Chapter 11
The Westside of Long Beach is a tony area full of old Craftsman-style houses and expensive European automobiles. Oddly, the busses don’t run there as late as they do in downtown Angel City, so Dr. Justice and Lady Truth hoof the last few miles of their journey.
It’s early morning now, but the gray of false dawn has yet to lighten the sky. The two are feeling their second wind after a short nap on the bus. The walk is good, working out the kinks from all of the earlier action.
At the end of that long walk is a stylish house with a BMW in front and a Mercedes in the driveway. The big living room window gives the occupants a beautiful view of the neighbors and the immaculate green lawn says, “I hire a gardener to take care of me.”
“This is super suburban, dude. Do we steal the BMW or the Mercedes? The Mercedes is cooler,” Lady Truth says with a wisp of want in her voice.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that LT,” the doctor says. “We are superheroes, we don’t steal.”
“Can we borrow it, then?” she replies with a now rare smile.
Dr. Justice gives her the look and she knows she’s not getting the Mercedes.
The two walk up the cement walkway to the heavy front door with its brass knocker. Dr. Justice reaches to the side of the door and rings the doorbell. He waits a few minutes and does it again.
“He’s a heavy sleeper,” Dr. Justice says and reaches out to ring the bell again when the cold click of a gun being cocked sounds out behind him.
“And just what the hell do you want here,” an angry voice says from behind Dr. Justice.
The two put up their hands and the doctor slowly pivots around, a smile on his face.
“Hey, Sarge, I’ve missed the threats,” the doctor says.
The Sarge looks at him with a skeptical eye, lowers his .45 Colt revolver and says, “Damn, Captain, you sure have gone low rent; though your lady sure is a step up from your usual honeys.”
“Hey, that’s doctor now, and that’s my partner, Lady Truth,” Dr. Justice says.
With a wave of his hand Dr. Justice introduces Lady Truth.
“LT this is my former partner the Sarge. Real name, Adam Wayne. Superhero name, American Way. Together we were Capt. Justice and Sgt. American Way,” Dr. J says with pride in his voice.
“Ya, ya. Whatever. The government assigned me to you and we kicked ass for a few years. Then I retired. Now I’m a real estate agent,” Sarge says.
Dr. Justice moves in for an awkward man hug.
Sarge backs up and points the gun at the doctor. “If you hug me, I’m going to shoot. Now, what the hell do you want?”
Dr. Justice stands there with his arms outstretched, shrugs and drops them.
“I want the Justice Van,” he says.
“Wait, you have a van?” Lady Truth says with an edge to her voice. “We’ve been tooling around on those stupid scooters and you have a van?”
The Sarge looks at the two with a quizzical look on his face. Then it brightens and he says, “You mean your old VW? Yeah, I’ve got it. I’ve been trying to fix it up, but if you want it back you can have it.”
After moving the Mercedes to the street, Sarge goes into the garage and something grinds to life with a horrific squeal of metal. A cloud of exhaust erupts from the garage as the door opens and Sarge pulls the van out into the street.
It’s not just a VW van. It’s a classic VW Type 2 panel van, also known as a VW bus. This cherry honey is a 1967 special with a camper on top and a avocado green and white paint job.
“Holy shit, it’s a hippie van,” Lady Truth says with an exhale of breath.
Sarge hops out of the driver side and opens the side panels to let Dr. Justice and Lady Truth get a look at the interior.
Hanging across the open doorway is a curtain of beads and when parted they reveal a shag carpet interior a big bench seat and a black velvet poster of a panther on the side wall.
“OMG, it looks like hell inside,” Lady Truth exclaims.
At that same instant Dr. Justice says, “It’s perfect, just like I remember her. The first Justice vehicle.”
On the back bench seat is draped an old lab coat. Dr. Justice picks it up and slips it on.
“Hey, I remember this. It’s from my first job as a lab tech,” he exclaims. “This is perfect, now my action suit is complete.”
Lady Truth looks like she wants to cry. Instead she pokes her head into the van and sniffs.
“It smells like weed and patchouli oil in here,” she says.
Sarge breaks into the conversation with, “Yeah, I keep washing it and dousing it in air freshener, but I can’t seem to get that smell out. He must have been smoking doobie nonstop in this thing.”
Dr. Justice looks away a little embarrassed and says sheepishly, “Hey, what’s Justice without a little freedom? Never mind that, we’ve got wheels, let’s get a move on.”
“Fine,” Lady Truth says with a defeated look on her face.
They say their quick goodbyes to Sarge and fire the old Justice Van up and head out to their ass-whipping in Harrumph.
Chapter 12
Harrumph, Nevada is a dust spot outside of Sin City. A bump of nothing in the middle of nowhere in the hottest part of H E double hockey sticks, that’s Harrumph.
The ancient Justice Van burps and coughs its way down the interstate towards the little town. Inside Dr. Justice and Lady Truth sweat with anticipation (well, that and the 100 degree heat), knowing that they are setting off another of Rob Slash’s traps. But they also know that if they want to get to Valerie Vixon there’s no other way.
They are out of any solid leads and this is the only place that might be a base for Robert Shan, the murdering clone who started this problem. There’s also the problem of Valerie. Why can Lady Truth see her? Usually, it’s only clones that leave the ghost trail for LT to follow.
Lady Truth is bothered and it’s not just the heat in the vintage VW or the annoying AM radio, though it could be the smell of weed, but it isn’t. What bothers Lady Truth is that she doesn’t feel in control of the situation.
Dr. Justice understands her frustration. It’s not easy going into a trap. Usually one wants to avoid such problems.
He reaches over and adjusts the AM radio as they pass a sign that says “Harrumph 30 miles.”
“Welcome to Beyond the Truth with your weekday host Brian Van Hook. Fellow believers we live in an end time and we all know it. The world is falling into chaos and we seem unable to stop it. We can’t trust our government, our employers or even our own families,” he says through a crackle of static.
“The light of the day is matched on all side by the shadows of night and it’s only when we part the shadows that we find the truth. Friends, no one wants me to tell you the truth. No one wants to hear the truth but you,” Van Hook says, his voice taking on an urgent tone.
“It’s the ultimate truth that we need to find, the truth hidden by the shadows. The truth about why things seem to be going so wrong. It’s a tale of clones and magic. It’s a tale of one man’s obsession with destroying everything and re-making it in his image. We’ll discuss it after these messages”
Dr. Justice and Lady Truth are suddenly glued to the words coming out of the tiny speakers. Is somebody finally listening? Will everyone know about Rob Slash?
“Alright folks,” Van Hook starts in as the last penile enhancement ad ends. “Here’s the straight truth. A top government scientist has told me personally that aliens from another dimension are replacing key people in our government and across this country with lookalikes who are doing the aliens dirty work. And that scientist, a Rob Slash, will join my weekend co-host Steve Barrie this weekend to discuss that problem. Now, let’s get back to Mr. Tom McClure and our discussion of the disappearing Big Foot herds in the Northwest.”
Dr. Justice and Lady Truth look at each other and laugh.
“Slash is making the whole thing look like it’s a joke,” Lady Truth says with a sour expression.
“Yeah and now if I say anything else, I look like one of Van Hook’s kooks,” Dr. Justice says.
Harrumph is in front of the two heroes. Just outside of town they pull into a gas station and get out to fill the van up and stretch their legs. It might be a quick getaway later and a gassed-up vehicle is just a smart move.
Dr. Justice pays for $30 of gas and starts filling up. Lady Truth walks over to Dr. Justice and starts to stretch. Her well-muscled body is limbering up for the coming battle.
She looks at Dr. Justice and says, “I can see Slash trails everywhere. Just before we hit town I picked him up on the interstate. There was a solid red line leaving town. He must be turning people here and sending then on their way.”
“Damn it, it’s a nest,” Dr. Justice says as he finishes pumping gas and puts the gas cap back on. “That means Rob Slash himself is here somewhere. He’s the only one who can turn this many people this quickly. The clones have to channel his full spirit first, before they can make a clone.”
The two get into the Justice Van and head into the small town as the sun begins to set, aware now that it’s a den of pure Slashy evil. The pass through and follow the interstate out the other side. They both hope as night comes it will get a little cooler and hide their approach
Just beyond town they find Moneybag’s Fuckatorium.
It’s four story tall green neon sign flashes M O N E Y B A G ’ S with each letter lighting up in sequence and then flashing all at once before starting over again. The building itself is a sprawling one story behemoth.
It almost looks like a warehouse, but the evenly spaced windows give away the fact that it’s mostly made up of individual rooms. Most of the rooms are lit and the “open, cum on in” sign by the front door blazes proudly.
As they drive by, Lady Truth notices that someone is making a delivery at a small loading dock. The truck says “The Lubery: Quality lubes for your loved ones.”
“I think I see our way in, if we act fast,” Lady Truth says. “I bet we can just slip in through that door.”
Dr. Justice doesn’t hesitate. He pulls a u-ee and shoots into the parking lot pulling into a space near the loading dock.
The two heroes jump out without another word and quickly head for the open dock door.
“I thought you would argue that we need to case the place,” Lady Truth says as they crouch down by the open door to get a look inside.
“Normally, yes, but the chances of us being caught outside the place are just too great this time. All we have is speed and surprise at this point,” Dr. Justice says taking a quick look and pulling down his goggles. “Let’s go!”
They get up to dash in and the lights go out.
Chapter 13
The fog disappears and is replaced by a dull darkness as Dr. Justice climbs his way to consciousness. Nothing new. He opens his eyes to find himself looking at the biggest gold medallion he’s ever seen.
“Pimpin’ is hard?” Justice says.
“No baby, Pimpin’ is easy,” a high-pitched voice responds.
“Just reading the medallion,” Justice says.
“Never mind, I’m Moneybags and this is my fuckatorium. … well was,” the dimly seen man says.
A moan issues from behind Dr. Justice and he realizes it’s Lady Truth. He can’t see her in the dim light coming from a small vent near the floor.
“Are you alright, Lady T?” Dr. Justice says with worry in his voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she responds in a sarcastic tone. “I just can’t believe we’re as dumb as Slash thinks we are. He tricked us and knocked us out before we could even get into the place. Geeeeeeezzzz”
Dr. Justice chuckles and surprisingly, so does Moneybags. His laugh is rolling and warm. Not what you would expect from a hardened pimp.
The door suddenly swings open and a flood of light illuminates their dungeon. Turns out it really is a dungeon. It’s some kind of S&M fantasy room with padded horses fitted with restraints and chains hanging from the ceiling as well as the ones in the walls. Lady Truth was tightly secured to the wall, while Dr. Justice lay on the floor in a straight-jacket tethered to a ring in the floor.
In the doorway stands a lanky man with a receding hairline. His tight jeans and polo shirt had that 1980s preppy flair, but his wide smirk and narrowed eyes speak of cruelty.
It was Rob Slash. Or was it? It could have been Rob Slash, but something was different, Dr. Justice thinks. No, this is that Robert Shan guy we saw in the photo, but he’s almost a perfect copy of the original Slash.
"Why hello guests," he smiles. "It's always a pleasure to entertain in a house such as this."
“Fuck you,” Moneybags shouts back. “When I get out of these chains I’m gonna kill you.”
The smile widens to a grimace as Shan gestures to two shadowy figures standing behind him
“Why don’t you indulge Moneybags, ladies. Unchain him,” Shan says with a deadness in his voice.
Two dominatrixes, one blonde and one brunette, walk into view, their leather and brocade corsets rustling as they sashay towards Moneybags. Strapped above their G-strings are grey strap-on dildo guns with gun-clip ball sacks.
They were bringing femdom to a new level, thought Lady Truth. She could also see they were Slash clones. Fresh ones since their faces were still shifting back and forth as the last of their souls were eaten.
The blonde kept her penis pistol pointed at Moneybags as the brunette loosened the tether that kept Moneybags bound to the floor. As she loosened the final loop, Moneybags pushed up, shoving his shoulder into the gut of the dominatrix who was untying him.
She let out a whoop as the air was pushed out of her lungs and she went flying back towards Shan.
“I’m gonna kill you, Shan and then I’m gonna kill all these bitches. No one takes my pimpdom away,” Moneybags screams as he lurches to his feet.
The blonde dominatrix acts quickly, shooting Moneybags in the knee. He goes down screaming in pain. The brunette is up and she pulls a small rod out of her ass and with a flick of the wrist expands it into a baton.
She beats the screaming pimp in the head. One of her expertly landed short strokes smashes into the pimps mouth sending up a spray of teeth and blood as she pulls back for another smash.
“Stop” Shan says from the doorway. “That’s enough fun for the moment. I think it’s time to put Moneybags out of his misery.”
The two dominatrixes pout as they pull back from the bloody pimp.
“Leave him alone,” Lady Truth shouts at Shan as she strains at the chains holding her to the padded wall. “How many innocent people are you going to kill?”
Dr. Justice just stares at the blood slowly inching towards him from Moneybag’s burst knee.
It takes Lady Truth a moment to realize that the high-pitched twitter she hears is Shan laughing.
“My dear Lady Truth, what makes you think this man is innocent?” Shan says through his laughter. “He’s a pimp. He’s nothing more than a slave master and these ladies were his slaves.”
“I have set them free. Thank Slash almighty. Free at last,” he titters. “Now it’s time for this pimp to pay his price for this fuckatorium. Pick him up ladies.”
The two dominatrixes swiftly move in and grab the whimpering pimp and drag him to a table in the next room.
That’s when Dr. Justice and Lady Truth get a glimpse of a small blonde haired girl standing in the far corner of the white waiting room outside of their dungeon. It’s Valerie Vixon.
The tiny moppet is dressed in jeans and a frilly shirt and is wearing a lovely pearl necklace. Robert Shan notices their glance and smiles encouragingly at his daughter.
“Come here dear, I want you to meet a couple people,” he says and extends his hand.
She walks over with a shy smile on her face and joins her daddy at the door. “Who are these people?” she asks with a tiny musical voice.
She has her mother’s piercing eyes, Lady Truth thinks as the little girl looks into the dungeon.
“These people are enemies of the almighty Rob Slash, and they were going to do bad, bad things to your daddy,” Shan says with a cruel lisp. “You know what we do to our enemies right?”
The little girl looks up lovingly at her father and nods enthusiastically. “We kill em and eat their souls for breakfast,” she says with a laugh.
“That’s daddy’s little girl. Slash be praised,” he says.
He bends down to hug the girl and fingers the pearl necklace around her throat.
Turning his head he looks directly at Dr. Justice and says, “I gave her these. They remind me of her mother, Vicki the whore. She always enjoyed a pearl necklace.”
The little twitter of a laugh begins again and he tells the girl, “Why don’t you go wait for me in the car. We’re going to go visit Big Daddy Rob Slash. He has so wanted to meet you.”
“Yes daddy,” the little girl says with a smile and bounces away with a happy step, pausing only to punch Moneybags in his ruined mouth; then she’s through the door and gone.
Meanwhile, the two dominatrixes have put a padded horse on the table and strapped Moneybags down and ripped his pants off.
Dr. Justice looks up at Robert Shan and finally speaks.
“You are dirt and dirt needs to be cleaned up,” he says. “When I’m done with you there won’t even be ashes left. That’s what I owe Vicki and that’s what I owe Valerie for what you have done to them. Truth be told, there will be Justice.”
Shan sneers and gestures to the two dominatrixes who were just waiting for the command.
Blondie positions herself behind Moneybags, while Brunette moves to his front.
The barely conscious pimp suddenly shouts, “No, no no no!”
“Hush baby and take it like a woman, we’re gonna give you a 21 gun salute to send you off,” Brunette purrs as she rakes her claw-like nails across his ruined face.
“And we will get the honor of rejoining the almighty Slash,” Blondie says her face filled with ecstasy.
Brunette spits on her strap-on gun and puts it in Moneybags’ mouth. At the same moment Blondie shoves hers into his ass.
“mmmmmmrrrgghlllleeeee!” Moneybags says.
The two join hands across the pimp, completing their Eiffel Tower and with a couple of quick thrusts fire several rounds into the skewered pimp. The two dominatrixes fall away also fatally shot from the .45 caliber dildos.
“Thus endeth the lesson,” Shan says with a wild light in his eyes.
Chapter 14
Lady Truth struggles against the chains that hold her as Dr. Justice works to throw of the shackles that bind him.
Shan looks at them unimpressed and sighs, “Batter up, who wants to go next? I’ve got lots of whores and lots of guns.”
Dr. Justice stops his struggles and looks Shan in the eyes. “You’re next.”
“Feisty, that’s just the way I like em,” Shan says.
Dr. Justice interrupts, “But first, I want to know why you look so much like Slash and why is he here?”
Shan looks at him with some slight amazement. “But the almighty Slash isn’t here.”
“Then who is making so many clones? We could see them everywhere as we came into town,” Lady Truth says, still struggling.
Shan’s laugh is like a waterfall of tiny chirps. “Why my dear, that’s my handiwork.”
