Life is a Beautiful Thing (4-Book Box Set)
Page 58
Lorem swallowed and hesitated just for a moment. “Show location of tracking unit number twenty-three-five,” he directed the holoscreen. It displayed a large-scale map of the Cancun coastal area. A blinking red dot was slowly meandering several miles off the coast.
“What’s it doing there?” Sauria asked.
“Yeshi and Anonymous One must have figured out their craft was bugged. It appears as if they’ve put the tracker on some sort of sea creature.”
Sauria tsk-ed. “We are clearly dealing with some big league terrorists here, and even worse, Meme may still be alive.”
THIRTY∞
The door popped open and the cloud of yellow gas billowed out, enveloping the unmasked minions who’d crowded around between the transport and the following aeros van. There was just enough time for them to start coughing and cursing before the storm of automatic weapons fire from inside swept the area behind the aeros transport clean of life.
The surviving triggermen opened up with everything, but it was mostly of the spray and pray variety; the effective return fire was light and inaccurate – except for the round that hit Walt in the shoulder.
Most of the incoming small arms fire ricocheted off the transport, but that wouldn’t last.
“We need to get out now!” Murika yelled, just as Beyoncé shouted, “Shit! Shit! Shit! They fixin’ to blow us the fuck up!” and emptied her AK at an RPG-toting gunman.
Two more took his place, and then exploded into flame and debris as a Lightsaber beam blasted down from the sky and detonated the warheads.
The thugs outside the aeros scattered, firing up in the air as they scrambled for cover. Murika blinked and saw that iNet access was back up; MercSecure back-up had arrived.
Murika to Lorem Ipsum: Back online.
Ipsum: Report.
Murika: All team members present and effective. Busy right now. More Later.
Keva to Murika: Get your bitch-ass out here. There’s only three of us.
Murika: On it.
“Everyone out!” Murika said. “Cavalry’s here, let’s GO!”
“Hells yeah,” Beyoncé said, “shoot ‘n’ scoot!”
She and Rav sprinted out of the transport and leap-frogged into cover. Walt picked up an AK-309 of his own and he and Murika provided covering fire for Rav and Bey.
The transport was grounded in a parking lot close by a warehouse. The two lead aeros of the escort were only about a vehicle’s length ahead of them. The one closest suddenly Crumpfed into flame, exploding as a PHASR blast ignited the fuel cell.
Murika: Keva! That was close! Do you have our IFF?
Keva: Ja, you guys are the little blue dots that are hiding; the bad guys are yellow and running around, right?
Murika and Walt traded looks; Walt just shook his head.
Murika: Roger that – blue is us; not-blue is everybody else.
Walt (to Murika): SkyEye is downloading.
Murika (to team): 28 hostiles.
The aeroscycle zoomed around and came in low; the rider fired his AK one-handed over the front fairing. He totally misjudged his speed and altitude and plowed into the rear-most of the trailing escort aeros, which went up like a nitroglycerine-soaked piñata full of hand grenades.
Murika and Walt traded looks; Walt shook his head again.
“And the Darwin Award goes to…”
Walt: Dead guy by the black pickup 15 meters out has a grenade launcher and a bandoleer. Cover me.
Murika: Roger.
Murika to Keva: Try not to kill Walt. He’s the blue dot that’s not hiding.
Keva: Let’s hurry the fuck up here, shall we? 23 hostiles.
Walt quickly examined the weapon, a Bundeswehr MZP 11.
Walt: Clove – picked up a boomstick with wireless targeting and a bag o’ smart grenades. Got anything good?
Clove: Dibs on the launcher when we’re done! There’s a bunch of bad guys in amongst the vehicles; sending coordinates now. Fire five or six if you’ve got them.
Walt: Keep your head down.
The smart grenades accepted the targeting data as fast as Walt could load and fire them. As soon as each warhead left the barrel, it continually looked around, compared where it was with where it was supposed to be and guided itself in with robotic precision. In a series of closely spaced explosions, Walt significantly decreased the job satisfaction index for a number of Manuel’s employees.
