Mike McQuay: Escape From New York

Hauk could probably have not believed him if he was bent that way. But he wanted to believe. He wanted to. Plissken watched years of tension drain out of the man’s face. He nodded quickly, thankfully, and that was the end of it.

“I got another deal for you,” he told Plissken.

The Snake fixed him with his good eye, the pain in the bad eye strangely dissipated.

Hauk took a breath and continued. “I want you to think about it while you’re taking a rest,” he said. Then, “I want to give you a job.”

The Snake’s cigarette had turned stale in his mouth. He threw it down and lit another. He didn’t know what he wanted out of life, but none of it included having anything more to do with Bob Hauk or the New York Penitentiary.

“We’d make one hell of a team, Snake.” Hauk said.

“The name’s Plissken, ” he said evenly. Then he turned and limped away down a long row of bunkers. He never turned around again.

As he moved away, he could hear the President’s voice coming through loudspeakers mounted on the truck’s roof.

“… and though I am unable to attend this historic summit meeting, I present this tape recording in the hope that our nations may live together in peace.”

The Snake smiled as he heard the familiar strains of Cabbie’s tape blaring through the speakers.

“Got the time for… gettin’ even.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the other cassette. Pulling a long strand of tape out of the plastic casing, he touched the glowing end of his cigarette to it. The thing sizzled, a small flame consuming the tape. He threw the burning thing away and walked, contented at last, into the cold, dark night.

His bad eye didn’t hurt anymore.