archive:stories:bulmrx
They Don't Come Any Larger
Chapter One in the continuing adventures of Mr.X
It was a cold night in Sabre city. The kind of night
when honest citizens huddled close in their homes, watching
"Moonlighting" and drinking kool-aid. The wind blew threw
the barren trees forming visages from the countless bad
horror movies we all go to see. But a few people did dare to
walk the streets. Yes, the geeks, noids, and depraved all
dared, they didn't have the brains not to. Who could keep
the teenagers, partyers, and criminals behind bars? But more
insidious than the rest was doc Skin and his portly co-hort
The Berg.
Yea, It was up to me, Mr.X, the Sam spade, David
Adison, and Dick Tracy; of this two-bit city, to keep these
city slime in line. I was sitting behind my desk in my
$100,000 office kicking back when a new case came bursting
in. It was Ma Shlepberg, a local rep. for a sporting goods
company. The company was an off-shoot of a mental brew-thru
owned by none other than doc Skin. She was quick to talk
telling me that the doc was trying to muscle her out of her
new position because she new too much. Simple case, familiar
plot. No sweat. I took the case, I was going to nail these
lying bunch of non's once and for all!
My first step was to gather dirt on these dweebes. I
picked up the 'ol raprod and called the local P.W.N.B.T.D.
(people with nothing better to do) office. Hell, I was going
to need help and this was the best place to find it. I
talked to a guy who gave me the names of a "few good men"
willing to help. I called up the people on the list and told
them what was up. Only four guys volunteered. Fine by me, I
didn't need any wimps on my team, people who couldn't take
the heat.
We fanned out across the city to find what we needed. I
grabbed my Nikon Super Automated Do-Everything camera, my
all purpose 17 to 500mm lens, and of course my .50 Calibre
auto pistol in case somebody wanted to give themselves
trouble. I headed down to corporate HQ to confront doc Skin
and his henchmen. As I drove up I noticed the sign on the
building-Adolescent Instructional Brain Cramming Corporation-
"We're good at what we do and we're fair too." I laughed at
this as I parked and went up to see the big guy.
The receptionist was just what you would expect, tall,
blond, and perfect. Just the kind of girl you'd like to- no,
later, back to the story. She wasn't to keen about letting
me in but I persuaded her by just ignoring her and going
right on in.
"What's the meaning of this?" barked the doc.
"I'm here on the behalf of Ma Shlepberg," "I know what
you're up to but it won't work, you're through in this town
bucko so pack your bags!"
I snapped a few pictures as his head turned a bright
red. He drew a Big Gun from the top drawer of his desk.
This, I thought, would be a very good time to leave.
I floored my car out of the garage with three old,
black, Lincoln "biscanes" on my tail and a hail of bullets
raining down on all sides. BOOM, was the only sound I heard
as my 1965 Corvette Stingray lost a tire and careened off
the road and into a large ice cream truck, sending
tutti-fruti everywhere. I pulled my way out of the wreckage
and watched with ddoouubbllee vision as cars tore off down
the street in the opposite direction from which I came. Yes,
I realized, my patented Acme Hero Anti-Death Suit had saved
my life yet again. They were going to pay dearly for this,
"they ruined all that tutti-fruiti and broke my camera," I
thought, as I sunk into an black oblivion...
The moist touch of a towel awoke me from my 72 hour
sleep. My head felt as if an elephant with hiccups had sat
on it. Take it from me, it's not a nice feeling. As I forced
my eyes open to view my towel bearing savior, the words
"ooh, dat eesh niice!!!!" came to mind. She was a vision.
5'6". Brunette. Brown eyes and a bod to match it all. "Move
over Annete Funichello", I thought.
"I'm Bessie", she purred. "Dont try to get up", she said, as
I did just that. "you've got a terrible boo boo on your
head".
Well, following the rules of being a "tough guy" I
ignored her pleas and forced my self back into my slick
Anti-Death Suit. She fixed me a little breakfast (which the
FDA would probably have put into quarantine) and told me
just the facts. According to her, she found me trapped under
only what could be described as a sickly looking, blue, 1976
Toyota Mark II. Using her "muscles in all the right places,"
she dragged me free and into her pink, convertible,
volkswagon bug. She brought me home , cleaned the
tutii-fruti out of my ears and put me to bed.
As I strapped on my pistol and all the other nifty dyno
gadgets I carry with me, Bessie slunk her way over to me.
"Let me go with you, I've always wanted to live a life of
danger," she said.
I just couldn't tell her that eating her cooking was
just that, so I consented to let her come along. We hopped
into her other car, a slick looking Ford Tempo. A real
get-up-and-go-nowhere-machine, 0-60 in 3.8 minutes. I used
her "Cellular One" as we sped down route 66 back towards the
big city. I called the guys that were doing my dirty work
and told them to meet me at my office for a big pow wow-war
council.
