Sparkle Pirate

by Zachry Wheeler

  “Piss off, Carl! You’re a horse!”

  “Don’t judge my undying love, bro!”

  Ross groaned with aggravation, then glanced back to the group. “Wrap this shit up and meet me in the lobby. I gotta see a horse about a woman.” He trotted into the atrium and kick-slammed the door shut.

  An awkward silence infected the suite. Zoey wandered the chamber with hands at her waist, taking stock of the elaborate interior. Perra followed her lead, but in the opposite direction. Max stood in the center and studied the strange alien rug beneath his feet. The vivid pattern conjured images of a psychedelic zebra moose. Zoey settled into a chic chair and crossed her legs like a smarmy villain. Perra brushed her fingertips over the rear of a plush couch, then leaned forward and pressed both fists into the fabric. The ladies glared at Max from either side, but he failed to notice. He just gawked at the rug with wide-eyed fascination.

  “So what’s the play?” Zoey said.

  Max jerked out of his trance, shedding more twinkle sparkles. He waved them away like pesky flies, then gestured to Zoey. “No idea.”

  “Looks like you spent a lot to be here,” Perra said.

  “My life savings, apparently.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  The ladies traded confused glances.

  “Be that as it may,” Zoey said, “cost does not grant you dibs. This needs to be settled before we step out the door.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Perra said with a duh tone.

  “Those are the rules,” Zoey said.

  “To what?”

  “To l’amour.”

  Max snort-chuckled. “Quel fromage.”

  “Okay, smart guy,” Perra said. “How would you handle this?”

  Max shrugged. “Rock, paper, scissors for all I care.”

  “So we choose between the weapons and battle to the death?” Zoey said.

  “No, jeez, you don’t—”

  “Paper would seem like an inferior option,” Perra said.

  “Okay stop,” Max said, raising both arms. “Let’s cool the loins and look at this rationally. We’re leaving one key element out of this equation. Any guesses?”

  “Graphic sex?” Zoey said.

  Max pointed at her. “I like your thinking, but no.”

  “Graphic sex sounds right,” Perra said with an assured nod.

  “No, I just said—” Max facepalmed a sparkle from his scalp. “Tammy. The missing key is Tammy. We just rock down to the bar and let her decide. Easy breezy, fair and squeezy.”

  Zoey paused for thought, then nodded at Perra.

  Perra shifted her lips, then nodded at Max.

  “Great,” he said with a snap and clap. “Let’s roll.”

  Max twirled around, rained some twinkle sparkles, then moseyed to the front door and thumped it open. Zoey and Perra sneered at the husky human as they exited the suite, but Max didn’t react. The gravity of the situation had peaked at mild curiosity, so he slapped the door shut and leapt into a whistling strut.

  The trio marched through the atrium like a superhero ensemble. Zoey and Perra remained focused on their competing destinies while Max rubbernecked the room. The multilevel plaza radiated opulence, from marble statues to gaudy fountains. Tuxedo-clad waiters floated through the space with trays of exotic drinks. Glitzy hostesses in shimmering gowns escorted patrons to various parts of the complex. Aliens of all shapes and sizes were dressed in their seductive best, some more obvious than others. A palpable eroticism oozed from every crevice.

  They entered a receiving lobby where an eager concierge directed them to a bar around the corner. The roar of activity faded into the quiet dignity of a cognac lounge. Ross was standing just inside, scanning the interior with a puzzled expression.

  The trio strolled to a stop beside him.

  “So what’s the dealio?” Max said.

  “Take a gander and tell me if you notice anything,” Ross said.

  They glanced around a space bursting with grandeur, but lacking any sense of relish. Every patron seemed locked inside a cocoon of sorrow. They stared into their drinks, quiet and dejected as if a loved one had just passed.

  “Not much pleasure on this pleasure cruise,” Zoey said.

  “Exactly,” Ross said. “Tammy said to look for a red dress at the bar. I see a red dress, but it ain’t parked on a stool.”