“Impossible. One clone couldn’t make so many others so quickly,” Dr. Justice says with anger in his voice.
“They can if they’re a Prime Clone, like me,” Shan says. “I’m not just a soul clone. I’ve had his DNA merged with mine as well. The twelve Prime Clones are more than just mere soul clones.
“We are physically and spiritual perfection. We are as close to the almighty Rob Slash as possible,” he concludes with the light of a true believer in his eyes.
“Shit, so what?” Lady Truth spits back at the clone.
“So what? SO WHATTTT!,” Shan screams. “SO WE WILL BE THE HORSEMEN OF HIS APOCALYPSE!!! We will spread out across this world creating the massive clone army that will destroy the pestilence of Homo Sapiens and replace it with Homo Slash.”
Dr. Justice lets out a laugh. “Homo Slash.”
“SILEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNCCEEEEEE,” Shan screams, his eyes losing their focus for a moment.
“Long after you have been fucked to death by my Slash Hookers and this world’s human population is dust, I will stand by the Almighty Slash’s side with my daughter as we start the new race,” he says.
“She is the first of many. She is the first offspring of a Slash clone and a regular human. The first of the new species and I am taking her to her ultimate father to receive my glory and my reward.”
Spittle begins to form at the corners of Shan’s mouth and he is in full rant now. Giving Dr. Justice the chance he needs.
He works his robotic cellular metal hand free from the straight jacket and points it at the chains holding Lady Truth. She sees this and pulls the chains tight.
Dr, Justice lashes out with his fingers punching through the chains that hold Lady Truth’s laser cannon. She wastes no time and with four quick movements has blown away the chains from her other extremities.
And with a quick burst, she burns through the straight jacket and tether holding back Dr. Justice.
Shan comes out of his wild rant as he hears the whine of the laser cannon. As his eyes focus on the pair in the dungeon, fear flashes across his face.
He grabs his cell phone, punching the broadcast button and screams, “We have a breach. All whores attack!” he screams into the phone.
Chapter 15
Lady Truth points her hand cannon at Shan and fires off a quick shot, but the lance of light blasts a hole through the door as the clone beats a hasty retreat across the room, past the three dead bodies.
“C’mon let’s have a little Truth,” she says.
“and Justice,” the doctor echoes.
The two burst into the waiting room, leap over the bodies and into the red and white painted hallway outside. They catch a glimpse of Shan’s khaki and polo-shirt clad form running through the exit at the end of the hall.
Doorways open on either side of the hallway and 20 lingerie-clad hookers fill the wide hallway. Each of them is wearing a strap-on gun, some wearing bandoleros of what appear to be pocket pussies.
“I’ve got the left,” Dr. Justice says.
“Guess I’m the right,” Lady Truth says with a flash of a fierce smile.
Dr. Justice smiles back and HELL breaks loose.
The hookers begin thrusting their hips firing off the strap-on guns. The smell of gunpowder and the sound of the bullets ripping their way out of the penis heads is deafening.
Dr. Justice’s hand expands to form a solid wall and the ejaculate of lead splashes harmlessly off, most of the spent bullets hitting the floor. But a few bounce back with enough force to take out a couple of the hookers.
As Dr. Justice’s hand shrinks down to a small hand shield, Lady Truth fires off her laser cannon, blasting huge holes where hearts and heads should be. The dead hookers fall to the floor spewing blood onto the walls and floor, painting the white trim red to match the walls.
Several of the whores with bandoleros pull off pocket pussies and flick the clits. Rearing back they fling the pussies at the two heroes.
Lady Truth shoots off a beam, arcing through the trajectories of the approaching pussies. Each one explodes with a huge noise, tearing holes in nearby walls, and hookers.
The two walk up the slippery hall, mopping up the stragglers. Lady Truth stops to grab a couple pocket pussies from a bandolero, flicks the clits which start pulsating with a red-light as they countdown to explosion.
She pitches them through the hallway opening. An explosion gouges out chunks of the wall at the end of the hallway and a few satisfying screams reach Lady Truth’s ears.
“Score,” she says with a laugh.
“Wait, are we keeping score?” Dr. Justice says with a smile. “I wasn’t counting.”
“Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter how many you tea bag, it just matters how many you finish off,” Lady Truth says, flashing him an incredibly white smile, made whiter by the carbon marks across her face.
A wounded hooker groans from the floor and struggles to rise. Dr. Justice whirls on her, his hand expands to four times its regular size and he slams it across her face. The hooker’s head snaps back with a wet, crunching sound and she falls dead, her neck broken.
“Now, that’s a bitch slap,” the doctor says.
“Hey, I don’t like that word,” Lady Truth says. “Try pimp slap instead.”
“Yes ma’am,” the doctor says with a scolded little-boy look. “I think that’s it for this area. Let’s move on.”
The two carefully work their way to the edge of the hallway and peek around the corner into the main reception and bullpen area where the hookers would be brought out for the clients.
Several dead hookers were piled near the edge of the hallway entrance, having been killed by the powerful pocket pussies. Across the lounge area, filled with tiger striped couches, stripper poles and a very large bar, waited the last of the Slash Hookers.
They have built a small wall of beds to cover the way leading to the main entrance and are huddled behind it waiting for the attack by Lady Truth and Dr. Justice.
As soon as Dr. Justice sticks his head around the corner, the hooker leader, another dominatrix in a leather cat suit, shouts, “FIRE!!!”
Two hookers stand up from behind the bar with small, narrow rocket launchers and fire their payload at the superheroes.
Dr. Justice and Lady Truth leap backwards, the doctor expanding his hand into a shield. Two rocket-powered dildos shoot across the room and as they reach the head of the hallway the multiple pleasure-bead warheads scatter outwards and explode, knocking the two heroes off their feet.
“I think we got them ladies,” Doctor Justice can barely hear the cat-suit dominatrix saying.
But nothing is further from the facts. Dr. Justice’s cellular metal hand can withstand blasts much larger and more sensual than that. As he retracts it back to normal, Lady Truth plucks off several pussy grenades from the dead hookers lying around her and rushes to the hall opening.
She flings them expertly across the room, bouncing them off the mirror and behind the bar where they explode, sending the two rocket-launching hookers, well parts of them, flying into the air.
Dr. Justice is right behind, bursting into the room with his hand in personal shield mode.
The last of the hookers jump the wall of beds and begin firing at the good doctor, thrusting their hips and laughing maniacally.
Lady Truth is exposed and too far away from Dr. Justice to take advantage of his shield as four Slash Hookers bear down on her. Luckily, at her feet is the headless body of Cat-suit hooker. The blast from one of the pocket pussies must have hit her head on and taken it off.
Lady T picks up the body, holding it upright as a shield as the hookers let fly with a load of lead.
She can feel the impacts of the bullets as they hit the body. Lady Truth has a bright idea and reaches around to grab the strap-on gun. Grabbing the shaft below the head she expertly jerks it back against the Cat-suit hooker’s body and it fires at the advancing hookers.
Her first shot hits one full in the face and she goes down screaming. Jerk, twist, fire, she mercilessly fires round after round at the four hookers, who scramble to get out of the way.
Once they begin to retreat, she throws aside the body and brings up her laser cannon and begins attacking in earnest.
Lady Truth spares a glance over at Dr. Justice and he has the last two hookers on his side running for their lives. In that instant, he lashes out, his hand a sword and decapitates the last two hookers.
She returns her focus to her side of the room and discovers that her random shots have already done the job. The last of the Slash Hookers is dead.
Chapter 16
“Light this place up,” Dr. Justice says to Lady Truth as they walk towards the exit.
She looks around and sighs, “But there’s some good work here, no one’s ever going to see.”
“That’s for the best,” Dr. Justice says. “This isn’t pretty and the public doesn’t want to know that sometimes their heroes have to get a little dirty.”
“Hmmm. OK,” she says with a pout. She trains her cannon on what’s left of the bar and fires off a blast just hot enough to set the alcohol ablaze. Then she lights up the mattresses and the couches.
“That should do it,” she says with a smirk.
The two walk through the front door of Moneybags’ Fuckatorium and into the scorching Nevada desert night.
Just then, a dildo missile explodes close by, throwing the two into the air. The doctor is out, but Lady T is up in a matter of seconds. Valerie is climbing into the back seat of a white 1975 Cadillac Coupe De Ville with fur trimmed seats and pimped out rims.
Vicki’s daughter had almost hit them with her missile launcher. Daddy Shan started the car and was about to back it up when Lady Truth blasts out the driver’s side window.
She grabs the pencil-necked geek by the throat and drags him out of the car, putting the business end of her cannon against his head.
But before she can blow his head off, she hears a click and a sweet little voice saying, “Let my daddy go or you’re gonna gag on a dildo.”
Lady Truth looks up and there’s Valerie standing on the trunk of the car with the missile launcher pointed at her head.
“Valerie, put down the launcher. You just don’t understand what’s happening here. This man killed your mommy and he needs to pay for that,” Lady Truth says in her sweetest voice.
“I know that,” she says. “But this man, is also my daddy and he’s all I have left. And I love him,” she says with tears in her eyes.
“Can I say something here?” Shan says. “Honey, put down the missile launcher and sweetie pull back the laser cannon.”
The two females lock eyes and they have an understanding. Lady Truth pulls back her cannon arm and Valerie lowers the launcher.
“Good,” Shan says. “Now we’re going to leave and you’re going to leave. No harm. No foul.”
“No harm, no foul,” Lady T says with naked anger in her voice. “Look at all the death around here and tell me there’s no harm, no foul.”
He takes a quick look around and sighs, “You’re as much to blame as me. Most of the deaths here tonight are by your hands.”
“Deaths, what deaths. You already killed those people when you took their souls,” she snarls back.
Shan laughs. “Not completely. You seem to be alive and well. I don’t know why you were able to reject the master’s soul. But I can tell he has laid his hand upon you as a chosen one.”
Lady Truth stands stunned, unable to move.
Shan takes that moment to leap into his caddy and put it in gear. Valerie slips in beside him and they speed off into the night.
Lady Truth staggers back over to Dr. Justice who is struggling his way back to the waking world.
As she walks up to him, he finds himself staring up her skirt and sees that her panties say Hello Kitty.
“What day of the week is Hello Kitty?” he says with a slight mumble.
“Huh?” Lady Truth says as she snaps back to reality. Was what Shan says true? Is that why she can’t remember her past? Is she a clone? Never mind, she decides. I can deal with this later.
“We need to get going before the cops show up. What are you going to do, stare at my snatch all night? Let’s move,” she says.
The doctor struggles to his feet. He is fine, just a little sore.
Lady Truth and Dr. Justice fire up the VW and take off in pursuit of Robert Shan. He has a good head start and he can move faster, but they are both determined to end his days.
The old van chugs into the night as the first fire truck sirens can be heard in the distance. Lady Truth hunkers down in her seat, her mind going over Shan’s final words to her and she wonders what horrible thing is going to happen next. Beside her Dr. Justice is intent on his driving. She wonders if she should tell him and thinks, not yet.
Epilogue
The ruins of the whorehouse smoke in the early morning light. Tendrils of vapor escape from the tips of still glowing wood. The fire trucks have come and gone and the police are taping the place off.
Across the street, two lanky feline forms slink back and forth behind the police barricade.
Mousie and Meaux sniff at the smoky air, tasting the intense charcoal flavor in the back of their throats. The stench almost drowns out the smell of Lady Truth and Dr. Justice that lingers in the air. Their ears twitch, trying to pick up any useful sound.
“They were here,” Mousie says.
“I know, but they’re long gone,” Meaux replies. “Her smell goes north. And she’s upset.”
“We should have kept up with them,” Mousie says. “I wanted to play with the laser, and we said we’d help.”
Meaux leans over and licks Mousie’s face, “I’m sorry, but we got distracted and we’ve been playing catch up ever since.”
Mousie’s tail flicks and he pouts. Meaux boxes him around the ears.
“That’s enough,” Meaux says. “Let’s take a nap back at the hotel.”
The two slink off back to their cheap motel. Some help they are.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Saving the World for $12.50 an Hour Chapters 9 and 10
Chapter 9
The three walk back towards the central plaza at Union Station.
Lady Truth looks at the Zombie Master with a distrustful glance and asks him again. “How did you track us? Did someone see us leaving?”
The Zombie Master considers the request and then decides to answer her.
“I can smell you,” he says. “Braiiiiins give off a very strong odor to a zombie. That’s how we find people when they’re hiding. And your brains were stinky with stress and fear. That’s like deep-fried beer-battered gravy to a zombie.”
He wipes away the drool coming out of his mouth with a nonchalant movement of his hand.
“They make great trackers for the police and the military,” Dr. Justice says. “We used to use Steve here back when I worked for the government.”
“And that’s why I knew you weren’t the killers,” ZM says. “This guy is on the side of right. Always. And as soon as I smelled that familiar delicious brain, I knew he was chasing the bad guys.”
“If you know we’re chasing the bad guys, then let us keep going,” Lady Truth interjects. “Don’t take us downtown. We’ll lose Nash forever.”
“No can do, little lady,” ZM says. “I’m a cop and it’s the job. Leave the crimes to the real pros.”
“Fuck you,” Dr. Justice says.
The three walk back through the archway into the central plaza and as they reach the center of the plaza a faint whistling sound comes from above.
A shuriken plants itself firmly into the Zombie Master’s head and he drops to the ground, twitching.
Lady Truth shouts, “We’re surrounded. Slash is everywhere!”
The red clad ninjas make their presence known as they leap down from the upper floor surrounding the central plaza.
Twenty Slash Ninjas form a ring around the two heroes and the Zombie Master.
Forty practiced hands flick their wrists sending shuriken flying at Lady Truth and Dr. Justice.
“Down!” the doctor shouts as he thrusts his right hand upward revealing his cellular steel robot arm.
In less than a tenth of a second, the hand flattens out and deforms forming a dome that covers the two. The shuriken bounce off and the dome retracts back into a hand.
As Dr. Justice’s hand returns to normal, Lady Truth, still on her knees, fires rapid blasts of light from her right palm, blasting holes through several ninjas.
The rest of the ninjas scream in defiance and move in for the kill.
Dr. Justice brings his hand up to eye level and extends out his fingers lancing five ninjas through the head. They drop to the floor, dead.
Lady Truth recovers her feet as the 10 little ninjas left reach the two superheroes. Her foot lashes out in a kick, catching one in the throat and sending him to the ground. She leaps on him crushing his throat and he dies in a gurgle of blood.
Behind her one of the nine remaining ninjas unsheathes his short sword and strikes at Lady Truth’s exposed neck. But Dr. Justice intercepts the stroke with his robot hand which he has formed into a shield.
As he pushes away the sword, he slams the edge of the shield up, nearly decapitating the ninja and sending a fountain of crimson blood across the increasingly gory tile floor.
“Bow, doctor,” Lady T shouts as she brings her arm cannon up, aiming for a cluster of ninjas who are hesitating to take on the vicious duo.
Obligingly, the doctor gives a deep bow, holding his shield hand out to keep any errant shuriken from stopping his partner as she unleashes a firestorm of laser blasts that kill seven more ninjas.
They explode like piñatas, but the prizes inside aren’t so sweet.
One little Red Ninja left. He stands all alone in the middle of the central plaza.
“Please don’t kill me,” he begs.
Dr. Justice looks at him with contempt and replies, “No Slash is a good Slash.”
The doctor’s hand lashes out and slams through the last ninja’s head. A fountain of blood shoots up and the headless body falls to the floor.
The two look around for anyone else who needs a good killing and then both breathe a simultaneous sigh of relief.
As they catch their breaths, the ninjas bodies begin to smoke and dissolve.
“Looks like Slash doesn’t want to leave any clues behind,” Lady Truth says.
Dr. Justice stoops down and plucks the shuriken from the Zombie Master’s forehead and the body begins to twitch.
“Let’s get out of here,” the doctor says. “He’ll fully re-animate in about 20 minutes and he’s going to need some braiiiiins.”
Chapter 10
The two leave the aging Union Station behind in the safety of another metro bus.
As the two begin to come down from their adrenaline filled evening, they start to droop against each other. That’s more action than either has seen in a long time.
“So, that was a trap wasn’t it?” Lady truth asks with her eyes half closed.
“Oh, yeah. They wanted us to find her body and find that locker. I think that’s obvious,” Dr. Justice says.
“Think Slash finally wants to get rid of us?” LT asks, jiggling in her seat as the bus hits a pothole.
“Probably,” Dr. J says with a resigned sigh.
Reaching into his scrubs pants pocket he pulls out the few papers that he found in the locker and shows them to Lady Truth.
There’s not much there. He passes over a couple of birth certificates, one for Valerie and one for Vicki. A Whore of the Year award for Nevada listing her as the top bottom bitch at Moneybags Fuckatorium in Harrumph, Nevada.
There’re also a few personal photos. One is of a little blonde haired girl with wide trusting eyes and a happy smile. Holding her is a thin, slightly balding man with a broad slightly brown face. His work shirt says Robert.