After a long and dangerous trip (women drivers!), we
made it back to my office. Sending Bessie out of the room, I
got everyone's attention and got down to business. Lance
Speedstick informed me that we could expect to get any aid
necessary from the homosexuals and transvestites of the
underground in cracking this case. And they would all love
to "kiss ass" to help; scratch that area of info,
definitely! Next was I.R. Cool, our liaison to the cities
teens. They were smart kids, they new nothing and had
learned it all in high school. Unless it dealt with parties
and alcohol you could count them out. Biff Appleton had
talked to the yuppies of the area. No good, they were all
worried about what color wall paper to put up and paying off
their new BMW's. Last but not least Senator J.D. Bedfellow
had contacted the local politicians, all of which refused to
comment unless they were being indited. This was a blow, it
looked like I was going to have to do all the butt kicking
my self! Lord knows I was just the guy to do it.
I adjourned my meeting and took Bessie with me back to
my apartment to get all my supper bad guy beating equipment.
As we drove along I reflected upon my long career...well, so
maybe this was my first case. I studied under Sherlock
Holmes, yea, that's the ticket. We arrived at my penthouse
to find it gone, along with the rest of the building. Forgot
to lock it up...Well at least I knew what my next case was.
That was the last straw, I was mad, and the only person to
take it out on was doc Skin and The Berg. As we pulled up in
front of their corporate office, I slipped into my new
Acme-Battle Suit. With a hearty "Up, up, and gone!" I flew
out of the car and into the 80th story window (I really wish
they'd open the windows in these stupid stories!) to face my
foes. "It's a pigeon, it's the Concord, NO! it's Shtupor
Man!!!"
I went right into action, with a giant "S" on my chest
and a billowing pink cape.
"Hold it right there you "Aunt Jamima" looking somebodies!"
First, knowing that the bullets from my .50 cal. pistol
would never penetrate the fat on the Berg, I lifted him up
and threw him out the window to land with a large "splat!"
on the roof of a taxi 80 stories bellow. Bang, the sound of
a gun shot! Doc Skin smiles as a Ronco Mini-nuke smashes me
in the chest doing full damage. Ouch! Faulty #$'&% damn
suit! And I lost the warranty too. But never fear my super
good guy power prevailed as I lunged at the laughing form of
doc Skin.
"This is for the people and all those other kumquats
everywhere!" I screamed as I fired round after round into
his shiny dome looking head. He fought back hard, hitting me
with a large kosher salami stick. In the end though, he just
couldn't beat me.
"Gurgle, glup, ach, phtt," gasped the mangy form of doc
Skin. Victory at last!
Epilogue
Well another case through. Ma Shlepberg is now
president of the brain mashing firm. The Berg was used to
fill pot holes around town. And you can bet he filled them
all! I sit here, gorgeous babe at my side with my feet
propped up on doc Skin's hide, a real nice rug. Not to
shabby for a stud and a half like myself...
To be continued!
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Murder in the Cesspool
Chapter Two in the continuing adventures of Mr.X
I was in the jungle. The heat was unbearable. The
mosquitoes were biting like blood sucking beasts. I lost 10
pounds in an hour. I chopped through the jungle but in five
minutes it would grow back. I could hear the tribal drums
beating. Dooom, dooom....dooom, dooom...things weren't
looking good, the natives were getting closer...doom duda
duda doom ding-dang a walla-walla bing-bang...
"Bessie turn down that radio!".
False alarm I thought as I turned off the Hypno 3-D
climate control. The room faded back into the familiar high
class ritzy-do place it was.
Things had been slow these days until the phone rang.
"Bring, Bring." Whata coincidence, eh? I picked up the ol'
raprod to hear the bellowing voice of Capt. Lardbucket. He
explained that they had a case right up my alley. Simple yet
difficult. Easy yet hard. Totally ridiculous. A man had been
found down at the old Cesspool boat house with a "Twinkie"
lodged in his skull. Hmmm, this was interesting.
"Ok, Ill crack it wide open, just send me some help, all my
regulars are on vacation. Suit up Bess, We've got a case on
our hands thats a real hum dinger."
Bess looked real hot in her one size to small Acme
Heroine-Anti Death Suit, as we jumped into our super speed
Ford Tempo. Normal time to the boat house in heavy traffic
was 10 minutes, but in our suped-up baby it took us 45.
The place was a hole and crewies were everywhere. Our
police liaison, Special Agent Kay was already there beating
the info out of these jocks.
"I'm Kay, just call me Special."
He had a young looking, intense eyed, red head in tow
who he explained saw the murder.
"Spill it," I said as she did just that by throwing up on my
shoes.
"Gee, that wasn't nice." sighed Bess. The excitement was to
much for "Red".
"I'm real sorry Mr.X, I'm Robyn, I take care of the place
for the owner, old man Dugwump."
"Just the facts mam." I sighed.
"Here's what I know: I was out back storing oars and all
that other crew jazz when I heard a spine chilling scream. I
turned and ran towards the noise where I saw a man slam a
large "Twinkie" into the victims head."
That was either one strong "Twinkie" or one soft head,
I thought. I wanted to examine the body but it had already
been fed to the hungry light weight rowers. That reminds me,
I haven't had lunch.