  The horse nodded towards the rear, where a dozen barstools surrounded a crescent of dark wood. Rows of expensive liquors lined the wall behind it. Tending the space was a gorgeous brunette wrapped in a red gown. She surveyed the den while polishing a snifter glass with a disarming calm. Her long flowing hair, haunting green eyes, and bright red lipstick created a siren-like presence. This was her realm and she wielded it like a weapon.

  She winked at the crew and motioned them over.

  Max heeded the call without question and sauntered towards the sultry vixen. Zoey, Perra, and Ross followed close behind while wearing some obvious concern. Max swaggered up to the bar with the brash confidence of a rock star. He spread his arms across the surface, returned the wink, then whipped up some twinkle sparkles for good measure.

  She smirked at the effort, conveying equal parts pity and charm.

  “Hello, my sweet Tammy,” Max said.

  The lady snickered in response.

  “That’s not Tammy,” Perra said.

  Max stuttered, then turned to Zoey.

  Zoey shook her head.

  Max turned to the horse.

  Ross cocked an eyebrow. “What, like I’m a horse in this race?”

  The lady ducked behind the bar and retrieved a black file box. She flipped the lid, rummaged through the contents, and retrieved a bundle of postcards. “Name?”

  “Uh ... Max.”

  She flipped through the stack, found the card in question, then placed it on the counter with an unopened bottle of whiskey. “On the house,” she said with a sharp smile, then secured the box and veered her attention elsewhere.

  The group held its collective breath as Max lowered his eyes to the card. He lifted it from the counter, exhaled a weighted breath, and began to read it aloud.

  My dearest Max,

  The room is nonrefundable. Thank you for the commission.

  Tammy, Go 4 Love Travel Agent

  After a long and anxious pause, Max burst into uproarious laughter. Everyone inside the lounge turned to the commotion. Ross shifted his eyes with notable fluster while Zoey and Perra struggled to grasp the reveal. Max slapped the countertop with every bark and wheeze.

  “Holy mother of pancakes,” he said between gasps. “This version of me is gonna be so pissed when he wakes up.” Max tossed the card into the air, snatched the bottle of whiskey, then twirled for the exit and showered some twinkle sparkles. “I’ll be in the meadow if anyone needs me.”

  Zoey caught the card and crumpled it into a ball of hate.

  Perra bowed her head and released a quiet whimper.

  An awkward silence returned to the group.

  But it didn’t last long.

  “Hey,” Ross said. “Wanna get drunk with a sparkle pirate?”

  “Yes,” Perra said with a slow nod. “Yes I do.”

  “Ditto,” Zoey said, then tossed the wad over the counter.

  They turned for the exit and trotted to catch up with Max.

  MAX AND THE MULTIVERSE

  Book One, Chapter One

  Max stared at a dingy basement wall, tracing the grout lines of bare cinder blocks. He stood motionless in the center of the room, silent and waiting. Nostrils flared as they recycled the stale air. Fingernails scraped on tattered jeans. A pair of dim lamps painted haunting shadows on a cracked ceiling. His eyes shifted towards every faint sound. A thump here, a muffle there, followed by footsteps. Loud clomps overhead, then down the hall, then nothing. Silence ensnared the room. A door slammed. A car started soon after and faded into the distance. Max closed his eyes, took a
measured breath, then scared the crap out of his cat by shouting “Spring break!”

  Max’s parents had departed for Hawaii, leaving him to fend for himself in the dusty suburbs of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Not that he minded. As an only child with social anxieties and a crippling fear of the outdoors, he welcomed a quiet week in a dank basement. He enjoyed it, preferred it even. Spring break to most teens meant travel to exotic locales, or at the very least, anywhere but home. Max had no interest in such things. Spring break to him meant one thing: gaming, lots and lots of gaming, an endless romp of caffeinated carnage without curfews or prying parents.

  And so, it began.

  His closest friends inhabited pixels on a computer, the avatars of fleshy cohorts all around the world. They escaped their real-life dungeons by slaughtering monsters in virtual ones. It gave them a sense of pride and accomplishment, all while dismantling their basic social faculties. Two days into an epic bender, Max’s cat found him facedown and drooling on a rather expensive keyboard.