“He really looks like Rob Slash,” Dr. Justice says in a whisper. “I’d almost call them brothers. The man is definitely younger, but it’s like looking at a twin.”
“Where do we go now? Or do we just wait for him to attack us again?” Lady Truth says as she sits up straight and adjusts everything.
Dr. Justice looks down at the photos and birth certificates and sighs, “Actually, I think we’ve been invited to get our asses kicked. He could’ve had his ninjas clean out that locker before we got there, so I think he left that stuff for us to find.”
“So we’re just going to walk into that trap?” Lady T says with disbelief in her voice. “Isn’t that sort of stupid? I mean, I know we’re not the smartest superheroes, but we usually aren’t that stupid.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think he realizes that we’re not that stupid,” Dr. Justice says with a laugh. “We’ve got a date in Harrumph and I think it might be the only way we are going to catch up with this Nash clone.”
“Fine,” Lady Truth says with a pout. “But I want to go on record as saying I don’t like getting my ass kicked.”
“Noted,” Dr. Justice says with a smile. “Now we need some wheels, a new Justice mobile, and I know just where to go.”
The three walk back towards the central plaza at Union Station.
Lady Truth looks at the Zombie Master with a distrustful glance and asks him again. “How did you track us? Did someone see us leaving?”
The Zombie Master considers the request and then decides to answer her.
“I can smell you,” he says. “Braiiiiins give off a very strong odor to a zombie. That’s how we find people when they’re hiding. And your brains were stinky with stress and fear. That’s like deep-fried beer-battered gravy to a zombie.”
He wipes away the drool coming out of his mouth with a nonchalant movement of his hand.
“They make great trackers for the police and the military,” Dr. Justice says. “We used to use Steve here back when I worked for the government.”
“And that’s why I knew you weren’t the killers,” ZM says. “This guy is on the side of right. Always. And as soon as I smelled that familiar delicious brain, I knew he was chasing the bad guys.”
“If you know we’re chasing the bad guys, then let us keep going,” Lady Truth interjects. “Don’t take us downtown. We’ll lose Nash forever.”
“No can do, little lady,” ZM says. “I’m a cop and it’s the job. Leave the crimes to the real pros.”
“Fuck you,” Dr. Justice says.
The three walk back through the archway into the central plaza and as they reach the center of the plaza a faint whistling sound comes from above.
A shuriken plants itself firmly into the Zombie Master’s head and he drops to the ground, twitching.
Lady Truth shouts, “We’re surrounded. Slash is everywhere!”
The red clad ninjas make their presence known as they leap down from the upper floor surrounding the central plaza.
Twenty Slash Ninjas form a ring around the two heroes and the Zombie Master.
Forty practiced hands flick their wrists sending shuriken flying at Lady Truth and Dr. Justice.
“Down!” the doctor shouts as he thrusts his right hand upward revealing his cellular steel robot arm.
In less than a tenth of a second, the hand flattens out and deforms forming a dome that covers the two. The shuriken bounce off and the dome retracts back into a hand.
As Dr. Justice’s hand returns to normal, Lady Truth, still on her knees, fires rapid blasts of light from her right palm, blasting holes through several ninjas.
The rest of the ninjas scream in defiance and move in for the kill.
Dr. Justice brings his hand up to eye level and extends out his fingers lancing five ninjas through the head. They drop to the floor, dead.
Lady Truth recovers her feet as the 10 little ninjas left reach the two superheroes. Her foot lashes out in a kick, catching one in the throat and sending him to the ground. She leaps on him crushing his throat and he dies in a gurgle of blood.
Behind her one of the nine remaining ninjas unsheathes his short sword and strikes at Lady Truth’s exposed neck. But Dr. Justice intercepts the stroke with his robot hand which he has formed into a shield.
As he pushes away the sword, he slams the edge of the shield up, nearly decapitating the ninja and sending a fountain of crimson blood across the increasingly gory tile floor.
“Bow, doctor,” Lady T shouts as she brings her arm cannon up, aiming for a cluster of ninjas who are hesitating to take on the vicious duo.
Obligingly, the doctor gives a deep bow, holding his shield hand out to keep any errant shuriken from stopping his partner as she unleashes a firestorm of laser blasts that kill seven more ninjas.
They explode like piñatas, but the prizes inside aren’t so sweet.
One little Red Ninja left. He stands all alone in the middle of the central plaza.
“Please don’t kill me,” he begs.
Dr. Justice looks at him with contempt and replies, “No Slash is a good Slash.”
The doctor’s hand lashes out and slams through the last ninja’s head. A fountain of blood shoots up and the headless body falls to the floor.
The two look around for anyone else who needs a good killing and then both breathe a simultaneous sigh of relief.
As they catch their breaths, the ninjas bodies begin to smoke and dissolve.
“Looks like Slash doesn’t want to leave any clues behind,” Lady Truth says.
Dr. Justice stoops down and plucks the shuriken from the Zombie Master’s forehead and the body begins to twitch.
“Let’s get out of here,” the doctor says. “He’ll fully re-animate in about 20 minutes and he’s going to need some braiiiiins.”
Chapter 10
The two leave the aging Union Station behind in the safety of another metro bus.
As the two begin to come down from their adrenaline filled evening, they start to droop against each other. That’s more action than either has seen in a long time.
“So, that was a trap wasn’t it?” Lady truth asks with her eyes half closed.
“Oh, yeah. They wanted us to find her body and find that locker. I think that’s obvious,” Dr. Justice says.
“Think Slash finally wants to get rid of us?” LT asks, jiggling in her seat as the bus hits a pothole.
“Probably,” Dr. J says with a resigned sigh.
Reaching into his scrubs pants pocket he pulls out the few papers that he found in the locker and shows them to Lady Truth.
There’s not much there. He passes over a couple of birth certificates, one for Valerie and one for Vicki. A Whore of the Year award for Nevada listing her as the top bottom bitch at Moneybags Fuckatorium in Harrumph, Nevada.
There’re also a few personal photos. One is of a little blonde haired girl with wide trusting eyes and a happy smile. Holding her is a thin, slightly balding man with a broad slightly brown face. His work shirt says Robert.
“He really looks like Rob Slash,” Dr. Justice says in a whisper. “I’d almost call them brothers. The man is definitely younger, but it’s like looking at a twin.”
“Where do we go now? Or do we just wait for him to attack us again?” Lady Truth says as she sits up straight and adjusts everything.
Dr. Justice looks down at the photos and birth certificates and sighs, “Actually, I think we’ve been invited to get our asses kicked. He could’ve had his ninjas clean out that locker before we got there, so I think he left that stuff for us to find.”
“So we’re just going to walk into that trap?” Lady T says with disbelief in her voice. “Isn’t that sort of stupid? I mean, I know we’re not the smartest superheroes, but we usually aren’t that stupid.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think he realizes that we’re not that stupid,” Dr. Justice says with a laugh. “We’ve got a date in Harrumph and I think it might be the only way we are going to catch up with this Nash clone.”
“Fine,” Lady Truth says with a pout. “But I want to go on record as saying I don’t like getting my ass kicked.”
“Noted,” Dr. Justice says with a smile. “Now we need some wheels, a new Justice mobile, and I know just where to go.”
Monday, November 21, 2011
Jesus hates you
I know they always say that Jesus loves each and every one of us, but I don't really see it.
I think Jesus hates people. Not all people, but some people. I think he looks at some people and just says, "Nope. He fucking sucks." I know someone will say, "But suffering makes you a better person." I say "BULLSHIT" to that. People who get shit on are not better for it. They just feel like they've been shit on. People who have a good life are many many times happier and probably more loving because they don't have anything good they try to do shoved back down their throats time and time again.
Just my opinion drawn from my observations.
I think Jesus hates people. Not all people, but some people. I think he looks at some people and just says, "Nope. He fucking sucks." I know someone will say, "But suffering makes you a better person." I say "BULLSHIT" to that. People who get shit on are not better for it. They just feel like they've been shit on. People who have a good life are many many times happier and probably more loving because they don't have anything good they try to do shoved back down their throats time and time again.
Just my opinion drawn from my observations.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Saving the World for $12.50 an hour Chapters 7 and 8
Chapter 7
Union Station has seen better days, but then so has Dr. Justice and probably Lady Truth.
The sprawling transit center joins the city’s rail and bus service into one massive hub of traffic congestion. People with no money from all over the US of A converge here with dreams of joining the ever-growing western expansion that started in the 19th Century. Problem is it peaked in the 1950s and has been on the decline ever since.
Once Union Station was a place for families and fresh faces from the East, now it only services the downtrodden and the luckless who don’t have cars or the ability to buy a plane ticket.
Really, who takes the train cross country anymore, much less a bus.
People who don’t want to be noticed and people who don’t have the money to disappear in style, that’s who.
And Vicki Vixen was one of those people. As was her erstwhile boyfriend and obvious Slash clone, Robert Shan. Everything about this case speaks to the lowest rungs of human nature.
“Why is this girl worth killing over?” Dr. Justice says as the two leave the bus behind and walk through the Art Deco front doors of the station. “Why would a Slash clone bother with someone so worthless? What’s the point?”
Lady Truth looks over at Dr. Justice with an annoyed look in her eyes.
“Who knows. All I know is he killed Vicki and stole a small child. That’s enough for me,” she replies, her dark eyes showing her anger and resolve.
“Slash doesn’t do anything without a reason,” the doctor says. “And there must be a reason behind this.”
“How bout we find this clone and beat the reason out of him,” Lady T says with an edge to her voice. “We don’t need to beat ourselves up about reasons why. We just need to find Valerie.”
“Fair enough,” Dr. J responds. “But we need to understand his plans if we ever hope to defeat him.”
“I don’t see him here,” she says.
Lady Truth scans the room with a concerned look on her face. Peering at the upper gallery with it’s pueblo styling and gawking at the grand central room that used to be an impressive welcome center and now just looks dated, sad and empty.
“Great,” the doctor says. “Maybe he just went in a different door. Let’s go find the locker that fits this key. Maybe we’ll pick up the trail there.”
“Agreed,” Lady T says with a sigh and a wary look over her shoulder at the huge WPA mural against a far wall next to an ancient newsstand. “Where are all the people? It’s so dead in here.”
They pass through the faux Spanish doorway into one of the arrival wings. Following signs they soon reach a large chamber filled with rows of lockers.
Quickly finding No. 432, Dr. Justice slides the key into the lock and turns. It’s the right one, all right. Just as the door swings open a voice from the chamber’s entrance says, “I’ve found you.”
Chapter 8
Lady Truth whirls around her laser arm shooting out a lance of light and blasts a hole into the wall next to a pale man who just as quickly dives for his life.
As he hits the floor the man shouts, “Hold on, I’m with the police.”
LT aims her arm at the man’s head but holds her fire.
“Not the time to sneak up on us little man,” she says in a tense, tight voice.
Dt. Justice continues to rifle through the contents of the locker, never once looking over at the lean pale, balding man in a rumpled suit lying on the floor.
“Hey, guys. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. I know you didn’t kill that woman back at that hotel. It’s not Capt. Justice’s style,” the man says.
Finally, Dr. Justice glances over at the man. “Let him up Lady Truth,” he says with dismissive tone.
“Who is this guy? How did he track us?” Lady Truth asks.
As he adjusts his tie, the balding middle-aged man extends his hand and in it is a badge.
“Detective Lieutenant Brian Brainman at your service, ma’am,” he says with a smile that reveals incredibly yellow teeth.
“Also known as the Master Zombie,” Dr. Justice says as he continues to read through the documents from the locker.
“That’s Zombie Master if you please,” the Zombie Master says.
“What’s the difference?” Lady Truth asks.
“Well, it’s just that I am able to create and control zombies. If I were just a master zombie I would only be able to control my own zombie nature. Which I can. So, I’m the Zombie Master who is master of his own zombie,” he says with a laugh.
“What?” LT replies.
“It means he doesn’t eat people’s brains unless he wants to and he can create other zombies,” Dr. Justice says with a sigh.
“Yeah, what he said,” ZM says.
“Anyway, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me, so we can clear up this dead hooker problem you have,” Zombie Master says.
Putting the papers away in his pocket, Dr. Justice looks over at the smiling zombie who’s dead eyes show no emotion and says, “Let’s get going then.”
Union Station has seen better days, but then so has Dr. Justice and probably Lady Truth.
The sprawling transit center joins the city’s rail and bus service into one massive hub of traffic congestion. People with no money from all over the US of A converge here with dreams of joining the ever-growing western expansion that started in the 19th Century. Problem is it peaked in the 1950s and has been on the decline ever since.
Once Union Station was a place for families and fresh faces from the East, now it only services the downtrodden and the luckless who don’t have cars or the ability to buy a plane ticket.
Really, who takes the train cross country anymore, much less a bus.
People who don’t want to be noticed and people who don’t have the money to disappear in style, that’s who.
And Vicki Vixen was one of those people. As was her erstwhile boyfriend and obvious Slash clone, Robert Shan. Everything about this case speaks to the lowest rungs of human nature.
“Why is this girl worth killing over?” Dr. Justice says as the two leave the bus behind and walk through the Art Deco front doors of the station. “Why would a Slash clone bother with someone so worthless? What’s the point?”
Lady Truth looks over at Dr. Justice with an annoyed look in her eyes.
“Who knows. All I know is he killed Vicki and stole a small child. That’s enough for me,” she replies, her dark eyes showing her anger and resolve.
“Slash doesn’t do anything without a reason,” the doctor says. “And there must be a reason behind this.”
“How bout we find this clone and beat the reason out of him,” Lady T says with an edge to her voice. “We don’t need to beat ourselves up about reasons why. We just need to find Valerie.”
“Fair enough,” Dr. J responds. “But we need to understand his plans if we ever hope to defeat him.”
“I don’t see him here,” she says.
Lady Truth scans the room with a concerned look on her face. Peering at the upper gallery with it’s pueblo styling and gawking at the grand central room that used to be an impressive welcome center and now just looks dated, sad and empty.
“Great,” the doctor says. “Maybe he just went in a different door. Let’s go find the locker that fits this key. Maybe we’ll pick up the trail there.”
“Agreed,” Lady T says with a sigh and a wary look over her shoulder at the huge WPA mural against a far wall next to an ancient newsstand. “Where are all the people? It’s so dead in here.”
They pass through the faux Spanish doorway into one of the arrival wings. Following signs they soon reach a large chamber filled with rows of lockers.
Quickly finding No. 432, Dr. Justice slides the key into the lock and turns. It’s the right one, all right. Just as the door swings open a voice from the chamber’s entrance says, “I’ve found you.”
Chapter 8
Lady Truth whirls around her laser arm shooting out a lance of light and blasts a hole into the wall next to a pale man who just as quickly dives for his life.
As he hits the floor the man shouts, “Hold on, I’m with the police.”
LT aims her arm at the man’s head but holds her fire.
“Not the time to sneak up on us little man,” she says in a tense, tight voice.
Dt. Justice continues to rifle through the contents of the locker, never once looking over at the lean pale, balding man in a rumpled suit lying on the floor.
“Hey, guys. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. I know you didn’t kill that woman back at that hotel. It’s not Capt. Justice’s style,” the man says.
Finally, Dr. Justice glances over at the man. “Let him up Lady Truth,” he says with dismissive tone.
“Who is this guy? How did he track us?” Lady Truth asks.
As he adjusts his tie, the balding middle-aged man extends his hand and in it is a badge.
“Detective Lieutenant Brian Brainman at your service, ma’am,” he says with a smile that reveals incredibly yellow teeth.
“Also known as the Master Zombie,” Dr. Justice says as he continues to read through the documents from the locker.
“That’s Zombie Master if you please,” the Zombie Master says.
“What’s the difference?” Lady Truth asks.
“Well, it’s just that I am able to create and control zombies. If I were just a master zombie I would only be able to control my own zombie nature. Which I can. So, I’m the Zombie Master who is master of his own zombie,” he says with a laugh.
“What?” LT replies.
“It means he doesn’t eat people’s brains unless he wants to and he can create other zombies,” Dr. Justice says with a sigh.
“Yeah, what he said,” ZM says.
“Anyway, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me, so we can clear up this dead hooker problem you have,” Zombie Master says.
Putting the papers away in his pocket, Dr. Justice looks over at the smiling zombie who’s dead eyes show no emotion and says, “Let’s get going then.”
Monday, November 14, 2011
The layaway of giving
Here's the deal. You can give to charity. It's not that difficult.
I'm not going to enumerate the reasons, because we all know the reasons why giving matters. All you have to do is look around you and think of all of the friends, former co-worker and family who have been hit hard by the Great Recession to know the reasons why. Everyone needs a hand now and then, and this is now and then.
Especially as the holidays approach.
Here's my special plan for the next month and half. Charity layaway.
Step 1: Put aside $20 immediately (or whatever you can spare, but $20 really seems doable). Then save $20 a paycheck from now until Dec. 17. That's probably three paychecks worth.