On my meager budget we stopped at Le Sleazebag
Ristoraunt for a quick repast and then it was on to old man
Dugwumps to see what he had to say. Dugwump wasn't very
interested in talking, but we convinced him he'd like to
cooperate with us by having Bess blow down his front door
with a Ronco Economy size Disposable Bazooka. I just love a
babe who can make me feel sooo niiish and handle one of
those babies too. He said he knew nothing, but we didn't buy
that. We decided to search the dump he lived in and see if
we couldn't find something to nail him on. Special Kay
sniffed out the "Twinkies" in a sec. They were hidden under
his "Fruit of the Looms" next to his rubber duck. "You've
found me out, but you'll never take me alive!"
It all happened in an instant. Dugwump snatched a
petrified "Twinkie" from Special's hand and proceeded to
hold it to Bess's head.
"Ok you bung's, anyone moves and the dame gets it!" What
could I do? I could shoot through Bess killing 'Wump, but
that could get messy.
"It's your move Dugwump," I sneered.
"I'm getting out of here and she's my ticket, as for you all
, your history!" Uh oh, I didnt like the sound of that...
Next thing I knew we were all tied up, literally, with
an old B&W T.V playing the current days soaps, this was
worse than being strapped to a bomb! There was only one
thing to do! I carefully removed the All Purpose Cutting
Tool from my Dyno-utility Belt. My bonds were broken and I
proceeded to smash that damn boob tube into a million
pieces. VRooom, Screech, was the sound that greeted us as
'Wump tore off down the street in my hot Ford Tempo, Bess
trapped in the trunk. I had no car. How was I going to win
this one? This was one of those times when there is only one
thing that states all the facts: "Oh, shit!"
Enough standing around, it was time to move, save the
dame and beat the bad guy! A quick but thorough search found
us a bicycle. This would have to do. Special Kay pumped the
pedals while I rode "shotgun" on the handle bars. It was all
up hill, but through amazing biking or incredible luck we
managed to catch up with 'Wump.
"Faster, faster!" I screamed as Kay shifted gears and pumped
harder.
'Wump decided to get tricky by going off road and down
the side of a hill towards a small highway. Have you ever
rode a bike down a flight of stairs? Thats my interpretation
of our ride down the hill as we weaved in and out of trees
and assorted bushes. Once we hit the highway it was full
speed ahead and into high gear as I readied my means of
stopping the fleeing car ahead. I snapped the safety off on
my Extra-Compact Ronco Pocket-Machinegun. Budda-budda-budda,
was the sound as hot brass flew over my shoulder and lead
into the rear windshield of the tempo. Screeech, smash!! As
the the car ran off the road and into a fire hydrant,
killing several small dogs and causing a large fountain of
water to form over the dead car. Destroying public property,
that does it! Dugwump was mine!
Special skidded to a halt in front of the car just as
Bess kicked the trunk lid open. You can never keep a good
women down...We quickly went to work sorting through the
wreckage in search of Dugwump. It wasn't a pretty sight.
Evidently when the crash occurred 'Wump was holding one of
the murder weapons in his hand as he drove, preparing to
throw it at us no doubt. But when he crashed , his head was
thrown into the steering wheel and into the "Twinkie" held
in his hand, killing him instantly. We couldn't find enough
of him to fill a dixie cup. That'll teach him to wear his
seat belt!
There wasn't anything left for us here, but I had a
hunch that this case wasn't over just yet. We hopped on the
scooter and faded back to my place to think things over.
"Somethings just not right about this whole thing," I
thought. I was pondering this whole mess, playing a few
games of Pac-Man with Bess while Special ate me out of house
and home, when it came to me-"Eureka!" I exclaimed.
"Mphttt?!" Cried Special through a mouthful of "Hostess Ding-
Dongs".
"Grab your hats people theres a mystery to be solved!" We
took the express elevator down to the garage and hopped into
Specials parked Ford Taurus. Special floored it out of the
garage, the car shifting gears like a sling shot, giving me
and Bess minor cases of whiplash.
We shot on over to the dame we had talked to earlier's
house to give her the third, fourth, and fifth degree. The
door to the place was already open. It was dark, and so
quiet you could hear me thinking. Click. Blam-blam-budda-
budda-boom! Tinkle, tinkle, crash. Suddenly theres light.
"Oops,"says Special.
"You can say that again."
"Oops."
"You've successfully killed a parakeet, one china cabinet,
three old Elvis Presley glasses, and a small, defenseless,
stuffed, "Teddy Ruxpin."" Oh well, Special was his name...
"All you had to do was knock, detective," Robyn said as she
slunk in from the other room.
"Ok sister, tell us the whole truth; I know that you're
holding more than your stomach back!"
"What do you mean!" she exclaimed.
"Dont play dumb with me babe, it wont work, I'm dumber than
you are so I can see right through your little scheme.
Dugwump was your lover who you finagled into doing your
dirty work for you, if he got caught, you'd still be in the
pink. The man he murdered was the only other person
qualified to cox the winning, nationally famous, light
weight four, besides your self, of course. And you wanted it
all, fame, power,and glory, but you didn't count on me and
my superior intellect figuring out this plot. Pack, it up
babe, your doing hard time!"
"You'll never take me alive!"
"Well what ever, doesn't matter to me."
