Target Rich Environment 2

by Larry Correia

If all those cop shows had taught Jimmy anything, it was that it was always the rogue, loose-cannon detective who didn’t give a damn about “authority” and “rules” who got the job done. That sounded like Jimmy to a T because, let’s face it, Jimmy knew he was pretty much a real-life cross between Luther and Raylan Givens.

  Sure, the average Junior Associate at Stranger & Stranger had been a Navy SEAL Astronaut Lawyer or something before getting into insurance, but right now they’d be bogged down with “logic” and “facts” while Jimmy was going to follow his gut. And on TV cop shows, whenever they didn’t know what to do next, they would go roust some shady characters until somebody talked, and somebody always talked.

  This version of Florida was way more high-tech and swoopy than Jimmy’s home world, but it also had kind of a cool cyberpunk Blade Runner vibe. That meant there was bound to be a seedy criminal underworld.

  Since he had tankpooled over to the conference center and his Prius was back on Home Office World, Jimmy had to call for an Uber. He told the driver to take him to the sleaziest cesspool of shifty lying dirtbags on the whole planet. But, sadly, by the time they got to London it would be after work hours so there wouldn’t be anybody at The Guardian to shake down. It was those newspaper dorks’ lucky day.

  So they picked the next best sleazy local thing.

  The Faceless Mook Bar & Grill was supposed to be a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Jimmy’s driver said this was where all the bad dudes hung out. Not the top tier really bad guys, but more like the low- and mid-level threatenable bad guys who would rat out their bosses. Man, Uber drivers were super helpful in this dimension!

  The bouncer at the door was a five-hundred-pound cyborg gorilla. “Greetings. Human females drink free on Fridays.”

  “Sweet. Maybe I’ll meet some ladies.”

  The gorilla looked at Jimmy’s ID. “Oh, my bad. You are a human male.”

  “Whoa.” He’d heard about this all the time in Gender Studies but had never had it happen to him personally before. “Did you just assume my gender?”

  “Yes. You are very puny with delicate bones.” The gorilla plucked a tick from his own pelt and ate it.

  “I can’t wait to post about this on Tumblr!” Misgendering was worth like ten thousand victim points!

  “I must warn you, frail human. Inside this establishment the sick and weak are usually killed and eaten. But you are over twenty-one, so go on in.” The gorilla opened the door.

  On the other side was truly the scariest bar Jimmy had ever seen. It was all bikers, roughnecks, Yakuza, killer robots, pirates—both space and the old-fashioned, time-travelling kind—and assorted monstrous aliens from across the Multiverse. He’d heard Wendell’s home Earth was truly cosmopolitan, which was a word they’d used a lot in college though Jimmy wasn’t sure what three-flavored ice cream had to do with anything. All he knew was this place was so nasty Patrick Swayze from Road House would have walked in, took one look around, and said, nope, screw this, I’m out of here.

  Jimmy swallowed hard, called upon his inner insurance agent, and stepped inside. The music was so loud it punched him in the ear holes. It was a good thing they’d shut off that profanity filter, because otherwise the gangster rap soundtrack would be nothing but a string of beeps. Jimmy thought because he’d watched every episode of Burn Notice and Dexter he would be prepared for the Miami criminal underworld, but this was a bit overwhelming. There were exotic dancers in cages suspended from the ceiling, several burly men were engaged in a bloody knife fight, and Jon Taffer from Bar Rescue was loudly berating the owner about how the buffalo wings had not been cooked to a safe temperature in order to prevent salmonella.

  He went up to the bar. The bartender looked suspiciously like Danny Trejo. Jimmy ordered a mojito because that seemed a very Miami thing to do. This place wasn’t messing around, and it came out in a Super Big Gulp-sized cup, which Jimmy immediately chugged. Then he thought better of it, and ordered four more, because his courage could use a little boost.

  “You think you can handle all that, little man?”

  Jimmy snorted. He might not be as skilled as some of the other interns, but he’d gone to Chico State. Jimmy could function with a blood alcohol level of half. “Just keep ’em coming, Machete.”

  “Okay, but don’t blame me for your poor life choices. What brings you here anyway?”