Step 2: Take that $80 and spend it wisely on what you want to donate. Or just give it as cash to a good local charity. Cash is always appreciated. Why do I say local? Well, I'm all for giving it to major charities and international charities too. But, I figure if charity starts at home, so does giving. If you give to a local charity, then you know it goes to the people in your community.
That's it. That's Charity layaway. Save it up in small bits and when you have a good amount, hand it over.
Here's what I do with mine during the holidays.
I save up my $80 and then I look out for a good sale on sports equiptment. I buy as much sports equiptment as I can and then I give it to The Spark of Love campaign. The way I figure it, you buy a bag of baseballs or several basketballs and everyone of those starts a game. That involves several children playing with the same toy over and over again. That's bang for your buck and you helped a kid get off the couch and get some exercise.
Here's some nice local charities:
Spark of Love and many others
https://www.calfund.org/page.aspx?pid=622
Los Angeles Missions
https://semdonate.losangelesmission.org/losangelesmission/main.php/micro_sites/showpage?id=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_term=california%20%2Bcharity&utm_campaign=landingpagetest
Foodbank of Southern California
http://www.foodbankofsocal.org/index.php
There are many more. But all of these help in our areas. Go search for one of your own.
I'm not going to enumerate the reasons, because we all know the reasons why giving matters. All you have to do is look around you and think of all of the friends, former co-worker and family who have been hit hard by the Great Recession to know the reasons why. Everyone needs a hand now and then, and this is now and then.
Especially as the holidays approach.
Here's my special plan for the next month and half. Charity layaway.
Step 1: Put aside $20 immediately (or whatever you can spare, but $20 really seems doable). Then save $20 a paycheck from now until Dec. 17. That's probably three paychecks worth.
Step 2: Take that $80 and spend it wisely on what you want to donate. Or just give it as cash to a good local charity. Cash is always appreciated. Why do I say local? Well, I'm all for giving it to major charities and international charities too. But, I figure if charity starts at home, so does giving. If you give to a local charity, then you know it goes to the people in your community.
That's it. That's Charity layaway. Save it up in small bits and when you have a good amount, hand it over.
Here's what I do with mine during the holidays.
I save up my $80 and then I look out for a good sale on sports equiptment. I buy as much sports equiptment as I can and then I give it to The Spark of Love campaign. The way I figure it, you buy a bag of baseballs or several basketballs and everyone of those starts a game. That involves several children playing with the same toy over and over again. That's bang for your buck and you helped a kid get off the couch and get some exercise.
Here's some nice local charities:
Spark of Love and many others
https://www.calfund.org/page.aspx?pid=622
Los Angeles Missions
https://semdonate.losangelesmission.org/losangelesmission/main.php/micro_sites/showpage?id=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_term=california%20%2Bcharity&utm_campaign=landingpagetest
Foodbank of Southern California
http://www.foodbankofsocal.org/index.php
There are many more. But all of these help in our areas. Go search for one of your own.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Saving the World for $12.50 an hour Chapters 5 and 6
Chapter 5
Dr. Justice and Lady T meet up at the Heaven Scent coffee shop and she explains the case over chicken fried steak and eggs.
“And then mmmmffff, crunch slurp, crunch, crunch,” she says through forkfuls of the luscious breaded steak and country gravy. After she finishes her meal she looks up at Dr. Justice and says, “Well. …”
“I haven’t understood a damn thing you just said. Try it again, without the food in your mouth,” he says with a laugh.
Once explained they rush out to meet with Vicki. They park the Justice Cycle (a 50-year-old white Vespa with a red RX crudely painted on the side) and the Truth Machine (the Honda scooter) in the lobby of the Greenhouse and make their way up to Room 432.
Outside the night has begun and the trash heaps in alleys all across the city are pushed aside as the homeless emerge to roam the emptying streets. Gang members drug business gets into full swing as the working stiffs look for a snort, toke or tar to make the day’s iniquities float away.
As they approach the door, they both notice that the light fixture is broken. Not necessarily a strange thing in this dilapidated building. To think a child was being raised here.
Lady Truth reaches out and knocks on the door and it falls inward with a thud. This is bad. LT’s hand cannon begins to whine as it powers up. Dr. Justice hits the light switch and wishes he hadn’t.
Vicki is sitting on the couch. Well, most of her is. Her body has been dressed in a tight red dress, which goes well with the blood splattered like paint on the room’s off-white walls. Her hands are placed primly in her lap and her legs are crossed as though she is a proper lady waiting for her suitor.
Her head is staring at them from the coffee table in front of the couch, deliberately placed so it would greet whoever opened the door. Her glazed, dead eyes stare intensely at nothing. She will never stare at anything ever again.
The corners of her mouth are sliced to the edges of her ears and her lips are sliced away to expose her teeth in a demon’s smile.
The signs of her struggle and murder are everywhere. Chairs flipped, a TV lies broken on the floor and the little kitchenette is in ruins.
On the wall behind her painted in her blood is a nice little note: “A whore is a whore even if she don’t fuck no more.”
The doctor and Lady Truth stand for a moment in the doorway. Then Dr. Justice inhales sharply.
“Oh my God,” he says in a whisper. “This is a clusterfuck.”
Lady Truth leans over and pukes up her chicken fried steak and the couple meals she had before that for good measure.
“We need to search the room,” Dr. Justice says in a matter of fact tone. “Find out who did this.”
“I know who did this,” Lady Truth says in a breathy voice, heavy with emotion. “I can see him everywhere here. It’s Rob Slash.”
“Sheeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiittttttt,” Dr. Justice says.
Together, they turn the room over, searching every drawer, closet, nook and cranny. The only thing they can find is her wallet hidden in a hole in the mattress. In the wallet is a California Identification Card with the address to the Greenhouse on it in the name of Vicki Valerie. And in a side pocket is a key.
The number on one side of the key handle is 420 and imprinted in the center of the other side are the words Union Station.
Outside, the two can hear sirens. Their time is up and they need to leave before the cops get there and lock them away for questioning.
“C’mon, we’re going out the window,” Dr. Justice says.
“Wait, what about the scooters?” Lady Truth says.
“Too late, they’re probably already in the lobby. This room faces the alley, so if we go out the window we still have a chance to get away.”
Dr. Justice pushes up the window with his robotic hand, breaking through generations of paint that has sealed it shut. He hooks two fingers of his right hand around the sill and pushes them into the wall and slides through the window.
He calls for Lady T and she crawls through the window and down the doctor, and puts her arms around his neck to hold on. Dr. Justice activates the cellular metal mesh of his fingers and they elongate out lowering the two heroes to the alley below.
Unfortunately, the cellular metal can only stretch for about three floors, leaving the two about 15 feet short of the ground. But luckily, the wall into which Dr. Justice had pushed his fingers was old and weak.
It rips away in a large chunk with the doctor’s fingers still inside. The two fall the last 15 feet onto the hard concrete. They were down and free. Above them they could here the police shouting.
They must have reached the room.
Chapter 6
Dr. Justice and Lady Truth start booking it.
They reach the end of the alley at the back of the building and Lady T turns left as Dr. J turns right.
“This way,” she yells. “I’m tracking Slashes. They went this way.”
The doctor puts on the brakes and about faces and runs after the mane of black and purple hair as it dashes down the street.
She stops after about 100 yards and lets the heavily breathing Doctor Justice catch up.
“He got into a car here,” she says with a slight pant. “He’s got the girl with him.”
“How can you tell?” Dr Justice wheezes.
“I didn’t say this before, but I can sort of see her too. She comes through faintly, but I can see her.” Lady Truth says.
“Is she a clone?” the doctor questions.
“I don’t think so, it’s different. I shouldn’t see her, but I do,” she says. “I don’t know.”
At that she takes off running again and the doctor rushes along behind her. It’s probably not a bad idea to keep moving, he thinks. The police are going to start searching the neighborhood soon enough and we need to get gone, fast.
About a half mile later, they reach a freeway on-ramp and it’s clear where the car headed.
“If only we had our bikes,” Lady T says.
“Which way are they going?” Dr. Justice says.
“East,” she says.
The doctor takes a deep breath to calm himself and wipes at the sweat on his forehead. He can feel the sweat weighing down his bouncy bouncy hair. The run has awoken his body and his mind. Now that he’s clear of the carnage, he can finally think.
He pulls out the key and he knows where they went.
“They are on their way to Union Station,” he says. “We need a yellow cab.”
Lady Truth wipes a little light perspiration from her brow and look at him with a skeptical glance.
“Babe, we are in the GETTT TOE. There ain’t no yellow cabs here. These people rely on the big blue cabs from the MTA,” she laughs and points towards a bus dropping off passengers across the street.
They hurry across the street and find with a couple transfers they’ll be at Union Station in about 20 minutes. Not bad. They swipe their bus passes and are on their way.
“Being poor finally pays off,” Lady Truth says with a sigh as they walk towards the back of the bus, past the usual circus of freaks, old people and the working class. “I’m never without my bus pass.”
They take seats towards the back and spread out a little. It’s past rush hour and the night is beginning to really settle in, so the bus is starting to empty out.
Dr. Justice chuckles in agreement. “Mine’s free from the state, along with my lavish mental ward accommodations.”
“Lucky,” LT says with a slight smile. She begins to clean her eclectic clothing as best she can. She managed to keep most of the blood and her own vomit off of her clothes, but there are still small spots.
The doctor wasn’t quite so lucky, on the green scrubs top there is a sizeable dot of blood. Well at least he’s wearing the appropriate outfit for blood, Lady Truth thinks.
Dr. Justice and Lady T meet up at the Heaven Scent coffee shop and she explains the case over chicken fried steak and eggs.
“And then mmmmffff, crunch slurp, crunch, crunch,” she says through forkfuls of the luscious breaded steak and country gravy. After she finishes her meal she looks up at Dr. Justice and says, “Well. …”
“I haven’t understood a damn thing you just said. Try it again, without the food in your mouth,” he says with a laugh.
Once explained they rush out to meet with Vicki. They park the Justice Cycle (a 50-year-old white Vespa with a red RX crudely painted on the side) and the Truth Machine (the Honda scooter) in the lobby of the Greenhouse and make their way up to Room 432.
Outside the night has begun and the trash heaps in alleys all across the city are pushed aside as the homeless emerge to roam the emptying streets. Gang members drug business gets into full swing as the working stiffs look for a snort, toke or tar to make the day’s iniquities float away.
As they approach the door, they both notice that the light fixture is broken. Not necessarily a strange thing in this dilapidated building. To think a child was being raised here.
Lady Truth reaches out and knocks on the door and it falls inward with a thud. This is bad. LT’s hand cannon begins to whine as it powers up. Dr. Justice hits the light switch and wishes he hadn’t.
Vicki is sitting on the couch. Well, most of her is. Her body has been dressed in a tight red dress, which goes well with the blood splattered like paint on the room’s off-white walls. Her hands are placed primly in her lap and her legs are crossed as though she is a proper lady waiting for her suitor.
Her head is staring at them from the coffee table in front of the couch, deliberately placed so it would greet whoever opened the door. Her glazed, dead eyes stare intensely at nothing. She will never stare at anything ever again.
The corners of her mouth are sliced to the edges of her ears and her lips are sliced away to expose her teeth in a demon’s smile.
The signs of her struggle and murder are everywhere. Chairs flipped, a TV lies broken on the floor and the little kitchenette is in ruins.
On the wall behind her painted in her blood is a nice little note: “A whore is a whore even if she don’t fuck no more.”
The doctor and Lady Truth stand for a moment in the doorway. Then Dr. Justice inhales sharply.
“Oh my God,” he says in a whisper. “This is a clusterfuck.”
Lady Truth leans over and pukes up her chicken fried steak and the couple meals she had before that for good measure.
“We need to search the room,” Dr. Justice says in a matter of fact tone. “Find out who did this.”
“I know who did this,” Lady Truth says in a breathy voice, heavy with emotion. “I can see him everywhere here. It’s Rob Slash.”
“Sheeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiittttttt,” Dr. Justice says.
Together, they turn the room over, searching every drawer, closet, nook and cranny. The only thing they can find is her wallet hidden in a hole in the mattress. In the wallet is a California Identification Card with the address to the Greenhouse on it in the name of Vicki Valerie. And in a side pocket is a key.
The number on one side of the key handle is 420 and imprinted in the center of the other side are the words Union Station.
Outside, the two can hear sirens. Their time is up and they need to leave before the cops get there and lock them away for questioning.
“C’mon, we’re going out the window,” Dr. Justice says.
“Wait, what about the scooters?” Lady Truth says.
“Too late, they’re probably already in the lobby. This room faces the alley, so if we go out the window we still have a chance to get away.”
Dr. Justice pushes up the window with his robotic hand, breaking through generations of paint that has sealed it shut. He hooks two fingers of his right hand around the sill and pushes them into the wall and slides through the window.
He calls for Lady T and she crawls through the window and down the doctor, and puts her arms around his neck to hold on. Dr. Justice activates the cellular metal mesh of his fingers and they elongate out lowering the two heroes to the alley below.
Unfortunately, the cellular metal can only stretch for about three floors, leaving the two about 15 feet short of the ground. But luckily, the wall into which Dr. Justice had pushed his fingers was old and weak.
It rips away in a large chunk with the doctor’s fingers still inside. The two fall the last 15 feet onto the hard concrete. They were down and free. Above them they could here the police shouting.
They must have reached the room.
Chapter 6
Dr. Justice and Lady Truth start booking it.
They reach the end of the alley at the back of the building and Lady T turns left as Dr. J turns right.
“This way,” she yells. “I’m tracking Slashes. They went this way.”
The doctor puts on the brakes and about faces and runs after the mane of black and purple hair as it dashes down the street.
She stops after about 100 yards and lets the heavily breathing Doctor Justice catch up.
“He got into a car here,” she says with a slight pant. “He’s got the girl with him.”
“How can you tell?” Dr Justice wheezes.
“I didn’t say this before, but I can sort of see her too. She comes through faintly, but I can see her.” Lady Truth says.
“Is she a clone?” the doctor questions.
“I don’t think so, it’s different. I shouldn’t see her, but I do,” she says. “I don’t know.”
At that she takes off running again and the doctor rushes along behind her. It’s probably not a bad idea to keep moving, he thinks. The police are going to start searching the neighborhood soon enough and we need to get gone, fast.
About a half mile later, they reach a freeway on-ramp and it’s clear where the car headed.
“If only we had our bikes,” Lady T says.
“Which way are they going?” Dr. Justice says.
“East,” she says.
The doctor takes a deep breath to calm himself and wipes at the sweat on his forehead. He can feel the sweat weighing down his bouncy bouncy hair. The run has awoken his body and his mind. Now that he’s clear of the carnage, he can finally think.
He pulls out the key and he knows where they went.
“They are on their way to Union Station,” he says. “We need a yellow cab.”
Lady Truth wipes a little light perspiration from her brow and look at him with a skeptical glance.
“Babe, we are in the GETTT TOE. There ain’t no yellow cabs here. These people rely on the big blue cabs from the MTA,” she laughs and points towards a bus dropping off passengers across the street.
They hurry across the street and find with a couple transfers they’ll be at Union Station in about 20 minutes. Not bad. They swipe their bus passes and are on their way.
“Being poor finally pays off,” Lady Truth says with a sigh as they walk towards the back of the bus, past the usual circus of freaks, old people and the working class. “I’m never without my bus pass.”
They take seats towards the back and spread out a little. It’s past rush hour and the night is beginning to really settle in, so the bus is starting to empty out.
Dr. Justice chuckles in agreement. “Mine’s free from the state, along with my lavish mental ward accommodations.”
“Lucky,” LT says with a slight smile. She begins to clean her eclectic clothing as best she can. She managed to keep most of the blood and her own vomit off of her clothes, but there are still small spots.
The doctor wasn’t quite so lucky, on the green scrubs top there is a sizeable dot of blood. Well at least he’s wearing the appropriate outfit for blood, Lady Truth thinks.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Saving the World for $12.50 an hour Chapters 3 and 4
Chapter 3
It works perfectly.
E-mails flood in. Some are legitimate, some are jokes and some are offers for penile enhancement and herbal viagra. Dr. Justice saves those for later review.
Meeting at the Angel City Main Library, Dr. Justice and Lady Truth sift through the best of the offers and put them into three categories. 1. Immediate need. 2. Long-term projects and 3. Is this is a joke.
Most of the immediate ones can be taken care of in a matter of hours. Like getting little Billy to quit farting on his brother's head, or getting Minnie the Mooch to get off of his brother's couch and get a job. It's quick money and involves little more than some talking and the occasional threat of violence. Though, that little Billy was a tough asshole.
Flush with cash, (well, flush with a little cash) the doctor and Lady T are starting to feel good about their new business venture.
Vicki's e-mail falls under Immediate Need.
Vicki Vixen's child Valerie is missing and no one will help her. You see, as far as the authorities are concerned, Valerie Vixen doesn't exist.
