Now, in order to save money I’ll have to just tell you what happens next. You see, these flights back and forth to Orlando, the Town Car, the convertible, the ice cream, all of this is really expensive. And these are just the visible expenses. We have to hire a local crew in Florida to unload the gear, we need to put up Gibbs in a six-star hotel (do you know how hard it is to find a six-star hotel?), Ziva’s on this weird Israeli diet that requires bottled water from The Dead Sea (bottled but not sealed – a logistical nightmare as far as transport and catering’s concerned. I can’t tell you how many times the damn bottles have been empty by the time we finally got them to her), filming licenses (which do not include street permits), and an endless ream of speeding tickets that Gibbs seems to accrue in his sleep. So we’re going to take a little holiday from spending, over these next couple paragraphs. I was able to scrounge up some wood and some flint, though, so maybe we can do what the natives did, to wrap this thing up, and watch the story flicker in a fire. Watch:

Gibbs has The Mayor up against the wall. Plaster is crumbling around his body, breaking off into small chunks and clouding the air that he breathes. The Mayor is wheezing. The Mayor is scared. “You can’t prove a thing,” he tries to say. Ziva notices that the wall’s about to collapse. “Boss,” she says, “The wall.”

“I know,” says Gibbs.

“You’re insane,” cries The Mayor, “You’ll kill us all! You’re a madman!”

“I know,” says Gibbs.

Dinozzo starts laughing a crazy laugh in the corner. His face is totally shadowed by the brim/snout of his Goofy hat. He’s cracking up. “Hyuck,” he says.

Ziva’s eyes roll back and she starts singing. “M-I-C… See you real soon…”

“You’ll never get away with this!” shouts The Mayor.

“K-E-Y…” sings Special Agent David, “Why? Because we like you.”

Gibbs presses The Mayor even further into the wall. The ceiling starts shaking. Light bulbs fall from their fixtures, bursting onto the floor.

“M…” says Gibbs.

“This is abuse!” screams The Mayor.

“O…” says Gibbs.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“U…”

“I can explain!”

“S…”

“I swear it!”

“E!”

“Okay okay okay okay, please, please, I’ll tell you everything, just let me down, please. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.”

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs lets go of The Mayor and lets him slink into the carpet, mumbling. “I just wanted a clean town,” he whines. “I just wanted something pure.”

The police arrive to take The Mayor away.

Outside, Leroy Jethro Gibbs leads his Agents back to their Mustang.

“How’d you know he’d crack?” asks Ziva.

“Yeah Boss,” says Dinozzo, “How’d you know he’d cave?”

“Have you ever been on a Turkish Twist?” asks Gibbs.

“Once,” says Dinozzo. “When I was nine.”

“How’d you feel?”

“Trapped,” says Dinozzo.

Gibbs puts on his sunglasses and laughs to himself. He’s somewhere far away now, where no one’s been before. Someplace both iconic and distant, deep past the ripples of his mind. He sits there, hands folded, on a bullet-train of thought that shows no sign of stopping. His own private cabin with a landscape window, a single hawk soaring in the distance.

Ziva David looks over at Dinozzo.

“Ziva,” says Gibbs without turning around, “That’s a dollar.”

The End