This is part 2 of an ongoing serial story.  See my Introduction / FAQ for details.

Part 1 (vs. the Tooth Fairy), Segment 2:

For some reason, my face was wet... everything smelled like tapioca and nacho cheese.

 

Oh, blood. Right. Car... window. Crap!

 

“...paging Dr. John. Dr. John to Reality...” But Eddie was dead... no wait, Eddie had never been there at all. “Don't worry, it probably isn't Lupus. Sorry, but I really can't help you get up...”

 

“Wha?” My universe snapped back to focus with a lot of sparkly lights and pain in my left foot. Someone had smashed in the front of the cheap burger / strip joint. Grunting, I shifted the remainder of the table off me, glistening strands of multicolored chewing gum trailing away from my jacket to its surface like an alien creature trying to capture prey. The hunk of pressboard clunked to the floor with an accompanying tinkle of broken glass.

 

“They got any beef and mango on that thing? I always loved beef and mango Chevy Chew.” The hologram of Fast Eddie Pizraccio leaned somewhat out of character on a stripper pole, failing to look cool. “Stupid house systems are focused on the stages.” He shrugged and looked at the crumpled  Buick that had landed on his partner. “You may wanna move between that.” He thumbed at the mangled blue four-door. “...And the window... to someplace more safe... Like Provo, during an artillery strike.” He waggled his eyebrows in an improbable manner.

 

I tried to sweep the gummy strands off of my coat as I got up. Mostly it just adhered to my hands and arms. I looked like I was sprayed down with Silly String... and Smelled like a street market on fruit and fish day.

 

There was definitely something wrong with my foot. Didn't feel broken. I'd have to take off my shoe and sock to get a good scan of it. I limped closer to Eddie's projection. The crushed car didn't have a driver, epty except for some kind of huge  mellon in the passenger seat. The damn things' auto-drives were supposed to be hack proof, which meant every fifteen year old with a decent watch or phone could drive your car if you didn't buy about 400 optional extra upgrades. I felt vague relief that it wasn't my old car.

 

I didn't see anyone on the street outside. Nobody was shooting, at all, anywhere in earshot. I could actually hear crickets. It was like a dream... almost real, but just subtly off. The one where you get half way through your day before you realize everyone is a giant hamster zombie, or you aren't wearing any pants to school. There was no noise, just light wind swooshing through the broken window, and the clicking of the Buick's left turn signal.

 

“Wah? Who?” I stammered as I got closer. “Someone is going to follow up on THAT?” I collapsed in a nearby pink and yellow folding chair. I could feel the gum sticking to the back. Getting up would be a problem. “They drove a car onto your partner... what are they gonna top that with a stolen tank, maybe an air strike? Who the hell ARE you guys and why are people throwing CARS at you?!?”

 

It was all just too much like that day in Provo when the Osmond's suicide forces drove some Chinese Hummers into our aid station. The bombs didn't go off, but gut shot soldiers in cots didn't often get up after a multi-ton vehicle lands on them. I began to shiver at the memories. The faces... my assistant Joe getting thrown across the room into an instrument table... the guy with the lunch tray... the blood... the honking of horns... the screams of the dying...

 

“Watts! Snap out of it! You are going to have to join most of us over here in the real world for a bit. I dunno who did this, but we are probably going to find out real soon.”

 

Eddie shook his head sadly and lurched away from the pole so he could lean down closer to my eye level.

 

“They really should have used a tank.. Cause all they did was make him mad.” Finally, after looking at his positioning options, Eddie sat at the edge of the stage, legs dangling past (and partially through) the shock wire that usually encouraged patrons to respect the dancers' space. “I'm trying to calm him down, I always try, but it never works.” He mumbled, muffled somehow by the ceiling speakers. Slowly shifting to support himself on one arm so he could draw his legs back up on the stage. Eddie never liked to overlap with the local environment, even when his projection was really low quality. He, regained his composure. “You get what you pay for, and someone put down a deposit on something they can't afford. Since your deposit cleared, you get to watch the show for free. If you try to put a dollar in my G-string I'll have him bite your hands off.”

 

 

“Who? What are you talking about, your partner is dead. They dropped a fucking CAR on him!”

 

“A car. Oh yeah a car, that'll slow him down a bit. A bit unusual. His problem solving skills are a bit... um.. diagonal. Novel situations tend to make him loop a bit. He'll be fine... as fine as he ever is. I'm worried about the other guy, because I want to talk to him later. Look on the bright side, maybe they hit B in the head” Eddie grunted. “Maybe a nice head shot will make him listen to me for once.”

 

Something groaned. It was the Buick. It shuddered, broken chunks of glass and trim rained down onto the wreckage around it. All four of the chrome blue doors heaved and popped open as the car shifted.With a final tortured groan it lifted from the debris and flipped through the air and back into the street where it slid to a halt, screaming and shedding sparks on its roof. The quiet sounds of crickets resumed, interupted only by the quiet rolling of the mellon into a gutter.

 

“Hi Mom, I'm on TV” Badger waved absentmindedly to us and he reached down for his yield sign, Broken glass and bits of furniture fell out of the folds of his jacket.

 

“THE BLUE ZONE IS FOR THE LOADING AND UNLOADING OF PASSENGERS ONLY!” The Badger screamed as he suddenly followed the car outside, so fast it was hard to follow his movements. There was the glint of reflective red tape as he pulled his sign through the yawning  hole in the dront of the building... “EVERONE ELSE MUST SEE THE VALET!” The huge man tore off to the left without even scanning the situation outside.

 

“I, for one, am going to stay in here.” Eddie looked somewhat wistfully at the coffee machine. “He gets a bit enthusiastic about his revenge. I really don't like the sight of blood... Besides, I can talk to B whenever I want. You are way more interesting.”

