“Shut up,” said Large Looney, continuing to move his drill forward. I now had less than six inches separating the very soft flesh of my face from the very unsoft bit of the drill. I wondered if I could bite it off.

Small Looney obviously wanted to help out, so he hoisted the chainsaw to chest-level and gave the cord a tug. Right after he did so, three things happened very quickly. First, the chainsaw motor started up again. Second, the brain of the lunatic registered surprise that the chainsaw motor had actually started. Third, the hand of the lunatic reacted to this surprise in the unfortunate manner of releasing its grip on the chainsaw.

The running blade bounced off his leg. While it didn’t lop it off or anything like that, it certainly created one doozy of a flesh wound. Small Looney fell to the floor, shrieking and scooting away from the chainsaw as if it were alive and might stampede after him like a wild predator. Large Looney hurriedly lowered the drill and rushed over to him.

Small Looney clutched at his leg and continued screaming. I stupidly wasted a couple of seconds struggling against the ropes, as if I might suddenly turn into Superman and snap them, and then proceeded to lean to the side, successfully tipping the chair over but hitting my head on the cement floor harder than I’d anticipated.

“You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay,” Large Looney said over the screams. “It looks worse than it is!”

The chainsaw was on its side, still running, only inches from my right hand. I frantically worked my legs as hard as I could, trying to scoot toward it. Now, the art of severing ropes with a chainsaw is a delicate one, especially when the ropes are currently binding one’s hands, but I was on a pretty tight schedule.

I managed to scoot another inch forward, half expecting three or four of my fingers to twirl up into the air. But instead, blade met rope…and blade won! It didn’t cut all the way through, but with a Jimmy Olsen-like burst of strength I snapped what remained of the ropes and freed my left hand.

Large Looney looked over from his medical examination and noticed me. Then he picked up the drill.

I grabbed the chainsaw by the handle and quickly touched the blade to the ropes binding my other hand. This time I cut all the way through the rope and the top couple of skin layers of my wrist. Now both of my hands were free. If the rest of my body hadn’t still been tied to an overturned chair and there weren’t a lunatic walking toward me with a power drill, I would have been in a celebratory mood.

Large Looney snarled as he walked out of sight behind me. Well, I couldn’t actually hear him over the chainsaw and the drill, but it really did look like a genuine snarl. I let out a grunt as he kicked the back of my chair, and then promptly set to work trying to cut the ropes on my feet. I saw his hand reach over in an attempt to shove the drill into my side, but an intimidating swing of the chainsaw got him to reconsider.

As the ropes around my left foot fell away, the chainsaw died again. This allowed me to hear that Large Looney was drilling through the back of the chair.

While I’m not a weightlifter type by any means, I’m still in pretty good physical condition, and the adrenaline was pumping freely. I let go of the chainsaw, slammed my hands against the floor, used my free foot to brace myself, and shoved as hard as I could, trying to flip the chair over, thus snapping the drill bit and hopefully crushing Large Looney’s fingers.

That didn’t work. The chair didn’t budge.

I grabbed the chainsaw again, swung it over my shoulder as hard as I could, and bashed Large Looney with it.

That worked.

He let out a yelp and I heard the drill hit the floor. I frantically began clawing at the ropes, trying to get myself free before…

I looked over and saw Small Looney limping toward me, his leg still bleeding.

He was holding a concrete block of the type used for building construction, elegant furniture for college students, and dropping on the heads of people.

Though I had two hands and a foot free, no way was I getting the rest of myself loose before he got in block-dropping range. I tugged on the chainsaw cord. It snapped.

This was certainly bad, but I’d been in a worse situation than this and came out alive. Not very alive, but alive nevertheless. And though chainsaws weren’t known for their aerodynamic qualities, I’d have to give it my best shot.

I flung the chainsaw at him.

It didn’t even come close.

But Small Looney had just been savaged by that very chainsaw, and even though it was a pretty pathetic throw by any standards, he still took a quick step back. Just a small step, but enough to slide his foot along the trail of blood he’d been leaking.

He slipped and fell, much as he did earlier when he’d been trying to start the chainsaw. That time, however, he wasn’t holding a concrete block. He hit the floor, and the block hit him. I’m not going to tell you where. Just cringe on his behalf and be glad you didn’t see it. He shrieked a few times, and then lost consciousness.

I didn’t like Small Looney much, but there were tears in my eyes as I worked to untie the ropes. I could hear Large Looney whimpering softly, but he didn’t seem to be coming after me anymore.

The door to the garage burst open, and two familiar figures entered, guns raised.

It was Sergeants Tony and Bruce Frenkle. They were identical twins, though you could identify Tony by the small mole over his left eyebrow.

“Freeze!” one of them shouted (I was too far away to see the mole). “Nobody…uh, move…” They stepped inside and glanced around the garage.

“Wow, Andrew, you messed them up pretty- oh dear Lord in heaven what happened with that concrete block? ”

“What is it with you guys?” I demanded. “Why can’t you ever show up before the situation is taken care of? What, do you sit and wait outside for everything to be hunky-dory? I almost had a drill go through my back! Have you ever almost had a drill go through your back? I bet you haven’t, have you?”

“Chill, Andrew,” said Tony, crouching down to help untie me while Bruce took out his handcuffs and went to take care of Large Looney. “It wasn’t easy to find you here. We had to follow-”

“I don’t give a sweet shit,” I said. “Just untie me.”

“White people are so rude,” Bruce remarked.

Before long I was free and the bad guys were being loaded into an ambulance. I picked up the statement they’d planned to read me, curious as to their motive.

“ Andrew Mayhem we hate u now your going 2 die.”

Great. Sherlock Holmes got Moriarty; I got these guys.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long before I was reminiscing about the good old days when all I had to worry about were a couple of lunatics with malfunctioning power tools.