On a Thursday afternoon your girlfriend walks out of her home and is immediately black-bagged and thrown in the back of a van. In the van, she is lightly tortured and mocked by a man with a beard and a terrifying accent. (Note regarding bearded man: You’re going to be tempted, out of sloth, to use Sketchy Viktor for this role because he already has a beard, an accent, and when drunk can be unpredictable and terrifying. However, this is a ruse that is supposed to approximate danger, whereas locking your future wife in a van with an alcoholic sexual offender whose accent mysteriously disappears around law-enforcement personnel actually is dangerous.) He demands, between quick jabs to her kidneys by one of his henchmen, that she reveal to him the location of the Falcon. (Note regarding henchmen: Tell Derek to try, if only for a single day, not to wear his signature Drakkar Noir, as it will undoubtedly give him away.)
“Tell us his location!” says the bearded man. “He is the most deadly secret agent in the world, and you are his partner! We know that you plan to rendezvous with him this weekend at a quaint B&B in New England, where he will entrust you with the Doomsday Diamond, which he stole from me!” She’ll plead and plead that she knows no one named the Falcon and swear on her immortal soul that she’s never heard of the Doomsday Diamond. The bearded man, however, will not relent. “As the Falcon’s partner, you must know all details regarding the Doomsday Diamond. I see that you aren’t one to easily break character. We have all the time in the world, my seemingly naive little spy, so I’ll humor you. As you well know, the Doomsday Diamond is the final piece of a puzzle I’ve been solving for six years. Having already murdered Dr. Svetlanov and stolen his plans for the ultimate orbiting death ray, I now require only a specially designed gem to focus the beam and harness its deadly power.” (If this sounds familiar, it’s because I pretty much stole it from G.I. Joe. Should the smoke begin to clear in the hotboxed Ford Festiva that is your memory, you’d be wise to brood on the awful price paid by Cobra Commander when he gave in to pride and lust for power. So just keep it simple here, OK?) “Nearly indistinguishable from a normal 1.2-carat cubic zirconia, it is the only gem on earth that can turn my evil dream into a reality of crumbling governments and smoking corpses. As only one exists, and its designer is dead, I believe it goes without saying that this is the single most valuable gem on the planet.”
At this point, it is essential that the bearded man or one of the henchmen brandish some sort of morbid toolbox filled with twisted implements of interrogation. The bearded man will begin removing items from this toolbox and examining them in full view of his captive. (Remember to smear fake blood on the tools! Since she still has no idea that Kevin Spacey turned out to be Keyser Söze even though she’s seen The Usual Suspects at least three times, I think it’s safe to say she won’t make the assumption that the bearded man is a consummate professional who keeps his torture tools spotlessly clean.) He’ll squeeze the blades of the pruning shears on her left ring finger and maybe hold the cold steel of the hatchet against her face.
“So, my dear,” he says over her hysterical crying, “are you prepared to tell us the location of the Falcon? Before you begin denying allegiance to him, I should inform you that we have evidence.” He removes some glossy black-and-white photos, taken from behind a bush, of the two of you having brunch.
“But, but, but … that’s not the Falcon. That’s my boyfriend …” Here the van is rocked by what sounds like an explosion and she’s black-bagged again. There is activity and she hears the door slide open and the bearded man scream “Nooooo! Falcon! I—” Several gunshots follow (just make a tape from Pulp Fiction or something) and she’s dragged out of the van. Hit her with the chloroform Derek uses when the Drakkar fails and dump her on the couch in her apartment.
When she wakes up she’ll be groggy, and sure that it was all a dream. That’s when you knock on her door. She opens the door to see you smiling and holding a bouquet of roses. (I know that you consider roses to be a huge waste of money, but seriously, dude, I’m helping you get away with giving her a 1.2-carat cubic here, so splurge for once, you cheap bastard.) “Hey, beautiful,” you say, “I have a surprise for you! Pack an overnight bag, because I’ve booked us a room at this quaint little B&B in New England. I’m really looking forward to relaxing. I finally wrapped up a sinister little project at work that’s been bothering me for years. Anyway, now that he’s dead … uh … I mean, now that the project is finished, I can finally have some peace and quiet.” As memories start flooding back, she may begin to accuse you of certain things, but play it cool and laugh off the accusations. Maybe drop an “Oh, honey, what an imagination you’ve got.”
I’ll leave the details of the actual handoff to you, but you might consider talking into your sleeve every once in a while. You know, just to sell the whole thing.
Oh, yeah, and you’re welcome.