“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” I yelled at the top of my lungs while runnin’ the other way down the block. I mean, goddamn it, couldn’t I catch a break here? I didn’t have to worry about Watchers doin’ painful things ta me—their game was in their name—but what they might bring into the picture was freakin’ me the fuck out. My stumpy legs made my little feet slap the pavement the way I’d like to be slappin’ Jenny’s ass, an’ I did a few quick calcu-clusions. Best I could figure, I only had about one to two minutes before they locked the entire block down tighter than my old cell was. And even that seemed more like wishful thinkin’.
The alley looked safe and clear, so I took another gamble and ducked into it. Another stealth-friendly dumpster was leanin’ against the wall but I wasn’t kiddin’ myself. We were way past the point where dumpsters could keep my sexy angel ass safe. If I wanted to get around the nasfurrier stuff Alaire intended ta put me through, I needed to get inside the nearest unlocked entrance ta one o’ the buildings.
An’ I figured whatever the hells I had ta do, it had ta be quick. I felt like Cinderfella havin’ ta get home before midnight so my shoes didn’t turn inta pumpkins or whatevs.
I managed to spot a fair possibility on the wall in the middle of the alley: a rusty vent cover that was bent back far enough to let me slip through. No way Tido or even Nips (okay, maybe Nips) coulda been able to fit through that crack. The rat hole wasn’t much smaller than the prison bars I squeezed through back at the Helliday Inn. Yeah, there was some bonuses to bein’ all svelt.
“Worked for Solid Snake,” I muttered as soon as I got close enough. I checked both ends of the alley before I tried ta squeeze through. I could hear the patter o’ footsteps around me but nobody saw me yet. My reductified gut gave me a little bit of a hard time but I finally managed to scrape through before the steps got too much closer. And I do mean scrape… a sharp piece of the cover sliced through my shirt and the fuckin’ thing ripped me wide open when I pushed through. I was admarvelin’ my gapin’ flesh wound when I realized there was a lot less ground under my heels than I thought there should be. By that time, I was already topplin’ backwards and fallin’ straight down a shaft behind me. I had to clench my jaw ta keep from screamin’ the whole way.
I landed with a thud that was only a little less noisy than a shell being shot. Crashin’ in there like that, I was sure my goose was well and truly cooked. Then my sensitible ears picked up something that was even louder than me: laughter. Not a chuckle or two but the out of control guffarts that you’d expect from a peyote party. The racket was comin’ from the other side of a grate I saw ahead of me. It had some orange sodium light spillin’ out of it. After rollin’ onto my gut, I tried to ignore the little signals o’ pain while I crawled up to the grate. That flesh wound was smartin’ but it would be gone pretty soon.
First thing I saw was the greater imps… or, as I prefers ta call ‘em, the greater assholes. Those big bastards were real hairy. Not like nice dog fur hairy but more like sharp, wiry points of hair. And they also had some mean lookin’ underbites. But nothing could be worse than a greater imp’s personality. They was seriously lackin’ in the kindness department. At present, those glowin’ personalities were takin’ out their anger on some poor sap who was stuck in the middle o’ them.
I couldn’t get a real good look at the dude, but I’d seen enough ta know that he was definitely a dude. If not for all the blood and bruises those assholes were inflictin’ on his body, he mighta been fairly mansome. But good luck holdin’ onto yo looks when fuckers like them intended ta use ya for their personal piñata. They just batted ‘im around with whatever they had lyin’ around: heavy wrenches, ball-peen hammers, swords. I even saw three o’ the biggest ones usin’ their hammy fists to ruin the poor sap’s day. I squinted a little ta make out the piñata’s aura. It was another one o’ Skelterhorn’s suckers who’d been given the Soul Retriever spiel.
I was good and ready to look at something—hell, anything—else, so I gave the rest o’ the place a once-over. I saw tools hangin’ on pegs on the back wall, so I guessed it were some kinda workshop. That went a long way towards explainin’ the arsenality o’ what the goons were tenderazing the poor sucker with. Yeah, yeah, it weren’t past me that I needed ta do somethin’ ta help the dude out but I just wasn’t sure what.
