The Bentley swung into the compound at speed, the driver under strict instructions to disregard expectations of decency. The production assistant was there to greet the multi-billionaire—just as he had done on numerous occasions during his previous visits as a guest of the podcast.
"I've decided I will no longer talk with you," the guest informed the young man, his hand outstretched.
"Okay..." the assistant said, taken aback.
The guest walked past him and entered the converted house that contained the green room and podcast studio. The Texas sun shone down on the precinct, its heat sealed off as the producer closed the door behind him. The guest strolled in and entered the green room without further invitation.
"Mr. Calloway," the producer called after him. "Anton, sir..."
There was no response. The guest walked through the green room and entered the studio despite the bright red illumination signaling to those not privy—flashing neon words read ON AIR. As the large door seal broke the vacuum of the soundproofing, the intruder was confronted with the host, who sat opposite another guest mid-interview.
"Oh, shit... Look who it is," the host said, removing his headphones and standing from his chair. The additional guest, at first, was unaware of the intrusion.
"Jamie, didn’t anyone greet Anton?" the host asked.
"I'm not sure."
"Hey, I thought I’d just come in early… You know, I’m ready to go now… you know," the billionaire laughed.
"Oh, okay... It’s just that we’re still going with Bill Murray. We haven’t wrapped up yet," the host explained. "Have you two met?"
Bill Murray held out a hand out of politeness, his face betraying no recognition of the man who had just gatecrashed. The billionaire shook his hand limply.
"Yeah, I saw the sign that you were on air, but I thought... I’m Anton Calloway... you know… Who wouldn’t want me in on an interview? It would bring ratings… you know…" The billionaire laughed. "Bill Murray won’t mind."
Bill Murray sat, confused. He looked from the host to the intruder and back.
"I don’t... I really don’t know what to..." he began.
"Good," the billionaire said, pulling up a seat. "I told you he wouldn’t mind. So where were we?" He propped a pair of cowboy boots on the table, knocking over an ornamental bong gifted by a comedian in the early days of the show.
"Well... This is kind of strange," the host began.
"It’s very fucking strange," Bill Murray agreed.
The billionaire failed to sense the disdain his intrusion had caused as he dug his hands into his pants pockets and removed a wad of hundred-dollar bills.
"Hey, I’ve always wanted to do this… ready?"
The host raised an eyebrow.
"I had my driver go out to an ATM machine specifically for me to do this… I haven’t seen a hundred-dollar bill in years… I forgot how to actually get one and hold it… you know?" The intruder laughed to himself.
He counted the bills, totaling two thousand dollars. He then stacked them like a dealer, reached into his left hip pocket, and retrieved a cigar from a tin container. He unscrewed the lid and popped the banana-leafed smoke into his mouth.
"You got a light?" he asked the host. Graves nodded toward the left of the table, where the intruder could pick up a high-powered flame emitter. The intruder lit the fuse and waved it over the money until it ignited completely. He then held the burning cash to his cigar, inhaling deeply before laughing maniacally.
"It’s funny, right? I’ve always wanted to do this… So funny..." he said.
The host and Bill Murray exchanged looks.
"I guess stranger things have happened..." the host said.
"Not in my lifetime," Murray replied.
"Hey, so Bill Murray... You were in a movie, right?" the intruder asked.
"Some people say that," Murray replied.
"What’s your favorite movie you were in?" the intruder asked.
Bill frowned at the host and stood up.
"Look, I think that about does it for me... Thanks for having me on the show," he said, holding out a hand to Graves.
"You’ve had enough?"
"Yeah, I’ve had enough."
Bill Murray turned to leave, but the intruder thwarted him by blocking the exit, remaining seated with his boots on the table. He reached into his jacket pocket and put on a pair of sunglasses.
"Don’t go, this is comedy… You’re a comedian, right?" the intruder asked.
"Please move out of the way," Bill Murray said.
"Relax, Bill, take a seat. I’m trying to make comedy legal again… I’m a friend. Take a seat and talk with us for a while. You’ll like it... Okay? Trust me."
"I’m asking you again… Would you please move?" Murray demanded.
"Jamie, cut the feed," Graves said, turning back to his producer.
The producer was stunned, unable to act on the request. The small team had never faced such hostility. Murray towered over the multi-billionaire, and despite his advanced years, seemed eager to escalate the confrontation physically.
"I will ask you one final time..."
"Bill, Bill..." the host began, moving around the desk to stand between the two men. The intruder still did not stand, remaining unfazed. "Bill, you don’t have to go down this path, trust me. Anton is alright, he's just having a bit of a laugh, that’s all. This is his style," he attempted.
"This is my style, Bill... Just relax."
Murray grabbed the billionaire’s boots and threw them onto the floor. The sudden movement caused him to lose his footing and hit the back wall. The intruder burst into another fit of laughter.
"This is good, Bill... You see… Now you get my style of comedy," he said.
"Anton, please shut the fuck up for the love of God," the host demanded, kneeling down to assist the comedian to his feet.
"Would you please get the fuck out of the way?!" he then yelled at the billionaire.
The intruder was insulted. He removed his glasses and shot both the host and Bill Murray a visibly dirty look. Finally, he stood up and swiveled his chair away from the doorway, allowing the host to escort the comedian out of the studio.
As the door sealed behind them, the intruder turned to the producer.
"Good… Now we can move on to my interview," he said.
The producer’s mouth hung open. He hadn’t realized they were still broadcasting. The intruder glanced at the flashing ON AIR sign above his head.
"You’re still on air?" he asked.
The producer looked down at the laptop and mixing desk, scrambling to kill the feed.
"No! Don’t! Keep it going… This is comedy gold!" the billionaire yelled, stubbing out his cigar just as the host walked back inside the studio.
"Anton, man, what the fuck?!" he shouted.
"Pretty funny, right?"
"No! What the hell are you even doing here? We’re talking tomorrow," the host explained.
"Yeah, I know, but I’m ready now, so I came now," he chuckled.
"Well, I’m not ready. You just killed my interview with Bill Murray!" he yelled.
"Well… I’d say I just enhanced it," the billionaire protested. "We’re all funny guys. I don’t know why he didn’t just stick around with us. Would’ve been a blast… Anyway, you check your ratings at the end—I bet I boosted them into the stratosphere when I entered," he giggled again.
The host pointed to the door.
"Get out."
The billionaire cocked his head, intrigued. He had not read the mood of the room until that very moment.
"Excuse me?"
"Get out now, or I will throw you out," the host said firmly.
"Do you know who you’re talking to?"
The host grabbed the billionaire by the jacket flaps and lifted him. The underseams ripped into his underarms, and he began to yell.
"I said, GET THE F—"
The feed died as the producer shut down the broadcast, cutting off his employer manhandling the world's richest man.