Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.
Three Minutes
By
N. J. Borba
Ding
Emily dove head first into the endeavor as she sat across from a tall, thin man in a navy suit. "My name is Emily. I work for the FBI as a behavioral analyst. A profiler," she clarified, figuring that term was more universal. "I chase down serial killers, rapist and kidnappers. I also carry a weapon with me most of the time. It's a Glock 19." She watched the look in his eyes go from blank to startled in a matter of seconds. "Just thought I'd get that all out up front. You know, because some guys have issues with women in law enforcement."
He swallowed nervously. "I'm Fred. I have two children, a beautiful nine year old girl and a shy seven year old boy. Unfortunately, their mother passed away two years ago. My faith has helped me get through each day since she passed," the man explained. "I'm looking for a woman to share my faith, to pray every night for abundant health and happiness, to worship each Sunday with me and my children at church. To denounce evil and evil ways. To proclaim that our faith is the most important relationship in our lives."
"Okay…" Emily wondered what part of her carrying a gun and chasing bad guys he didn't understand.
"So, have you found Jesus yet?" he asked.
"Has he been missing for more than seventy-two hours?" she asked, falling back on her reliable friend sarcasm. "Because I should let you know that chances of finding someone after that long," her head shook as she tisked. "Not so good."
Ding
She cringed as Fred bolted out of his seat toward freedom, feeling bad for essentially mocking his beliefs. Emily briefly feared that her chronic case of cynicism was the main reason why she'd never be able to find a meaningful relationship with anyone. Let alone God. She did her best to shove those thoughts aside as a new man slid into the vacated chair across from her. Emily decided to let him go first this time.
"Hi there, my name is Mike," he sounded pleasant enough; a bit older and balding with bright green eyes. "I sell shoes for a living," Mike continued. "I've been at Macy's for almost twenty-five years now, selling shoes," he nodded. "Do you have any idea how many feet I see in a day's time? A lot," Mike chuckled dryly. "Some are small and kind of cute, but some are old, wrinkled and smell… very bad," he nodded. "But it's my job. And I'm good at it. I like shoes. Everybody has to wear them."
"True," she finally spoke.
"Except for the people that don't wear shoes," he went on. "I don't understand that."
Ding.
"Thank God," Emily sighed, slouching in her chair as the next guy sat down in front of her. He was cute and young and seemed perky. "Emily," she smiled in introduction.
"Name's Harold," the dark haired man replied. "That's my American name," he spoke in perfect English. "I was born in China, to a Chinese mother and American father. He was in the Army. They named me Ho Thym. That's my Chinese name. But here in America I took an American name to try and fit in. I like being bi-racial. I feel like it defines me, you know?" he nodded. "I have twin sisters who have red hair. Crazy, huh? They look like my American father. He's Irish."
Emily tried not to roll her eyes at his conflicting manifesto. "That's good that you…"
"I knew some bi-racial kids in school. They all tried to just be American," Harold cut her off. "I think that's wrong. "I'm proud of my bi-racial status. I like being different."
"Well, we all are really multi-racial," Emily expounded. "I mean, even your father who obviously has Irish in his background."
"But I was born in China, to a Chinese mother and…"
Ding
Her head hung as he took his leave. "Get over yourself," she groaned.
"Excuse me?" a male voice asked.
She sat up and spied the blonde, blue-eyed man. "Sorry, not you." Emily extended a hand. "Emily," she was already getting sick of her name.
"I'm Lance," he replied, sitting. "I'm an actor. Out of work at the moment and visiting my parents. They seem to think I need a woman in my life."
"And you don't?" she asked.
"Well, yeah, sure. But I like to act like I don't," he winked and chuckled boisterously at his own joke. After several seconds he recovered and his tone turned serious. "Did you know that Ronald Regan was an actor before he became president of the United States?" Lance beamed. "I think that is just great. And Arnold Schwarzenegger of course, he was an actor turned Politian. Isn't that just the most fascinating thing ever. From actor to president. That could be me some day."
Ding
"Hello, my name is Samuel," the new man spoke very softly.
Emily's brows bunched. "Why are you whispering?" she inquired.
"Because my mother might hear us. She's very sensitive, so I whisper," he explained. "I hate to wake her. She hits me when I make too much noise in the house. I hate when she hits me. She always hits me for no reason. Ever since I was a boy."
She wasn't sure whether to call the police to report the woman's abuse, or a hospital to have her potential date tossed in the psych ward. "I think our time is up."
"No, it's not," he whispered.
They sat in silence for the longest minute and a half of Emily's life.
Ding
"Whazzup?" a middle-aged white guy plopped himself down in the wooden seat. "My name is Dave, and tonight I had a shave… so I could meet the girl, who would rock my world," he spoke in a slow rap beat. "So, what is your name, so know who to blame… for the way my heart, has been re-start," he grinned.
Her eyes remained widened. "Emily."
