Critical Failures VII

by Robert Bevan

  Torgo stopped swearing and spitting and kicking the shit out of Dave, then turned to face Tim. “Stay out of this. Dwarf hide in toilet. Touch himself while spy on Vaeryn in bath!”

  Tim kept his gun trained on Torgo, but looked down at Dave, groaning and bleeding on the floor. “Dave, is that true?”

  “Not completely.”

  Okay good. There was a misunderstanding, and everyone was here to witness Dave tell what really happened.

  “Were you hiding in the bathroom?”

  “Yes,” Dave groaned.

  Not a good start.

  “Were you spying on Vaeryn while she bathed?”

  “Yes.”

  Come on, Dave. Give me something to work with.

  “Were you jacking off.”

  Dave sniffled back some bloody snot. “Technically, yes.”

  “That wasn't a nuanced question! Goddammit, Dave, that's literally everything he just accused you of. Where's the not completely part in all that?”

  “I didn't mean to hide. I was just taking a dump. When I saw her walk in through the crack in the stall door, I didn't have time to say anything before she took all her clothes off. Then I really didn't want to say anything because she'd know I already saw her naked.”

  “And then you decided to crank it up a notch?”

  Dave opened his swollen left eye a crack to look at Tim. “The damage was already done. I'd seen her naked. Is seeing her naked for five minutes worse than accidentally seeing her naked for two seconds?” He sighed. “It made a lot more sense in my head at the time.”

  It sounded like pretty shit justification the way Dave said it out loud, but Tim could see the logic in it. In truth, he probably would have done the same thing. Every last one of these rat-diseased motherfuckers standing around gawking while Dave got the shit beat out of him would have done the same thing. Tim was certain that the amount of splooge the men in this room had spilled while thinking about Vaeryn would be enough to drown them all.

  Realistically, how could Dave have helped himself. No man could resist the temptation to look at those long slender legs, that glorious vag which Tim just knew would be well-manicured and taste like lavender and honey, those smirking pink lips as moist as – Why was she smirking?

  The smirk disappeared as soon as Vaeryn caught Tim gawking at her.

  “There,” said Torgo. “You hear from dwarf himself. Now lower weapon, and I continue beat shit out of dwarf.”

  “Just a minute,” said Tim. “I'm thinking.” Had Vaeryn lured Dave into a trap? Did she follow him into the bathroom hoping that this would happen? Aside from just being a bitch, why would she do something like that? Sure, nobody was crazy about Dave being there. They didn't like dwarves, and Dave certainly doesn't have the sort of personality that's going to sway anyone from their racist ways. But surely Vaeryn wouldn't want to risk souring the team's relationship with Tim. Come to think of it, none of the rest of the people here should want to risk that either, and yet they merely stood around and gawked while Torgo beat the shit out of Dave. Sure, Torgo's big, but three or four of them acting together could have easily subdued him. Tim was their gun guy. Why were they not doing everything in their power to please him? Why would they –

  “Unnnnnnggggg...” groaned a figure that suddenly appeared in a heap on the floor near the bathroom door. Dark red stains grew rapidly on his clothes, and a puddle of blood began to grow on the floor beneath him. He held a gun in each hand, and his fingers were on the triggers.

  “Zippo!” cried Vaeryn, then ran over to crouch down beside him. “What happened to you?”

  Zippo winced and tried to control the pace of his breathing as he spoke. “They were there... waiting for me. Somebody tipped them off.”

  “Who was waiting for you?” asked Tim. “Where were you?” Then it hit him. “You went back to Walmart, didn't you? Jesus, please tell me you didn't shoot a cop.”

  “My weapons... had very little effect. It was as though they were... protected by some magical force.”

  “It's called Kevlar, fucktard. Why the hell would you hit the same store we just hit a few days ago? Why would you go without me?”

  “There will be time to talk later,” said Lissa. “Zippo is dying on the floor while you insult him and pester him with questions. Tell your dwarf to make himself useful and heal his wounds. Perhaps we can persuade Torgo to forgive his indiscretions.”

  Tim walked over to assess Zippo's gunshot wounds. “They tagged you good, my friend. Two in the chest, one in the belly, and one in the face.”

