A TRAITOR AFOOTLESS
Predator Press
[LOBO]
When Ethan calls a Predator Press staff meeting, you show up.
So we’re all milling about in this hooky-spooky mansion he bought. Knowing of my ghost phobia, he thinks it’s really funny to watch me squirm.
When the doorbell rings, I get a little jittery. Having known Ethan for some eight years, I know him well enough to expect his usual arrival on the rooftop helicopter pad.
Whoever was requesting entrance was definitely not on the guest list.
*****
I peeked over Mr. Insanity’s shoulder as he got the door, and found myself splashing holy water on a curvy, attractive, professionally-dressed, middle-age blonde with a camera crew in tow.
"The Power of Christ Compels You!" I says.
“Mr. Curr,” she says politely. “I’m Dayle Hinman, from Court TV's 'Body of Evidence'. I’m here to investigate a murder.”
“Those Doublemint Twins were double-agent robot zombies that had it coming,” I says, abruptly throwing Mr. Insanity at her feet as I bolt for the back door. "It was an issue of National Security—“
“Mr. Curr,” she interrupts. “I’m here to investigate the murder of Legless Jim.”
“Oh,” I says. “Please come in.”
“Ah Christ” says Jim, rollin his eyes.
“Mrs. Hinman,” says a cameraman. “We’re ready to roll. Can you give us a hand and plug us in?”
“Sure,” says Dayle Hinman as she absently grabs the electric plug, already eyeing her prime suspect.
“Just don’t plug it in before we get out of this puddle of holy water—“
KAPOW!!!
Dayle Hinman slowly turned to see her camera crew burst into flames, melt into skeletons, and then the skeletons crumble to ashes.
”Oh shit!” she says.
*****
We all sat in the library, solemn and quiet as I nervously fiddled with a candlestick in front of the fireplace. Dayle Hinman returned from “investigating” about six Pabst Blue Ribbons, “twisting up a fatty” from what appeared to be Mr. Insanity’s stash.
“Why the long faces?” she slurred, dropping a whole box of Twinkies. “You people look like somebody died or something.” Then she staggered to the left an fell loudly on the bear skin rug.
“Fuck this,” says Jim. “We’ve been here for an hour. Ethan’s not coming.”
“Not so fast,” says Ethan. Removing the lampshade from his head, he revealed a deer stalker hat, a trench coat, and a long, curvy pipe. “I have called you all here today because I have determined that one of you is a cold-blooded murderer.”
We all gasp.
“Well it wasn’t me," says Hinman, chopping up a line from what appeared to be Beautiful White Stallion’s stash on a small mirror. She snorts loudly, and then eyes Ethan like a predator. “Hey, you’re kinda cute.”
“How the fuck does he do that?” I whisper aloud.
“Solve the mystery?” asks Phoebe.
“No, just sneak in on us like that.” I replied.
Ethan continued. “I have made plaster casts of the tire tracks I found at the crime scene.” He puts heavy clay molds baring paralleled zigzag impressions --presumably tire treads-- on the table. “Do you know what this means?” he asks the group, puffing stoically on his pipe.
He must’ve mistook me popping the bubbles for volunteering an answer.
“Yes LOBO?”
“Uh,” I fumbled. “We can figure out which car was at the scene by tiny irregularities in the tire treads?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “No, you idiot. It means when we find the person who is wearing tire treads instead of shoes, we’ve got our man.”
“Oooooohhh,” we all breathed in understanding.
“Legless Jim!” says Ethan. “If in fact that is your real name, where were you on the night of the murder?”
“Uh,” he says, squirming. “I was bartending on the USS Johnson, on the Fiesta Deck.”
“Just as I thought,” says Ethan. "The ship where all hands –excluding LOBO—were killed in action.”
“You call that ‘action’?” says Jim. “It was a disco blarin’ sausage fest—“
“Answer yes or no please,” interrupted Ethan. “And Mrs. Hinman, would you please put your shirt back on?”
“Yes,” says Jim.
“Sure sugar lips,” says Hinman, spinning her bra in her fingertips. “I could love a man that tells me what he likes …”
“So you have no alibi,” says Ethan to Jim, all serious.
“All those men aren’t dead, they’re AWOL in San Fransisco!”
“A likely story,” says Ethan, grabbin Jims shoe. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Exhibit A!” Dramatically, the bottom of Jim’s shoe were tire treads: they read
Goodyear Steel Belted
We all gasped again.
“That doesn’t prove anything!” says Jim.
“No,” says Ethan. “But how do you explain this?” It was a picture of a paper plate with red stains all over it.
“I was eating hot dogs!” exclaims Jim. “That’s ketchup!”
“Ketchup on hot dogs?” says Phoebe. “Blech!”