The police tell her in a no nonsense way, that they have no record of her child and that her medical records say she is childless and they refer her to a psychologist for help. But Vicki says it's not true. She has a child. A sweet blond-haired 8 year old named Valerie with eyes of blue and a button nose too. She likes puppies, rainbows and all of the other things little girls are supposed to like. And she has a mommy who misses her very much.
Vicki needs help and she needs it now.
Lady Truth looks over at Dr. Justice and says, "This is our job. Whatever the cost. This is our job."
"No one elses," Dr. Justice agrees.
After a quick call to get an address, Lady Truth leaves the public library they are using as their headquarters to meet with Vicki Vixen.
Into the dark places of the bad side of Angel City, Lady Truth travels on her Honda scooter, festooned with black and purple flames. She leaves behind the malls and clean yards of the Angelic suburbs for the dank hole that sits at the city’s heart. The buildings change from dwellings to ominous abodes of vileness.
At its center Angel City has fallen into Hades. The once stylish outer facades show the wear and tear of decades of misuse. The corners crumbling and the windows of the brown buildings are permanently darkened with grit and grease. Welcome to the inner circle and all who live here have abandoned all hope.
Lady Truth keeps her laser cannon arm warmed up because she knows this is the neighborhood where bad things happen. Dark dreams are real here.
This is the neighborhood where she comes from and hopes she never returns. Ten years is a long time, but its fresh for her. She remembers waking up in these oily, garbage strewn streets and finding herself alone and unable to remember who she is.
Lady Truth can see the sun starting to set through the towers of stone that man has built. Soon it will be night, soon the darkness will swallow up these poor streets and the real horrors can start.
But that was then, she thinks. I’m not the scared little woman who woke up here with nothing. Now I’m Lady Truth and I have a life and powers and a job. And that job is to help Vicki Vixen.
The grimy five-story Greenhouse Arms Hotel and Apartments has seen better days. It's once-bright cement porch is almost black with grit and the brown stone that makes up its facing is streaked from decades of dirty rain. Lady Truth rolls right past her rendezvous point and only realizes it when she sees the hotel’s neon sign flashing in her side mirror.
Lady Truth lets out a sigh and mutters an obscenity as she hits the brakes hard and fishtales the scooter around towards the Greenhouse.
She drives up the porch steps and into the lobby before stopping with a "Woah, Nelly," She jumps off and cuts the motor, taking the key with her.
A shabby, unkempt fat man behind a cage yells at her. "You can't park that here," the building manager thunders in his weedy voice.
"Apparently, you're wrong, because I just did," Lady Truth responds, as she wonders where guys like him find pre-stained wife beater T-shirts. "And it better be exactly where I left it when I come back."
Chapter 4
Lady Truth takes the aging elevator to the fourth floor. It shakes as though an old man with trembling hands is pulling the car upward and smells like the public urinal it probably is. When she reaches the fourth floor, the doors open with the grinding sound that means they haven’t been oiled in years.
She walks down a dingy, poorly lit hallway. The walls are covered in some kind of flower print wallpaper that probably used to be colorful and cheery but now is just brown with dirt and grease. Lady Truth isn’t sure if the floor actually has a carpet or if the dust has just matted into a uniform covering.
The light from the fixtures is intentionally low, so no one notices just how bad the place really looks.
Room 432. She gives one knock and waits.
A solid, lyrical voice responds from the other side. “What do you want?”
“I’m Lady Truth, you asked for help.”
The door opens cautiously. Lady Truth can see the chain is still bolted and that the eye peering out from behind the door’s crack is wary.
“You look kind of strange,” a voice says.
“Honey, I’m a superhero, I’m supposed to look strange,” Lady T says with a slight laugh and a big smile.
Lady T can hear a sigh of relief as the woman behind the door lets go of some of her tension. The door opens wide and Vicki Vixen stands before her.
Vicki’s beautiful blond hair is slightly disheveled and her face has the look of tension etched into every soft edge. But even though she is not at her best, most women would be satisfied to look like her at her worst.
Her eyes can light fires with their intensity, and her light, yet curvy body takes all the right turns from toe to the top of her head.
“Come on in then,” she says to Lady T.
Vicki sways out of the way to make room for Lady Truth. As she passes, Lady T can smell the sent of Gardenias on her. Vicki offers her a seat on her worn couch that obviously started out white, but now looks more like a dirt rainbow with all the stains.
Lady T is startled by the room. She can see trails. Normally, her cat-eye glasses and their special lenses mask all of the trails of normal humans. If they didn’t she would be blind. She could see the slight emanations that people’s souls leave behind as they travel beside the body. They would fade after a few days, but in a city people were everywhere and so were their soul trails. It was annoying when you were in a crowded room, but useful when tracking someone. Her specialized glasses filtered most of that out, except for Rob Slash's soul. For some reason, she could see his and his clones.
Well, Slash has been here. She could see trails. Old trails. Trails overlapping. Trails of someone short. Like a little girl. Like maybe, Valerie.
She sits down, a slightly quizzical look on her face, and Vicki starts talking. Lady Truth is jolted out of her trance.
“He’s got her. I know it. He’s fucking crazy and he took her,” Vicki says with an almost hysterical edge to her voice. “That bastard tracked us somehow and he took her.”
“Who is he?” Lady Truth interrupts before Vicki can really get going.
“My ex-boyfriend, Valerie’s baby daddy,” she replies. “Robert Shan. He used to be the maintenance man and cum-mopper at the place I last worked.”
Her story unfolded like most love stories. The guy treated her nice at first. Listened to her and told her what she wanted to hear. Then came the lovin. From that sprang Valerie.
“Everything was awesome,” Vicki says. “He was the best daddy ever. I thought we might even make it permanent. Then it’s like a switch went off.”
Five years after Valerie’s birth, Robert started talking strange. He also started doing strange things. He started disappearing for days, weeks, even a month here or there without any explanation.
“He just said he was doing the great boss’s work,” Vicki says. “But I know Moneybags didn’t send him on no outings. He was pissed when Robert started disappearing. If he wasn’t my man, Moneybags would have fired him.”
Then the unthinkable happened. Robert started beating her. Telling her that she needed to have more kids and when she didn’t get pregnant right away the fists started landing home.
“That’s when I cut him off and threw him out,” she says. “But the fucker would keep showing up and then he raped me. That was it. I took Valerie and ran. We’ve been running for two years.”
She thought she had successfully disappeared, or that he stopped looking. Then she met a former co-worker on the street last week.
“Misty looked a little different, but it was Misty. You don’t forget tits like that,” she says.
“Huh?” Lady T says with a little surprise.
“She’s a working girl. I am too. Awesome tits means awesome cash in our business,” Vicki says. “Anyway, she looked different, somehow. Kind of like she was wearing a mask. I just thought she had some plastic surgery and everything was still a little tight. You know.”
“She starts talking about the old times and asking about Valerie. I don’t think nothing of it, so I tell her about our life here. But I didn’t say where I live or nothing.”
“Two days later, Valerie’s gone.”
Lady Truth sees the agony in Vicki’s eyes. She knows she has to help her.
“Do you have any pictures of Valerie or of this Misty?” Lady Truth asks.
“Not here. When you’re on the run, you don’t keep stuff about your past hanging around. But I can get it.”
“Good, we’ll need all you have. I’m going to go get my partner and we’ll be back within the hour to get things going. I promise we’ll help you,” Lady Truth says and puts her hand on Vicki’s arm.
“Thank you,” Vicki says with relief in her eyes.
It works perfectly.
E-mails flood in. Some are legitimate, some are jokes and some are offers for penile enhancement and herbal viagra. Dr. Justice saves those for later review.
Meeting at the Angel City Main Library, Dr. Justice and Lady Truth sift through the best of the offers and put them into three categories. 1. Immediate need. 2. Long-term projects and 3. Is this is a joke.
Most of the immediate ones can be taken care of in a matter of hours. Like getting little Billy to quit farting on his brother's head, or getting Minnie the Mooch to get off of his brother's couch and get a job. It's quick money and involves little more than some talking and the occasional threat of violence. Though, that little Billy was a tough asshole.
Flush with cash, (well, flush with a little cash) the doctor and Lady T are starting to feel good about their new business venture.
Vicki's e-mail falls under Immediate Need.
Vicki Vixen's child Valerie is missing and no one will help her. You see, as far as the authorities are concerned, Valerie Vixen doesn't exist.
The police tell her in a no nonsense way, that they have no record of her child and that her medical records say she is childless and they refer her to a psychologist for help. But Vicki says it's not true. She has a child. A sweet blond-haired 8 year old named Valerie with eyes of blue and a button nose too. She likes puppies, rainbows and all of the other things little girls are supposed to like. And she has a mommy who misses her very much.
Vicki needs help and she needs it now.
Lady Truth looks over at Dr. Justice and says, "This is our job. Whatever the cost. This is our job."
"No one elses," Dr. Justice agrees.
After a quick call to get an address, Lady Truth leaves the public library they are using as their headquarters to meet with Vicki Vixen.
Into the dark places of the bad side of Angel City, Lady Truth travels on her Honda scooter, festooned with black and purple flames. She leaves behind the malls and clean yards of the Angelic suburbs for the dank hole that sits at the city’s heart. The buildings change from dwellings to ominous abodes of vileness.
At its center Angel City has fallen into Hades. The once stylish outer facades show the wear and tear of decades of misuse. The corners crumbling and the windows of the brown buildings are permanently darkened with grit and grease. Welcome to the inner circle and all who live here have abandoned all hope.
Lady Truth keeps her laser cannon arm warmed up because she knows this is the neighborhood where bad things happen. Dark dreams are real here.
This is the neighborhood where she comes from and hopes she never returns. Ten years is a long time, but its fresh for her. She remembers waking up in these oily, garbage strewn streets and finding herself alone and unable to remember who she is.
Lady Truth can see the sun starting to set through the towers of stone that man has built. Soon it will be night, soon the darkness will swallow up these poor streets and the real horrors can start.
But that was then, she thinks. I’m not the scared little woman who woke up here with nothing. Now I’m Lady Truth and I have a life and powers and a job. And that job is to help Vicki Vixen.
The grimy five-story Greenhouse Arms Hotel and Apartments has seen better days. It's once-bright cement porch is almost black with grit and the brown stone that makes up its facing is streaked from decades of dirty rain. Lady Truth rolls right past her rendezvous point and only realizes it when she sees the hotel’s neon sign flashing in her side mirror.
Lady Truth lets out a sigh and mutters an obscenity as she hits the brakes hard and fishtales the scooter around towards the Greenhouse.
She drives up the porch steps and into the lobby before stopping with a "Woah, Nelly," She jumps off and cuts the motor, taking the key with her.
A shabby, unkempt fat man behind a cage yells at her. "You can't park that here," the building manager thunders in his weedy voice.
"Apparently, you're wrong, because I just did," Lady Truth responds, as she wonders where guys like him find pre-stained wife beater T-shirts. "And it better be exactly where I left it when I come back."
Chapter 4
Lady Truth takes the aging elevator to the fourth floor. It shakes as though an old man with trembling hands is pulling the car upward and smells like the public urinal it probably is. When she reaches the fourth floor, the doors open with the grinding sound that means they haven’t been oiled in years.
She walks down a dingy, poorly lit hallway. The walls are covered in some kind of flower print wallpaper that probably used to be colorful and cheery but now is just brown with dirt and grease. Lady Truth isn’t sure if the floor actually has a carpet or if the dust has just matted into a uniform covering.
The light from the fixtures is intentionally low, so no one notices just how bad the place really looks.
Room 432. She gives one knock and waits.
A solid, lyrical voice responds from the other side. “What do you want?”
“I’m Lady Truth, you asked for help.”
The door opens cautiously. Lady Truth can see the chain is still bolted and that the eye peering out from behind the door’s crack is wary.
“You look kind of strange,” a voice says.
“Honey, I’m a superhero, I’m supposed to look strange,” Lady T says with a slight laugh and a big smile.
Lady T can hear a sigh of relief as the woman behind the door lets go of some of her tension. The door opens wide and Vicki Vixen stands before her.
Vicki’s beautiful blond hair is slightly disheveled and her face has the look of tension etched into every soft edge. But even though she is not at her best, most women would be satisfied to look like her at her worst.
Her eyes can light fires with their intensity, and her light, yet curvy body takes all the right turns from toe to the top of her head.
“Come on in then,” she says to Lady T.
Vicki sways out of the way to make room for Lady Truth. As she passes, Lady T can smell the sent of Gardenias on her. Vicki offers her a seat on her worn couch that obviously started out white, but now looks more like a dirt rainbow with all the stains.
Lady T is startled by the room. She can see trails. Normally, her cat-eye glasses and their special lenses mask all of the trails of normal humans. If they didn’t she would be blind. She could see the slight emanations that people’s souls leave behind as they travel beside the body. They would fade after a few days, but in a city people were everywhere and so were their soul trails. It was annoying when you were in a crowded room, but useful when tracking someone. Her specialized glasses filtered most of that out, except for Rob Slash's soul. For some reason, she could see his and his clones.
Well, Slash has been here. She could see trails. Old trails. Trails overlapping. Trails of someone short. Like a little girl. Like maybe, Valerie.
She sits down, a slightly quizzical look on her face, and Vicki starts talking. Lady Truth is jolted out of her trance.
“He’s got her. I know it. He’s fucking crazy and he took her,” Vicki says with an almost hysterical edge to her voice. “That bastard tracked us somehow and he took her.”
“Who is he?” Lady Truth interrupts before Vicki can really get going.
“My ex-boyfriend, Valerie’s baby daddy,” she replies. “Robert Shan. He used to be the maintenance man and cum-mopper at the place I last worked.”
Her story unfolded like most love stories. The guy treated her nice at first. Listened to her and told her what she wanted to hear. Then came the lovin. From that sprang Valerie.
“Everything was awesome,” Vicki says. “He was the best daddy ever. I thought we might even make it permanent. Then it’s like a switch went off.”
Five years after Valerie’s birth, Robert started talking strange. He also started doing strange things. He started disappearing for days, weeks, even a month here or there without any explanation.
“He just said he was doing the great boss’s work,” Vicki says. “But I know Moneybags didn’t send him on no outings. He was pissed when Robert started disappearing. If he wasn’t my man, Moneybags would have fired him.”
Then the unthinkable happened. Robert started beating her. Telling her that she needed to have more kids and when she didn’t get pregnant right away the fists started landing home.
“That’s when I cut him off and threw him out,” she says. “But the fucker would keep showing up and then he raped me. That was it. I took Valerie and ran. We’ve been running for two years.”
She thought she had successfully disappeared, or that he stopped looking. Then she met a former co-worker on the street last week.
“Misty looked a little different, but it was Misty. You don’t forget tits like that,” she says.
“Huh?” Lady T says with a little surprise.
“She’s a working girl. I am too. Awesome tits means awesome cash in our business,” Vicki says. “Anyway, she looked different, somehow. Kind of like she was wearing a mask. I just thought she had some plastic surgery and everything was still a little tight. You know.”
“She starts talking about the old times and asking about Valerie. I don’t think nothing of it, so I tell her about our life here. But I didn’t say where I live or nothing.”
“Two days later, Valerie’s gone.”
Lady Truth sees the agony in Vicki’s eyes. She knows she has to help her.
“Do you have any pictures of Valerie or of this Misty?” Lady Truth asks.
“Not here. When you’re on the run, you don’t keep stuff about your past hanging around. But I can get it.”
“Good, we’ll need all you have. I’m going to go get my partner and we’ll be back within the hour to get things going. I promise we’ll help you,” Lady Truth says and puts her hand on Vicki’s arm.
“Thank you,” Vicki says with relief in her eyes.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saving the World for $12.50 an hour. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Patient Review
Name: Frank Justice
Date: 7.21.10
Summary: Mr. Justice continues to display acute delusional symptoms, but is not considered a threat to himself or others at this time. He still believes that someone named Rob Slash is out to “bring the world into chaos.” This Slash is supposed to be some kind of doctor who uses a blend of magic and science to place copies of his soul into other people. (note: this delusion has been consistent since he was brought in after blowing up his own headquarters. He maintains that this was actually an attack by the clones.)
In the three years since his arrival there has been little improvement in his base delusion, though he has become less violent. Since his release from parole he has voluntarily remained at the institute for treatment. As a voluntary patient he can come and go as he pleases, but continues with therapy. Though progress is slow, the staff does believe that they see a clinical benefit to his continued therapy.
Dr. Gerald Conway
The Kane Mental Institute is a functional place. It’s bright white concrete walls and off-white linoleum floor speak of 1950s institutions everywhere. Bright fluorescent lights fight with the light streaming in from the large windows, as if it could never be bright enough to chase away the shadows afflicting the souls who live there.
In the solarium a small group session meets, and in the group sits Dr. Justice with a slightly sleepy look on his face. Mrs. Cable is drooling in the corner. Her medications had obviously just kicked in because five minutes ago she was crying softly and telling everyone to shut up.