And we were off, the chase was on! Robyn ran from the
room thru the doorway with us right on her tail. It's a
wonder what the though of jail will do to make one run so
fast. We had gotten down the stairs and onto the dock of the
old boat house (which was conveniently placed right next to
her house) just in time to watch her jump into a motor boat
and go tearing out into the Poluteomac river as if jaws was
after her. And lucky us, there wasn't another boat anywhere
in sight! Time to strain the old brain and come up with
another save the day plan...Hey, why not use my Acme-Battle
Suit?! Goggles on, the next thing I knew I was zooming along
the waters surface like a human torpedo.
"Hurry up, stupid, she's getting away," special yelled from
his water skiing position behind me.
"Bess, use your Ronco-Bazooka, and stop her already!"
From her position on Special's shoulders, she'd have a
great shot at our little murderess. FOOMP-Woosh, and another
case was through.
Epilogue
Well, another one done. The dames doing hard time
busting rocks at the pen. She confessed to everything,
saying that she couldn't take anymore of this silly story.
Anyway, she was still going to be rich and famous by the
time she got done suing me for the destruction of her
priceless Elvis Presly McDonalds glasses. As for Special, he
was a great help and he should recover fine from his little
tango with the buoy we hit, he may walk a little stiff
legged for a few weeks, but that wont stop Special. Bess,
she's still a little wet be hind the ears but a dry towel
and some chicken noodle soup will cure that. As for me, it's
miller time and so with that it's back to my jungle, a place
where I can escape the one outside on the streets, boom-
dadda-boom-ding-dang, "Bess!"...
To be continued...
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A Pop in the Chops
-Chapter Three in the continuing adventures of Mr.X-
Things had been good to me lately, my reputation as a
crime fighter was spreading all across the city like the
plague. The Mayor had been kind enough to give me a key to
the city, nice, since I was always locking myself out. I had
even been asked to appear on the 200th annual Jerry Lewis
Telethon with the national poster child for homosexuality,
Michael Jackson. And it seemed even the neighborhood dogs
liked me since I hadn't came up with a wet ankle on the way
to my car in weeks...Yes crime was down.
As I sat and cleaned my fancy highly expensive camera
equipment, the phone rang. Bring, bring. "Wah wawa wah, wah
wah."
Click. "Captain Lardbucket needs you right away down at the
precinct, sweetie, something about bodies exploding."
"Ok Bess, I'll get my gear and we'll get going."
"Sorry dear, I have a roast in the oven, so you'll just have
to take care of this one your self." Darn. Whata bummer, no
good looking dame on this mission.
After I refreshed my self with a little physical
pick-me-up and said good-bye to 'Bess, I hopped into the
elevator to the garage to get in my new car! The sight of it
gave me "duckpimples," it was a beautiful, bright, cherry
red, hearse with a big, fuel injected, turbo-charged, top of
the line dual exhaust 440 Magnum . I just love lots of
adjectives when it comes to my cars...Strapping myself into
the aircraft style seatbelt and g-suit, I flicked the switch
to start her up. BahROOOM, bludda, bladda, bludda.
Screeeeech, boom, was the sound as I pulled out of the
garage on the way to my next case, leaving ten feet of
rubber and creating a small vacuum behind me. It was good to
be on the open road once again. People greeted me with wild,
happy waves as I cruised down the sidewalks of South Weener
Way Avenue, the wind and exhaust wiping in my face. Police
officers of all ranks jumped up to attention when
I pulled my car up onto steps of the 87th precinct.
Captain Lardbucket was in a state of apoplexy,
screaming at the top of his lungs to the various personnel
who rushed about doing his bidding.
"Glad your here X, this is the evidence, see what you
think." He threw me what appeared to be a five pound bag of
grade "E", ground chuck, extremely rare.
"Thats whats left of the victim, he was identified by his
girl as Alex Lyman." Needless to say the bag proceeded to
make a sickly splat, louder than the remains of my lunch, as
it struck the floor.
I recomposed myself and prepared to get down to
business. Lardbucket, decided to tell me the whole history,
so I to could see how stupid this was. Lyman was a local
crew stud down at the Old Cesspool Boathouse. He had a lot
of potential to go places as long as he didn't blow it. Uh
yea. His only weaknesses were his love for art and
chocolate, yes, he was a chocoholic. He would do anything to
get his fix: eat it, smell it, even shoot it up directly, a
sick habit that many GiveAdamnericans had. His evil habit
shortly caused the rotting out of his teeth as he lost his
self will and forgot to brush. About a week ago he was
fitted with dentures, false choppers. Everything went fine
until this morning when he was forced to eat hard candy
because of a lack of "choco" on the market. The official
statement from his ex, (a girl I knew well but hadn't seen
much of lately) Kate, was: "One minute he was sitting on his
bike chomping away, when next, blewie! His whole body was
raining down on the hood of my Volkswaggen Rabbit! Whata
mess, I still cant get all the blood stains out of my
jeans..."
"Can you help X?"
"Yea, I'll solve this one, it sounds interesting, but I'll
be needing some help, my groups busy again."
Lardbucket gave me Special Kay. He wasn't busy, never
was, and anyway, he always loved a little bit of excitement.
