25 Things Go Better with Coke

Chapter 25 THINGS GO BETTER WITH COKE Four hands grabbed Coke. In seconds, his arms were tied tightly behind his back. He was pushed roughly into a chair and his legs were bound together. He struggled, but it was no use. He felt his heart beating fast in his chest. How stupid it was to open that door, Coke told himself. He should have listened to his sister. "It's about time we met," said the gruff voice in the dark. "My name … is Evil Elvis." The light flicked on. There he was, just as Pep had described him—in a white jumpsuit, with a rubber Elvis mask on his face. He took a long swig from a half-empty bottle of Coca-Cola.

"Help! Help!" Coke screamed. "Save your breath," Evil Elvis told him. "Nobody can hear you." The small room was empty, except for a wooden desk and a small trash can. Coke was being held from behind by the men who had tied him up. "You!" Coke sputtered. "You scared my sister to death at the Birthplace of Pepsi!" "Yes," said Evil Elvis, chuckling. "That was so much fun. And now it's your turn, Coke. Only this time, it will be more than just scaring. How fitting it is for me to kill you right here at the World of Coke. Everything that goes around comes around." "What's that supposed to mean?" Coke just about spat out the words. "Let him go, boys," said Evil Elvis. Coke turned around to see two guys dressed in security officer uniforms. They looked like real security guys except for one thing—they were wearing bowler hats.

"The bowler dudes!" Coke hollered. "At your service," snickered the one with a mustache. "I thought you guys had changed," Coke said. "You told me you had stopped harming kids and now you were into jousting." The clean-shaven bowler dude snickered some more. "That's called lying," he said. "So now you two work for Evil Elvis?" "We work for whomever pays us," said the mustachioed bowler dude. "Whoever," said Evil Elvis. "It's whoever pays us, you idiot!" "Whatever." "How did you know I was going to come in here?" Coke asked. "Was it the GPS chip?" "That's how I knew you would come to Atlanta," said Evil Elvis. "Once you got here, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist opening a door that had a sign on it that specifically said not to open it. That's the way you are, Coke. You can't resist challenging authority. You

thought you'd find the secret formula to Coca-Cola in here. I know all about you. I'm in your head." Coke struggled against the ropes, but they were tight. He wished he had his backpack full of fireworks with him. "Why don't you take off that stupid mask?" Coke said. "Show me your real face." "You're not in a position to be telling anyone what to do," Evil Elvis correctly pointed out. He took a swig from his bottle, then put it down on the desk. Then he pulled a little cigarette lighter out of his pocket and flicked it. He stared into the flame, mesmerized. "Isn't fire beautiful?" Evil Elvis asked. "It sure is, boss," both bowler dudes replied, snickering. "I wasn't asking you morons!" Coke recalled that his sister had mentioned something about Evil Elvis being a pyromaniac. But he thought it would be best not to encourage him in that direction.

"What's the deal with those ciphers you've been sending us?" Coke asked. "Go to the living room. Go to the pool room. What's that supposed to mean?" "Oh, never mind my little messages," said Evil Elvis. "They would have been important if you hadn't come here. But I've got you now. So you can forget about all those rooms. You'll never need them. You're never going to leave this room. Well, at least not alive." Evil Elvis tilted his head back and drained the last few ounces from the bottle. Then he held the lighter next to the edge of the bottle. The plastic started to smoke and melt. Coke looked up at the ceiling. There were no smoke detectors. "Isn't it interesting how fire can destroy, and also create," Evil Elvis continued. "If I heat this bottle to a certain temperature with this flame, it will melt. Then I could mold it into just about anything. A child's toy, a tool, even another bottle."

Evil Elvis was obviously crazy. Coke looked around desperately for a way out. There were two doors—the one he had entered, and another one behind Evil Elvis. "What are you going to do to me?" Coke asked, stalling for time. "Oh, I have big plans for you, young man," Evil Elvis said as he flicked off the lighter and tossed the melted bottle into the garbage. "In fact, you're going to save the earth." "Good one, boss!" snickered the bowler dudes, but Evil Elvis ignored them. "Coke," he said, "do you realize that Americans go through two and a half million plastic bottles every hour? What a terrible waste. Fortunately a lot of those bottles get melted down and recycled. They're often made into roads, playground equipment, plastic lawn chairs and tables—" "What does any of that have to do with me?" Coke shouted. "Why don't you leave me and my sister alone? What do you have against us? I