CONTENTS
Dedication
Copyright
Title Page
Chapter One - Things that go Bump in the Night
Chapter Two - Missing Persons
Chapter Three - Triple T and A
Chapter Four - Long Distance Relationship
Chapter Five - Dirty Jobs Done Dirt Cheap
Chapter Six - Keeping Up with the Indiana Joneses
Chapter Seven - Professor Hot Sauce
Chapter Eight - Trouble with a Capital C-Cup
Chapter Nine - Mourning Boner
Chapter Ten - The Road Trip Interrogation
Chapter Eleven - Camp Chalupa
Chapter Twelve - Loving thy Neighbor
Chapter Thirteen - Wet Hot Costa Rican Summer
Chapter Fourteen - Lab-Fabulous
Chapter Fifteen - Jezebel Cocktease
Chapter Sixteen - The Attack of the Kissing Bandito
Chapter Seventeen - Strangers in the Fright
Chapter Eighteen - Shitty Chili Bang Bang
Chapter Nineteen - The Man who Would be King
Chapter Twenty - Dances with Supermodels
Chapter Twenty-One - The Road Trip Counter Interrogation
Chapter Twenty-Two - Trojan Whores
Chapter Twenty-Three - The Mole in the Guacamole
Chapter Twenty-Four - Do Supermodels Dream of Electric Sheets
Chapter Twenty-Five - Binary in the Tropic of Cancer
Chapter Twenty-Six - Camouflage Won't Hide Your Feelings
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Two in the Bush
Chapter Twenty-Eight - One in the Lab
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Roamin' in the Gloamin'
Chapter Thirty - The Temple of Gloom
Chapter Thirty-One - Tag Finn and the Chamber of Secrets
Chapter Thirty-Two - Spelunking for Idiots
Chapter Thirty-Three - Flight of the Mole People
Chapter Thirty-Four - Escape to Asshole's Castle
Chapter Thirty-Five - One Night Stand Times Three and a Half
Chapter Thirty-Six - The Lion's Den
Chapter Thirty-Seven - Escape from Asshole's Castle
Chapter Thirty-Eight - The Last Stand at the Sex Altar
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Pyramid Puttanesca
Chapter Forty - Hard Choices
Book 8: Prometheus Protocol
The Mantasy Series
Acknowledgements
Origin of the Mantasy Genre
About the Author
This book is dedicated to all who have faced adversity in terms of health, work, relationships, or even a really disgusting public restroom, and now desperately need a FUCKING literary, if not FUCKING literal, break from this crazy thing we call
life.
•Please excuse the use of profanity and be warned that there will be more to follow, as well as some bathroom humor and sex, though it will all be delivered tastefully and with the intent of conveying a deep, rewarding, and soulful catharsis.
Chalupa Conundrum
© Copyright 2019 Lyle Christie
All Rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review; nor may any part of this book be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other, without written permission from the author.
Mantasy Inc.
www.lylechristie.com
[email protected]
Book Design and Layout: Christopher Imlay
Cover design: Lyle Christie
Editors: Katherine Gundling • Thomas Rainweather
Proofreaders: Kris Christie • Eminence Tupple • Lord Samual Swiftbuttocks
ISBN-13: 978-1-949386-13-4
CHALUPA CONUNDRUM
by LYLE CHRISTIE
BOOK 7 IN THE MANTASY SERIES
CHAPTER ONE
Things that go Bump in the Night
26 MILES NORTHEAST of San Jose, Costa Rica, 9:32 p.m. local time.
It was a dark, moonless night as the creatures moved through the jungle as silently as wraiths. Ahead of them lay a large camp, and inhabiting the odd collection of temporary structures was a team of archaeologists who had been busy each day combing the nearby ancient ruins for clues to their mysterious past. Tonight, however, the team was relaxing and celebrating, for they had made an important discovery earlier in the day—a discovery that would once and for all settle the thousand year old question as to whether or not the Chalupans were the rightful heirs to the once thriving city and surrounding area.
The creatures were now close and could hear the melodious sound of music as they hunched down on the periphery of the camp and waited to strike. A short distance away, a man and woman were completely unaware they were being watched as they talked animatedly and drank wine at an outdoor table. The man abruptly took hold of the woman’s hand, and he smiled and leaned in and kissed her. At that very moment, the creatures began their assault, and the camp suddenly went dark and quiet as its generator’s dull thrum was replaced by the ominous silence of the night. Murmurings were heard as the people stumbled around in the dark until one of them turned on a flashlight and began to make his way towards a large temporary structure where the generator was kept.
Suddenly, an ear piercing scream filled the air, and it sent the camp’s inhabitants frantically moving about in the darkness, but it was too late, for the creatures were dragging everyone out into the jungle. The woman, who had been drinking wine and having a romantic moment with the man, had lost him in the confusion, and all around her, she could hear her friends and colleagues screaming for help. She had thus far managed to evade capture, but she knew that her only real chance to save herself and the people in the camp was to call for help. To that end she began to make her way to the communications hut, where they kept a wide assortment of radio and satellite equipment.
