THE ADVENTURES OF MICHAEL MITTY
"I'm so glad you could make it to my little soiree, Mr. Mitty," said the Sheik with an obvious air of displeasure.
Michael idly picked a tiny piece of lint off his jet black tuxedo and replied, "Ah, yes. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, eh, Maktoum?"
"Something like that."
Out of the corner of his eye Michael saw a waiter approaching with a tray of drinks. "If you'll excuse me, Sheik, I think I'll mingle," he mentioned and turned innocently into the path of the waiter, who could not avoid the collision in time. Several expensive glasses of wine spilled onto his shirt and cummerbund, a red stain blossoming near his ribcage.
"Oh, dear," said the Sheik, humorlessly, "take care Mr. Mitty, or that stain will find new life as an omen," the Shiek's voice dropped into the range of a threat.
Michael smiled. "But I do so love the color red, Maktoum. Excuse me," he turned to the waiter, "could I trouble you for another glass of wine ... to replace the one I'm wearing?" He nimbly accepted the replacement glass and then said, "Excuse me once again, Sheik, I'm afraid I must now find a restroom."
Michael carefully threaded his way through the crowd, sipping his Merlot, surreptitiously taking note of everyone and everything in the room, the location of the exits, the number of guards and video cameras, and the current fashion in neckline trends on the ladies.
Once in the bathroom, he pulled out a prepared vial of hydrogen peroxide and dish soap, then dabbed at the stain, watching it slowly fade as he worked. He dried the shirt as best he could, then exited the restroom, but instead of turning left to return to the hall, he turned right, after making sure the video camera near the ceiling was on a sweep in the other direction.
Where is Michael headed? What do you think should happen next?