 
FOREWORD I got this story for the price of a cheap beer from a fellow who couldn't wait to tell it. I can't think of anybody who'd take credit for the validity of the fantastic tale which ensued, outside of a Hollywood screen writer. I listened with half-an-ear, my attention more squarely centered on the seductive waitress who tended our table. The bum suckered me as host for as long as he could until my patience wore thin. When I started to rise, the well-lubricated fellow offered a "name" for the source, which suddenly intrigued me. Another beer and an interested expression prodded the man to reveal secrets hacked from an improperly secured terminal at CIA headquarters. He handed me a floppy, a standard 3.5 inch 1.44 megabyte Fuji, and then he was gone, after hitting me up for a five spot. Leave it to the government to buy foreign data storage materials. I went home and inserted the disk in a rickety 386 monochrome dinosaur and read an agent's narrative, some 508,000 bytes in size. The tale was fascinating, to say the least, and it is presented here. It is unique, sometimes interesting, but hardly credible. Hell, even if it is true, I'm not making the effort to change the names. Let those guys look out for themselves. CHAPTER I: The Return of Ratnaz "Ed, looks like we have a problem." "Howzat? A problem?" The old man looked up from the archaic typewriter which had been making a noisy rattle. "I don't have time for problems, I'm on a deadline." The old Royal shook from the force of his precise blows on well-worn keytops. "Yeah? Well, as long as the Ratnaz animation project is in the air, you better damn well find time to deal with problems." "What is the problem this time? Another website infringing? Another unauthorized story? What?" When the narrow-faced secretary scowled, the weary author gestured helplessly. "What?" "The idiot won't come down from the trees." "What am I supposed to do about it? The old fart has a mind of his own." Edgar Nice burrowed deeper into his office chair. The secretary cleared his throat politely once, then a second time to get the writer's attention. "This must be addressed, sir. Rodent Pictures has a great deal invested in our trademarked product." tangor@erblist.com Something snapped! Ed impulsively pushed aside the Royal, a move which almost toppled the ediphone and the half-finished glass of Scotch to the floor. Unmindful of the precariousness of the pile of typed proofs of his latest project -- Ratnaz's List Adventure -- he grasped the desktop and propelled himself back from the desk. Seeing the stack of manuscript pages about to topple, the ever-vigilante Rathmind went into a determined shuffle across the room. The aging secretary reached the ornately carved desk only in time to add to the confusion of the blizzard of fluttering typed sheets as they took up strewn residence on the study floor. By this time Ed was already out the door and looking down the walkway which led past the towering mulberry trees to Ventura Boulevard where he could see his vintage 1948 Buick Roadmaster parked at the curb. This time the man had gone too far -- fan or not, Ed had to put a stop to it -- he turned his gaze upward to the myriad array of tree branches where he could barely make out a figure in silhouette. "Curse of a drunken sailor! Damn that clown, Boz!"
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CHAPTER II: Jumbled Tales of Ratnaz A Jungle Joke The sight of the well-past-his-prime denizen of the trees -- the self-proclaimed Lord of the Leaves -- stirred a wave of nostalgic images in Ed's mind. His thoughts raced back to a time when this now decrepit, almost comical tree figure was a vibrant young compadre -- a life-long acquaintance with whom Ed had always shared a love-hate relationship. In their younger days, Boz -- Brace Bozhart -- had a knack for leading the young, adventure-seeking Ed into one cliffhanger crisis after another, but somehow Brace always came out smelling like a rose and Ed...well... First Love Their odyssey of misadventures started on the first day of school. Young Brace convinced Ed that the only way they could impress the strongest and richest girl in class - Miss Jane Porker - was to embark on the adventure of exploring the maze of out-of-bounds subterranean crawl spaces under the Oak Park Public School. Soon the lads were hopelessly lost in the catacombs and spent what seemed like days groping their way through the Stygian darkness. Eventually blind luck -- and fate -- led them to a tiny sliver of light shining through a crack in a makeshift wall -- a barricade which turned out to be stacks of crates. There were ominous scratching and inhuman sounds emanating from the crates...and beyond this wall of trapped living beings echoed strange ceremonial chanting sounds. Curiosity overcoming their fright, the two boys pushed against the crates to get a better view. The Treasure Vaults of La Rapo Under the school cafeteria, High Chef Bertha La Rapo had just raised her cleaver to decapitate