  Jimmy leaned over the bar and looked on the other side, just in case there was a manatee tied up behind it. Nope. That would’ve been super convenient.

  “I’m looking for information.”

  “You a cop?”

  “Do I look like a cop?”

  “Not really. They’ve usually got some department-mandated physical fitness and grooming standards. What is going on with your hair?”

  “It’s my man bun.”

  “So you’re like a special-needs samurai or something?”

  “Nope.” He pulled out a business card and slid it across the grimy bar. “Jimmy Duquesne, Interdimensional Insurance Agent . . . Intern . . . Former. Whatever. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

  “No way, homeboy!” The bartender stared at the card in shock. “You’re the Jimmy the Intern?”

  “Wait . . . Seriously. You have heard of me?”

  “Sure. We all loved that audiobook, esè! Adam Baldwin is the bomb!” the bartender shouted so everyone could hear. “Guys, guys, it’s Jimmy the Intern!”

  Suddenly Jimmy was surrounded by a crowd of terrifying meat heads, asking things like, “Is Muffy super hot?,” “Can I get your autograph?” and “What’s Tom Stranger really like?”

  Jimmy was starting to feel his 64-ounce mojito so he answered truthfully. “Muffy looks like the movie version of Harley Quinn, only less slutty, more classy. Sure, I’ll sign stuff. And Mr. Stranger is super badass at customer service, but he can be kind of insensitive. He fired me today!”

  There was a chorus of “No way, man!” and “That’s bullshit!”

  “I know, right? Us interns have feelings too!”

  The room of hoodlums seemed moved by his plight. “Yeah, nobody ever stops to think about how us minor supporting villains feel. We’re always getting beaten up and we never get no credit!”

  “John Wick shot me seventeen times,” one giant with a handlebar mustache sniffed, “and my boss didn’t even send me a get-well card.”

  This was going way better than expected. “Groovy. So like I’m here to kick some ass until somebody tells me who kidnapped Wendell so I can get my job back. So consider this a shakedown!”

  “Yay!” Thugs loved a good shakedown.

  Jimmy downed his third mojito. It was getting a little blurry since he couldn’t remember drinking the second one. “Okay then!” He stood up on his stool. “I need information and I ain’t leaving until somebody talks! So how do we do this? Do I just like grab a pool cue and start whacking dudes over the head or what?”

  Immediately, several of the patrons shattered their beer bottles so they could stab Jimmy with the pointy ends.

  “Damn it! I have to clean this place!” the bartender shouted.

  “Sorry. Reflex,” said an embarrassed thug.

  “Every night I’ve got to spend an hour sweeping up broken glass and eyeballs and nobody ever says so much as a thank you. Now listen, Jimmy, you don’t have to solve all your problems with violence. I suppose you could just ask nicely.”

  It turned out stereotypical criminal bar bartenders really were wise. “That works too, I guess. Okay, help me out guys, what kind of sick bastard would steal a manatee?”

  The thugs pondered on it for a moment and then began shouting answers.

  “Sea World!”

  “Manatee collectors!”

  “No! You can’t just guess! Somebody has to know the right answer so I can get to the bad guys and file a claim before Mr. Stranger does. Think!”

  “Uh . . . Petco?”

  “Not helping!” Jimmy was getting frustrated. And also a little dizzy, so he got down off t
he stool before he fell off.

  “Psst . . .” The bartender leaned in conspiratorially. “I think I know which pendejos stole your famous manatee. They’re the baddest of the bad. They hang out at this rival bar down on the waterfront. It’s even meaner and tougher than this place.”

  Well, knowing that would have saved him a bunch of time! “Damn it, Uber!” Jimmy shook his fist at the ceiling. “Sorry, everybody, but it looks like I’ve got to take my shakedown business elsewhere!”

  The assorted scumbags were all like “awwww, man . . .” and “bummer, dude.”

  “Hey, everybody, I know what to do!” the bartender shouted. “Let’s go riot and burn things to help Jimmy the Intern get his manatee back!” That was a great idea! The rest of them immediately began to cheer as they pulled out a wide assortment of guns and knives.