As my second replacement 'bucket suggested a guy named
Datta, Tej Datta. I had heard of him, he was a smooth,
totally under control guy, and street smart to boot. I met
both out front. Special was looking jockular and ready,
Datta was cool as ice, chanting lines from the Rolling
Stones tune "Satisfaction". We hopped into the hearse and I
backed out into traffic, people honking with crazed
excitement upon seeing me on the trail of a new mystery.
I decided that the two best possibilities were the hard
candy or dentures, they were the only two things new to his
character. Doing 150mph on 395 at approximately 5:25, we
rocketed towards Lymans apartment. He lived in east b.f.,
better known as Borelington, a suburb located across the
Poluteomac from the District of Confusia. The house was a
mess. Medals, trophies, and ads for ivy league schools such
as Princeton, an area branch of the grand Diesel Institute
of GiveAdamnerica, were everywhere. We spread out to rummage
through the ruble, looking for any clues that could lead us
to an answer. The answer came as a piece of paper lying next
to an old "Hershey Kiss" wrapper. It was an ad for the "Rot
'em and Drop 'em" denture makers, a company known for it's
use of inferior materials. Not suprising since Lyman's habit
would have used up most of his cash and "Re a De" was cheap,
cheap enough to take the poor suckers last dime and give him
less than that back. Now the problem was to find the place
since it was an underground establishment.
"No problem X, I can find it," said Datta. I knew he would
come in handy.
After a quick stop at the "Seven Eleven" for Specials
mid afternoon post lunch pre-dinner snack, we shot towards
Datta's connection at the Crossed Sabres newspaper, a real
rag, nothing like the Northern Virginia Sun or National
Enquirer. Now thats respectful journalism!
The place was crawling with reporters, and worse still,
photographers with big lenses. The kinda people that I felt
right at home with and, as it seemed, Datta's kind of people
also. We headed for the second floor in search of the person
with the info. But, yes, you could of guessed it, a gang of
female admirers attacked us half way up the stairs. I
finally had to drag Datta from the crowd at gun point,
threatening to plug any dame that tried to stop us. That
didn't put me high on their list but at least we got on with
this fool mission. We found his contact hiding out in the
paper's political office. She was tall with curly brown hair
and a smile that would have brought a dead man to life.
"Hi Tej, what can I do for you?" She chimed.
"Hi Kathleen, we need the location of an underground
establishment, and with your knowledge, I figured that you
might have it. Here's the name of the place." With that he
handed her the paper with the name of the dental works on
it.
She set the compromising pictures she held in her hand
down and examined the paper closely.
"Sure, I know where they are, but it'll cost ya. You know
how it is, if they ever found out who told you, they'd kill
me!"
"Ok X, give her the money and get the info, I'm taking
Special with me downstairs to get some photo supplies I
need."
Datta and Special filed out the door and down the
stairs. I reached into my pocket and forked out a "Benjamin
Franklin," and handed it to Kathleen.
"That'll be fine X, the place your looking for is on the
corner of Washed-out boulevard and Kirkwood road. But I
don't know how your going to get into that place, securities
very tight."
"Don't worry about me doll, it'll be a piece of cake!"
"You don't talk much, but some how I believe you, I bet you
can handle your self pretty well, if you have a chance, give
me a call sometime, we'll do lunch." I smiled and headed on
down the stairs to get Tej and Special so we could get over
there and confront these bozo's.
I decided to call it a day and get some rest before the
big finale. I dropped everyone off and headed back to my
penthouse suite. I got home to find Bess sick with a head
ache. Just my luck! The next step before my blessed relief
was to get on the blower and call the people on my special
"support squad" to let them know that I would be needing
their special abilities. Afterwards I leaned back in my easy
chair and thought over my present case and wondered if it
was all worth it. Sure, what the heck, fame, glory, and lots
of money would make any stupid shmuck agree that it was all
worth it, an that was me.
At first light I gathered my men together out behind
the Flab Slab Gym. I was leaving Special behind to guard the
car and and be our back up in case they brought out the big
guns. In his place I was bringing Sasha Ivanchocuv and Steve
Veit, a couple of ace tunnelers, at home in the sewers and
lovin every minute of it.
"So who are we after? Whats the case? Do I get over time?"
"Just shut up Steve and I'll give you the details." Kid asks
to many damn questions. Sheesh. "Ok, the plan is this: we're
going to go in via the storm drain which runs right below
the building, there is a man whole cover that leads right up
into their underground garage. From their we'll take out
their security system and then go looking for evidence. Both
Tej and I have our Super Automated Do-Everything camera's so
we'll be taking shots of whatever we find. Ok?"
"Hmmmm, I think we had better think about this some."
"But it's a perfect plan Sasha, it's the best we've got."
"Hmmm, well..." Theirs just no pleasing people these days.
With that the professionals went to work, Steve used an
old pair of pliers to lift the lid off the sewer, and in we
went, led by the faint beam of light coming from Sahsha's
flashlight. Ahh, just what I love, a nice walk though sewer
water that has detergents, chemicals, animal pollutants and
other foreign items floating in it. Now thats the way to
start a day! It took us only five minutes to reach the man
hole into the building, a little muscle and we were inside.