  Vaeryn looked confusedly at Tim. “He didn't get shot in –”

  SPLAT!

  For such a little gun, it opened Zippo's head like an overripe melon. Tim was on Vaeryn's back before she even had a chance to scream, his left arm in a choke hold around her neck, and his right hand pressing the hot muzzle of his gun into the side of her head.

  Several people gasped, including Dave, who had been crawling over to heal Zippo.

  “Tim!” said Lissa. “What are you doing?”

  “What the fuck does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking a fucking hostage.” Tim was facing Lissa, but he was careful to keep Torgo in his periphery. When Torgo took a step toward him, Tim responded with as severe a don't-test-me look as he could muster. “Stay the fuck back!”

  “I heal me,” said Dave, his hands over his junk. The darkest of his bruises faded away and the swelling in his eyes receded.

  “Everybody be cool, and nobody has to get hurt,” said Tim. He'd seen enough terrible movies to have this part of the script memorized.

  “You'll never get out of here alive,” said Lissa, sounding like she'd seen the same terrible movies. “You can't kill us all. This can only end one of two ways. You release Vaeryn and surrender, and we'll give you as swift a death as you gave Zippo. Or you kill Vaeryn, and we let Torgo decide your fate.”

  “Dave, get over here,” said Tim. He scanned the room, looking each one of the Rat Bastards in the eye. “You double-crossing pieces of rat shit. You thought you didn't need me anymore. Now that you know where the guns are, you can fuck over me and Dave and get them for yourself.” He nodded down at Zippo's mutilated face. “Well look how that worked out for you.”

  Dave approached close enough to whisper in Tim's ear. “Please tell me you've got an exit plan.”

  Without taking his eyes off Torgo, Tim whispered back. “Drag Zippo into the bathroom, take his boots, and put them on.”

  “That seems unhelpful and a little petty.”

  “Just fucking do it!”

  Thankfully, Dave stopped his asinine arguments and dragged Zippo's body out of sight. Even more thankfully, Vaeryn was taking Tim's threat seriously enough to not blurt out any of what he'd just whispered to Dave, though she had surely heard every word with her big-ass ears and would be smart enough to know his intentions.

  Lissa took her hybrid form, stretching open her robe and revealing her vag to be no less hairy now. One by one, the other Rat Bastards followed her lead. That gave them Damage Reduction to non-silver-or-magical weapons. His bullets would still hurt like a son of a bitch, but the chances of him taking down even one of them were minimal. It also rendered them unable to communicate verbally, which said pretty much all Tim needed to know. They were past negotiations, and were preparing to close in on him.

  “Hurry the fuck up, Dave!”

  “I'm doing my best!” Dave called back from the other side of the doorway.

  “Drag me toward the door,” Vaeryn whispered. “They'll have a more difficult time getting to you with me blocking the way.”

  Tim was wary to take advice from his hostage, but he couldn't ignore the logic. She hadn't attempted to take her hybrid form, no doubt fearing that would force Tim to make a split-second decision as to whether or not to shoot her in the head before the transformation was complete. She must have calculated her best chance at getting out of this alive, given her knowledge of Tim's exit plan, was now to help him make that happ
en.

  “Everybody stay back, or else she gets it!” Tim stepped back toward the bathroom doorway, and Vaeryn feigned resistance as she scooted back with him.

  The wererats closed in a tighter semicircle around him, but none dared be the one to either get shot in the face or get Vaeryn killed. And why would they? As far as they were concerned, they had him cornered. They had all the time in the world. They had –

  Lissa reverted back into her human form. “Stop him!” she said to her fellow Rat Bastards. “He's going to use the boots! Don't let them get away!”

  A few rat-men moved in a little more aggressively, but their gazes kept flickering sideways, each hoping that one of the others would make the first move.

  “Please, Torgo,” Vaeryn pleaded with the largest of the wererats. “He's desperate. If you let them attack, he'll kill me for sure.”

  Torgo stopped hissing and drooling, then glanced to his left and right.

  Tim stepped back into the doorway. “Dave! What the fuck is taking so long? It's just a goddamn pair of boots!” There was no point in trying to remain coy about his intentions now that Lissa had figured them out.