She stayed low and moved carefully from one hiding spot to another, working mostly from memory as she navigated the darkness and chaos happening all around. She at last managed to reach her destination, but, as she approached the entrance to the hut, one of the creatures appeared from the door, and she froze in place. Thankfully it didn’t see her, and its red glowing eyes turned away as it headed off to find its next victim. She quickly slipped inside the little building and found it to be in complete disarray. Chairs had been tipped over, and wires and parts of what felt like the camp’s radios were strewn about the floor. She was fairly certain there was little or no hope, but she went to the file cabinet where they kept the satellite phones, and she was relieved to find they were all still in the drawer.
“Thank God,” she said, aloud, as she pulled one out.
She frantically dialed the only number that came to mind then listened as the call was transferred through various digital relays and drew closer to the person on the other end. She was starting to feel a spark of hope, but a sound outside the door made her jump, and she dropped to the floor and retreated under a desk to hide. She remained as still and quiet as possible and continued to hold her ear tightly against the phone before at last breathing a sigh of relief when she heard it start ringing. One, two, three rings passed, and she was starting to get hopeful—that is, until she felt a presence enter the tiny building. She silently prayed it was one of her colleagues, but, as she looked out into the darkness, two red glowing eyes appeared, and, as they moved closer, she could smell the creatures horribly musky and putrid scent. She was overwhelmed with fear, yet she still remained quiet and desperately held back the urge to scream. At last, she heard the person at the other end of the line say hello, and she spoke frantica
lly into the phone, but her words were soon eclipsed by the creatures horrible roar. She waited a moment until it was quiet then continued speaking, but claws clamped on to her feet and started pulling her out from under the desk. She fought and tried to kick free, but it was immeasurably strong and kept pulling her closer. Still, she maintained her composure long enough to relay her final message into the phone before succumbing to her fear, whereupon she screamed and fell into unconsciousness.
Sausalito, California, three minutes earlier, 8:29 p.m. local time.
Sweet mother of God it had been a difficult week. No sooner had I returned from my good friend’s wedding in Hawaii, than I was hired by a local tech company to follow one of their employees. The company in question was designing yet another social media app, and they suspected that one of their founding partners was sharing their proprietary code with a bitter rival. As it turned out, the person in question, a beautiful woman named Alice Jorgens, was simply sleeping with a high ranking employee of the other company, and the only actual secrets being relayed were her preferred eccentricities in the bedroom. It took a week and a half to resolve, and, after suffering a brief bout of constipation from all the sitting, I was at last feeling the results of the Miralax I had bought at my local pharmacy. It was therefore time to get moving, and by that I meant take a glorious uninterrupted number two.
I wasn’t sure I could make it all the way to my Japanese Toto toilet upstairs, so I instead opted for my main floor baño which resided beside my office. I slid off my shorts, dropped down, and looked forward to the sweet relief of release, but I realized I had forgotten my iPhone. Fuck—I think I left it in the kitchen, but it’s possible, that, in my haste, I had forgotten it in the car. I looked to my wrist in the hope of using my Apple Watch to page it, but, annoyingly, I had already placed my favorite time piece on its charger, and that meant I had to get up.
Just as I lifted off the bowl, a sudden and urgent pain shot through my stomach, and I realized it was too late. I dropped back onto the seat, but, as I was about to release my glorious deuce, I heard my phone ring with the tone I purposefully chose for unknown callers. It was the eerie Sci-Fi sound, and its presence meant this might be a potential client—well, that or a fucking prerecorded marketing message. The only way to find out for sure was to answer it, and it couldn’t have been shittier timing, though I suppose my only consolation was that I now knew my phone wasn’t in the car. By the sound, it was on the little table by the front door, which meant it was close but still out of reach. It rang again, and my mind went into panic mode. Answer or not? Risk missing a call or risk shitting on the floor. I decided to risk shitting on the floor and rose off the pot, clamped my butt cheeks together, and, with the awkward gait of a pregnant goose, I waddled down the hall, grabbed the phone, and returned to my porcelain mistress only a fraction of a second before the damn broke, and I spilled my bounty. The phone rang a fourth time, and, in spite of the armageddon playing out beneath me, I mustered my courage and answered.
“Hello, Tag Finn Investigations,” I said.
“Finn! It’s Estelle!”
Estelle was a fairly recent ex-girlfriend, but I hadn’t heard from her in over two months, and our last communication had been when she relayed to me that she was, as I already suspected, dating her PhD advisor. There was no real need for the call, but she was the type of woman who liked to have things out in the open—not that it mattered with us already broken up and her living three hundred and ninety-eight miles away in Southern California.
“Oh, are you calling me from your graduate advisor’s place?” I asked in a snarky tone.
“No, and you have to listen because I’m in trouble!” she said, frantically.
At that moment, I heard a horrible roaring sound in the background that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Hello? Finn, are you still there? Can you hear me?” she asked,
“Yeah, I can hear you! Now, what the fuck is happening?”
“I need your help! We lost power, and there are things in the camp.”
“Wait a minute—things?”
