Dick by Law

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Some of the bags were scrawled with notes in thick black marker--"YOU PUSSY!" or "DICK POWER!" or "PUSSIES SUCK!" Some were marked with obscene cartoons or defaced photos of Simon. And then there were the plain plastic garbage bags tossed on Simon's lawn from passing cars, the bags that were loaded with used cat litter.

  Not that Simon was letting it bother him...much. He was much too busy for that, what with all the irons he had in the fire.

  One minute after Josie dragged out the bag of litter, Chip hauled in another one. "How many times do we have to tell these dicks? Send bags of money."

  "They're as good as bags of money," said Simon. "The more they send, the more they raise awareness of dicks like them. The better our chances of getting the dick registration act passed by Congress."

  "You said it, Sime!" Chip grinned as he hauled out the sack of litter. The word "Dick" was printed in red on the chest of his bright green t-shirt, in the middle of a circle with a diagonal line slashed through it. "We've got it in the bag already!"

  Just then, Ankha trudged in from the kitchen with a phone in each hand, a tattered black dress draped over her scrawny form, and a scowl on her face. "Looking for early Christmas gift ideas for me, Simon?" She gave the phones an angry shake. "I've got two words for you: unlisted number."

  "No surrender, Ankha!" Simon shook his head and kept typing on the laptop. "We have to keep the lines of communication open. We can't let the dicks win."

  "You mean they haven't already?" said Ankha. "Because it sure feels like it when I spend all day answering one dickheaded crank call after another."

  "We can't run a charity with an unlisted number," said Simon. "We need to keep up the flow of donations for In¢entive$."

  "That's just it." Ankha dropped the phones on the sofa beside Simon. "We haven't had a phone donation in three days."

  Simon looked up from the laptop...then looked back down and resumed typing. "We need to convert more dicks to donors," he said. "Tell them In¢entive$ fired me for being a pussy, and all donations from now on will go toward junior dick education camps."

  "You want me to lie?" said Ankha. "To a bunch of hostile dicks?"

  "Till you're blue in the face and your nose is six feet long," said Simon. "And don't forget to ask for the three-digit security code off the backs of their credit cards."

  Ankha sighed and picked up the phones. "These people are starting to turn me into a dick. How's that for irony?" One of the phones rang, and she raised it to her ear to take the call.

  "I'm taking you for ice cream tonight," said Simon. "Best anti-dick medicine in the world!" Even as he spoke, he kept typing, adding new words to the document on the screen. He was working on his Dicked Off book, hauling ass to get it done by the deadline. He'd contracted to deliver the book two weeks after his meeting with Jim Gable of Lightborne Books--in other words, four days from now.

  Simon typed like a man possessed. Take that, dicks! P.U.D.'s kitty litter ambush had backfired. Instead of bullying him into backing down, they'd kicked him into his highest gear yet.

  "Pizza's in the house!" Chip barreled through the front door and held it open. "Dinner is served!"

  A stack of pizza boxes followed, carried by Ishi. "I expect a major tip for this delivery!"

  "Do we look like major tippers?" Chip swept the boxes from Ishi's hands and headed for the kitchen with them. "We were hoping you would tip us."

  "Welcome to the non-profit snake pit." Josie pushed through the front door behind Ishi and followed the pizzas. "Have you considered making a donation to In¢entive$? How about if you forget the bill, and we'll call it even?"

  "I'll talk to your boss here." As Ishi strolled toward the sofa, she straightened her top, a long-sleeved lavender tee with a scoop neck and swirling purple designs. "Maybe we can work something out," she said as she drifted down beside Simon.

  Simon typed more words on the laptop. "We can pay you in cat litter. We've got lots of cat litter."

  "You know how to pay me back." Ishi snaked an arm around him and snuggled close. "And by that, I mean you owe me a night out. Where're you taking me?"

  "A grand premiere!" said Simon. "All new, never-before-seen, sure to evoke a strong emotional reaction. And the best part is, we don't even have to leave this sofa."

  Ishi slumped. "Ah, come on, Simon. Please don't make me watch it."