yet another Rhode Island Red for the next day's food offering. Her steady droning chant of "chop - chop - chick - chop" was interrupted by the crashing din of falling chicken crates, the frightened squawking of escaping birds, and a flurry of feathers which ushered in the tumbling bodies of two frightened young boys. Battle with the Neeta Quick-thinking Ed pushed his buddy through the cellar prep room door, but before he could follow, he was horrified to see Brace stumble and tip over a large vat of molasses from its storage perch in the corridor. Boz stumbled on, but Ed slipped, Bertha La Rapo screamed, the feathers flew and the chickens bounced from wall to wall until their frantic movements "tarred and feathered" the entire chamber -- and its occupants. It took hapless Ed three weeks of after school toil to restore the room -- and Bertha -- to an acceptable state. Courageous Boz won the hand of the bounteous Jane. Flight -- Near Capture...and a Nightmare Perhaps to make up for past experiences, and because of his perceived great knowledge of military history and strategy, Boz persuaded Ed to allow him to sit in for him on the West Point Entrance Exam. Boz flunked, Ed's ruse was discovered, and both escaped a messy situation by running off to join the 7th Cavalry. On patrol in Arizona, it was again Bozhart's idea that the two young adventurers split from the main troop and ride down a rugged arroyo for a quick smoke. It was in this gully that they stumbled upon a scouting party of Geronimo's Apaches and barely escaped with their lives by spurring their horses into death-defying climbs and leaps over the treacherous rock formations. Ed dragged the terrified and swooning Boz into a mysterious cave where he himself soon passed out from the effects of an odorous gas that wafted over them. Sometime later, in a near out-of-body trance, Ed sensed a strange presence behind him in the cave...and through a haze, he could see the Apaches fleeing in panic...staring back at the cave in terror. Boz's report to the sergeant somehow gave the impression that he had taken on the Indians single-handedly in a life and death struggle while Ed lay helpless in the cave. Boz got the medals. Ratnaz Rescues the OB Ironically, it was Ed who ultimately benefited from this strange partnership. Later in life, Ed -- a frustrated man approaching middle age, broke, a failure in every moneymaking venture he had embarked upon, and with a wife and child to support -- had taken pause to look back on all these misadventures. Ever the dreamer, he had developed a unique prowess in storytelling over the years and in desperation he submitted embellished versions of some of his experiences to the pulp magazine -- All-Gory Weekly. This marked the beginning of a rollercoaster ride that... The Fall of Ratnaz ...Ed was jolted from his reverie by the loud crack of collapsing tree branches and he stepped aside barely in time to avoid a falling mass of flailing arms and legs which hit the walkway with a bone-crunching thud!
Meanwhile your local computer features more blood curdling tales in: CHAPTER III. The Beasts of Ratnaz Edgar Nyce's burros set off a cacophony of whinnies and squeals as the slightly over-weight and bleary eyed Ratnaz hit the ground. Dismayed by the noise, which would surely cause the new neighbors next door to call the police, Ed hurried over to the fallen apeman. "Nice of you to drop in," he growled, heaving mightily to bring the less than heroic figure to his feet, "but you could have used the sidewalk with your feet instead of your head." "Hal-lo, Ed," the once imposing fellow breathed, exhaling a combination of hard-liquor and halitosis. Staunchly taking control of his stomach, and his companion, Ed Nyce pushed and prodded the man inside the house. With the door firmly shut, and about to the end of his own strength, Ed unceremoniously shoved Ratnaz onto the divan. "Rathmind! Bring a pot of coffee--make that two!" Turning to his creation, the author frowned. "Where have you been?" Ratnaz pushed a mane of unruly hair out of his bleary eyes and shrugged. "Out with the girls." "For three weeks?" Nyce was incredulous. He had often written about the incomparable vitality of Ratnaz, though studiously avoiding certain aspects of his appetite for life. "Hell, Ed, Boz and I were just having fun! Jeeze, don't be such a wet blanket!" "I thought I told you to stay away from that snake-in-the-grass. Boz is nothing but trouble. I get pasted in kindergarten, get slammed at the academy, get buried in a cave...but he gets the breaks and, damn-it-all, he even got the girl! You know all this! You know that conniving, two-faced, back-stabbing bastard has ruined everything in my life. And now he's got you drunk, out of shape, and probably subject to several paternity suits just when we're about to go big time with Hollywood. I can't believe what a sap you are!" Ratnaz ruefully inspected the tattered remains of his poorly-fitted suit. "Next time I'm going to Weismuller's