"Ok you guys, keep it quiet! Steve, stay here and guard the
exit, we'll be right back."
From here it was up the stairs to the Switch box room
that contained the security box.
"Ok Sasha, take care of it."
Blamm, budda, budda, boom, buzz, crack, as Sasha
whipped out his Jennings pocket auto and let the whole mess
have it.
"Well they'll never know we're here now! What a pro!"
Knowing that we would have little time before we were
swamped with more corporate thugs than you could imagine, we
took off to do our thing and blow this popcicle stand before
things got sticky. Wa-ooga, wa-ooga, wa-ooga. Well maybe we
had no time. We took the next five flights of stairs in a
dead sprint and turned smack dab into what we were looking
for.
The room was filled with billlleeons and billleeons of
false teeth waiting to be put into the dentures that the
many poor fogies and troubled people of the city needed. Tej
went to work right away firing away with his camera and
motor drive, sounding more impressive than a submachine gun.
I decided to inspect a box that appeared to contain the
materials that were used in making the teeth. H-I-G-H E-X-P-
L-O-S-I-V-E-S (please keep out of the reach of children). As
I snapped a few pictures of my find every thing fell into
place, while, at the same time, everything else fell apart.
"Gang way, incoming," were the words Tej yelled as about 15
guards opened up with their Acme power guns, doing their
best to turn us into swiss cheese.
Three against fifteen, was not my idea of even odds,
which meant I was going to have to do one of my amazing
super good guy stunts if we were going to get out of this
one alive. As my partners blazed away with their guns, I
drew my .50 caliber autopistol with "butt kicking rounds"
and returned fire. The enemy dropped back in abject terror
as we pressed forward in our attempt to escape. Not being
good with guns, Tej shot out the various inanimate objects
that stood between us and freedom, many of the enemy
succumbing to his evil plan, falling over in fit's of
uncontrollable laughter. Whata plan! Just like something I
would have come up with. The light of day greeted us like a
flash bulb in the face as we dashed to the awaiting safety
of our get away car.
It had all fit into place, this case was more
diabolical than I thought. I proceeded to explain my
solution to Capt. Lardbucket, my colleges standing to the
side smiling, knowing that I was a true genius. First I told
the Captain about the clues we had found and our little
escapades to the secret establishment. After developing the
pictures that both Tej and I had snapped before the fire
fight, the real clincher clue became apparent. The large
warning that said "explosives" was in plain view. This made
us look at things a little more closely, where we found the
words "C-5" burned into the box. Plastic explosives. Easy to
get a hold of at your local Army base and it molds real
easy. It seems that the firm's scientists had come up with a
way to semi-harden the explosive so that it could be used to
make the dentures.
They also knew that the people most likely to come to
them were "choco" addicts, so if the C-5 didn't hold up, it
wouldn't matter since they would be to stoned to complain.
"But what caused the explosion and the death of the victim!"
"Elementary my dear Lardbucket; the hard candy."
"Lets not get fresh now."
"Ummm, just pay attention."
I continued to explain that they were making the
dentures for the punishment of eating a constant diet of
chocolate. They didn't expect a shortage of the drug and the
turning of it's users to a harder substance. The cracking of
the hard candy acted as a sort of blasting cap on the
modified C-5.
"And there you have it, blewie."
Epilogue
The police snapped right to it, they called in the
101st Airborne and stormed the place. Since most of those
military types are real rough necks, they brought in the
heavy artillery. The next thing you knew they were really
airborne. Oh well, they got the bad guys too. To the
amazement of everyone, the victims ex-girl friend, Kate,
joined the local chapter of Chocoholics Anonymous, she to
had become a victim of this dreadful addiction. As for me, I
shot on back to the old ritzy-do penthouse, people waving
wildly as I drove by, happy that I had solved another one
and hadn't run over them in the process. Home to the
awaiting arms of my beloved babe, and that was heaven
enough...
To be continued...!
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Zepplin for the Road
-Chapter Four in the continuing adventures of Mr.X-
I lay on my couch, wondering where my next meal ticket
was coming from. Yes, once again things were slow, crime was
down and it was all my fault! I'm just to good. Oh well, at
least I know it, the bigger the ego the better. Yea...
The afternoon sun filtered it's way through the
darkened room and onto the "waterford crystal" glass panes
in my door. The sun felt warm on my face easing me into a
deep sleep, then the door to my apartment opened. My full
attention was suddenly focused on the girl standing in the
doorway, and the 90 decibel alarm horn going off above her
head, which I, of course, promptly shot off the wall with my
.50 cal. auto pistol. She walked towards me, door closing
behind her. I sat up and pulled on my shoulder holster,
knowing that a new case had just walked in.
"Mister X?" She said, removing her sunglasses at the same
time. She was around five-four, dark hair with deep brown
eyes that spoke of the orient.
I looked her over trying to get a first impression on
what was on her mind, besides a little air. She had a
slightly bored, sarcastic look on her face.
"Please, have a seat." I said gesturing towards the couch.
She sat down and crossed her legs.
"What can I do for you miss..."