Then I saw something important that made me realize where I actually was… it was the Maserati that drove Tido to destination unknown and most likely, unfriendly. It was a lot less pretty than the last time I saw it. Wherever it went, it had its paint strip-teased off, and the mirror was cracked and parts of what I guessed was the engine were lyin’ all around it. I ain’t no mechanic, but something had done the mechaniculled equival-ain’t o’ puttin’ this vehicle in the ICU.
Comin’ around from the other side was a big, gray giant, wearin’ a white blindfold. The only other clothes he had on was a loincloth, which looked more like an adult diaper. And judging by how saggy his was, he musta just taken a nice, ripe shit. His skin straddled the line between stony and scaly when it came to his complexion. His head looked like it was maybe two or three inches away from scrapin’ the ceiling, makin’ him twice as big as the car. And roughly twice the size of the greater assholes. His big ears told me there was no way he coulda missed the fest-depravities happenin’ only a few feet away from him. Didn’t seem to get any kick outta that though; and his jaw was sealed so tightly, I coulda sworn I heard his molars grindin’ together. All he did was kneel down and start ta fiddle with the car pieces on the ground.
A cannon boomed around the circle and got everybody’s attention. Meanwhile I winced ‘cause my ears started ringin’ again, and then I caught the unmistakable whiff o’ gun smoke comin’ through the grate. One of the big assholes usin’ his fists ta beat up the sap fell over with a thud, missin’ half his head. The rest of the ugly fuckers backed off in a hurry from the corpse when they saw a guy holdin’ the smoking’ gun.
The new guy was definitely human but his aura indicated he’d been dead for a while. Goin’ by that ugly face (which made Blindfold look as pretty as Alaire), I guessed his age was somewhere around fifty. He was nearly bald with a few wisps of white hair pressed around the bottom of his head and neck. He stood at a little over six feet tall and was wearin’ a green uniform that had gold trim on the shoulders, with a mural o’ campaign ribbons on the upper right chest. The gold buttons on his shirt shone as brightly as the spit-polished black boots on his feet. Colonel Khadafi mighta considered his outfit over the top. Somehow though, it looked as right on this guy as the ivory-handled revolver he held in his hand.
The other big asshole took a step forward. “The master won’t like this.”
The new guy just silently cocked the hammer of his gun with an expression like Clint Easterwood in one of them space movies. Ya know what I mean, the real smooth, slick dude who kills all the bad bastards before blowin’ the smoke off his space gun.
“I’ve got five more slugs for any of you assturds who has a problem with this,” he said all nice and calm, and his voice was every bit as ugly and gratin’ as his face.
When I heard him say the word “assturd,” I knew he was one of my people.
The unlucky Retriever didn’t dare move. Seein’ how his head was tilted, he couldn’t take his eyes off that gun. Come to think of it, neither could the greater assholes. Only Blindfold seemed okay and rex-laxed, even smilin’ a little at the scene he couldn’t actually see.
After a minute of nothing happenin’, Ugly uncocked the gun and nodded. “I don’t care what you’re used to. I don’t care what Alaire let you get away with. As long as you’re under my command, you will do exactly as you’re told. Otherwise…”
Hmm, maybe he weren’t one of my people seein’ how he just admitted bein’ in charge o’ these ugly fuckers. Still, the dude had a good grasp of vocab. He gave the fresh corpse a swift kick and it made a pulpy, sticky sound while the imps winced.
“Now get out of my sight!”
Ugly roared, pointing his gun at the door. I’ll say this for the assholes… they got the hint. Those fugly demons couldn’t get outta that garage fast enough.
Once the last of them shot out the door, the sap sighed and whimpered, “Than-thank you, sir.”
Ugly’s face didn’t soften up one iot-inch as he glared down at the dude. He just nodded and stretched out his free hand. The sap took it and Ugly got him onto his feet.
“Can you walk?” Ugly growled. I didn’t think the sucker could but he hobbled forward a bit and nodded.
“All right, then,” Ugly grumbled, guidin’ him over to a chair. “Give me a minute and I’ll get you to a medic.”
