by RyFT Brand
just get to work.”
I turned and discovered that the entire troop of clowns was now standing directly behind us. I’m embarrassed to say I jumped a little. I’m still not sure how those lumbering clods had managed to creep up on me.
“You’re not without allies if you’ll take the job,” the boss clown said, his creepy smiled exaggerated by the red makeup circling his snout.
“Yeah, I’ll take it,” I said as if I had a choice.
The boss looked understandably surprised. “Really?”
“I get a hundred blue a day, plus expenses.”
His eyes opened wider than when he saw the wraith. “That’s outrageous!”
I shrugged. “I know. But I’m the best and the best is expensive.”
“Fine,” he growled and dug into a leather pouch on his belt. He dug through a decent pile of chips, and pushed aside what looked like a severed human finger. I decided to ignore it. He shoved a black and two blue chips in my hand. “Six hundred, that enough to start?”
I made a quick count, and then handed the chips to DJ. “I’ll let you know when it runs out.”
“I want the heads of whoever’s behind this,” he said, clenching his uninjured hand into a fist.
“I’ll provide you with names and numbers, anything more, if I deem it necessary, costs extra.”
Again he flashed his fangs and struggled emotionally with lowering himself to hire a human, then he spat on he ground. “Agreed. Now what do you need?”
I looked over at DJ. She was chewing her lower lip in the way she does when she’s really concentrating. Her eyes lit up with the answer. “You can’t do it. We’re already on a case.” She looked awfully smug.
I narrowed my eyes and tilted my chin down just enough to let her know I was serious, and spoke through my teeth. “DJ.” I let the J ring a little long.
She looked down and sighed out the words. “The air-rail. It has a line that runs though the outskirts that border Clowntown.”
My brow lifted and I nodded. “Yeah, that could work.” Then I turned back to the clowns. “Can your men get my ship to the air-rail and load it in a cargo car?”
“Piece of cake, but transporting a ship’s going to be expensive.”
I held an open hand up to DJ. “Keys.” I took the keys and started walking away, calling back to the clown boss, “Either be creative or consider it expenses. And be careful with that ship. Anything that happens to it I’ll take out of your hide.”
The big clown cursed me vilely in goblin. Good one too, I was impressed, but didn’t respond. “Come on, DJ.”
She was standing and staring, probably still trying to figure out if I was under a spell or something. She ran up behind me. “What did he say?”
“He just wished us luck.” I hopped on and started the sportster’s engine. I revved the throttle and felt myself begin to relax. For as long as I could remember, I felt the best when I was in control of a fast machine, especially ones with two wheels.
I steadied the bike as DJ, after adjusting her helmet’s chin strap, slid on behind me. “How long until backlash?”
I glanced at the bike’s clock and did some quick math. “A couple hours.”
“A couple of hours!” she shouted in my ear, thankfully muffled by the helmet. When excited, DJ’s voice could reach ear piercing pitches. “We’ve got to hurry.”
“Then hang on!” I popped the shifter down and punched the throttle. The tire spun on the asphalt and the bike whipped around one hundred and eighty degrees, then I kicked it up into second and we shot off like a rocket; and that’s pretty much what my cycle is, a rocket with a sprocket. There hadn’t been much in the way of personal transportation since worlds merge, as the unlimited source of power that Mirth offered, controlled by the technology of Earth, had given the whole wide worlds the benefit of seemingly free, and unlimited power, though I knew better. And with the advent of the teleportation depots, people had all but lost interest in traveling machines. But not me; I trusted machines, and didn’t trust magic a bit.
Backlash, DJ was right to caution me. Backlash is the magical equivalent of a meltdown, and you never know when it’s going to happen. Most stuff, meaning all the gizmos that controlled magic with technology, were relatively safe and reliable, but they’re also limited. Something as random and powerful as the Not Now Stone was a wild card. It could go all blazo at any moment, and when that happened, the wielder, namely me, would suffer all the magics it had ever expressed back again four-fold. In this case meaning I would find myself on the receiving end of a great many past injuries. And I had no idea just how old the stone was, or how many times it had been used. I was going to find out, but that’s another story.
I twisted the throttle and jammed the shifter up into seventh gear, breaking the hundred kph mark; I liked to leave eighth in reserve. DJ held me tighter; she got nervy when she thought I was going too fast. This was something she was going to have to change if she planned on staying in this business. The sun was rising in my handlebar mirror and the edge of Clowntown was just ahead. I turned the throttle a little further. I needed to wash the stone, eat something, and sleep, and my office wasn’t far off now. With a little good luck, we’d be there in half an hour. But in my life times, good luck had been a rare commodity.
-Next Time-
DJ, Jazz’s trusty sidekick, brought Jazz her favorite motorcycle and a bevy of weapons. Leaving the clowns well behind them, the Nittsburg boarder is minutes away and Jazz desperately needs to scrub the magical stone gurgling in her belly. But it seems that Jazz managed to rile up a squadron of Cranks and as fast as it is, her bike is no match for Crank fighters, especially the Kriscrossa, the Crank’s elite fighter squadron. Seems like Jazz has two choices, run and get herself shot, or stand and fight and get herself shot.
Jazz, Monster Collector, Episode 4, Welcome to Nittsburg
I hope you’ve enjoyed this Jazz story.
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