"Hong. Kathy Hong. Call me Kiki."
Phew! Glad we got that straight!
"I want to hire you to check out an establishment that I'll
be attending next year."
With that she told me the whole story. She was going to
attend a Brain Cramming Institution of Higher Lore this
coming fall, but there was a problem. She felt there was
something fishy going on down there and she wanted me to
look the place over. This would mean a trip to the far coast
and the recruitment of some special operatives. I told her
I'd take the case. She wanted to come along, "maybe I'll
learn something," she had said, and what the hay, Bess' was
away and it always helps to have a dame around, just in
case. I grabbed my jacket and fedora and we headed out the
door, she flipped a "butterfly" knife the whole way to our
next destination.
Special Kay showed up as we were leaving and offered to
come along. Yea, we could never be without Special. We
hopped into my hearse and shot down the sidewalks to "JR's
Mags 'n Things" on the far side of the county. A dingy
little place nearly wallpapered in old, yellowing, paper
thin books. Both me and Special frequented the place and
this is where we would find the three people who were needed
for this sort of operation. As we walked in, the place went
silent, eyes bulging and tongues hanging, the men we were
looking for stood drooling at my client.
"Put the hormones on hold fellas, I know you all don't get
many females in here, but this ones off limits, she's a
client."
"Ahh, come on 'X," was the cry...
I ignored their obscene requests and got down to
business and told them what was up. The leader of the group,
Troy, was a master in the martial arts, and was a man good
with a gun and "Ginsu" cutlery. Rich, was the next one, good
at surveillance and capable of doing the "dirty work"
necessary to achieve our goal. He had worked for the Federal
Badguy Impounders, so, you knew he must be good. Last but
not most was Tony. Tony was a computer hack with the ability
to sniff out any dark, depressing person within ten feet and
blend in with the "brothers" as long as he kept raping. They
liked the case and were ready to take off whenever.
"Thats right, we'll get the cretins, because they won't be
able to beat a superior god-like being like myself...why I
could bring the perpetrators here now but that would ruin
the challenge." Uhm, yea, I'm glad Troy's on our side, then
again...
We hopped into the hearse and headed for the highway. I
picked up my mobile voice box and told Captain Lardbucket
that I was head'in out of the city on a mission and Special
was coming along as our official liaison. He gave me 1000
reasons for not leaving the city on this fool mission; all
of which I shrugged off as mere responsibility. Lardbucket
wished me good luck and said he'd put out the word that it
was safe to walk the sidewalks again. With that I hit my
Acme Anti-Collision Cruise Control and cranked up INXS on
the radio.
An hour later Bryan Adams "victim of Love" was blaring
out of my highly expensive stereo when I noticed the flash
of the old red and blue behind me. I dropped out of cruise
control and pulled off to the side of the road. I was
somewhere between South Carolina and Georgia, and it looked
pretty backwater to me.
"Howdy boy, now yous ain't going to give me no horse crap
about ain't hav'in done nothin is you boy?" This was going
to be interesting.
"What exactly did I do officer?"
"I's sittin back der eat'n my Tasty Freeze cone when I's
clocked you doing 175 ina 45mph zone, then ya's proceeded to
go through old man Zeke's chicken coop and you sucked one of
dem birds into your turbocharger-dothingy. Basicaly thats a
420: reckless driving, a 367: destroying domesticated farm
animals with a motor vehicle with out a license, and a 763:
the intentional intent to ruin an officer of da laws uniform
with a Tasty Freeze cone. That adds up to about a $500.00
fine and 30 days in jail. So what do you have to say for
yourself?"
Uh oh, this guy was serious! First I showed him my club
card for the National Anti-Badguy foundation, showing me to
be a fellow upholder of the law; no such luck, he just
leaned against my car looking us over and spitting large
wads of "skoal" on my new paint job. Ok that was the last
straw, I was on a case and this guy was leaning on my car!
Obstructing an honest city "dick" and his colleges from
helping this young lady with her problem just because he
didn't like TastyFreeze vanilla icecream! Unbelievable! I
threw the hearse into four wheel drive and reverse and
floored it, backing right over the officers car. Into drive,
and floored again, I went back over his car and left him
standing in the middle of the road as feathers floated out
of the sky around him. I still to this day can't figure out
where those feathers came from...
Two days, 10 "McDonalds", and 20 restrooms later we
pulled onto the campus of University U- California. It was a
sprawling metropolis that just crawled with every sort of
post pubescent teenager imaginable. We got right down to
business. I sent Rich and Tony down to the main building to
start looking for clues that signaled foul or stinky play.
Rich would grill (or at least toast) the President of the
"U" and Tony would attack the campus computers. The rest of
us headed for the dorms, we'd ask a few questions and get a
few answers.
The dorms were unbelievable. The scene resembled only
what could be described as a set for a disaster movie. We
watched as people filtered in and out of the first floor
windows, using them like doors. Empty cans and bottles that
were obviously not used to hold fruit punch lay strewn and
stacked throughout. Our first encounter came with a tall,
blond, and over tanned youth who appeared to be cleaning his
room with a shovel and a large can of "Lysol", a bulldozer
would have been better. Special stepped forward and
attempted to communicate with the youngster.