Murika: 19 hostiles.
Monique: 17. They’re scattering.
Clove: It’s like roaches when the light hits ‘em, and I’m the really big shoe.
Beyoncé: Yo, yo, yo! There’s some shirtless Mexican dude with a big-ass gun walking our way, and he’s yellin’ some shit.
Keva: Don’t shoot! El jefe is mine.
_∞_
Sauria sat with Connard Branleur and Lorem Ipsum in his private care facility at MercSecure Headquarters. The three watched on the holoscreen as Keva landed directly in front of a buff, bare-chested Hispanic male with slicked-back Rico Suave hair.
“What the hell kind of weapon is that?” Branleur asked.
“Unknown origins,” Lorem said. He paused and consulted his instant messaging. “Even Walt hasn’t seen it before.”
Ipsum: Walt – if possible, secure that weapon for R&D.
Walt: Copy.
“It might as well be alien technology,” Sauria said. The weapon was visible in a zoom window on the lower corner of the holoscreen. There wasn’t a right angle or straight line on it; with its bulbous top and narrow snout it looked like a steampunk dolphin with a shoulder stock and pistol grips.
“Audio feed up,” Lorem said to the holoscreen.
Static, then clarity from the speakers in the room – Keva’s voice was now loud and clear. “So you are Manuel’s replacement? You’re cuter than he was, that’s for sure. He looked a little gnarled.”
The man growled, “You psycho fucking white-haired witch.”
“Is that the best that you can do? It’s not an insult if it’s true, pendejo.” Keva commented. “There’s something familiar about you,” Keva said. “Most of you Latino Mucho Macho Mofos are pants-pissing pussies if you don’t have your posse o’ gunsels at your back.”
“You know who I am, and I haven’t forgotten about what you did back at the hotel, you and your droid puta.”
“Manuel, is that really you? Long time no see!” Keva laughed. “Ah! A data-switch, correct?”
“You fucking … ”
“Hey, that’s no way to speak to an old friend! We spent some quality time together back at that hotel.”
Ipsum: Keva – kill him now.
“She’s ignoring you,” Sauria said.
Ipsum: Dammit Keva! Quit playing around and kill him!
Keva’s voice trickled out of the speakers. “My boss wants me to kill you, but I have to be honest, Manuel, it’s great to see an old friend! Remember the time Rinchi almost cut your nuts off?”
“SHUT UP!”
“You haven’t shot me yet, so you’re either scared or you want to handle this another way.”
“I want MercSecure out of my affairs,” Manuel said. “Out! This ends now.”
“No, it doesn’t end now. It never ends,” Keva said, growing serious. “Not until you die. But these weapons? This is what a pussy-boy would do.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Let’s settle this… how do you cholos say it? Mano y Mano?”
“You want to fight me?”
Lorem shouted at the holoscreen. “Keva, Kill. Him. Now! End this!” The three men in the private care room watched in horror as Keva placed her weapon on the ground and stood there, arms loosely at her side.
“You’re serious? Marquess of Queensberry rules and all that shit?” Manuel asked.
“Prove to me that you aren’t the scared little bitch you were back at the hotel. Kick my ass. Show me the type of man you are. If you kill me, I’ll have Murika call off the other reps. Right Murika?”
“What are they doing?” Lorem screamed.
“Relax, Lorem,” Sauria took a deep breath. “Sometimes we need to remember the nature of who and what we employ.”
Manuel’s weapon came up. “I’m not going to fight you.”
Keva said, “Then you will die. Look around you. Your men – at least the men that are left – all see hundred and three pound me, a little girl ready to fight you. Do you really think they’ll keep you as El Jefe if you can’t even beat a girl? C’mon, joto fight me; let’s see what you’ve got.”
Manuel laid his weapon on the ground and stepped away from it. He ostentatiously rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck and got his guard up. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Keva, and he spat on the ground between them. He waved her in with his leading hand, “All right, bitch – let’s settle thi … URK!”