tailor." Ed lost his temper. "Pay attention, you over-grown fool! Nick Miser of Rodent Pictures wants to see you." "What for? Say, how's about a drink? I sure could use one." Rathmind entered with a battered coffee pot and two cups. Ed pointed to Ratnaz. "Sober him up. What? No, I do not want a cup of coffee! I'll finish my scotch in the study. Let me know when the Lord of the Leaves over there is lucid." The phone rang. Rathmind arched an eyebrow. Ed scowled yet again and took the coffee pot and cups. "Answer it. If it's a bill collector, I'm out. If it's anyone else, I'm still out." Coffee had barely started flowing down the pathetic hero's throat when Rathmind reappeared. "Miser's on his way. He heard that Ratnaz was visiting." Of course!Ed thought.Only Brace Bozhart could be so fiendishly diabolical!Dollar signs in the author's future began popping like soap bubbles on a windy day--an illusion further soured when Ratnaz's bowels released a foul odor. "We got to hide him." Rathmind hated to be the one, but someone had to ask: "Where?" Looking momentarily panicked, Ed Nyce barked, "In the barn with the rest of the beasts!" tangor@erblist.com CHAPTER IV: Son of OB The long limo chauffeuring the head of Rodent Pictures was cruising down the broad expanse of Ventura Boulevard with the ebbing flow of late night traffic. The passengers were lazily enjoying this despite from the arduous labour of another day on the Hollywood studio casting couches. Nestled in the luxurious cushions at the rear of the imported vehicle were two men embroiled in deep conversation. "Nick baby...This idea can't lose...Close your eyes...Can't you see her... Sleeza, Bimbo of the Jungle...Racing across the savanna on her faithful companion Leery the Bull ...I've even rented the bull ...Well, cow actually, but we can fix that... You'll see it when we get to Ed's...I got her hidden away in the warehouse... Out with the animals and all that Ratnaz garbage Old Ed keeps piling up. Ya know Nick, I think he's lost his marbles...now he's raising burros!" "Yes, yes...Mr. Bozhart. But I have told you ... Our contract is with OB and his Ratnaz character....over the hill or not...and I just can't understand why you want to drag me all the way out to the valley this time of night."
Edgar Nyce lit another joss stick in the study and turned to meet the frazzled Rathmind who had finally made his way back from the old warehouse. "Well?" "He's sleeping like a lamb Mr. Nyce...behind the stack of film canisters by the burro stalls." Rathmind almost told his employer about the cow that Cows 2U Rentals had delivered to the stalls earlier in the day but reconsidered, realizing that his employer had endured just about all his weak heart could stand for the day. Halfway to the door, the weary Rathmind remembered something and half turned. "O, I left the lantern on for Mr. Ratnaz, sir. Good night OB." Ed had adopted the nickname OB after a not-so-favourable film reviewer had christened Ratnaz with the title: "Obnoxious Ass", though the media inexplicably cleaned it up to read "Obnoxious Burros." Edgar Nyce burrowed into the well-worn leather cushions of the chair which had helped give birth to so many of his dictated adventures. "What a day...Idiots...Bozhart...Ratnaz...Paternity suit...Weissmuller's tailor...Jeez...I invented that guy...I gave life to the character...I treated him like my very own son....What a time for Miser to show up...What in blazes is keeping him? I wanna get this over with." The excitement of the day, coupled with the cradling warmth of the chair, lulled the old storyteller into a dreamlike state...the condition from which he had drawn fodder for so many of his immortal stories. Ed's furrowed brow relaxed as images from the past flooded his consciousness. The Valley of Gold Bozhart...Ed's nemesis. Enna detested him! Feeling sure that Boz would not follow, she had agreed to accompany Ed on his harebrained scheme to find gold in Idaho. The Nyce newlyweds pitched a tent on a riverside claim at the foot of the Sawtooth Mountains, and in this idyllic setting they were soon suffering the toil of placer mining. Unfortunately, all they panned out was fool's gold: Bozhart! He and a wagonload of mail order brides of dubious repute had shown up in a half-starved state, and had ravaged all the provisions that Ed and Enna had been carefully hoarding. In a rage, Enna drove them out, across the river, where Boz took refuge behind a huge rock formation festooned with bands of shiny ore -- Gold! Impoverished Ed and Enna were forced to sell everything they owned to buy train fare back East -- even Ed's custom-made golf clubs and Enna's prized bottle collection. Brace Bozhart carried out enough gold to build a lavish home for unwed mail order brides -- and with the money left over he bought a ranch in Southern California. Ed's sojourn through the past was brought to a sudden halt by Rathmind's frantic shouts. "Fire! Fire! Call the fire trucks OB! The bloody cow has kicked over the lantern."