  “They were difficult to pull off his feet,” said Dave. “I'm almost there.”

  Tim chanced a quick look in Dave's direction and saw that he was pulling on the second boot.

  One of the wererats took advantage of Tim's distraction and lunged at him.

  Vaeryn screamed as Tim failed to pull the trigger.

  Torgo grabbed the lunging wererat by the neck and threw him aside, then three others jumped Torgo.

  “Get him!” shouted Lissa.

  The remaining wererats moved in closer, and with less cowardice in their eyes. Tim's bluff had been called.

  “Now, Dave!”

  Dave stood up, naked but for a pair of brown leather boots and hiding his junk with both hands. He looked like a Texan stripper who'd accidentally turned up at a child's baptism rather than a bachelorette party.

  “There! I'm wearing the fucking boots! Now what?”

  “They're Boots of Teleportation,” said Tim. “Wrap your arms around us and teleport us the fuck out of here!” As Dave nakedly hugged him and Vaeryn, Tim smiled at Lissa. “Thanks for the beej. Sorry I won't be able to return the favor. You really should wash that thing out every now and again.”

  “You ungrateful little...” Lissa seethed, then started morphing back into her hybrid rat-person form.

  “That was constructive criticism,” said Tim. “It's better you hear it from me than...” She didn't appear to appreciate the advice, and he knew she didn't give a shit whether Vaeryn lived or died. “Dave!”

  Dave squeezed them in his arms. “Where to?”

  “Who gives a fuck? Just GO!”

  “I teleport... we!” cried Dave just as Lissa lunged at them.

  As a flash of blinding light engulfed them, Tim felt neither claws nor teeth tearing his face apart. Instead, he felt something soft like a sheet of cotton.

  Chapter 4

  “Hot damn!” said Denise as she slid the bolt into place, locking the Whore's Head Inn's front door. She waddled behind the bar excitedly. “What'll you have, Randy? We got beer, stonepiss, and...” She pursed her lips as she scanned the shelves at the back of the bar. “And that appears to be it. No matter. Keeps things simple.”

  A cold beer sounded mighty nice to Randy. Or even a warm one, considering nobody was here to cast a Ray of Frost spell on it. But it didn't feel right to drink in front of Denise while she was pregnant, even if she was in an uncharacteristically friendly mood.

  “I reckon I'll turn in early tonight. It's been a long day.”

  “Too fuckin' right it has.” Denise poured stonepiss into a beer glass. “That's precisely why I proposed the drink, dumbass.”

  Randy sighed and shuffled toward the bar. He supposed it was rude to turn down Denise's attempt at hospitality, but wished she hadn't made the decision for him.

  “That's an awful lot of stonepiss,” he said. “Would you mind if I drank it from a shot glass instead?”

  “I don't give a good goddamn how you drink it. Suck it up through your poophole for all I care.” Denise closed her eyes blissfully as she raised the glass to her wide open mouth.

  “NO!” cried Randy. He ran forward and slapped the glass out of Denise's hand just in time. “SMITE!” There weren't no point in holding back. The glass smashed against the wall clear on the other side of the tavern, leaving a crescent-shaped dent in the wood visible from where they stood at the bar. The spray of stonepiss radiating out from the mark reminded Randy of a junebug hitting a windshield at eighty miles per hour. As full as the glass had been, there was almost none on the floor among the glistening shards of broken glass.

  “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” said Denise.

  “I apologize if I startled you, but you know I can't allow you to consume alcohol while you's with child. It ain't healthy for the babies.”

  “Goddammit, Randy. It's a fuckin' miracle that tiny brain of yours can keep your heart beatin' and your lips flappin' at the same time. How is it you already forgot the reason we get to stay in this dump? These babies is protected by the gods. I could do shots of straight mercury and snort powdered lead off a leper's titties, and it won't harm these kids none.”

  Randy supposed Denise had a point, but her drinking still didn't sit right with him. “It's like Frank said. The gods gave you a gift, and it ain't right for you to take advantage of it like that.”

