But Josiah Malum cared about John – very much so. And not in a good way either. No, he cared about John in a very bad way. Josiah wanted him dead, and he would stop at nothing to see that it happened.
The betrayal of Mischa was viewed by Josiah as merely another inconvenience. As little as Josiah liked Mischa, he trusted him even less; he’d secretly planted a microphone on him months ago to ensure that he was informed of everything that went on around his assistant.
When he found out about Mischa’s going apostate, Josiah was at first angry (“Nobody betrays Josiah Malum!”), then relieved (“I did hate him though”). After all, with Mischa gone, he could hold auditions for a new Deputy Secretary of Evil, a prospect which greatly excited him.
Unfortunately, they didn’t go quite as well as he’d planned. Even after Josiah put up flyers all over Washington, nobody showed up, leaving him cruelly and irrevocably alone, sitting in his cavernous Pentagon office sipping brandy.
“Josiah!” he yelled to himself, no one else being available, “you need to stop that mailman! And punish Mischa for betraying you! And finish off the NBA! And carry out the rest of your evil plan!”
“Don’t you tell me what to do, you rentsy little –”
“How dare you call me rentsy? I’m not rentsy; you’re rentsy!”
“You’re calling me rentsy, you rentsy piece of –”
“You don’t even know the definition of the word rentsy!”
After taking a break to look up the word rentsy (of, related to, or exhibiting flamboyant eccentricity), Josiah tried to resume his shouting match with himself. But realizing how pointlessly futile it was, he sighed in defeat, pouring himself another glass and lighting up a cigarette.
“It’s just not the same without Mischa,” he lamented. “Oh well, I’ll just have to do now what I did before: kidnap someone and force him to be my assistant.”
Marching happily into the streets of Washington, taser in hand, Josiah started looking for potential victims. Humming to himself, he savagely electrocuted the first man that crossed his path, who just so happened to be Sanchez.
“Only Josiah Malum’s taser has such a high voltage,” thought Sanchez as he hit the ground, then turned around to find Josiah standing above him triumphantly.
“You!” yelled Josiah, recognizing his foe and preparing to zap Sanchez again.
“Yes. Me,” said Sanchez as he picked himself up, shrugging off the next jolt as it if were nothing.
Astonished, Josiah dropped the taser, which Sanchez, moving forward threateningly, crushed beneath his foot. It was very intimidating.
“Josiah Malum, you have just witnessed my secret power: after I am electrocuted by a taser during the second week of March on a leap year, I cannot be harmed by any subsequent shocks,” he explained. “I do not know why. But now, I am afraid I must kill you.”
Josiah calmly reached into his pocket and withdrew a fresh pack of cigarettes. He showed no fear, despite the situation, slowly taking a cigarette out and lighting it.
“Not today, Mr. – whatever your last name is. Not today,” he said.
Josiah leapt into the air, right into a waiting helicopter that Sanchez had somehow failed to notice. Laughing maniacally and throwing his cigarette out the window, he flew away, beyond the reach of anyone confined to the ground.
But Sanchez was not confined to the ground. Switching on his jetpack, Sanchez rocketed into the air, flying speedily after Josiah’s helicopter.
“I will pursue this helicopter to the ends of the earth. Or until I run out of fuel. Hmm…the latter seems far more likely to happen, now that I think about it. I knew I should have put more than a dollar’s worth of gas in here,” said Sanchez as his jetpack gave a feeble sputter and died.
Seconds later, Sanchez met the same fate. Well, he didn’t really sputter...but he did die.
The NBA was now down to one.