  “Oi, Max. Time to get up.”

  “Huh?” Max stirred at his desk.

  “Arise, you lazy sod. I’m hungry.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll—wait, what?”

  Max opened his eyes to find a chubby orange tabby with green eyes and puffy jowls sitting on the desk beside him, part one of a reliable morning routine. However, the usual crop of impatient meows had been replaced by the King’s English, complete with a disarming British accent.

  “Morning,” Ross said.

  Max yelped and flung himself backwards, tumbling out of the chair. His body thumped the cold tile floor and rolled to a rest against the couch. The chair clanked and clattered before landing on its side. Max whipped a frightened gaze to an apathetic feline.

  “That looked painful,” Ross said.

  Max flinched.

  Ross raised an eyebrow while maintaining a ninja-like stillness, conveying the least possible amount of concern. “You okay there, mate?”

  “You can talk. You’re talking.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “But how? You don’t, um, I mean ...” Max’s sputtering mind sifted through a deluge of questions before settling on the most impractical one. “Do all cats talk?”

  “What, do you mean figuratively?”

  Max started to respond, then stopped, then started and stopped again. His brain and mouth refused to cooperate, sounding like a faulty video stream.

  “Ooookay then, moving on. You’re awake. I’m hungry. Get off the damn floor, get your head on straight, and meet me in the kitchen.” Ross dropped from the desk and trotted towards the stairs.

  Max shook his head and blinked several times, trying to offload the hallucination. He untangled himself and leaned back against the couch. After a scowl and shoulder roll, he pressed a finger to his neck to check his pulse, explaining a grand total of nothing.

  An annoyed Ross peeked around the stairwell. “Are you coming or not?”

  Max flinched again and covered his heart. “Jeez, give me a minute.”

  “That’s another minute I have to abide an empty belly, now get a move on. By the way, the litter pan is full and I deuced in the bathtub. You might want to address that after you tend to my nutritional needs.”

  Max responded with a contorted gaze.

  Ross huffed and scampered up the stairs.

  Max slapped himself across the cheek, winced in pain, and immediately regretted the decision. Climbing to his feet, he glanced over to a morning sunbeam peeking through a small port window, then grimaced like an albino cave troll. Designed as a mother-in-law suite, the basement featured a bathroom, kitchenette, and external entry, allowing Max to come and go as he pleased, not that it mattered much. His real-world obligations peaked at school and the occasional girlfriend, so he preferred to stay put, content to explore his virtual worlds under a veil of darkness.

  He spent most of his time in a living room of sorts, in the sense that it housed the evidence of something living. Apart from an extravagant gaming system, furnishings amounted to little more than a squatter’s paradise. A ratty couch and rickety table served as bedroom and dining room. Corners and cubbies seemed hell-bent on expanding an impressive collection of dust bunnies. A pair of particleboard bookcases with opposing veneers gave a firm middle finger to interior design. An assortment of comic books, computer manuals, and gadget boxes completed the portrait of a standard nerd cave.

  Max climbed the stairs like a half-naked camp counselor in a horror movie. He paused at the top and peered around the doorframe, scanning the hallway through widened eyes. Everything seemed in order, down to the forced smiles of family pictures along the walls. He tiptoed down the hall, pausing to examine each passing room. When he arrived at the end, he poked his head into a sage green kitchen where hanging pots reflected the morning sunlight. Ross stood in the center of the room with an expectant gaze.

  Max froze and gawked at the feline.

  Ross sighed. “Um, food? Sometime around now would be nice.”

  Max stiffened his posture and crept towards the pantry while maintaining eye contact.

  Ross tilted his head. “You’re starting to weird me out a bit.”

  Max filled a bowl with cat food, lowered it to the floor, and slid it over to Ross.

  “Thanks, mate. And for the record, that was way more than a minute.” Ross plunked his face into the bowl, spilling bits of kibble onto the floor.