  “I ain't asked for no gifts. 'Specially not the one I got. If I gotta waddle around with these freaks inside me, you best believe I'm gonna drink my way through it. What else was that Frank said? Any collateral protection the gods choose to provide for these fuckin' monsters is incidental.”

  Randy frowned. “I just don't think it's right.”

  “And I don't give a good goddamn what you think.” Denise looked sternly at Randy. “Now you listen here. I'm gonna pour myself another drink, and you're gonna keep those cock-pumpin' hands to yourself, else there's gonna be trouble, hear?”

  Logically, there wasn't any justification to stop her.

  “Just try not to overdo it, alright?”

  “I'm a dwarf, Randy. I can handle my shit.” Denise skipped the glass this time, and drank straight from a stonepiss bottle, keeping a wary eye on Randy. When Randy didn't react, she grinned, then turned her attention to a broom leaning against the bar. “I reckon you best clean up that mess you made.” She picked up the broom and tossed it like a lawn dart in Randy's direction.

  Randy caught the broom, which was really just a bunch of twigs all bundled up tight around a more substantial stick. He didn't like the way Denise was taking giddy satisfaction in ordering him around again, but he couldn't deny it was his mess to clean up. He walked over to the wall and started sweeping the wet glass shards into a pile.

  RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP

  Randy stared at the door and raised the broom like an old woman who found a possum in her trailer.

  “You reckon that's Mordred?” he asked Denise.

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  “This is Captain Righteous Justificus Blademaster,” boomed an authoritative male voice from outside. “I demand entrance to this establishment at once!”

  Randy bit his lower lip in thought. “Does that sound like a name you'd call yourself if you was Mordred?”

  “That don't sound like a name I'd call myself if that was my name,” said Denise.

  “I can hear you,” said the main outside the door.

  Denise shrugged and nodded toward the door.

  As he tiptoed toward the door, Randy pointed at Denise, then at the door. He raised his arms and squinted like he was looking through the scope of an imaginary crossbow. Now that he thought about it, he didn't recall ever seeing a crossbow with a scope in this world, but he hoped he was getting his point across. Keep me covered.

  Denise nodded, then crouched down to get something from under the bar,
the whole time keeping her eyes fixed on the door. When she stood up again, she was holding a fresh bottle of stonepiss.

  Randy gave her a tight-lipped glare, then opened the door.

  One of the king's soldiers filled the doorway, recognizable by the silver seven-pointed star clasp that held the corners of his gold cloak. The look on his face suggested he didn't appreciate having to wait.

  “Evening, officer,” said Randy as cheerfully as he could muster. “How can we help you?” He backed out of the way as an alternative to being steamrolled by Captain Righteous, who needed no further invitation.

  The captain scanned the room, pausing briefly to stifle a cringe when Denise winked at him. Then he turned back to face Randy.

  “I seek a woman named Katherine. Do you know her?”

  “That all depends,” said Denise just a touch confrontationally, like the cop in her was being challenged by an alpha law enforcement officer. “Who the fuck are –”

  “We know her,” said Randy, unable to lie. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  Captain Righteous's hard eyes softened. “I sincerely hope not. Last I saw her, she was flying down on the back of a pegasus to retrieve her deceased brother's body. I failed in my promise to reunite them, and hoped to be able to redeem myself by helping her do what was necessary to have him resurrected. But there have been recent disturbances among the major rogues' guilds in the city, and my services were required by the crown. When some semblance of order had been restored, I came as quickly as I could.”

  “Sounds like Randy peekin' in at a kindergarten class,” said Denise.

  Randy glared at her. She grinned back, as if to ask what he was going to do about it. She was growing bolder again, less fearful of retaliation now that she'd won the stonepiss fight.

  He turned back to the captain. “You ain't failed her, Captain. Tim's alive.”

  “That is wonderful news indeed.” The captain's tone didn't align so well with his words. If Randy had to guess, he reckoned assisting Katherine was more important to Captain Righteous than the outcome of the assistance.

  “You missed her by about an hour,” volunteered Denise. Her sneer suggested that her motives weren't entirely altruistic. “She ran off with some half-elf nig–” her gaze flickered to Randy as she caught herself; there was a limit to her newfound boldness. “–cromancer.”