“You disgusting bigot!” I says.
Without Brad Pitt’s legs, Legless Jim’s movements were certainly inhibited. Still, he swung himself onto his wheelchair with startling quickness. “You’ll never take me alive!” he declared as he wheeled out of the room.
“Oh yeah?” slurs Dayle, reaching for her purse. Pulling out her police-issue 9mm and sprawling expired condoms everywhere, she promptly shot Mr Insanity.
“Why did you shoot Mr Insanity?” demanded Sapphire.
“Who?” asked Hinman, passing out cold. "Oh yeah ... tell him his pot sucks."
*****
Ethan and I watched as Jim wheeled out of the library.
“Running away will only make things worse for yourself!” said Ethan.
“Yeah? Well screw you!” says Jim, fumbling with the doorknob. He wheeled backward to open the door. “I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for you meddling kids!” Then he wheeled out, awkwardly pulling the door closed behind him.
“He’s getting away!” I says.
“I’ll chase him down in the helicopter,” says Ethan.
“Alright. I’ll get the Corvette,” I says.
“You’re not touching my Corvette,” says Ethan.
“Aw pleeeasse?” I beg. “This is important!”
He tosses me the keys. “You better not get a single scratch on her!”
“I promise,” says me.
We ran out of the library and down the hall, passing Jim on the way. Ethan ran upstairs to the helicopter pad, and I downstairs to the garage. I revved the engines for like twenty minutes waiting for Jim to get himself downstairs and out the front door, and when he was finally out of the house I slammed on the gas, screeching rubber all the way into the oak tree in the front yard.
*****
I woke in the hospital two weeks later.
Security was thick.
“He got away?” I asked Phoebe who was waiting at bedside. She was pouring a bottle of liquid clearly labeled Sodium Pentathol into my IV drip. It had a really badassed skull and crossbones on it, like the tattoo I wanted to get.
“Yes,” she says.
“Well, I doubt all this security is necessary … I doubt Jim would ever come back.”
She looked at me, bewildered. “The security isn’t for Jim ... Ethan and Dayle Hinman are due back from Aruba this afternoon, and he’s really pissed you wrecked his Corvette.”
"Serves him right. He should know better." I says through the bandages. "You know when you really think about this, it's all his fault really."
Phoebe sighed, resigned. Flipping on her tape recorder, she proceeded.
"So why exactly did you kill Mr Insanity, those poor camera men, and then go kick all those puppies?"
[LOBO]
When Ethan calls a Predator Press staff meeting, you show up.
So we’re all milling about in this hooky-spooky mansion he bought. Knowing of my ghost phobia, he thinks it’s really funny to watch me squirm.
When the doorbell rings, I get a little jittery. Having known Ethan for some eight years, I know him well enough to expect his usual arrival on the rooftop helicopter pad.
Whoever was requesting entrance was definitely not on the guest list.
I peeked over Mr. Insanity’s shoulder as he got the door, and found myself splashing holy water on a curvy, attractive, professionally-dressed, middle-age blonde with a camera crew in tow.
"The Power of Christ Compels You!" I says.
“Mr. Curr,” she says politely. “I’m Dayle Hinman, from Court TV's 'Body of Evidence'. I’m here to investigate a murder.”
“Those Doublemint Twins were double-agent robot zombies that had it coming,” I says, abruptly throwing Mr. Insanity at her feet as I bolt for the back door. "It was an issue of National Security—“
“Mr. Curr,” she interrupts. “I’m here to investigate the murder of Legless Jim.”
“Oh,” I says. “Please come in.”
“Ah Christ” says Jim, rollin his eyes.
“Mrs. Hinman,” says a cameraman. “We’re ready to roll. Can you give us a hand and plug us in?”
“Sure,” says Dayle Hinman as she absently grabs the electric plug, already eyeing her prime suspect.
“Just don’t plug it in before we get out of this puddle of holy water—“
KAPOW!!!
Dayle Hinman slowly turned to see her camera crew burst into flames, melt into skeletons, and then the skeletons crumble to ashes.
”Oh shit!” she says.
We all sat in the library, solemn and quiet as I nervously fiddled with a candlestick in front of the fireplace. Dayle Hinman returned from “investigating” about six Pabst Blue Ribbons, “twisting up a fatty” from what appeared to be Mr. Insanity’s stash.
“Why the long faces?” she slurred, dropping a whole box of Twinkies. “You people look like somebody died or something.” Then she staggered to the left an fell loudly on the bear skin rug.
“Fuck this,” says Jim. “We’ve been here for an hour. Ethan’s not coming.”
“Not so fast,” says Ethan. Removing the lampshade from his head, he revealed a deer stalker hat, a trench coat, and a long, curvy pipe. “I have called you all here today because I have determined that one of you is a cold-blooded murderer.”