  Max backed away slowly like a vegan at a hog roast. He turned to the sink, cranked the faucet, and splashed his face with cold water. Droplets fell from his dangling jaw as he gazed out the window at nothing in particular. After a brief mental reboot, his attention shifted to the coffee maker, the lifeblood of any true gamer. He fixed a pot, filled his favorite mug, and lowered himself to the kitchen table. Sip after sip, he studied his furry friend while fretting over mental health and conversation etiquette. Small talk proved vexing with other humans, let alone with a cognizant pet. Convinced he was dreaming, or perhaps the target of an elaborate prank, Max decided to test the waters with a civil exchange.

  “So, um, any plans for the day?”

  Ross halted mid-chew and lifted an irked face from the bowl. “What, besides eating?” he said through a mouthful of kibble.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Why?” Ross narrowed his eyes.

  “I don’t know, just curious.”

  “Okay. I’ll play your little mind game.”

  “It’s not a game. I’m just making conversation.”

  “Life is a never-ending game of attrition. Our wits, swords. Our composure, shields.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Jeez, dude. It’s a simple, harmless, superficial question. I don’t need a Shakespearian response.”

  “Fine.” Ross thought for a moment while crunching. “I haven’t thought much past this bowl, to be honest. Napping will be a high priority, on a variety of precarious surfaces. Might take in a window viewing or chase some sunbeams. May freak the hell out for no apparent reason, that’s always fun.” He ruffled his brow. “Why? Is there anything I should know about?”

  “Nothing comes to mind. Why are you so suspicious?”

  “That trollop of a girlfriend isn’t coming over, is she?”

  “Who, Megan?”

  “No, Miley Cyrus. Who the bloody hell do you think I mean?”

  “No need to be a dick about it. What’s wrong with her coming over?”

  “Well, duh, she’s an insufferable twit.”

  “Wow.” Max cringed. “That’s a bit harsh. I thought you liked her.”

  “What? When did I ever give you that impression?”

  “So you don’t like her?”

  Ross huffed and glanced away for a moment. “You are one dense wanker, you know that? How many times do we need to have this conversation?”

  Max started to respond, but sighed instead.

  “She’s a canine sympathizer, Max. She consistently reeks of wet dog and utterly fails to grasp the concep
t of an inside voice. I have choked down her prattle for long enough. Let it be known that I am very close to a rash retaliation.”

  “Please don’t. She’s a good person.”

  “Seriously, the next time I see that dimwitted bint, I’m going to vomit in her shoes.”

  “Fine, no Megan today.” Max groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Jeez, it’s like living with a douchebag Garfield.”

  “That’s racist.” Ross cocked his ears back.

  “What? How is that— You’re both—” Max paused for a brain buffer. He shook his head, took another sip of coffee, then stood from the table. “I’m going out to get the mail.”

  Ross replied with a stink eye, then plunked his face back into the bowl.

  Max shuffled to the front door, unlatched it with a limp hand, and greeted an onslaught of New Mexican sunlight. The heat needled his pale skin as he lumbered towards the street with an arm raised overhead. He grabbed a handful of letters from the mailbox, sifted through a pile of mostly junk, then turned for the house.

  “Maximus!” said a voice from below.

  “Sweet mother of pancakes!” Max convulsed the letters out of his hands.

  “Sorry mate, didn’t mean to wonk you,” the voice said, also in a British accent.

  Max palmed his heaving chest. He glanced down to find the cheerful face of Gerald, the neighbor’s cat, a dirty brown tabby with blue eyes and an obvious weight problem.

  “You got any more of those salmon treats? I could really go for some.”

  “Shut up, minger,” Ross said from an open windowsill. “You need treats like a Max needs a third willy.”

  Gerald scrunched his brow. “You have two knobs?”

  “No, of course not,” Max said, then glared at Ross.

  Gerald perked. “My uncle had one eye, three legs, and talked like a pirate. True story. Strange lad, that one.”

  Ross snorted with amusement.

  Max gathered the letters from the ground and stomped towards the front door with Gerald prancing behind.

  “About those trea—” Gerald said as the door slammed in his face.

  Max tossed the mail onto the counter, scowled at Ross, then flopped back into his chair.