie.

   "Jesus, he's got a pair on him. This is good news, Maddox! Perhaps we can stop him before he kills again. But I can't help feel that this is some type of trap. He knows I've been on his ass for the last few weeks. We've been to his home, his office, the studio. He must be up to something."

   "I feel the same way. So what do we do, McCarthy?" Said Maddox, leaning on my desk, lighting a cigarette.

   "We bust his ass, Maddox. Get your shit on and meet me downstairs in ten minutes. We're going to need a good amount of backup with us on this one, as well."


Preferably some type of robotic backup.

   Maddox and McCarthy hauled some serious ass to the studio, where they film "Generic Daytime Talk Show," to nail Shyamalan. Sirens screaming with complete disregard to pedestrians, they squealed into the parking lot. Coming to a hard stop, McCarthy and Maddox both jump out with guns and badges at the ready. Their backup, at the ready right behind the two Detectives, listen as McCarthy describes how the take-down of the insipid and nefarious M Night Shyamalan will take place.
  
   "Alright fellas, this is going to be nice and clean. And I mean by the books," McCarthy says while sliding a look over his shoulder at Maddox, "So we will only use lethal force if necessary. Check your sidearms and, I highly suggest, putting on some pretty thick armor. M Night has been known to spout such complete and fierce crap at people, and none of you deserve that death."

   Guns cocked, their backup takes point and assembles at the entrance of the studio. Two men put in place a charge, and with a nod everyone takes cover. In one quick kerflapp! the blast pushes the door inward and covers both inside and out in a thick cloud of smoke. McCarthy gives a signal for the SWAT team to move in to secure all targets, lethal and otherwise.

   In what could have only been, at most, three seconds, Maddox and McCarthy hear shrieks and random gunfire from inside, followed by the echoing of Shyamalans' voice. No doubt talking about how he thought The Happening should have received an Oscar, or some stupid shit like that. Goddamn, I loathe his existence. With their guns at the ready, the two Detectives cautiously move inside of the studio, still engulfed in smoke from the blast seconds prior.

   "M Night Shyamalan, I'm Movie Detective Patrick McCarthy. My partner is here with me. Shut your fucking mouth, and get down on the floor with your hands and feet spread a part!" Through the smoke the Detectives hear booming laughter, followed by M Night stepping out of the smoke and into the light.

   "Ha, Ha, Ha. You really think you can take me in? I'm M Night Shyamalan! I've made movies like Unbreakable, and The Sixth Sense. You won't take me, Detective McCarthy, because you will not survive this encounter with The Night. I will crush you like the insects you are!"



   In a blur of motion too quick for the eye to comprehend, The Night moved in and slammed McCarthy and Maddox to the floor. Thinking quick, and also having massive balls because he has been drinking heavily as of late, McCarthy furiously let off a few rounds into the direction of The Night. Then, flash! The Night was out of sight, but still in the room.

   "Maddox! Are you alright?!"

   "Yea-yeah, holy shit that hurt," Maddox replied in between coughs, "You?"

   "Yeah, although I am pretty fucking positive my sternum is in about forty pieces."

   "Good thing you're too numb from all the whiskey." Maddox dryly replied.

   "Fuck you, Maddox. Get your ass up, we need to bring this sonovabitch in before we die. And I don't know about you, but I don't want to be fucking killed by M Night Asshole over here."

   In a flash, The Night sweeps in to strike another blow, but this time the two Detectives are ready for the attack. Maddox lunges into a somersault to take cover while McCarthy, straight up blocks that shit and pistol-whips the fuck out of Shyamalan.

   "That's what you get for making Signs, you prick! Ugh, really, do you have any idea how awful that movie was?" Yells McCarthy.

   "Not as awful as this!" Grunts The Night, as he lands an upward heel kick right on McCarthy's chin, sending him soaring through the air and onto his back.



   Maddox, seeing this as an opportunity, moves in on The Night. The Night unleashes a bunch of bullshit about how Avatar: The Last Airbender was one of his greatest feats of film, and was "like, totally going to win that fucking Oscar this time ... For sure!" Forcing Maddox into a set piece, tumbling end over end.

   Fed up with all of M Nights' bullshit, McCarthy blurts out, "You do realize that you've made like, one decent movie, right? That was Unbreakable, and it's only decent because you somehow got both Bruce Willis and Samuel L Jackson to do it."

   Stopping, The Night slowly drops to his knees. "I know, man. I just, I just can't help myself, ya know?! I have all of these awesome ideas that turn to crap the moment I put my hands on them."

   "Look, dude, you're a pretty good director. But that's pretty much it, man. The reason your films keep progressively sucking is because for whatever reason, you decide to direct, produce, and write them. Have you thought about sticking to the one you're good at?

   Just then Maddox, popping up from behind M "The Night" Shyamalan, hoists his firearm up to back of his head and pulls the trigger. A loud clap! lets loose, with Shyamalan slinking face down onto the floor of the television studio, dead as a doorknob.

   "Maddox! What the fuck, man?! I totally had him!!!"

   "Fuck that going to jail shit. You really want him to get out and make another movie like The Village?"

   Conceding to the well put point, McCarthy sighs. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Hey! Wanna go see that action movie with Angelina Jolie? Salt?" Maddox gives an exasperated and indifferent shrug, and they both leave the scene to see that awesome and total MILF kick some Russian spy ass.


The End.