Now I was beyond confused. It seemed Ugly was in charge of the greater imps yet he was bein’ nice to this guy? Something wasn’t addin’ up. Deep in the basement of my soul, I got a feelin’ this guy was aces. I mean, it ain’t everyday you comes across a dude who uses the word assturd.
“Y-yes, sir,” the sap said as he sat down. He practically fell over the chair like a wet dish towel.
Blindfold took that moment to speak up while usin’ one of his hands ta lift the car. “I should have done more.” I figured he’d growl like Ugly but he sounded more like Nerdlet without bein’ girly.
“What more you could have done, Pol, I personally fail to see,” Ugly replied, sheathin’ that big, iron weapon into a hip holster. Then he looked a little ass-shamed of himself. “No offense to you, of course.”
Blindfold sighed while turnin’ around to reach under the car. “Why be offended by the truth, General? Maybe if I saw the truth in Odysseus and his bravado crew, I might still have my eye.”
“And even without his eye, Polythemus, as a Cyclops, is still one of the most dangerous troopers in this billet,” General Ugly replied, walkin’ real carefully around all the spare engine parts.
My eyebrows rose up in surprise when I realized the identifiety o’ this gigantic Mr. Potato-Head dude. He was really ancient if what he was talkin’ about were true—all that Odiss shit.
As much fun as I had pickin’ up Alaire’s camp gossip, I debated if maybe I oughta motorate myself to the nearest escape hatch. The only one I saw was a screwed-in grate over Pol’s left shoulder. It even had a handy pile o’ dirty rags underneath it. I knew I needed to wait patiently but I had ta fight the urge ta yell at them ta hurry the fuck up.
While Blindfold grabbed another part from the pile in front of him, he grunted. “So dangerous that he had to use his cell phone to call for help… it would have been a lot different if I could still see.”
General Ugly grunted and shrugged. “No point in wishing things were different… They are what they are. You called me and I came… not much more to say now.”
After snappin’ whatever part he had inta the car, Pol lifted up his nose and started sniffin’ around. Swear to God, those nos-trails were wide as train tunnels. “Are you sure our prisoner will not bleed to death while we talk? I smell quite a lot of his blood.”
Ugly looked over his shoulder at the sap who was breathin’ heavy but I could tell he was a long way from dead. “He’ll keep for a minute. How’s our girl coming along?”
While Ugly asked that, he patted that car’s rear like it was his favorite hooker. Pol’s grunt this time sounded a bit more frus-strikin’. “Slow… a lot slower than I prefer. We both know how hard the cold can be in the Asylum when it comes to machinery. This time was sadly no exception.”
Oh shit, I thought to myself. Alaire sent Tido to the lowest, most fucked-up part of the Underground City? And here I thought I got the rawest deal with my one-way Birdbrain ticket from the castle. I worried for Conan. I couldn’t help it. Dude and I mighta had our disagreements and he held the world’s record for worst cook ever, but we was still homies.
And if there was one thing about good ol’ angel Bill, besides my Jackintosh computer that was dedicated purely to porn, it was that I wouldn’t leave a friend behind.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bill
“The good news is I should be able to get the engine running again in a few minutes,” Pol said, lettin’ his free hand navi-gut the car. “The bad news is that she likely only has one more trip in her after that. I’ll be amazed if she makes the journey to the Toy Store, let alone, out of the Underground City altogether.”
Well, weren’t that an interestin’ as hell nugget? Only reason a vehicle like that would hafta scoot out o’ the Underground was if it were goin’ back to AE. And assumising these two were on Alaire’s payroll, that probably meant an inside guy musta provided the car, keepin’ it completely off the books. Poly and Sally would be thrilled to hear all about that.
“Well, putting that aside,” Ugly said with a sigh, “shall I assume that the AE tracker has already been reactivated?”
Blindfold put the car down and nodded. “I turned that back on as soon as it entered the workshop.”
“Is the guidance system ready to go?”
“I finished that one before the imps—” Blindfold took a minute to spit out one impressive-looking loogy on the rags— “decided to show up for their depraved festivities. The only thing left to do now is erase the trip data.”
He put his big hands on the parts still around him. “Truth be told, I would much rather spend the time needed to accomplish that if only to guarantee that this vehicle can actually go the full distance.”