“Yeah, things—scary fucking things,” she said, in a frightened tone that I’d never heard in her voice before.
“Fuck—where in the hell are you?”
“I’m on a dig at the Chalupa ruins in Costa Rica and…”
There was a blood curdling scream, then the line went dead, and I had to take a minute to process that call, as I wasn’t sure if it had been a joke or a real cry for help. What the fuck were the Chalupa ruins, and, better still, what did she mean by things? I looked at my watch to check the date, and verified that it was definitely not April Fools, so what in the hell was that call all about? I looked at the number on my phone and saw that it was an international number. Weird. I called the same number back, but there was no answer. I hit the end button, brought up her cell number, and hit the send button. Send and end, that’s what we did in the digital age—no more dialing and hanging up. I got her voicemail after three rings and left a message asking if the call I just received was some kind of joke. Perhaps she was just drunk dialing me from a friend’s phone as a cruel ruse to reconnect.
With nothing else to do, I set down my phone, flushed, and washed my hands before exiting the bathroom. I poured myself a glass of Soft Taco Island rum and proceeded to take a seat on my couch to ponder the unusual communique. Unfortunately, the rum provided an unintended olfactory jolt that took my mind back on a voyage to the wild times I had experienced with Estelle on Soft Taco Island—obviously the namesake and origin of the rum. And, with those memories, came a stirring in my loins and a sadness in my heart. We had a good thing until she left for graduate school, though our breakup technically took place about a month later—by phone. She had said that it was for my benefit—that she didn’t want me to have to wait, but I think we both knew it was for her. She was in an exciting new place with exciting new friends and colleagues and deserved the freedom to explore her brave new world. Of course it was even more annoying, however, that tonight, as usual, she once again managed to get the last word.
“Motherfucker! Of all the assholes in all the towns in all the world, she calls this asshole,” I said, aloud, thus creating my own distorted version of the famous line from the classic movie Casablanca.
I finished off the glass of rum and walked upstairs to take a quick shower before climbing into bed, where I lay in the stillness of the night, staring at the ceiling as my mind swirled with thoughts of Estelle. Unable to sleep, I realized I needed a little respite and took Tag Junior firmly in hand and finished up with a minor mess about five minutes and several impure thoughts of Estelle later. I cleaned up and at last closed my eyes and fell into a dark turbulent slumber. I wasn’t prone to nightmares, but for some reason the call kept playing over and over in my mind and brought forth horrible images of great clawed beasts running through a dark forbidding jungle.
Thankfully, relief came at seven forty-five a.m. when I at last awoke and opened my eyes to see the sun rising over Tiburon—the great bastion of wealth and privilege that resided just to the east of my little town of Sausalito. I rolled out of bed still feeling tired in spite of having slept eight and a half hours, and so I decided to go make some coffee. Ten minutes later, I was back in my room, sitting on the bed, and looking at the clock to see it was after eight and almost a polite hour to make a phone call. Fuck it. I dialed Estelle’s line and again got her voicemail, though this time I chose not to leave a message. I reached over, grabbed my laptop, and brought up UCLA’s website then navigated to the Archaeology department. Estelle was in the process of finishing up her PhD thesis and held the title of associate professor. Her contact page didn’t show her to be teaching any classes, and so I decided to call the department office. It was still before nine, but universities opened early, so I figured I had a pretty good chance of reaching someone. Two rings later, a woman answered.
“Hello, this is Priscilla Talbert—department secretary f
or Archaeology. How can I help you?”
“Yeah, hello, Priscilla, my name is Finn, Tag Finn, and I’m trying to reach a member of your staff—an associate professor named Estelle Connor.”
“Oh—um—can you hold for a minute please?” she said, suddenly sounding a bit tense.
“No problem.”
Priscilla clicked off, and cheesy instrumental music filled the void, so I put my iPhone on speaker and continued to sip my coffee while I waited. Three minutes passed, and my cup was empty, so I grabbed the phone and headed back down to the kitchen, where I poured myself a refill and decided to sit at the breakfast table. A voice finally came over the line, and I quickly snatched up the phone and placed it to my ear.
“Hello?” I said.
“Yeah, hello, this is Dean Donald Delaney of the Archaeology department. Do you mind if I ask who’s calling?”
“Not at all. The name’s Finn, Tag Finn, and I’m trying to reach Estelle Connor, who I believe is one of your associate professors.
“Oh—well…”
“Is there some kind of problem?” I asked.
“Honestly, we’re not sure at this point, but your call seems to have come at a rather unusual time. Were you aware that Professor Connor is in Costa Rica on an important dig?”
“Well—I wasn’t until she called me last night around eight thirty and told me she was, though she also told me that was in trouble—which is the reason I’m calling.”
He was quiet for a moment, and his breathing was the only sound coming through the phone.
“Do you remember what she said?”
“Yeah, but it was cryptic, and we were cut off pretty quickly. I tried to call her back and even tried her personal cell, but still haven’t gotten any response, so I’m wondering if it was some kind of joke, or is she really in some kind of trouble.”
The Chalupa Conundrum Page 1