We all gasp.
“Well it wasn’t me," says Hinman, chopping up a line from what appeared to be Beautiful White Stallion’s stash on a small mirror. She snorts loudly, and then eyes Ethan like a predator. “Hey, you’re kinda cute.”
“How the fuck does he do that?” I whisper aloud.
“Solve the mystery?” asks Phoebe.
“No, just sneak in on us like that.” I replied.
Ethan continued. “I have made plaster casts of the tire tracks I found at the crime scene.” He puts heavy clay molds baring paralleled zigzag impressions --presumably tire treads-- on the table. “Do you know what this means?” he asks the group, puffing stoically on his pipe.
He must’ve mistook me popping the bubbles for volunteering an answer.
“Yes LOBO?”
“Uh,” I fumbled. “We can figure out which car was at the scene by tiny irregularities in the tire treads?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “No, you idiot. It means when we find the person who is wearing tire treads instead of shoes, we’ve got our man.”
“Oooooohhh,” we all breathed in understanding.
“Legless Jim!” says Ethan. “If in fact that is your real name, where were you on the night of the murder?”
“Uh,” he says, squirming. “I was bartending on the USS Johnson, on the Fiesta Deck.”
“Just as I thought,” says Ethan. "The ship where all hands –excluding LOBO—were killed in action.”
“You call that ‘action’?” says Jim. “It was a disco blarin’ sausage fest—“
“Answer yes or no please,” interrupted Ethan. “And Mrs. Hinman, would you please put your shirt back on?”
“Yes,” says Jim.
“Sure sugar lips,” says Hinman, spinning her bra in her fingertips. “I could love a man that tells me what he likes …”
“So you have no alibi,” says Ethan to Jim, all serious.
“All those men aren’t dead, they’re AWOL in San Fransisco!”
“A likely story,” says Ethan, grabbin Jims shoe. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Exhibit A!” Dramatically, the bottom of Jim’s shoe were tire treads: they read
We all gasped again.
“That doesn’t prove anything!” says Jim.
“No,” says Ethan. “But how do you explain this?” It was a picture of a paper plate with red stains all over it.
“I was eating hot dogs!” exclaims Jim. “That’s ketchup!”
“Ketchup on hot dogs?” says Phoebe. “Blech!”
“You disgusting bigot!” I says.
Without Brad Pitt’s legs, Legless Jim’s movements were certainly inhibited. Still, he swung himself onto his wheelchair with startling quickness. “You’ll never take me alive!” he declared as he wheeled out of the room.
“Oh yeah?” slurs Dayle, reaching for her purse. Pulling out her police-issue 9mm and sprawling expired condoms everywhere, she promptly shot Mr Insanity.
“Why did you shoot Mr Insanity?” demanded Sapphire.
“Who?” asked Hinman, passing out cold. "Oh yeah ... tell him his pot sucks."
Ethan and I watched as Jim wheeled out of the library.
“Running away will only make things worse for yourself!” said Ethan.
“Yeah? Well screw you!” says Jim, fumbling with the doorknob. He wheeled backward to open the door. “I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for you meddling kids!” Then he wheeled out, awkwardly pulling the door closed behind him.
“He’s getting away!” I says.
“I’ll chase him down in the helicopter,” says Ethan.
“Alright. I’ll get the Corvette,” I says.
“You’re not touching my Corvette,” says Ethan.
“Aw pleeeasse?” I beg. “This is important!”
He tosses me the keys. “You better not get a single scratch on her!”
“I promise,” says me.
We ran out of the library and down the hall, passing Jim on the way. Ethan ran upstairs to the helicopter pad, and I downstairs to the garage. I revved the engines for like twenty minutes waiting for Jim to get himself downstairs and out the front door, and when he was finally out of the house I slammed on the gas, screeching rubber all the way into the oak tree in the front yard.
I woke in the hospital two weeks later.
Security was thick.
“He got away?” I asked Phoebe who was waiting at bedside. She was pouring a bottle of liquid clearly labeled Sodium Pentathol into my IV drip. It had a really badassed skull and crossbones on it, like the tattoo I wanted to get.
“Yes,” she says.
“Well, I doubt all this security is necessary … I doubt Jim would ever come back.”
She looked at me, bewildered. “The security isn’t for Jim ... Ethan and Dayle Hinman are due back from Aruba this afternoon, and he’s really pissed you wrecked his Corvette.”
"Serves him right. He should know better." I says through the bandages. "You know when you really think about this, it's all his fault really."
Phoebe sighed, resigned. Flipping on her tape recorder, she proceeded.
"So why exactly did you kill Mr Insanity, those poor camera men, and then go kick all those puppies?"
Comments