  Jimmy led his newly formed angry mob out into the street. This was gonna be sweet! As Mr. Stranger would say, things were going splendidly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tom’s 11:00 AM March for Science

  Louisville, Kentucky

  Earth #587-F-2288

  THINGS WERE NOT GOING SPLENDIDLY for Tom Stranger at all. It looked like he would have to work through his lunch hour again and he was being pursued through the jungle by a pack of vicious, genetically-modified, plus-size velociraptors.

  A velociraptor leapt from the shadows. Tom slugged it in the teeth, sending the eight-foot-tall dinosaur flying back through the leaves.

  “Bad dinosaur. Stay.” Only like most husky velociraptors it was exceedingly disobedient, so it hopped back up and tried to disembowel him with its deadly hook toe. Dodging aside in a blur, Tom let the superefficient predator pass by, and then grabbed it in a choke hold.

  It began rolling and crashing through the underbrush, trying to dislodge him. This was not the first time that he’d had to choke out a dinosaur—this week—but their colorful feathers got all over his suit, which was a very unprofessional look, and he’d left his lint brush back in his office. Tree trunks shattered into splinters as his body was driven into them, but Tom held on as its struggles gradually became weaker.

  Once he had rendered the dinosaur unconscious, Tom got up and tried to dust off his charcoal three-button Men’s Wearhouse suit only to discover there were feathers stuck to him everywhere. “Tsk tsk.” Then he realized that he had been surrounded by the rest of the pack, and they were creeping slowly forward in order to rip him into pieces. Tom was opposed to being devoured by hungry dinosaurs on general principle, but getting killed while he was trying to take care of an important claim was especially vexing.

  “I really do not have time for this nonsense.” Tom drew the ultra-lethal CorreiaTech Combat Wombat from the holster on his belt and declared, “Unless you wish me to obliterate your entire flock, show yourself, Colonel.”

  Someone blew a whistle. Immediately all the velociraptors fled in terror. A moment later Tom heard the high-pitched whine of a jet pack as a portly, white-haired gentleman in a white suit descended through the treetop canopy. The Colonel stopped and hovered above the clearing. “Surprise! So what did you think of our exciting new dining experience?”

  “I’m not sure I see the appeal, sir,” Tom said as he holstered his Combat Wombat.

  “Great googly moogly, Tom, the adrenaline rush makes the meat taste better!”

  “The customer’s meat or the dinosaur’s?”

  “Both! Don’t you get it? It’s man versus his dinner! Only the strong will survive. It’s primal supper!”

  “Hmmm . . . I believe I will stick with original recipe.”

  “That’s because you’re a traditional sort. Popeyes came along and then everybody wanted spicy! Well I’ll show them spicy! There’s nothing spicier than fighting your food to the death. Will the tables turn? Will the hunter become the hunted? I call it the Most Dangerous Meal Deal. We drop you off in the jungle with nothing but a sharpened spork and a bucket of mashed potatoes, biscuits, and a medium soda for $7.99. It’s even all-you-can-eat, if you’re man enough.”

  “That does sound like an excellent value.”

  “And the best part, so many customers will get eaten, I’ll save a bundle on velociraptor feed. I’ll still come out ahead!”

  It was unfortunate when his clients descended into murderous insanity, but Tom did not discriminate. As long as the Colonel’s premiums were paid on time, Tom would continue to render the finest customer service possible.

  “If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion, Colonel, if you will be advertising this meal deal across dimensions, have them sign a waiver first. It will prevent many claims. In most realities dinosaurs went extinct.”

  “They’re so finger-licking good those poor saps don’t even know what they’re missing. I do declare I was surprised to see you show up here, Tom. I saw the news. I figured you’d be keeping your head down because of all those angry dolphin protestors.”

  “That was all a misunderstanding, Colonel. I hold no animosity toward dolphins and was wrong to use a hurtful stereotype.”

  “Sure,” the Colonel said as he gave a big obvious wink.

  Tom sighed.

  The Colonel paused to wipe his brow with a handkerchief. It was very humid in the primordial jungles of Kentucky. “Anyways, what brings you all the way out to my dimension?”

  “There are rumors that CorreiaTech is attempting to take over all of the . . . I will call them alignment challenged companies in the Multiverse. You are among their number. I was curious if you knew if any in particular would go after Wendell.”