--Bill Hillman
Be sure to read the next chapter of the Ratnaz Files -- which might be: It might have been one of those Chapter titles, but it ain't: CHAPTER V: Ratnaz and the Yellow Jacket "Wake up, bo!" the harsh whisper was accompanied by an even rougher hand. Ratnaz, comfortably passed out on a pile of straw laced with animal droppings, rolled away with a growl. "Lem'me sleep. No more Boz--I'm wore out." The masked man in the black and yellow zoot-suit resorted to a more forceful approach. His Italian-style pointed boot toe slammed into the unprotected backside of the sleeping giant. It took a second kick to get the desired result. Ratnaz sat up, rubbing his eyes and pouting. "Damn it! I was about to get the Oscar." "Listen, you besotted cretin, I'm here to help you." Ratnaz managed to focus on the tall, broad-shouldered man leaning over him. "Hey! I know you! You're that Yeller Jacket fellow. You fight crime and help the underdog and all that jazz! Gee, I never thought I'd get to meet you!" The Lord of the Leaves extended a large, meaty hand. Suspicious of the brown stain discoloring Ratnaz's appendage, the Yellow Jacket studiously avoided it. "Splay-toe," the masked man spoke to a figure hidden on the other side of the empty stall wherein Ratnaz had been sleeping, "get a bucket and douse this guy. I'm not putting him in the Yellow Jacket mobile in this deplorable condition." Splay-toe, a small man of Oriental descent, splashed a bucket of water in Ratnaz's face. The burly man sputtered unhappily and came to his feet, fists clenched. The Yellow Jacket's faithful sidekick moved back a step, prepared to respond lethally with one of a dozen martial arts systems, if necessary. Ratnaz shook his head, straw flying every which way, and growled. "I don't take that crap from anybody. I am Ratnaz, mighty killer. Prepare to die!" Suddenly a spasm of savage coughing shook the Lord of the Leaves. "Damn--gotta cut back on the Camels." "Enough!" the masked man rasped. "I came here to save you from a fate worse than death, but if you're too bone-headed to understand that, then you get what you deserve." "Howzat?" Ratnaz blinked. "Whatchew talkin' about, bo?" "Your career, your entire life, is in jeopardy." The masked man spoke with intense urgency. Splay-toe, bring up the car." The dependable sidekick disappeared like mist in the dawn. "How you figure? I mean, what the hell are you talkin' about?" The vine swinger ineffectually brushed hay from his trousers. In solemn tones the Yellow Jacket delivered his warning. "Brace Bozhart means to destroy you." "Boz? Nah! You kiddin'? Ol' Boz is the salt of the earth. Why, he got me a date with a few Hollywood starlets and man, I mean to tell you it was fine! Even gave me a classic 1966 Camero to drive. Great booze, too!" "There isn't much time to explain," the Yellow Jacket said. "Can you walk? We need to get out of here." "Well, I'm more comfortable in the middle terrace, but I think I can manage. Where we going? What's this all about?" The Yellow Jacket carefully located a less soiled sleeve and tugged the aging character into the yard. A snazzy vehicle silently rolled up and the back door opened. Splay-toe hurriedly threw a cover over the immaculate leather seats before Ratnaz and his boss entered. A hand gesture from the Yellow Jacket stopped Splay-toe from taking the driver's seat. Ratnaz looked toward Edgar Nyce's bungalo. The lights were on, though the yard was dark. The drunken stupor was beginning to pass. "Say, what's dis all about? What's the bum rush?" The masked man leaned back into the cushion and stared hard at the sad figure beside him. "For years Edgar Nyce borrowed from your supposed pal Brace Bozhart. He's behind in the payments. He keeps putting Brace off and Brace Bozhart is not the kind of guy to sit still and take it. Three weeks ago a $40,000 note was due. It went unpaid. Three weeks ago, your pal invited you on the binge of your life." "And what a binge, bo! Them women, why they wuz..." "Shut up, you mangy idiot!" The Yellow Jacket threw his hands into the air. "Gods above, why am I even making the effort?" Bunching a gloved fist into Ratnaz's odiferous coat, the Yellow Jacket punctuated his sentences with sharp jabs. "Those 'starlets' were whores from Heidi's and that booze was meant to destroy you. The car was used in a bank heist last Thursday. Bozhart intends to bring you down, to ruin what little reputation you have left, all to take revenge upon Ed Nyce." Ratnaz's eyes opened