"Like totally, #%&$6754%&', and it's like rad too, dude."
"Dude?! Don't ever call me dude!" Screamed Special
Just as I feared, as the words flowed out of his mouth
like an alien tongue, I realized that we were in the heart
of surfer/skater territory. The speech could be heard
filtering out of every nook and cranny of the building,
along with the giggles of inebriated, blond dames. Wild men
on boards raced by us with ever increasing velocity and
danger. Special stood perplexed as our "interrogate-E"
spewed out more skater speech. I stepped forward and got to
the core of the matter.
"Ok guy, McCool, blah blah blah, blah totally thrasher." The
guy didn't know much, but said that somebody had been making
waves over at something called a "library." I thanked him
and gave him a buck for a real haircut. We headed back to
the rendezvous with our other team mates, Troy tripping
skaters as we went.
Things didn't look good, Rich had found out that, the
president of the "U" had been paid to keep his mouth shut
about all the stuff he knew nothing about and wasn't
supposed to tell us. We walked back over to his office to
give him the billy club and rubber hose treatment only to
find him dead. Death by "Mr. Rodgers" overdose. He sat
strapped to his fake leather chair, eyes blood shot and
staring, a look of wholesome horror on his face.
"Now boys and girls, can you say neighbor?" I realized that
this was more than any person over four could take.
This proved that there was something going on, more
than met the 'ol bi-focals. I rallied my troops and started
off for where Tony had been doing his job, my client keeping
a comforting arm around my waist. Our arrival was to late.
Tony lay face down on the terminal's keyboard, right hand
stuffed in the disk drive. Killed by a computer "virus"; but
I knew that someone had to have done poor Tony in. A scream
and a motion near the door alerted us that my client had
just been snatched and was being carried away by Tony's
murderer. I pulled my .50 cal. auto pistol from its holster
and laid out in hot pursuit.
Down the stairs, down the the hall we chased the
assailant, as my client threatened to flay his various
private body parts with her knife. This made me and my men
mad, this guy had killed a friend and was making off with
the only dame in the story! We ran out the main doors, the
bright sun blinding us for a second. When we could see, we
realized things were going to be harder to deal with than
first expected. We were standing face to face with about 30
ultra right-wing republican neo-nazi bikers, Miss Hong held
in their midst! As the bikers slowly slid off their cycles
and advanced towards us wielding chains and clubs and
knives, I came up with our first tactic- "Run!"
The four of us sprinted 20 feet and dove behind an
empty VW beetle. Troy, Rich, and Special opened fire with
their small calibre hand guns as at the same time the bikers
opened fire with their Acme Power Guns, slowly melting our
cover into a puddle of shiny slag. I set the selector on my
.50 cal. for "Stupid Radical Blasting Rounds" and opened
fire while I desperately tried to think of a plan to save my
client, and our necks, from these Lyndon LaRouche lovers.
Then it came to me. Several of the bikers were down, but not
enough of them. I leaped the beetle and ran towards them
firing away and calling taunts such as "Nixon in 88," and
"Mondale is God." They were taken aback by my courage and
stupidity.
In their split second of indecision, we took the
initiative. Troy jumped around the car and let loose with a
searing blast of "Anarchy in the U.K.", by the Sex Pistols,
from his portable boom box. They fell back in horror, being
used to Lynard Skynard and Barry Manilow played at twice
normal speed; he followed up with several karate chops to
the knees. Yes, our opponents were weakening! Rich and
Special followed suit by laying down an incredible field
barrage of fire from their patented Acme Never-Empty
Hollywood revolvers. It was time to make my move.
I activated my Acme New and Improved Battlesuit and
flew towards the enemy. Accelerating to full power I crossed
the 30 foot wide area in five minutes and smashed in to the
line of bikes our foes had set up for the devastating domino
effect; paint chipped, and handle bars bent. That was it,
our attackers couldn't take any more of this sort of
punishment and promptly surrendered. Glad my plan had
worked (?), I had meant to hit them! Faulty damn suit,
that's it I'm calling Consumers Report!
Epilogue
The bad guys were beaten. After rounding up these thugs
and seeing to Miss Hong's well being, we squeezed some info
out of the goons. It turns out that this group had been paid
by the mob to guard Jimmy Hoffa's brother. Which turned out
to none other than Elvis. Yes he was drugged up beyond
belief and believed that he was living in Graceland II,
located in Albecerque, New Mexico. Needless to say there was
great rejoicing across the country and Elvis was named
President of the U.S.A., that is until he was chalked up as
another sighting. As for my client, she was happy to see
that the place she was going to was allright, except for the
skaters, which she knew how to handle. We had all become
quite fond of her in our brief time together. It was with a
tear in our eye as we said "later" (never good-bye), gave
her a last fleeting hug, and watched her walk towards her
new home-away-from-home. Things would be a little duller
without her around but that was the way of things. She had a
bright future ahead, and we were but many of the supporting
characters in her life's play. With that we walked back to
the hearse and headed for home. "Stairway to Heaven" played
on the radio, and life as usual beckoned to us from afar...
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