The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak by Brian Katcher Page A

armor. I yank him by the collar and pull him into the food prep area.
    I’m furious. “Knock it off. You know what I want.”
    Even under the helmet, Clayton looks terrified. His whole body is shaking, knees knocking, breasts heaving . . .
    Uh-oh .
    Boba Fett hurls the mask to the ground. Underneath is a shorthaired, fine-featured girl of about nineteen or twenty. Her eyes blaze with rage and fear.
    It’s going to take a very, very delicate touch to extricate myself from this situation. I take a deep breath.
    â€œI—”
    Her petite fist snakes out (how could I have missed the nail polish?) and drills me right under the eye. I stagger back into a counter.
    â€œMa’am, I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
    She replies with an uppercut, smacking my jaws together with a tooth-rattling clunk. My vision goes blurry.
    â€œMy friend’s little brother. Believe it or not, he has a shirt that same—”
    Her blow to my solar plexus cuts my apology short. I stand there trying to suck in air with a stunned diaphragm.
    â€œJust . . . a . . . mis . . . under . . .”
    I think she realizes I’m not fighting back. I hope she’ll end the onslaught, but hell hath no fury, and so forth. I don’t see the foot coming, but I sure feel it as it connects between my legs. I collapse to the floor.
    My feeble voice spurts out in six-point font, “So . . . sorry.”
    She’s not kicking me, so either she’s decided I’ve had enough, or is searching for a rolling pin. I lay there in the fetal position, staring longingly at an industrial fridge and its probable contents of numbing ice.
    Boom. Boom. Boom .
    Something is coming.
    BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
    Something is near. I don’t want to look.
    BOOM.
    I can’t help but think of the classic horror movie, with the tied-up woman, the ominous approaching shadow, and the islanders all chanting “Kong!”
    I slowly turn my head.
    He’s huge. Tall, and very wide. He’s shirtless, wearingnothing but furry leggings and a Viking helm. And hair. Lots and lots of hair. All over.
    I remember him. He was standing near Boba Fett when I attacked her. His lips fold into a snarl. He cracks his knuckles. It sounds like artillery fire.
    Ruh roh, Shaggy .

ANA
5:15 PM
    I have no idea what to expect when I enter the ballroom. Zak says there are weird subcultures at the con, and I fear I might walk in on something that cannot be unseen.
    I’m pleasantly surprised to realize that the room is being prepped for a wedding. A half-dozen well-dressed people unfold chairs, arrange flowers, and string balloons. An easel near the door proclaims this to be the Horowitz-Danvers wedding and reception.
    Suddenly, I’m frozen in horror. This is a wedding . Right here. Freak show central. I thought Zak said the con reserved the whole center, but he must have beenmistaken. This couple obviously has no idea what they’ve signed up for. I picture the look on the poor bride’s face when a bunch of drunken Wookiees stumble in during the vows. I have to warn someone to get some kind of security detail in place. Where is Zak’s friend?
    â€œMay I help you?”
    He’s a very handsome man in his thirties, with brown, slightly receding hair, steely eyes, and no costume.
    â€œWarren?”
    â€œEr, no, I’m John. Ma’am, this is a private event.”
    â€œThat’s what I need to warn you about. Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?”
    He looks concerned. “What?”
    â€œA comic book convention! I don’t know if anyone told you, but there are some very strange people here this weekend. You might want to consider having someone watch the door.”
    He blinks, then laughs. “You scared me there for a minute. Trust me, I know about the con. My fiancée and I met here two years ago.”
    And that confirms my theory that these people have no social skills. This