"Pretty name, pretty face," he slurred. "Pretty cool the way I made up that little beat right on the spot for ya, huh?" Dave asked. "Rap has become a way of life for me after my basketball career ended. I think I'm getting pretty good at it. It's kind of a religion for me. A philosophy, if you will."
Emily crinkled her nose, done with being polite. "No, I think I won't."
Ding
"Hi, I'm Greg," introduced the newest bachelor. His hair was short, dark brown. Blue eyes and a sweet smile greeted her. He wore a simple cotton t-shirt that housed some very shapely muscles. She was not above noticing shallow details. "I'm a plumber. It's not glamorous, but necessary work. And usually folks are very grateful of the service. I kind of hate how much I have to charge these days, but you kind of have to follow the plumbers code. And no, that doesn't include a butt crack regulation."
She actually got a chuckle out of that. "Plumbing is something most people need serviced once in a while." Emily groaned inwardly, hoping he wouldn't misinterpreted her words for being some kind of dirty euphemism.
"True," he nodded. "And I have a few older clients who I stopped charging," Greg shrugged.
"That's really nice." Emily finally relaxed a little.
"In my free time I started a collection," he went on. "You'll think it's odd, though."
Emily shook her head. "No, I won't."
"I have just over 1800 spider specimens stored in my basement," he revealed. "All dead, naturally. I meant that, of course, they're dead… not that they died naturally."
Ding
"And it started so well," she lamented as Greg moved on to the next unsuspecting female.
A guy sat down and stared at her for a while, neither of them speaking. His phone vibrated and he answered. "No," he growled into the phone. "I told you before I left you were not allowed to leave the house tonight. Not after I found you half naked with your boyfriend last night. I swear if you get pregnant you can raise the bastard on your own. It's bad enough your mother ran off all those years ago saddling me with you. Now stop fucking calling me!"
"Your daughter?"
He glared at her for another short expanse of time. "Demon spawn," he shuddered. "You got any kids?"
"Triplets," Emily nodded, lying through her teeth. "Three teenaged girls. They live with me full time. Love 'em to death."
The guy got up to leave even before the room's clock cried out again.
Ding
"And then she tossed my clothes on the lawn. And then she burned them. And then she ran over the charred pieces with the lawn mower," the man lamented.
Emily wasn't even sure if the guy had introduced himself. Or if she had. "That's rough," she tried to sympathize.
"And then she sold my favorite Bee Gees album on eBay. And then she took my cat to the pound and had him euthanized. And then she ran up a huge credit card bill on her girls only weekend to Miami. And then she canceled my phone service without telling me. And then she told my parents and all my friends that I was gay. And then she had sex with my best friend from college. And then she had his kid."
"That is a serious run of bad luck," Emily acknowledged.
He sneered at her. "Women suck. All of them. And not in the good way. You probably suck, too."
Ding
Emily sat with her forehead resting against the table, cursing Garcia for suggesting speed dating. She cursed herself for being foolish enough, or optimistic enough, to actually go ahead and try it. There was movement across from her as a new guy sat down. But she didn't even bother looking up. "This really isn't working, so I'm going to make things real easy for you, buddy. And the magic words are… I carry a weapon. I know how to use it. And one of my favorite literary characters is someone named Kilgore Trout."
A soft chuckle escaped the man's lips. "I carry a weapon, too. And I'm glad you know how to use yours since it's our job to watch each other's backs," Derek grinned as her head slowly rose to face him. "And, while I do like Kilgore Trout, I think you already know I much prefer William Campbell."
"What the heck are you doing here?" Relief flooded her, instantly feeling at ease in the man's presence.
"Same as you, I imagine," he shrugged. "Found a flyer on my desk. Mysteriously left by someone who I'm guessing goes by the names Penelope and Garcia." Morgan chuckled. "I had no intention of showing up here tonight, but then I found myself at home drinking a beer and scratching Clooney's pudgy belly. That's when I realized my social life has grown rather pathetic in recent years."
"I'd take a dog as company at the moment over any of these bachelors," she replied. "I listened to some guy go on about feet for three minutes."
He smiled again. "I met a woman who swallows fire for a living." Derek noticed her dubious expression. "Seriously, she works with a traveling side show."
She laughed. "Who knew there were so many unique people in the world?"
Ding
"Seems our three minutes are up," Morgan scooted his chair away from the table. He stood nearby as a man with a pink, green and blue Mohawk sat down in front of Emily. Derek took his seat at the next table, but couldn't help glancing over at Emily. He even caught wind of Mr. Mohawk's plans for world domination. They included chicken robots and a lot of energy drinks from what Derek overheard.
He realized he hadn't even been paying attention to the woman across from him. Derek stood, apologized to her and headed back to Emily's table. "Hey, dude," Mohawk man said when he noticed Derek's presence. "Like, it's not time to switch yet. This is my piece of ass for another minute."
Morgan resisted the urge to punch the man. His eyes focused on Emily. "Do you want to get out of here and go have a drink?"
Emily shot to her feet and grabbed her bag. "A drink would be great."
As they exited the establishment together they heard the annoying timer chime one last time.
Ding
The End