Ugly took a breath and looked up at the ceiling. “Ours is not to reason why, Pol… the orders from HQ were crystal clear. She needs to be operational and clean by 0500 hours.”
Blindfold picked up another part and the car. “And that much, at least, I can guarantee, General. Now, if I may make a personal request, could you see to that poor boy we just saved?”
No way Blindfold could have seen General Ugly’s nod. But I figured the grunt he gave with it filled in the blanks. Ugly was halfway to his prisoner when Pol called out, “General Patton, sir?”
Ugly stopped dead in his tracks. So did my thought process. General Patton? What the fuck? I’m no good at history ‘cause I’ve never been in history class, bein’ as how I’m an angel and all. But I also ain’t no dumbass. And I like a good war documentary just as much as the next beer-drinkin’, woman huntin’ dude.
So, yeah, was I lookin’ at the General George S. Patton, Old Blood and Guts, himself?
“Permission to ask one last question?” Blindfold went on.
Patton was walkin’ towards the Retriever. After he helped the sap outta his chair, he said, “You’ll always have that right with me, Pol.”
“Are we sure that we’re on the right side?”
The sap groaned a little as Old Blood and Guts slung the guy’s arm over his neck. Thought I saw something close to sad crossin’ the old warmonger’s face. “I don’t suppose it matters now. We’re stuck with the side we chose… or else.”
Then he looked over at his prisoner. “C’mon, son. Let’s get you patched up.”
The sap said something undecipherable before he let the general take him out o’ the room. The way things looked, it was about as empty as this joint could ever get. Big Pol not bein’ able to see mighta given me an edge but I still had to be a lot more careful than I’d been so far.
I pulled back a little to see if there were any other way out. The grate still looked like the one and only route-tation I had. So I did my best snake—scratch that, Solid Snake—impersonation by slitherin’ my way up the vent shaft past my watchin’ grate.
Away from the light, it got dark in a hurry. I was half-tempted to pour out my inner light to see where I was goin’. But who the hell knew what else might pop up just in time for the light show? So I played it cool, makin’ my way around strictly by feelin’. Once I turned the corner, the orange light was back in front of me.
Reachin’ that grate took me about half as long as it did to go down the first stretch o’ the shaft. When I got there, I found myself behind Poly Boy, who was busy liftin’ and tinkerin’ with the car. I felt th
e screws that held the grate up with my fingers. They were a lot more solid than the grate upstairs but not so tight that I couldn’t unscrew ‘em from this end. I synchronizated my work with the repairs the big guy was doin’ to cover my noise. Every time he stopped bangin’ around, I stopped workin’ the screw out. Every time he started workin’ again, so did I.
The grate fell open when I got the top left corner screw off. I stopped before it scraped too much but Pol still lifted up his head. I didn’t dare breathe while he sniffed around. A couple of eternalized minutes later, he went back to workin’ on the car and I let out my air real quiet. I took a quick peek down at the rag pile. It looked big enough to catch the cover without any bang-bang. Usin’ one hand to hold the cover steady, I used my other one to take the last screw out.
When the screw fell, I let go of the grate. It made a real soft landin’. I grabbed either side of the openin’ and yanked myself out. A cotton basketball woulda made more noise than me hittin’ the rags. Only downside was doin’ a faceplant in a loogy.
Okay, I was in the shop. Now what? I knew Conan got shipped to the Asylum but goin’ there was tricky. Only plan I could think of was jackin’ the car before the Ghoulie Gray Giant finished wipin’ out that trip data—trip data that would navigate my ass back to Tido. And yeah, the trip back mighta been a chore. But that didn’t matter if I couldn’t get there to begin with.
I did the tiptoe routine towards the car. The driver’s side door was open a crack and Pol set the car down in between grabbin’ parts. I just needed to time it right. Every inch I got closer to the big guy, another three drops of fear-sweat popped out on my forehead. But he kept workin’ so I kept creepin’.
I just got next to the driver’s side door when Blindfold’s free hand grabbed me by the neck and yanked me up. I yelped for a second before starin’ at his big, ugly mug. I was scared like I ain’t never been before and I didn’t know what else ta do so I farted.
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