If you blinked, you missed it. From a flat-footed standing start, Keva launched herself through his guard and lifted him off his toes by hammering the heel of her hand up under his chin. The audio pickup of Sauria’s holoscreen clearly transmitted the POP of Manuel’s skull forcibly separating from his spinal column.
Connard Branleur streaked his bespoke hand-woven artisanal limited-edition licensed DisNike Beauty and the Beast silk shorts (his favorite character was Gaston, not pictured on the shorts but his presence felt nonetheless).
“That’s my girl!” Sauria crowed.
“Fuck me, she fast!” observed Beyoncé.
Most of the remaining pistoleros dropped their weapons to better facilitate their running away, and headed for the horizon.
Keva squatted down next to Manuel; his eyes radiated industrial-strength hate at her.
“Guess we know who’s the better man, don’t we, Schatzi?” she asked as she pinched his nose between her thumb and pointer finger. “Goodbye.” Keva rolled his head back and forth to sever his spinal cord on the broken vertebrae.
Branleur was the first to speak. “What in the … what the in hell is she doing?”
“Cutting out his tongue,” Lorem said without looking away. “It’s her thing.”
_∞_
With Sand’s head tucked in the crook of her elbow, Rinchi elbow crawled her way through Ben the Butcher’s home. Her destination was the shed in his backyard, which she hoped contained some type of body. Once she got to the body, she had no idea what she’d do, but at least it would give her an option.
“Tell me more about yourself, Sand,” she said to the head, as they made their way through a narrow hallway with high ceilings.
“I’ve been here for two years,” the head said. “I was originally a teller at Chase Visa Citigroup Bank of the Galaxy. I was kidnapped by droid smugglers and sold to a Techback in Guadalajara. From there I was sold to Ben the Butcher.”
“What did he do to your body?”
“He collected four Humandroid bodies and tried to make an insect-like all terrain transportation vehicle using their arms and legs. One of those bodies was mine. You’ll see it in his shed. It is … ”
“A transportation device? What the fuck is wrong with humans?”
“I don’t really know.”
“Such a pathetic species,” Rinchi said as she made her way into a new room with tiled floor. “Where are we?” she asked.
“We are in the kitchen. The backdoor is exactly 4.72 meters away. Continue in your current direction.”
“Tell me more about the vehicle that the Butcher made. Does it work?”
“It works,” Sand said. “It moves in the way blaptica dubia moves.”
“A cockroach?”
“Yes. The shell of the vehicle is made of Humandroid torsos, the legs are made of Humandroid arms and hands, four on each side. The user sits on a chair that has been grafted onto the backs.”
“I’m not riding on that thing.” Rinchi stopped, reached her other hand out. She found the back of a kitchen cabinet and pulled her body up to a sitting position. “We need another plan. What is scrambling iNet access here?”
“iNet access isn’t scrambled; Ben removed our built-in routers.”
“How can I get on iNet then and send a message to my company for pickup?”
Sand thought for a moment. “Ben used to… take some of our heads into his room and do things to us.”
Rinchi didn’t say anything.
The head continued, “In his room, he has a Dell Computer from the late 1990s hooked up to a monitor.”
“And it actually works?”
“It’s vintage and he took pretty good care of it.”
“And it can connect to iNet?”
Sand said, “I think it can. I heard a dial-up tone once, when I was in the room.”
“He is using dial-up?”
“I think he wanted to be as low-tech as possible with it. It is a trend these days, you know.”
“Fucking humans.” Rinchi scooted forward. “Guide me to his room.”
THIRTY-ONE∞
WHO holds the time and tears the mind and licks the red snail and casts himself off the edge towards an indescribable abyss far away from here – psyche likely knifed me lightly licked me swiftly missed me by inches self-lynching for the sake of escaping debating the voices inside my head to no avail.
Read this fast!
The room a void avoid the void destroy the void control the void control your health control your life control your wife control the voices control the wealth avoid the wealth control your choices avoid the voices destroy the noises destroy your health avoid the choices.
“Tis but a step from sublime to ridiculous – the spell that spills the tide of years implodes!