“Well Frank,” the too-perky, fresh out of college therapist chirps at Dr. Justice. “Why don’t you tell us about what you do when you go out into the big world everyday.”
Dr. Justice looks at her with a directness that makes therapy leader Linda Wood flinch.
“I work, what do you do,” he replies with a deadpan voice.
“Well, Frank …”
“Well, Linda, it’s Dr. Justice,” Frank interrupts.
Linda drops the false smile that is the hallmark of every new-age therapist and snaps, “We don’t butt in when we are in the circle. Everyone has their say and then you may reply. Rudeness is not a Kane Institute value.”
At that, Dr. Justice adjusts his goggles, gets up and leaves, quietly closing the solarium door behind him. He loves doing that to her. It disrupts her sense of control, and if there’s one thing a therapist likes, it is control.
In the institute’s uncomfortable lobby, Lady Truth waits for the good doctor. The lobby is a huge room lined with uncomfortable benches, made even more uncomfortable by the green vinyl upholstery put over them. Lady Truth waves her laser cannon arm at the wall on the far side of the lobby. On the wall a dot of light moves in unison with her arm movements as two cat-like creatures jump and pounce at it.
Dr. Justice jumps back as he enters the lobby to avoid getting flattened by the large lanky creatures. Lady T looks over with a dazzling happy smile and points her arm at his head. The two cats leap with a lithe motion and the doctor finds himself on the ground looking up at two pairs of big dark cat eyes.
“Hello,” says Meaux. Mousie just stares at his head, waiting for the light dot to move.
“Hi, Meaux, Mousie,” the doctor says by way of greeting.
Lady Truth walks over, closing her right fist, making laser dot disappear.
“Well, I’m ready to make us some profit,” Lady Truth chirps in a happy voice. “Oh, and Mousie and Meaux are going to help.”
Mousie and Meaux push off of Dr. J's chest and bound over to Lady Truth. The two orange tiger-striped creatures, wearing little more than tight shorts with a hole for their tails, nuzzle LT's black and purple hair affectionately. The pair are part of a failed super soldier program by the government. Well, that's what they tell people.
They say that the goal is to create a super soldier by combining human and cat DNA. The goal is to create a strong, agile soldier with super hearing and excellent night vision. Mousie and Meax have all of that and more.
Unfortunately, it's the more that's the problem. They have the 10 second attention span of a cat. As well as the inability to take orders and a deep abiding love of shiny objects. They also really like Lady Truth and Doctor Justice. Mousie and Meaux seem to think she's their mom and Dr. Justice is a toy.
"So where have you been for the past three days?" Dr. Justice groans as he gets to his feet.
"I've been working out our money problems," she grins back, showing perfect white teeth. "We're going to be rolling in money as soon as these babies go up."
Lady Truth hands Dr. Justice a sheet of paper printed with a big "Need Help?" on it.
It was a job flyer with little tabs on it with an e-mail address. After much research and thought, Lady Truth came to the conclusion that people just didn't know the duo was out there and that $12.50 an hour was the perfect entry-point pricing for superhero work.
"$12.50 an hour? Doesn't that seem a little cheap?" Dr. Justice says after reading through the flier.
"Nope, not at all, considering most of us just give it away," she says. "I mean we're fighting against a system that expects help for free. Who pays the police, the fire fighters, the army, the superheroes? No one. It's effectively a free service. We have to convince people that we need to be paid. Plus that's just the rate for the first three hours. It's a sliding scale."
Dr. Justice looks at her with a quizzical half-smile.
"Uh, you realize people pay for all of those services through their taxes," Dr. Justice says dubiously. "And some superheroes are independently wealthy. The rest are on the government payroll in some form. I used to be. Man I miss having my Justice Jet and the Justice Center."
Lady Truth waves her hand in a dismissive manner. "Yeah, but that's them. We're independent contractors. We will work for anyone on the side of right. Anyone who's downtrodden and pushed aside, we will avenge. If you are wronged we shall make it right. The regular people need heroes, too, and we're priced just right. Just e-mail us your problem and BANG, we fix it -- for a price."
With that she opens up her backpack shaped like a beetle to reveal a huge stack of fliers and several roles of duct tape. She breaks down the stack into four piles and four rolls of tape, handing one of each to Mousie and Meaux and keeping two stacks.
"We'll split up and take the four side of the city and meet up in Central Plaza for lunch," she says. "You in?"
"This is never going to work," the doctor says. "Give me a stack to put up."
Patient Review
Name: Frank Justice
Date: 7.21.10
Summary: Mr. Justice continues to display acute delusional symptoms, but is not considered a threat to himself or others at this time. He still believes that someone named Rob Slash is out to “bring the world into chaos.” This Slash is supposed to be some kind of doctor who uses a blend of magic and science to place copies of his soul into other people. (note: this delusion has been consistent since he was brought in after blowing up his own headquarters. He maintains that this was actually an attack by the clones.)
In the three years since his arrival there has been little improvement in his base delusion, though he has become less violent. Since his release from parole he has voluntarily remained at the institute for treatment. As a voluntary patient he can come and go as he pleases, but continues with therapy. Though progress is slow, the staff does believe that they see a clinical benefit to his continued therapy.
Dr. Gerald Conway
The Kane Mental Institute is a functional place. It’s bright white concrete walls and off-white linoleum floor speak of 1950s institutions everywhere. Bright fluorescent lights fight with the light streaming in from the large windows, as if it could never be bright enough to chase away the shadows afflicting the souls who live there.
In the solarium a small group session meets, and in the group sits Dr. Justice with a slightly sleepy look on his face. Mrs. Cable is drooling in the corner. Her medications had obviously just kicked in because five minutes ago she was crying softly and telling everyone to shut up.
“Well Frank,” the too-perky, fresh out of college therapist chirps at Dr. Justice. “Why don’t you tell us about what you do when you go out into the big world everyday.”
Dr. Justice looks at her with a directness that makes therapy leader Linda Wood flinch.
“I work, what do you do,” he replies with a deadpan voice.
“Well, Frank …”
“Well, Linda, it’s Dr. Justice,” Frank interrupts.
Linda drops the false smile that is the hallmark of every new-age therapist and snaps, “We don’t butt in when we are in the circle. Everyone has their say and then you may reply. Rudeness is not a Kane Institute value.”
At that, Dr. Justice adjusts his goggles, gets up and leaves, quietly closing the solarium door behind him. He loves doing that to her. It disrupts her sense of control, and if there’s one thing a therapist likes, it is control.
In the institute’s uncomfortable lobby, Lady Truth waits for the good doctor. The lobby is a huge room lined with uncomfortable benches, made even more uncomfortable by the green vinyl upholstery put over them. Lady Truth waves her laser cannon arm at the wall on the far side of the lobby. On the wall a dot of light moves in unison with her arm movements as two cat-like creatures jump and pounce at it.
Dr. Justice jumps back as he enters the lobby to avoid getting flattened by the large lanky creatures. Lady T looks over with a dazzling happy smile and points her arm at his head. The two cats leap with a lithe motion and the doctor finds himself on the ground looking up at two pairs of big dark cat eyes.
“Hello,” says Meaux. Mousie just stares at his head, waiting for the light dot to move.
“Hi, Meaux, Mousie,” the doctor says by way of greeting.
Lady Truth walks over, closing her right fist, making laser dot disappear.
“Well, I’m ready to make us some profit,” Lady Truth chirps in a happy voice. “Oh, and Mousie and Meaux are going to help.”
Mousie and Meaux push off of Dr. J's chest and bound over to Lady Truth. The two orange tiger-striped creatures, wearing little more than tight shorts with a hole for their tails, nuzzle LT's black and purple hair affectionately. The pair are part of a failed super soldier program by the government. Well, that's what they tell people.
They say that the goal is to create a super soldier by combining human and cat DNA. The goal is to create a strong, agile soldier with super hearing and excellent night vision. Mousie and Meax have all of that and more.
Unfortunately, it's the more that's the problem. They have the 10 second attention span of a cat. As well as the inability to take orders and a deep abiding love of shiny objects. They also really like Lady Truth and Doctor Justice. Mousie and Meaux seem to think she's their mom and Dr. Justice is a toy.
"So where have you been for the past three days?" Dr. Justice groans as he gets to his feet.
"I've been working out our money problems," she grins back, showing perfect white teeth. "We're going to be rolling in money as soon as these babies go up."
Lady Truth hands Dr. Justice a sheet of paper printed with a big "Need Help?" on it.
It was a job flyer with little tabs on it with an e-mail address. After much research and thought, Lady Truth came to the conclusion that people just didn't know the duo was out there and that $12.50 an hour was the perfect entry-point pricing for superhero work.
"$12.50 an hour? Doesn't that seem a little cheap?" Dr. Justice says after reading through the flier.
"Nope, not at all, considering most of us just give it away," she says. "I mean we're fighting against a system that expects help for free. Who pays the police, the fire fighters, the army, the superheroes? No one. It's effectively a free service. We have to convince people that we need to be paid. Plus that's just the rate for the first three hours. It's a sliding scale."
Dr. Justice looks at her with a quizzical half-smile.
"Uh, you realize people pay for all of those services through their taxes," Dr. Justice says dubiously. "And some superheroes are independently wealthy. The rest are on the government payroll in some form. I used to be. Man I miss having my Justice Jet and the Justice Center."
Lady Truth waves her hand in a dismissive manner. "Yeah, but that's them. We're independent contractors. We will work for anyone on the side of right. Anyone who's downtrodden and pushed aside, we will avenge. If you are wronged we shall make it right. The regular people need heroes, too, and we're priced just right. Just e-mail us your problem and BANG, we fix it -- for a price."
With that she opens up her backpack shaped like a beetle to reveal a huge stack of fliers and several roles of duct tape. She breaks down the stack into four piles and four rolls of tape, handing one of each to Mousie and Meaux and keeping two stacks.
"We'll split up and take the four side of the city and meet up in Central Plaza for lunch," she says. "You in?"
"This is never going to work," the doctor says. "Give me a stack to put up."
Monday, October 24, 2011
Saving the world for $12.50 an hour
Editorial nore: OK, here's the deal. I wrote this and Liz helped as a sounding board,co-conspirator and made suggestions, so I gave her a co-writer credit. This is a novella I'm publishing one chapter at a time for the next 16 weeks. It's all done, so there will be no delays. Enjoy.
Saving the world for $12.50 an hour
By Kevin Lindsey and Elizabeth Nguyen
Prologue
The beast is at the door, and we’ve left it unlocked.
The world slouches towards its end and everyone sits on their couches and watches it happen. Daily the good die. The politician who cares about his constituents is made to look like a thief. The cop who won’t take a bribe winds up dead. Or maybe it’s just the honest worker who wants to do a good job getting fired by that new prick of a boss. No one asks why this keeps happening. No one sees that the righteous are replaced with the wicked.
And, just who are these pricks that are taking over our world? Aliens sent to take over the world? Hardly. Demons ushering in the Apocalypse? Seems a little religious, doesn’t it? Maybe, there’s just more assholes out there. Possibly.
All of those answers are wrong. There is only one prick taking over the world: Rob Slash. That damn ninja clone wizard is seeding himself throughout the world and soon we won’t be able to stop him. Even now his soul clones are taking up residence in the righteous. Every one of them was once a good person. Their souls are gone, but their bodies are still there in key positions. Their original souls have been burnt away and replaced by Slash.
We need to ask ourselves one question: Will truth and justice prevail?
-- From the asylum wall of the doctor.
Chapter 1
Frank comes to with the smell of old beer and stale peanuts full in his nose. Nothing new. He turns his head and glances up and finds himself looking up a woman’s skirt. There’s a word printed on her underwear. “Thursday” he mumbles. “Isn’t it Monday?”
The woman with the long purple and black ponytails looks down at him with a skeptical look. It’s Lady Truth. “Yeah, it’s Monday. How hard did Deus hit you?”
“Never mind,” Frank mumbles.
It all floods back to Frank. He’s called Dr. Justice, now. It used to be Capt. Justice, but that was a long time ago. A fatter, better time. Now, he calls himself the doctor. And he’s lying on the floor of the Legion of Heroes.
It’s one of those skanky superhero bars. You know. Some retired superhero or wannabe spends his retirement money opening up a little dive so he can stay close to the action. No one goes in there except superheroes or one of their dirty toadies looking to suck up to the big damn heroes. That’s the Legion of Heroes. Yeah, the name’s corny. Superheroes like it that way.
It was that dick Deus who put Dr. Justice on the floor. What, you’ve never heard Deus called a dick before? Well, despite being big, muscular, always right (he thinks he is), invulnerable (mostly) and able to fly, he’s a dick. At least, that’s what Dr. Justice thought.
“You going get up, or are you just going to stare at my snatch all day?” Lady Truth says with a sigh. “And, hey you big jerk, why’d you hit him? You’re only 10,000 times stronger,” she says to the glowing muscle man in the corner being held back by the Minotaur, a squat heavily muscled superhero with a bull’s head.
Justice dry heaves once, adjusts his cheap goggles and staggers up. “What the hell, Deus.”
“Get that worthless has-been out of here before I paste the walls with him,” Deus says glowing brighter. “He doesn’t belong here. He never did.”
Dr. Justice lunges forward his cellular iron fist at the end of his right robotic arm flying towards Deus’ head. The connection barely makes a sound, but Deus’ head snaps back and a small cut is opened on his right cheek.
Before Deus’ head can snap back, Lightning, Krank and Speed have zipped between the two, creating a wall of jittery flesh between the two heroes. The three spandex-wearing kinetically enhanced heroes wave blurry fingers at the doctor.
“Now, not Kosher, now, bad form old bean,” the three say simultaneously.
Behind the blurry, skinny figures Deus bellows, “Get him out. Get him out. And his skank of a partner, too.”
Lady Truth whips her right arm around levels it at Deus’ head and fires off a blast from her laser arm cannon. But he is ready and pumped, dodging the laser with ease.The light beam blasts a perfect, circular hole in the bar.
Everything turns into a blur for the doctor and Lady T as the kinetic heroes grab them and carry them out the back door. When the whirlwind of movement subsides the two are flat on their backs. Above them they can see the starry sky and surrounding them is the smell of rotting chicken wings wafting out of the garbage cans and the acid smell of old puke. Yup, it’s the alley.
Lightning pulses from side-to-side next to them holding a piece of paper. Dr. Justice grabs it after a couple of tries. It’s a bill for the bar Lady Truth just blew up. $5,200.78.
“You’re not welcome back until you pay that off,” Lightning says. “Such a shame. You used to be such a good hero. Ever since you went crazy it’s been one problem after another.”
Then he shimmers away in a wave of speed, leaving behind a faint breeze.
Sitting up, Dr. Justice looks at the bill in his and sighs, “Ah, shit. How am I going to pay for this? I’ve got $200 in the checking account, and I live in a mental institution. Hell, I’m stealing the orderlies’ scrubs for my action suit.”
Lady Truth bounces to her feet and looks down at the doctor. It’s nice to be short, young and in shape, the doctor thinks.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to pay for it,” she says with a grim smile.
She always smiles. Good or bad, she smiles, thinks Dr. Justice.
Dr. Justice drags his aging bulk off the ground, crumpling the bill and stuffing it in his pocket as he struggles up. His long, curly dark blond hair whips back as he steadies himself.
“Yeah, sure. Look at us,” he says, looking mostly at his middle-aged gut. “I’ve got $200 and by the looks of that outfit you shop at Goodwill. Seriously, what do you do for money? I’m not even sure where you live. You look like you’re Asian, but I’m not even sure about that. Shouldn’t I know more about my partner?”
She just smiles at him, tossing her purple and black hair back, dark eyes laughing.
“Don’t worry Doc. I think I have an idea.”
Eh, why did I have to pick a perky partner, the doctor thinks.
Saving the world for $12.50 an hour
By Kevin Lindsey and Elizabeth Nguyen
Prologue
The beast is at the door, and we’ve left it unlocked.
The world slouches towards its end and everyone sits on their couches and watches it happen. Daily the good die. The politician who cares about his constituents is made to look like a thief. The cop who won’t take a bribe winds up dead. Or maybe it’s just the honest worker who wants to do a good job getting fired by that new prick of a boss. No one asks why this keeps happening. No one sees that the righteous are replaced with the wicked.
And, just who are these pricks that are taking over our world? Aliens sent to take over the world? Hardly. Demons ushering in the Apocalypse? Seems a little religious, doesn’t it? Maybe, there’s just more assholes out there. Possibly.
All of those answers are wrong. There is only one prick taking over the world: Rob Slash. That damn ninja clone wizard is seeding himself throughout the world and soon we won’t be able to stop him. Even now his soul clones are taking up residence in the righteous. Every one of them was once a good person. Their souls are gone, but their bodies are still there in key positions. Their original souls have been burnt away and replaced by Slash.