  "It's all about vigilance, Ishi," said Simon. "How can we defeat the enemy if we don't watch their reality TV show?"

  "When's the train wreck start?" Chip ambled into the room with a slice of pizza in both hands, talking with his mouth full.

  "The little dick's on the seven, and the big dick's on the eleven," Josie said from the kitchen. "So it starts in five minutes!"

  Ishi's fingertips settled on Simon's wrist. She spoke softly, for his ears only. "You don't need to watch this."

  "We need to see what they're doing so we can plan our show." Simon stopped typing and took Ishi's hand. "Speaking of, what's the latest on that?"

  Ishi sighed. "The network liked our proposal, but they have some notes. There's a teleconference in two days."

  "Shit." Simon shook his head and looked away. "Dick Life premieres tonight, and our show's still in the talking stage."

  "We're doing great, if you ask me." Ishi sounded indignant. "We're lucky they're interested, Simon."

  "I know, I know." Simon grabbed the remote control from the coffee table and switched on the TV. "I just feel like they're stealing our momentum. We're playing catch-up."

  "Your Hollywood agent's an A-lister," said Ishi. "As for your east coast agent, if you're not happy with her, I'll cut her loose." Tugging her arm out from behind him, she folded her arms over her chest and leaned away from him.

  Simon blew out his breath and put his hand on her shoulder. "You're doing great. I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm just venting."

  "So let's go out," said Ishi. "It'll do you good to take your mind off things."

  "But I have to see the show," said Simon. "And finish the book. And I'm going to D.C. with Buck Brooklyn tomorrow. And then there's In¢entive$ and the estate auction for Jim Lassiter..."

  "Listen." Ishi locked eyes with him. Her expression was serious. "You need a break." She lowered her voice. "Not to mention, we've hardly seen each other outside of work since the stunt at Belle Mere College."

  "Geez, Ishi." Simon scowled and tossed his head. "We've been kind of busy, haven't we?"

  Ishi leaned closer, still looking grim. "Do you know what separates us from the dicks of the world, Simon?"

  Simon shrugged. "Compassion? Courtesy? Tolerance?"

  "Patience," said Ishi. "So I'm telling you it's time to throttle back, and that's an order."

  Before Simon could answer, Chip grabbed the remote control from his hand. "It's on! Turn it up!"

  The TV volume climbed fast, and a raucous rock 'n' roll theme song filled the room. What filled the screen was this: a shot of a man, filmed from above and behind, standing on a towering stone outcropping in the middle of canyon country. He wore a black tuxedo and stood proudly with his hands on his hips, surveying the land around him under a red and orange sunset.

  "Oh no," said Chip. "Oh fuck no."

  Josie plunked herself down on the recliner, arms full of pizza boxes. "It's him, isn't it?"

  The view on the screen changed, dropping lower and rotating around the man in the tux. Simon finally recognized him...then immediately wished he hadn't.

  The man was burly, with black Brillo pad hair. In the reddish light of sunset, his pitted face looked even rosier than usual.

  "That asshole!" said Josie.

  "Fuckin' piece of shit!" said Chip.

  "This oughtta be interesting." Ankha drifted in and sat cross-legged on the floor, drooping pizza in hand. "And by interesting, I mean fucked up beyond all recognition."

  Just then, the music dipped, and a familiar voice began a narration over the scene. "My name is Horne Shaw," said the voice. "And I am the first legally-rec
ognized dick in the world."

  "Can you believe this?" said Chip. "They've got him lookin' like a fuckin' movie star."

  "I have made it my mission to help other dicks get the fame and fortune they deserve," said Horne. "I have sworn to scour the Earth for the biggest dicks I can find. They will live together in Dick Mansion, and I will pit them against each other in contests of dickish behavior. In the end, one will stand alone as the ultimate dick. Only the strong will survive!"

  "I wish someone would push him off that rock," said Josie.

  Suddenly, the camera swooped around and zoomed in fast on Horne's stony face. "Who will be the ultimate dick? Let the battle for Dick Life begin!"

  As the music swelled and the show's title burst onto the screen, Ishi got up from the sofa. "I think I get the picture."