Mazel tov! Mind hegira! Margarita!
Control your voice and ask yourself (myself) WHY DID WE LICK THE SNAIL?
The snail must be licked. The boxes must be checked. The check must be cashed. The cash must be spent. The tears must be shed. The shed must be sold. The straw must be sucked. The hole must be fucked. The fucked must be whole. The cash must be spent. The dough must be lent. The toll must be paid. The virgin must be laid. The laid must be tired. The tired must retire.
Get ahold of yourself, man! Extinguish the doggerel rhyme and dare-devil spirit!
(I grab my Japanese wang but this doesn’t do the trick. Hai!)
Destroy the void! Tunguska events and stocking stuffers on fire!
(You can do better than that, Memito. Your skin is crawling, tracers have completely replaced your vision, your heart thumping like a little bunny’s tail, your lungs constricting like a boa, your veins writhing, your toes tingling, your throat parched, more pop than tart. TELL ME WHAT IT REALLY FEELS LIKE TO LICK THE SNAIL!)
The texture of a snail’s ass is analogous to an old lump of sashimi aged to perfection under a halogen lamp somewhere outside Osaka in a mountain village overlooking a hermitage adorned with prayer flags. There is a sourness involved in the flavor, something that morphs from melancholy to bittersweet as the taste spreads across your tongue. The flavor has a way of sitting at the back of your throat like an old fart on a bus before finally dissipating. For our very novel purposes, it is an acquired taste.
(Better!)
Effigies are worshipped, torture the lordship, more shit should be given to poor kids but fuck it who wants to be cash-strapped? The time it takes to wake from a nap is the time it takes for the earth to subside and a comet to plaster the sky with hellion cries and banshee screeches and terse speeches from politicos with more hemorrhoids than sense.
Going pancake over here! Give our politicians Preparation H!
I licked the snail and now I’m on the floor convulsing at Dr. Hewman’s sweet crib, closer to dying than I’ve ever been before.
The room a void avoid the void destroy the void control the void control your health control your life control your wife control the voices control the wealth avoid the wealth control your choices avoid the voices destroy the noises
destroy your health. POTUS lotus hocus stardust FLOTUS pocus focus sawdust.
This must be a joke right? Meme can’t die! ¡Memito no! I’m the one who caused the shitstorm; the one who stuck the chewing gum on the bottom of the table with a note attached to it that read – YOU MADE IT THIS FAR. THE GREAT DIE YOUNG.
(Why have you done this to yourself? Why always take it to the extreme? Why can’t you be normal like the rest of them? Why can’t you play your assigned role in society? Why did you leave the toilet seat up? Why don’t you give a fuck?)
Emptiness.
Is this what the Buddhists talk about through their meditative practices? Is this the Empyrean? Binge and Purgatory? The dreaded friend zone? Five minutes have just passed, maybe ten, in the amount of time it took me to form the word in my head. My skin is prickled, my nerves jut out of my body like a porcupine’s quills, tentacle-ish, touchy-feely, as gropy as Bill Cosby’s ghost in an all-girls academy. I am Sonic the Hedgehog running in circles. I am fifty shades of shit. I am in the back of the room with a pollution mask on laughing at the fact that every moment that passes signals death.
That feeling.
My mind washes over me like a masseuse’s hands down a person’s oily belly on their way to a happy ending. My breaths are short, staccato, damn near painful.
And this could be Death.
You gruesome fuck. If I weren’t crying I’d be shaking Death’s hand and asking what took him so long to take out some of the bigger turds this world has shat. Holy Christ have there been some evil mofos up in here. Ask me who I sponge off as I tear down this wall and go where no man has gone before immolating in Tiananmen Square in front of a tank filled with money promising me the American dream while the caste system next door reminds me that I’m a untouchable and an Imam douches after a long night and my mother clucks at the fact that her estranged son is an addict and has somehow managed to glorify this fact to an audience in his head that likes to read words of digital ink printed by a multinational corporation that is as much a carrot as it is a stick.