We need to ask ourselves one question: Will truth and justice prevail?
-- From the asylum wall of the doctor.
Chapter 1
Frank comes to with the smell of old beer and stale peanuts full in his nose. Nothing new. He turns his head and glances up and finds himself looking up a woman’s skirt. There’s a word printed on her underwear. “Thursday” he mumbles. “Isn’t it Monday?”
The woman with the long purple and black ponytails looks down at him with a skeptical look. It’s Lady Truth. “Yeah, it’s Monday. How hard did Deus hit you?”
“Never mind,” Frank mumbles.
It all floods back to Frank. He’s called Dr. Justice, now. It used to be Capt. Justice, but that was a long time ago. A fatter, better time. Now, he calls himself the doctor. And he’s lying on the floor of the Legion of Heroes.
It’s one of those skanky superhero bars. You know. Some retired superhero or wannabe spends his retirement money opening up a little dive so he can stay close to the action. No one goes in there except superheroes or one of their dirty toadies looking to suck up to the big damn heroes. That’s the Legion of Heroes. Yeah, the name’s corny. Superheroes like it that way.
It was that dick Deus who put Dr. Justice on the floor. What, you’ve never heard Deus called a dick before? Well, despite being big, muscular, always right (he thinks he is), invulnerable (mostly) and able to fly, he’s a dick. At least, that’s what Dr. Justice thought.
“You going get up, or are you just going to stare at my snatch all day?” Lady Truth says with a sigh. “And, hey you big jerk, why’d you hit him? You’re only 10,000 times stronger,” she says to the glowing muscle man in the corner being held back by the Minotaur, a squat heavily muscled superhero with a bull’s head.
Justice dry heaves once, adjusts his cheap goggles and staggers up. “What the hell, Deus.”
“Get that worthless has-been out of here before I paste the walls with him,” Deus says glowing brighter. “He doesn’t belong here. He never did.”
Dr. Justice lunges forward his cellular iron fist at the end of his right robotic arm flying towards Deus’ head. The connection barely makes a sound, but Deus’ head snaps back and a small cut is opened on his right cheek.
Before Deus’ head can snap back, Lightning, Krank and Speed have zipped between the two, creating a wall of jittery flesh between the two heroes. The three spandex-wearing kinetically enhanced heroes wave blurry fingers at the doctor.
“Now, not Kosher, now, bad form old bean,” the three say simultaneously.
Behind the blurry, skinny figures Deus bellows, “Get him out. Get him out. And his skank of a partner, too.”
Lady Truth whips her right arm around levels it at Deus’ head and fires off a blast from her laser arm cannon. But he is ready and pumped, dodging the laser with ease.The light beam blasts a perfect, circular hole in the bar.
Everything turns into a blur for the doctor and Lady T as the kinetic heroes grab them and carry them out the back door. When the whirlwind of movement subsides the two are flat on their backs. Above them they can see the starry sky and surrounding them is the smell of rotting chicken wings wafting out of the garbage cans and the acid smell of old puke. Yup, it’s the alley.
Lightning pulses from side-to-side next to them holding a piece of paper. Dr. Justice grabs it after a couple of tries. It’s a bill for the bar Lady Truth just blew up. $5,200.78.
“You’re not welcome back until you pay that off,” Lightning says. “Such a shame. You used to be such a good hero. Ever since you went crazy it’s been one problem after another.”
Then he shimmers away in a wave of speed, leaving behind a faint breeze.
Sitting up, Dr. Justice looks at the bill in his and sighs, “Ah, shit. How am I going to pay for this? I’ve got $200 in the checking account, and I live in a mental institution. Hell, I’m stealing the orderlies’ scrubs for my action suit.”
Lady Truth bounces to her feet and looks down at the doctor. It’s nice to be short, young and in shape, the doctor thinks.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to pay for it,” she says with a grim smile.
She always smiles. Good or bad, she smiles, thinks Dr. Justice.
Dr. Justice drags his aging bulk off the ground, crumpling the bill and stuffing it in his pocket as he struggles up. His long, curly dark blond hair whips back as he steadies himself.
“Yeah, sure. Look at us,” he says, looking mostly at his middle-aged gut. “I’ve got $200 and by the looks of that outfit you shop at Goodwill. Seriously, what do you do for money? I’m not even sure where you live. You look like you’re Asian, but I’m not even sure about that. Shouldn’t I know more about my partner?”
She just smiles at him, tossing her purple and black hair back, dark eyes laughing.
“Don’t worry Doc. I think I have an idea.”
Eh, why did I have to pick a perky partner, the doctor thinks.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
hmmm
I think I am too attached to people and things. I think I should strive more and more for nothingness and a mind clear of people. Friends and loves are distraction getting in the way of understanding the true nature of the world. I'm not saying they aren't necessary, because at some point they are. What I am saying is that you have to be ready to leave everything behind and holding on to people is one of the things that keeps us stuck in a state of need and dependency.
So, I think I need to care less about individuals and things. I need to think in wider terms. I need to think in terms of a universal self, where everything is of one piece. Bits and pieces like myself don't matter, the health of the whole should be my concern. I need to spend some time at Walden's pond.
So, I think I need to care less about individuals and things. I need to think in wider terms. I need to think in terms of a universal self, where everything is of one piece. Bits and pieces like myself don't matter, the health of the whole should be my concern. I need to spend some time at Walden's pond.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Nena's Bad Day
Nena’s Bad Day
Nena lay curled next to her human, happily snoring the night away. She loved her bed and the human made a wonderful heater. The only annoying thing was that it would move around during the night. But she was used to it.
The human would turn over in the night leaving her exposed to the wild elements in her room. Without thinking, she would get up and gracefully leap over the fat man and land into the curve he made between his head and knees. Back to sleep.
Every morning she would wake just as the first sign of light would turn the sky outside the window a shade of gray. It wasn’t enough light to really see color, but enough to see the room around her. Well, enough for a human. She saw equally well at night and in day. Poor pathetic heaters. Humans were such a poor species. They couldn’t jump worth anything. They barely had fur and their ridiculous two-legged walking was beyond ridiculous.
Still, they did open food cans and provide good heating surfaces for her to rest on, so she let them stay at her house.
With a lithe, sinuous jump Nena sailed over her human and landed on the floor with an almost inaudible thump. She walked to the door that led to the laundry room and grabbed the bottom corner. With a quick flip, she sent the door swinging open and glided through it. She passed through the laundry room and into the kitchen, her paws making slight plopping sounds as the pads pounded off the linoleum.
Nena had a purpose and she would not be denied. Every morning for as long as she could remember she would wake up at the first sign of dawn and make her way through the kitchen and into the dining room. Ignore anything and everything going on around her until she reached the ledge that surrounded the east-facing windows.
Now, of course, Nena didn’t know what east was. Heck, she didn’t know what a laundry room was, but she did know what she wanted.
She gathered herself, feeling the muscles in her haunches tighten with anticipation. Nena released those coiled muscles and leaped to the ledge and stuck her nose through the slats in the vertical blinds. She settled in.
Beyond the window she could feel the slight chill of an early spring morning. It braced her and focused her. Her attention was fixed down to the end of the street that T-boned in front of her house.
The sky slowly grew brighter, the gray giving way to a soft red-yellow. Then, as she did every day, she thrilled to see the large ball of fire peek out from the horizon. It was all over in just a few minutes, but it was unchanging and its beauty grabbed at something primal inside her. Dawn, the sun, the beginning of another day, spoke to this small gray calico cat with the orange and white spotted face with a fierce passion.
It filled her with life and set the pattern for her day. Nena felt her life was perfect when she saw the sun make its daily appearance. She greeted the day and her life with enthusiasm.
Back to the lazy human’s bedroom, she jumped back into bed and walked over to the still snoozing man. She carefully crept up to his ear and stuck her nose in. Nena didn’t quite touch him, know that would startle him awake. Instead she gave a quick meow and pulled back, sitting down expectantly.
It had the desired effect. The human woke with a slightly puzzled look on his face. Well, alright, he always had a slightly puzzled look, but this one was a little more puzzly than normal.
He sat up, the top cover falling away to showcase his Dodgers T-shirt and boxers. Truly, the PJs of champions. Nena had a good sense of the ironic.
Nena just sat back and waited patiently for the human to gain his senses and let her out.
He struggled to get moving for a couple minutes, sitting at the edge of the bed pushing his long head fur out of his eyes. Nena was always fascinated with the massive shag of fur on top of its head and relative lack of hair elsewhere. Who made these strange creatures, she thought.
Of course all that came out of her sharp-toothed muzzle was a querulous “Rrrrowwwwrrr?” But the point was still valid.
With a mighty heave, the gooey man heaved himself upright and started stumbling towards the back door in the laundry room.
Nena lightly landed beside him and jogged to the door with a bouncy grace, looking back to make sure that the large lump wasn’t going to tumble over on her. With a flick of his wonderful opposable thumbs, the human undid the deadbolt and opened the door. Nena thought she should look into getting herself some thumbs, it would be nice to open her own food cans.
She bounded out into the early morning coolness with glee.
The backyard was a wild pleasure jungle for Nena. The overgrown grass was perfect for lurking and hunting. She could look for tasty schmousies or lovely lizards or just chase butterflies with abandon. In the planters that surrounded the backyard low bushes hid hidey holes where she could stash her prey, because she wasn’t allowed to take them into the house.
It was rude of the human to deny her the chance to bring her prizes in, but she allowed him this prissy side.
All in all, Nena’s life was perfect. She had food and water whenever she wanted it, a warm bed and a human heater to keep her company. She had a backyard to hunt in and lay around on a sunny day. She didn’t need anything.
She wasn’t even lonely when the heater would disappear for most of the day. She almost always had the sun for company. A constant companion that followed her through the day, giving her light to see her prey, warmth to take a nap in and something to always watch over her.
She was satisfied.
As she lay in the grass, hoping for something to make the mistake of coming into her backyard, the human came out, got into his wheeled thing and left.
It was a little odd because it was still very early in the day for the human to be lumbering around outside. But she didn’t really give it much thought. Heaters often did things like that. They would come and go without warning, come back late or even pretend to ignore you when they sat at the box with screen and keyboard.
Nena didn’t much care what they did as long as they were quiet.
Besides, it was morning nap time. She stretched out and dreamed of delicious schmice. If only humans understood how yummy they were. They were finer than the finest filet mignon. The only thing tastier is tuna. If they knew about it, her schmousie treats wouldn’t be safe.
The sound of the car coming up the driveway and into the garage in the backyard woke Nena up.
She held her head up just in time to see the human walk into the house with a box. Hmmm, Nena liked boxes. You could play in them. She got up and walked towards the back door. The human closed it before she could get there.
How rude. She let out a loud “grrrowwwrmeow” to get his attention, so he would let her in.
He ignored her, or didn’t hear her. No, she thought, he was ignoring her. He usually opened the door as soon as she asked.
With a pout, she sat down on the steps by the back door and waited for the human to let her in.
When that didn’t happen right away she resorted to scratching at the door and meowing in a loud voice. This was her house gosh darnit and she wanted in.
Something definitely wasn’t right. She could hear the human moving around in her house. He just wasn’t letting her in.
After about half an hour later, the human opened the door and Nena immediately knew what was wrong. She could smell it. Something was in her house. Something that shouldn’t be there.
The human was talking at her, but she didn’t need to be told what was in there. There was another cat in her house. Intolerable.
“Now, Nena, before you come in you should know that I got us a new kitty. His name is Morris. I thought it wasn’t fair for you to be alone all the time so I got you a friend,” the doughy heater said to her. “He’s just a kitty right now, but he’ll grow up to be your best friend.”
Nena stood at the edge of the open door and the stink of the new cat washed over her. Pure evil. That’s what it was. A familiar, but wrong, stench was mixing with her lovely scent. It was fouling her home.
Her tail fattened up and the hair on her back stood on end as she walked into the house. She was ready for the intruder’s attack.
Then she saw it peeking around the corner of the dining room table. No doubt it was hoping to take her by surprise and rip her throat out and claim her comfy bed as her own.
It was smaller than Nena. Really just about 5 months old. It’s small body was covered with orange and white tiger stripes. From behind one of the dining room kitchen legs, its big, bulbous head peeked. Horrendous green eyes bore into Nena, looking for her weak points.
Nena slunk her way into the kitchen, her eyes locking with the other cat. Then it moved from behind the table leg, and Nena jumped straight up giving out
a “ROOOOOOOWWERRRRR!”
She skittered back to the back door, which had closed behind her. Nena stayed there as Morris the Destroyer fully revealed himself. Besides his bulbous head and glowing, deadly eyes, his massive paws looked like they could rip her face off with just a single swipe.
Nena was in danger.
The human walked over to the new cat and reached down to give it scratchies.
Morris “mrrrowwwred” with false humility and pretended to accept the scratchies.
“Nena, why don’t you come over here and say “Hi” to your new friend? He wants to play with you,” the human said in its dull voice.
How could it not see? This was all a ruse, Nena thought. It was just lulling the human into a sense of calm before taking him out. Did this foolish heater know nothing of the hunt?
Nena felt trapped by the back door and a low rumbling growwwwl escaped her throat.
Then the human picked up Morris of Doom and walked over to the washing machine.
Oh, NO!!??!!, Nena thought. He wouldn’t.
He did.
The man placed the interloper on top of the washing machine, where Nena’s food and water dishes were. And Morris the Deadly began to crunch away. From the munchy crunchy sounds, Nena knew that it was doing it just to bait her into trying an attack.
She wasn’t going to fall for it. Nena left and made her way to the comfy bed. She would make her stand there.
Once safely ensconced amongst the pillows and rumpled bed sheets, Nena waited the doombringer.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, it continued as though it were actually hungry. Nena knew better, it was just trying to eat up her food so she would starve. Ha, fat chance, Nena thought. I know where the crunchies are. The only food Nena couldn’t get to was the gushy kind. Human had to open that with his opposable thumbs.
Damn, those opposable thumbs. If I had them right now, I’d choke that stupid heater human, Nena wished with a ferocious thought.
This was starting to take some time. When was it going to attack?
She peeked around the corner and saw the human was giving it more scratchies. DAMN, she thought.
Oh, well, no reason to wait, it was afternoon nap time. So she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
It could have been days, or 20 minutes later, when she awoke from her refreshing nap. She was warm and felt the snuggle of a heat source. It was nice, it wasn’t as overwhelming as the human. It was small and furry and up against her.
That’s when Nena’s memory kicked in. To her horror, snuggled up against her, snoring away, was Morris the Debauched. She didn’t know what to do. Should she kill it? It was vulnerable. Who knows when she was going to get another chance.
Suddenly it yawned and the rows of sharp, deadly, teeth glistened in the afternoon sun.
Nena fled to the back door and meowed to be let out. If only she could get outside, she would have the advantage. Luckily, the human was quick and let her out into the jungle of the backyard, where she could plan her attack.
Into the tall weeds and grass she disappeared. This was her hunting ground, her kill zone. No stray cat of death would defeat her here.
A couple minutes later, the door opened again and Morris appeared, ready to bring his doom.
As Nena watched him from the tall grass, she considered the many ways she could take him down. Nip his ears off first, then blind him and hamstring him, that would be the slow way.
No, No, Nena thought. It should be quick and decisive. Go for the throat, like her instincts told her. That was the best way. All she needed was for Morris the Dufus to walk into the grass.
Morris edged around on the concrete patio, looking nervous and sniffing around. No doubt, he knows death stalks him, Nena thought.
Morris walked up to the edge of the grass, but refused to walk in.
It has some rudimentary sense, Nena realized. Well, she would just have to goad him into joining her in the grass.
She slinked and slunk silently through the grass, making sure to keep the long strands from moving too much. Closer and closer she moved. Almost there. Almost there. Within range. Pounce.
Morris the Dunce was caught completely by surprise. But then, so was Nena. She expected a fight, but she realized as she reached the zenith of her graceful, deadly, pounce that the stupid cat was just cowering. So she landed in front of the balled-up Morris and sat down.
He peeked out from his balled up position and she lightly popped him on the head with her deadly Paw of DOOM. And the fight was on. Morris the Devil pounced back. That trickster, he was playing scared, the whole time.
His massive paws wrapped around her neck and she knew she was dead. How stupid of me, Nena thought.
But, all he did was wrestle with her for a minute and lightly bite her. It didn’t even hurt. Then he bounded away to prepare another attack.
Seriously? That’s the best he’s got, thought Nena. She walked back into the grass jungle, confused.
Once she was carefully concealed again, she carefully thought about her opponent. He was small. Too small. He must be a youngling. Maybe, he wasn’t a challenger to her. No, she thought. That’s what he wants you to think. He’s the devil. I’m sure, she thought.
Yes, that’s right. Cats know about the Devil. Haven’t you ever seen them just staring off into space and reacting for no reason? It’s because they can see the devils and angels that walk amongst us. They know all about it. They are supposed to warn us of the evil that lurks out there. Problem is, they’re cats. They don’t exactly follow orders very well.