  Simon held on to her arm. "Don't go, honey. We'll just watch a little more."

  "Why bother?" said Ishi. "Your show won't be anything like this piece of crap, will it?"

  "I just want to get an idea of what they're doing," said Simon.

  "Then go watch the toilet flush," said Ishi.

  "Look!" Chip laughed and pointed at the TV screen. "It's stately Dick Manor!"

  "The first event's a road rage competition," said Josie.

  "Like I said." Ishi tugged her arm free, then bent down to whisper in Simon's ear. The smell of her lilac perfume washed over him. "It's better if you just ignore them, you know."

  Simon frowned. "Ignore who?"

  "The dicks," said Ishi. "You're better off not worrying about every little thing they come up with."

  "Like the cat litter attack at Belle Mere?" said Simon. "A little more worrying could've headed off that fiasco."

  "Get over it, Simon," said Ishi.

  "I am over it."

  "Let it go," said Ishi. "Then call me." She kissed him on the lips before she left.

  And Simon stayed behind with the In¢entive$ team, watching as a gang of self-proclaimed dicks cursed, screamed, and fought in a mock road rage confrontation staged between mini-cars straight out of a Shriners' parade.

  And leering Horne Shaw kept score.

  *****

  Chapter 27

  130 Million Years Ago

  China

  Grip was charging through the forest on the trail of the six killer dinos when he came to the scene of the bloodbath.

  He stopped at the edge of a thicket of giant ferns and sniffed the hot afternoon air. A putrid scent hung over the thicket, a scent he knew well.

  The scent of murder.

  The trail, of course, led right through the middle of the thicket. Mottled brown and white fur bristling along his back, Grip slowly crept forward.

  Dried fern fronds crackled under him, and pine needles fallen from above jabbed his paws. Sniffing the dirt, he breathed in an acrid smell. Licking his muzzle, he tasted blood and urine.

  Then, as he proceeded onward, he came across pieces of the victims. Bits of flesh and fur were stuck to the ferns and brush in his path. Bloody gristle and chips of bone were scattered among pine cones and rocks on the dusty ground.

  Grip growled as he sniffed the remains and recognition dawned. The anger and hatred in his heart flashed like lightning as he realized what he'd stumbled upon.

  The trail of the six killer dinosaurs had led him to the remains of more of his own kind, more doglike things with fur coats and powerful jaws. Sorting out the scents, Grip counted two adults and three...four...five pups. All ripped apart and devoured, another family wiped out.

  Just like his.

  It was as if he'd walked in a circle and gone back where he'd started. The fresh murder scene was like a replay of his own family's slaughter--same smells, same traces, same tracks. Same blood-spattered ferns, same gobbets of fur-flecked meat. Same flies and beetles and ants swarming over the lifeless traces.

  Grip paused at the half-chewed body of a pup and kicked it gingerly with his paw. The brown-and-white-striped patches of fur on the pup's back reminded him of his own dead pups.

  And that made his craving even stronger. His hunger for revenge.

  It was his only reason for living, now. It was all he had to keep him going. He didn't think about how he could possibly do it...how one small doglike creature could fight and kill six vicious dinosaurs running in a pack.

  He just focused on finding them. The moment of confrontation would come like all moments in his world, shaped by instinct and luck, flickering with possibilities for life and death like dragonflies dancing in midair.

  Suddenly, Grip was startled by a rustling sound among the ferns. Stopping, he crouched and peeled back his upper lip in a snarl, prepared for battle. Had he misread the scents? Had one of the killer dinosaurs stayed behind or doubled back?

  The ferns rustled again as whatever they concealed pushed toward him. Grip crouched and growled, red-tipped ears swiveled forward, teeth bared.

  But then the ferns parted, and he saw how wrong he'd been. He'd misread the scents, but he hadn't missed a hidden dinosaur.

  Instead, Grip had missed a live doglike thing.

  A black-and-brown fur-covered face looked out at him with one black eye like a droplet of tar--the other eye lost amid mangled flesh. It was a creature like himself, a male, nearly the same age and size.

  A mirror image, dying from his wounds.