  “That sea cow is a financial genius. Without him the whole deal falls apart. So any of them might want him dead. I’d have taken him myself and fed him to my flock, but manatees are fatty, and raptors get sluggish after a big meal like that.”

  “Fortunately, I believe you.” If it turned out the claim was against another one of his clients, it would require some finesse to come to an equitable solution. He’d never be voted Number One in Customer Service for the fourth year in a row if he started shooting his own clients. “Do any of them in particular stand out to you?”

  “Now that you mention it, there’s one shady type who holds a grudge. Personally, I’d check out Bill Nye.”

  “The Science Guy?”

  “More like the megalomaniacal science jerk.”

  Tom knew of him, and did not care for Bill Nye at all. As a children’s television show host, he had been okay once, but he’d been driven mad with power, and now he was giving all bow tie wearers a bad name. “I did not think Bill Nye would be into Grand Theft Manatee.”

  “Those two got into a heated argument recently. Bill Nye hates rising sea levels. Manatees think they’re great. Really opens up new real estate opportunities for them. They went at it on Twitter, until Bill blocked him because Wendell made fun of his song My Sex Junk.”

  “To be fair, My Sex Junk is quite possibly, literally, the worst thing ever made.”

  “I’d agree, Tom, and if this encounter was ever recorded into another one of those newfangled audiobooks of yours, I’d encourage listeners to go plug Bill Nye My Sex Junk into YouTube and listen themselves to see that we ain’t exaggerating.” The Colonel gestured at the unconscious velociraptor. “Anyways, you want that I should fry this one up for you?”

  Tom still had important business to attend to, but it was rather difficult to provide excellent customer service on an empty stomach. “Thank you, Colonel. Please make it a to-go bucket.”

  The Colonel waited until Tom Stranger’s mech had disappeared into the atmosphere before speaking aloud.

  “Alrighty then, Tom’s gone. You can come out now.”

  There was a weird twisting of light as an invisible kidnapper floated through the jungle. As suspected, the nefarious beings had been watching the whole exchange to make sure the Colonel honored their deal.

  “I did just like you asked and sent Tom off on a wild goose chase. I said the same thing to those manatee bounty hunters that
came by earlier. Now pay up.” A little bottle appeared as the invisible creature tossed it to him. The Colonel caught it and greedily read the label. “Ah, the rarest of my eleven herbs and spices, all the way from Arrakis.” Ground-up sand worm kept the meat so tender and juicy it warped the very fabric of space and time.

  Chuckling, the Colonel dropped the spice into his pocket. “Pleasure doing business with you fellows—” But suddenly another invisible creature materialized behind him and ripped a spark plug wire out of his jet pack. The engine sputtered and he fell into a giant fern. “Hey!”

  The kidnappers laughed at him as they levitated away.

  “You good-for-nothing, double-crossing scallywags!” the Colonel shouted. Realizing he’d been had, he pulled out the spice bottle, unscrewed the cap, and sniffed. “What? This is just paprika! Come back here! Nobody bamboozles the Colonel! Nobody! Mark my words, you seedy ruffians, you’ll pay for this!”

  Except they were already gone. Grumbling thoughts of revenge upon the tricksters, the Colonel got up, only to trail off as he realized he was surrounded by deadly velociraptors. “Stay. Bad dinosaurs.” He reached for his anti-raptor whistle, only to discover the kidnappers had snagged that too. “Well, ain’t this a pickle.”

  The Most Dangerous Meal Deal pounced.

  Washington D.C.

  Earth #169-J-00561

  Tom Stranger had been to this particular dimension a lot recently. It contained Jimmy’s home planet, a place so odd and statistically unpredictable that it made Tom a little uncomfortable. But it was also the home of Bill Nye, alleged manatee kidnapper. On most planets Nye would merely be considered an engineer who had gotten a TV show, but apparently on this strange world that meant he had been crowned Science Pope.

  On most civilized worlds science was a process involving observable data and testable hypotheses, not a religion based on feeling superior toward anyone with differing political beliefs. So it was with a great dealt of trepidation that Tom attempted to infiltrate the so-called March for Science to search for his target.