Anyway, it was mid-late afternoon nap time, so Nena fell asleep.
MMMMMMMMrrrrrowwwr, Nena said and stretched her whole body out as she woke up from her nap. Nothing better than a mid-late afternoon nap, she thought. Unless it’s an early-late afternoon nap. Oh, alright, all naps were good.
Nena’s senses instantly shot to Red Alert as the grass moved shushed and moved. Damn, she thought, it’s making its move.
A butterfly flew past her nose, it’s yellow and orange wings flapping for all it was worth. Right behind it, galumphing like a fool, came Morris.
Nena took one look at his awkward running and noisy, wasted movement and she could tell he would never catch that butterfly. Such a shame, she thought. Pulling off butterfly wings was always such fun and this was a real beauty.
What was she going to do with this useless little kitty? It would never defeat her and fighting an unfair battle would just be against the cat battle code.
She would just have to train it, she supposed. Of course, she wouldn’t train it too well. She wanted to win. Nena would train it just enough that it would be able to give her a true fight. Then she could defeat it without repercussions from the League of Cat Jousting.
Yes, there were rules to this sort of thing. The rules were fairly simple.
1. Give Fair Warning. (growl, spit, fluff out your fur)
2. Only fight if the other cat can fight back.
Yup, those are the rules. And this was a rule No.2 exception.
Just as she came to this conclusion the back door opened and the heater human called them in. It was gushy food time.
Nena ignored Morris as they ran past the human and into the kitchen, where the meaty treat was dispensed. There were two little white plates side-by-side on the floor. On each was a delightful dollop of juicy meat.
Nena picked the left and Morris the right and they both began gobbling away. Nom nom nom.
After dinner, Nena went into the bedroom and jumped from the floor to the window ledge. She settled in and cleaned her paws and face, getting rid of any lingering traces of dinner. She was in the window for a reason. She wanted to say goodbye to the sun. As she greeted it in the morning, she said goodbye each evening.
The blue began to fade from the sky and red returned as she watched the fireball descend.
She heard a thud as Morris jumped up to join her. I’ll train you little one, then the true battle begins, she thought. Then, she dismissed him and turned back just in time to see the last of the sun settle in for the night.
When she turned her head back she found herself looking down at the tiny kitten who had snuggled up to her chest. She bent down and began to clean its face. A strange rumble built in her chest as her tongue slipped over his dirty fur and a purr burst forth from her.
She didn’t know why, but somehow she felt more complete as she looked down at this little orange and white furball. Could she have been lonely, she thought? Well, it didn’t matter, she wasn’t going to be anymore.
Training starts tomorrow, little one, she thought. She continued to purr as Morris fell asleep against her.
Nena lay curled next to her human, happily snoring the night away. She loved her bed and the human made a wonderful heater. The only annoying thing was that it would move around during the night. But she was used to it.
The human would turn over in the night leaving her exposed to the wild elements in her room. Without thinking, she would get up and gracefully leap over the fat man and land into the curve he made between his head and knees. Back to sleep.
Every morning she would wake just as the first sign of light would turn the sky outside the window a shade of gray. It wasn’t enough light to really see color, but enough to see the room around her. Well, enough for a human. She saw equally well at night and in day. Poor pathetic heaters. Humans were such a poor species. They couldn’t jump worth anything. They barely had fur and their ridiculous two-legged walking was beyond ridiculous.
Still, they did open food cans and provide good heating surfaces for her to rest on, so she let them stay at her house.
With a lithe, sinuous jump Nena sailed over her human and landed on the floor with an almost inaudible thump. She walked to the door that led to the laundry room and grabbed the bottom corner. With a quick flip, she sent the door swinging open and glided through it. She passed through the laundry room and into the kitchen, her paws making slight plopping sounds as the pads pounded off the linoleum.
Nena had a purpose and she would not be denied. Every morning for as long as she could remember she would wake up at the first sign of dawn and make her way through the kitchen and into the dining room. Ignore anything and everything going on around her until she reached the ledge that surrounded the east-facing windows.
Now, of course, Nena didn’t know what east was. Heck, she didn’t know what a laundry room was, but she did know what she wanted.
She gathered herself, feeling the muscles in her haunches tighten with anticipation. Nena released those coiled muscles and leaped to the ledge and stuck her nose through the slats in the vertical blinds. She settled in.
Beyond the window she could feel the slight chill of an early spring morning. It braced her and focused her. Her attention was fixed down to the end of the street that T-boned in front of her house.
The sky slowly grew brighter, the gray giving way to a soft red-yellow. Then, as she did every day, she thrilled to see the large ball of fire peek out from the horizon. It was all over in just a few minutes, but it was unchanging and its beauty grabbed at something primal inside her. Dawn, the sun, the beginning of another day, spoke to this small gray calico cat with the orange and white spotted face with a fierce passion.
It filled her with life and set the pattern for her day. Nena felt her life was perfect when she saw the sun make its daily appearance. She greeted the day and her life with enthusiasm.
Back to the lazy human’s bedroom, she jumped back into bed and walked over to the still snoozing man. She carefully crept up to his ear and stuck her nose in. Nena didn’t quite touch him, know that would startle him awake. Instead she gave a quick meow and pulled back, sitting down expectantly.
It had the desired effect. The human woke with a slightly puzzled look on his face. Well, alright, he always had a slightly puzzled look, but this one was a little more puzzly than normal.
He sat up, the top cover falling away to showcase his Dodgers T-shirt and boxers. Truly, the PJs of champions. Nena had a good sense of the ironic.
Nena just sat back and waited patiently for the human to gain his senses and let her out.
He struggled to get moving for a couple minutes, sitting at the edge of the bed pushing his long head fur out of his eyes. Nena was always fascinated with the massive shag of fur on top of its head and relative lack of hair elsewhere. Who made these strange creatures, she thought.
Of course all that came out of her sharp-toothed muzzle was a querulous “Rrrrowwwwrrr?” But the point was still valid.
With a mighty heave, the gooey man heaved himself upright and started stumbling towards the back door in the laundry room.
Nena lightly landed beside him and jogged to the door with a bouncy grace, looking back to make sure that the large lump wasn’t going to tumble over on her. With a flick of his wonderful opposable thumbs, the human undid the deadbolt and opened the door. Nena thought she should look into getting herself some thumbs, it would be nice to open her own food cans.
She bounded out into the early morning coolness with glee.
The backyard was a wild pleasure jungle for Nena. The overgrown grass was perfect for lurking and hunting. She could look for tasty schmousies or lovely lizards or just chase butterflies with abandon. In the planters that surrounded the backyard low bushes hid hidey holes where she could stash her prey, because she wasn’t allowed to take them into the house.
It was rude of the human to deny her the chance to bring her prizes in, but she allowed him this prissy side.
All in all, Nena’s life was perfect. She had food and water whenever she wanted it, a warm bed and a human heater to keep her company. She had a backyard to hunt in and lay around on a sunny day. She didn’t need anything.
She wasn’t even lonely when the heater would disappear for most of the day. She almost always had the sun for company. A constant companion that followed her through the day, giving her light to see her prey, warmth to take a nap in and something to always watch over her.
She was satisfied.
As she lay in the grass, hoping for something to make the mistake of coming into her backyard, the human came out, got into his wheeled thing and left.
It was a little odd because it was still very early in the day for the human to be lumbering around outside. But she didn’t really give it much thought. Heaters often did things like that. They would come and go without warning, come back late or even pretend to ignore you when they sat at the box with screen and keyboard.
Nena didn’t much care what they did as long as they were quiet.
Besides, it was morning nap time. She stretched out and dreamed of delicious schmice. If only humans understood how yummy they were. They were finer than the finest filet mignon. The only thing tastier is tuna. If they knew about it, her schmousie treats wouldn’t be safe.
The sound of the car coming up the driveway and into the garage in the backyard woke Nena up.
She held her head up just in time to see the human walk into the house with a box. Hmmm, Nena liked boxes. You could play in them. She got up and walked towards the back door. The human closed it before she could get there.
How rude. She let out a loud “grrrowwwrmeow” to get his attention, so he would let her in.
He ignored her, or didn’t hear her. No, she thought, he was ignoring her. He usually opened the door as soon as she asked.
With a pout, she sat down on the steps by the back door and waited for the human to let her in.
When that didn’t happen right away she resorted to scratching at the door and meowing in a loud voice. This was her house gosh darnit and she wanted in.
Something definitely wasn’t right. She could hear the human moving around in her house. He just wasn’t letting her in.
After about half an hour later, the human opened the door and Nena immediately knew what was wrong. She could smell it. Something was in her house. Something that shouldn’t be there.
The human was talking at her, but she didn’t need to be told what was in there. There was another cat in her house. Intolerable.
“Now, Nena, before you come in you should know that I got us a new kitty. His name is Morris. I thought it wasn’t fair for you to be alone all the time so I got you a friend,” the doughy heater said to her. “He’s just a kitty right now, but he’ll grow up to be your best friend.”
Nena stood at the edge of the open door and the stink of the new cat washed over her. Pure evil. That’s what it was. A familiar, but wrong, stench was mixing with her lovely scent. It was fouling her home.
Her tail fattened up and the hair on her back stood on end as she walked into the house. She was ready for the intruder’s attack.
Then she saw it peeking around the corner of the dining room table. No doubt it was hoping to take her by surprise and rip her throat out and claim her comfy bed as her own.
It was smaller than Nena. Really just about 5 months old. It’s small body was covered with orange and white tiger stripes. From behind one of the dining room kitchen legs, its big, bulbous head peeked. Horrendous green eyes bore into Nena, looking for her weak points.
Nena slunk her way into the kitchen, her eyes locking with the other cat. Then it moved from behind the table leg, and Nena jumped straight up giving out
a “ROOOOOOOWWERRRRR!”
She skittered back to the back door, which had closed behind her. Nena stayed there as Morris the Destroyer fully revealed himself. Besides his bulbous head and glowing, deadly eyes, his massive paws looked like they could rip her face off with just a single swipe.
Nena was in danger.
The human walked over to the new cat and reached down to give it scratchies.
Morris “mrrrowwwred” with false humility and pretended to accept the scratchies.
“Nena, why don’t you come over here and say “Hi” to your new friend? He wants to play with you,” the human said in its dull voice.
How could it not see? This was all a ruse, Nena thought. It was just lulling the human into a sense of calm before taking him out. Did this foolish heater know nothing of the hunt?
Nena felt trapped by the back door and a low rumbling growwwwl escaped her throat.
Then the human picked up Morris of Doom and walked over to the washing machine.
Oh, NO!!??!!, Nena thought. He wouldn’t.
He did.
The man placed the interloper on top of the washing machine, where Nena’s food and water dishes were. And Morris the Deadly began to crunch away. From the munchy crunchy sounds, Nena knew that it was doing it just to bait her into trying an attack.
She wasn’t going to fall for it. Nena left and made her way to the comfy bed. She would make her stand there.
Once safely ensconced amongst the pillows and rumpled bed sheets, Nena waited the doombringer.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, it continued as though it were actually hungry. Nena knew better, it was just trying to eat up her food so she would starve. Ha, fat chance, Nena thought. I know where the crunchies are. The only food Nena couldn’t get to was the gushy kind. Human had to open that with his opposable thumbs.
Damn, those opposable thumbs. If I had them right now, I’d choke that stupid heater human, Nena wished with a ferocious thought.
This was starting to take some time. When was it going to attack?
She peeked around the corner and saw the human was giving it more scratchies. DAMN, she thought.
Oh, well, no reason to wait, it was afternoon nap time. So she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
It could have been days, or 20 minutes later, when she awoke from her refreshing nap. She was warm and felt the snuggle of a heat source. It was nice, it wasn’t as overwhelming as the human. It was small and furry and up against her.
That’s when Nena’s memory kicked in. To her horror, snuggled up against her, snoring away, was Morris the Debauched. She didn’t know what to do. Should she kill it? It was vulnerable. Who knows when she was going to get another chance.
Suddenly it yawned and the rows of sharp, deadly, teeth glistened in the afternoon sun.
Nena fled to the back door and meowed to be let out. If only she could get outside, she would have the advantage. Luckily, the human was quick and let her out into the jungle of the backyard, where she could plan her attack.
Into the tall weeds and grass she disappeared. This was her hunting ground, her kill zone. No stray cat of death would defeat her here.
A couple minutes later, the door opened again and Morris appeared, ready to bring his doom.
As Nena watched him from the tall grass, she considered the many ways she could take him down. Nip his ears off first, then blind him and hamstring him, that would be the slow way.
No, No, Nena thought. It should be quick and decisive. Go for the throat, like her instincts told her. That was the best way. All she needed was for Morris the Dufus to walk into the grass.
Morris edged around on the concrete patio, looking nervous and sniffing around. No doubt, he knows death stalks him, Nena thought.
Morris walked up to the edge of the grass, but refused to walk in.
It has some rudimentary sense, Nena realized. Well, she would just have to goad him into joining her in the grass.
She slinked and slunk silently through the grass, making sure to keep the long strands from moving too much. Closer and closer she moved. Almost there. Almost there. Within range. Pounce.
Morris the Dunce was caught completely by surprise. But then, so was Nena. She expected a fight, but she realized as she reached the zenith of her graceful, deadly, pounce that the stupid cat was just cowering. So she landed in front of the balled-up Morris and sat down.
He peeked out from his balled up position and she lightly popped him on the head with her deadly Paw of DOOM. And the fight was on. Morris the Devil pounced back. That trickster, he was playing scared, the whole time.
His massive paws wrapped around her neck and she knew she was dead. How stupid of me, Nena thought.
But, all he did was wrestle with her for a minute and lightly bite her. It didn’t even hurt. Then he bounded away to prepare another attack.
Seriously? That’s the best he’s got, thought Nena. She walked back into the grass jungle, confused.
Once she was carefully concealed again, she carefully thought about her opponent. He was small. Too small. He must be a youngling. Maybe, he wasn’t a challenger to her. No, she thought. That’s what he wants you to think. He’s the devil. I’m sure, she thought.
Yes, that’s right. Cats know about the Devil. Haven’t you ever seen them just staring off into space and reacting for no reason? It’s because they can see the devils and angels that walk amongst us. They know all about it. They are supposed to warn us of the evil that lurks out there. Problem is, they’re cats. They don’t exactly follow orders very well.
Anyway, it was mid-late afternoon nap time, so Nena fell asleep.
MMMMMMMMrrrrrowwwr, Nena said and stretched her whole body out as she woke up from her nap. Nothing better than a mid-late afternoon nap, she thought. Unless it’s an early-late afternoon nap. Oh, alright, all naps were good.
Nena’s senses instantly shot to Red Alert as the grass moved shushed and moved. Damn, she thought, it’s making its move.
A butterfly flew past her nose, it’s yellow and orange wings flapping for all it was worth. Right behind it, galumphing like a fool, came Morris.
Nena took one look at his awkward running and noisy, wasted movement and she could tell he would never catch that butterfly. Such a shame, she thought. Pulling off butterfly wings was always such fun and this was a real beauty.
What was she going to do with this useless little kitty? It would never defeat her and fighting an unfair battle would just be against the cat battle code.
She would just have to train it, she supposed. Of course, she wouldn’t train it too well. She wanted to win. Nena would train it just enough that it would be able to give her a true fight. Then she could defeat it without repercussions from the League of Cat Jousting.
Yes, there were rules to this sort of thing. The rules were fairly simple.
1. Give Fair Warning. (growl, spit, fluff out your fur)
2. Only fight if the other cat can fight back.
Yup, those are the rules. And this was a rule No.2 exception.
Just as she came to this conclusion the back door opened and the heater human called them in. It was gushy food time.
Nena ignored Morris as they ran past the human and into the kitchen, where the meaty treat was dispensed. There were two little white plates side-by-side on the floor. On each was a delightful dollop of juicy meat.
Nena picked the left and Morris the right and they both began gobbling away. Nom nom nom.
After dinner, Nena went into the bedroom and jumped from the floor to the window ledge. She settled in and cleaned her paws and face, getting rid of any lingering traces of dinner. She was in the window for a reason. She wanted to say goodbye to the sun. As she greeted it in the morning, she said goodbye each evening.
The blue began to fade from the sky and red returned as she watched the fireball descend.
She heard a thud as Morris jumped up to join her. I’ll train you little one, then the true battle begins, she thought. Then, she dismissed him and turned back just in time to see the last of the sun settle in for the night.
When she turned her head back she found herself looking down at the tiny kitten who had snuggled up to her chest. She bent down and began to clean its face. A strange rumble built in her chest as her tongue slipped over his dirty fur and a purr burst forth from her.
She didn’t know why, but somehow she felt more complete as she looked down at this little orange and white furball. Could she have been lonely, she thought? Well, it didn’t matter, she wasn’t going to be anymore.
Training starts tomorrow, little one, she thought. She continued to purr as Morris fell asleep against her.
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