  The male hobbled forward on torn and twisted limbs, barely breathing, crawling with bugs. Great hanks of meat were missing from his haunches; blood was oozing from the gaping holes in his head and sides.

  The male's pink tongue drooped from his mouth, twitching as he gasped for breath. Half his nose was gone from his snout, and the half that was left flared at Grip's scent.

  Normally, if the two had come across each other, they would have struck defensive positions, growling and posturing. This time, though, they were beyond that--one half-dead, the other with no wish to challenge him. They simply stared at each other, making no sound, among the limp and bloody ferns of the killing field.

  Grip cocked his head to one side, aware he was looking at the killer dinos' handiwork...realizing on some level that what he saw could be his own future. If he stayed on the trail of the dinosaurs, they could very well do to him exactly what they'd done to the mirror image before him.

  Another creature might have given up the hunt at that point, faced with proof of the overwhelming odds against him. But it wasn't enough to stop Grip. He wasn't an ordinary dog-thing. If anything, seeing a brother creature suffering like that only made Grip want revenge even more.

  Just then, the dying male whimpered and flopped to the ground. Tufts of his mate and pups' fur drifted around him on the breeze as he lay there and panted helplessly.

  Sensing that the male was fading, Grip moved toward him. He stopped short, then stretched forward, easing his muzzle closer. Sniffing death and life, he breathed in the ruined dog's story--where he'd been, what he'd eaten, what battles he'd fought. All that he was and had ever been, encoded in puffs of vapor, rising up to merge with the clouds of the sky. All of it almost gone forever now.

  Then, with a sudden, surprising burst of energy, the doglike creature let loose a loud bark. He barked again as Grip stumbled backward, and then again...and in the timbre and pitch of it, Grip heard a message. In the language of dog-things, he understood loud and clear.

  Run away! Run away!

  The male didn't quite get out the next bark. It choked off in a strangled, gurgling cry, an extended, wailing whine of pain and sorrow and things undone. Of shutting down.

  In the way of his kind, Grip threw back his head, shut his eyes, and howled along with the male's death cry. The forest around them fell silent and seemed to fall away, leaving the two of them crying alone in a universe of cold, white sadness. The realization of life's emptiness was like the tip of a claw, stark and unforgivingly sharp.

  Grip went on like that for a long time, howling for the male and his family...howling for his own family, too. He lost himself for a while
in the song of it, so much so that he did not at first realize that he was singing alone.

  When, finally, Grip was done pouring out his heart, and he heard and smelled that the male was dead, he stood for a moment. The male's warning rang in his head.

  Run away!

  He looked back in the direction from which he'd come, toward his own ravaged home. He looked at the dead male on the ground, the image of what might lay in store for him.

  And then, he gathered in a lungful of the killers' scents and locked on to their trail again. Leaping over the male's body, he stormed off into the chattering, sweltering forest after the creatures who'd killed him.

  *****

  Chapter 28

  130 Million Years Later

  Melville, Pennsylvania

  One week after the premiere of Horne Shaw's reality show, Dick Life, Simon cranked the volume on his TV to the max. A male announcer's deep, dramatic voice boomed through the living room, backed by a blaring hip-hop soundtrack.

  "Dick Hunters!" The announcer sounded like he was talking about an intense, action-packed thriller. "Putting down dicks...the hard way!"

  The gang in Simon's living room went wild, cheering and howling with glee at the promo for his new show, Dick Hunters. Simon just smiled and nodded; finally, he was on the verge of challenging Horne Shaw's hit show Dick Life for ratings supremacy.

  "The dicks won't know what hit 'em," growled the announcer, as the show's logo exploded into fireworks on the screen. Schedule information popped up in its place. "Sunday nights this fall on VBS."

  As the TV screen flashed to black, an even wilder round of cheers and applause rocked the room. Ishi hugged Simon, and Josie passed around plastic glasses of champagne from a tray.

  "Awesome trailer!" Chip tousled his green-tipped hair and threw back a glass of champagne in one swallow. He, like Josie and Ankha, wore a tuxedo-style t-shirt--black with a screen-printed red bow tie at the collar and a pink carnation on one lapel. "Fuckin'-A, Sime!"