 

Somewhere another storefront window smashed and someone started to scream. The pop-pop-pop of a pistol was followed by metalic crash and another scream.  Somewhere outside an old man began a cackling laugh.

 

“I think I'll join you.” I managed to turn my folding chatr to face the window, gum still sucking at the back of my coat. I couldn't get a grip on all this. Gunfire I could do, had done. You got used to keeping your head down.   But this shit was cracked.

 

Was the car random? Was it meant for me? Who hated me that much? Did the murderer know I was on his trail? I was sitting on a folding chair in a ruined strip club / burger joint. I was sitting with a hologram of a detective while his partner... who survived getting a car dropped on him...apparently... was systematically taking apart a city block.

 

Someone in camouflage ran past the store at full tilt and full combat gear, pausing only to throw what looked like a grenade off to the left. The Badger heaved into view, possibly running faster than the smaller man, but obviously not is as much of a hurry. He had his sign slung over his shoulder and was eating the grenade like an apple. He gestured a brief greeting with his grenade hand and continued to jog past.

 

Right about then the surreality of it all, my adrenaline high crashed into my nervous system like the Buick had hit me instead.. I began to shudder, as if I was in the coldest room ever. My teeth chattered and my neck muscles cramped. Definitely not adrenaline. Definitely not right. My bladder felt suddenly full and my knees began knock.

 

“Ohh, someone is trying to use a police riot pacifier on him. Dirty pool.. you got hit by the wash.  Don't worry about it.  Cross your legs... Much safer than trying to use a shotgun on B. Someone did his research.” Eddie craned to look out the demolished storefront. It was a cosmetic move, because the stages cameras were pointed at the small circle of mostly intact folding chairs. “... not going to work I'm afraid. He doesn't actually have what we might call a nervous system.”

 

There was a crash, and the old man began his cackling laugh again.

 

Eddie continued to watch the right window frame with interest. “You know there are whole interest groups out there focused on new and interesting ways to kill Badger? He doesn't mind. I don't think he can even read. A lot of the locals like to keep tabs on it. Keeps the betting pools lively.  One time...”

 

He was cut off by a shotgun blast fired out someplace to the right and a car alarm started wailing. Shortly afterwards a crushed and mangled shotgun flew past our storefront.  With a crash, the alarm stopped howling. “C minus effort though. A shotgun? What is the world coming to?  At least I won't have to take him for walkies later today.”

 

Something was clanging, like a dumpster being slammed shut over and over... Someone began to scream, long and pitiful. I was very glad I was in here.

 

“OoooohoohhhhhoooooooOOOOOO!”

 

CLANG

 

“Stop.”

 

CLANG

 

“Oooh my god stooooooop!”

 

CLANG

 

“aaahhh aaahahhhhaaaaaaaaaaaagghhhhrrr.”

 

WHAM

 

The Badger's deep voice called out like a town crier.

 

“YOU MAY NOW RETURN TOU YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMS! BROUGHT TO YOU BY AMPHETAMEENYOS... THE CERIAL THAT MAKES YOU FEEL GOOD INSIDE!”

 

Almost immediately a firefight broke out several blocks away.

 

“Predator reflex, like the jungle.” Eddie leered. “Nobody wants to be noticed when the T-Rex or the school Principal is on the warpath.  Anyway, he got our guy, or what's left of him.”

 

I mostly stood (my chair adhered to my coat.  instead of struggling, I dropped back down into it.  I saw a little bit out the window, it was plenty. The Badger was walking slowly back towards us dragging both his sign, and a much smaller man wearing a full combat kit. Both the sign and the man's severely dented helmet struck sparks as they grated against the road.

 

Eddie nodded. “Scumbags always have to see what's going on in person. They never Remote control stuff from the Moon, L5 or even down the damn street. They always have to be within eyeshot of their nefarious plans. Makes them easier to catch.”

 

“Should have been a cop.” I muttered as The Badger dragged his prisoner though the front door, only bumping the soldier's head semi-severely on the remainder of the metal detector.

 

“Should have been a real doctor.” Eddie disappeared and popped back into existence closer to The Badger. The big man was trying to fit his captured soldier in a folding chair the same way a 2 year old does... upside down, and with brute force.

 

'Flip him over.” Eddie instructed.

 

The Badger tried to fit the man in the chair face first,without changing the man's vertical orientation.

 

“Sometimes I think he doesn't listen on purpose” Eddie waved an arm in front of his partner's face. “No, no. Put the eating end on top! The bit with the pretty hat.”

 

Badger paused as if in great thought. Several loose pieces of glass fell from his jacket and tinkled on the cracked blue linoleum. Then he lurched suddenly into motion and slapped the man into the chair, mostly in the correct position. The huge man studied his work, nodded then dragged his yield sign to a nearby folding chair and flopped down, nearly crushing the cheap chair in the process.

 

“He doesn't look dead. Both his hands look broke though.” Eddie peered at the man closely. “But it is hard for me to tell, not being here and all. Why don't you check, Dr. Watts? You are the cadaver expert.” He made a theatrical sweeping invitation to the collapsed man In the chair.

 

I got up awkwardly and carefully from my gum-laden chair. The man was in real US Army gear, not second hand, or surplus. For some reason the Army wanted to kill these two, but didn't want to send a full unit (the Army was stupid and cheap like that). It was definitely a real and mostly alive US Combat soldier.

 

I didn't recognize his patch. But he could have been me, not that long ago. I wondered briefly what it had to do with me, but if this guy was gonna make it out of here alive, I was probably the only one that was going to help him do it.

 

The Badger looked at me, his brows furrowed with concern.

 

“Hey, Doc. You got something on ya.  Everything is all sticky now.”

 

 ***

 

As always, this work is (c) 2009 T.J. Whitfield Jr.