wide. "Jeeze, bo, really?" Snorting with disgust, the Yellow Jacket pointed to the barn. "A diversion, Splay-toe." The small Oriental hurried away and returned almost as quickly. He took the wheel and spun tires down the drive. Without direction from his boss, he turned left on Ventura and floored the pedal. In the rear view mirror, a flash of yellow appeared, then a column of smoke, but Ratnaz did not see it. Scratching his head, the big man scowled. "I don't get it. I really don't. He seemed like such a nice guy. Tell me this, Yeller Jacket, why are you helping me? What's in it for you?" The masked man kept his face turned forward. "The less you know about that, the better it is for you." CHAPTER VI: A Princess of Bars Dee Dee Morris was exasperated. The attractive fan dancer fended off another unwanted caress as the rowdies along the runway grabbed at her. If her father, Kojak Morris, could see her now, he'd pitch a fit. But what else was she to do? Kojak's Helium Supply was in trouble. Sales had been iffy since the blimp relocated and fewer games were shot from those antiquated airships. For a time her boyfriend Don Darter had been helping them by strong-arming the competition, but he soon lost interest when he found out she wasn't going to put out for him. The nerve of the guy! Just because she looked like a million didn't mean she would act like a million dizzy dames who had no sense about a man's over-active gonads! She had been sheltered all her life, and had few marketable skills for night work--and the only thing that had surfaced was this embarrassing and degrading job at Mars Markus's strip joint. Markus was an okay guy, she thought. He never tried anything with the girls and was always there to protect them if the customers got out of line. The pay was more than she expected, not counting the tips, so Dee Dee had no complaints in that regard, but to be stared at and lusted after by so many men, men who undressed with their eyes even the tiny thong revealed at the end of her performance, was humiliating beyond belief. The girl, buxom and blonde, was young. Too soon had responsibility fallen upon her soft shoulders--but her love toward her father was the most important factor in her life. Dad needed help and she would help, regardless of situation or circumstance. Though she hated the job, and hated the fat, balding clients, Dee Dee was dedicated to doing the best she could. From the cat calls and whistles each time she stepped onto the stage, there was a validation that she was, indeed, doing her best. Still, any reasonable alternative was desperately sought, and it seemed that such a prospect had appeared. A week ago a man had entered into the club. He was tall, slender, broad-shouldered with a hard physique that set her youthful heart aflutter. He was unlike any man in the audience. Dee Dee had just finished performing her second act for the night when Markus had brought her a business card. It was from the handsome fellow. The card read: "Brace Bozhart." Nothing else was printed on the card except a charming invitation to join him for a lemon tea. Intrigued, Dee Dee had pulled a robe about her voluptuous body and sat in the shadows at the rear of the club, away from the sweaty men surrounding the runway when Lala Opra entwined herself around the rigidly erect stainless steel pole. Even now, dodging yet another calloused hand, Dee Dee remembered the gentleman's soft voice and civilized manners. "I have a proposition, my dear," he had said, "one that will take you away from this horrid environment." "I've heard that before," Dee Dee had replied sweetly. Bozhart smiled warmly in response. "Indeed, I am sure you have. My offer requires that you dress demurely, that you show up on time, and go home when the day is done. It pays $1,000 a week." Dee Dee frowned. "I suppose I must earn it flat on my back?" "My dear, I am a married man. I have no such interest, though you are quite attractive. No, I have no designs upon you, though it is not your fault you do not compare to the incomparable Jane Porker. Dee Dee--may I call you that?--this is strictly business. I need a personal secretary for Jane and I understand from Mr. Mars Markus that is your true profession." "You want me to work for your wife?" Dee Dee laughed, not quite believing. Brace leaned forward, his voice sincere. "I mean exactly that. Jane is over-burdened with social responsibilities she manages in my place. Are you interested?" Dee Dee had reserved her answer, promising one on this evening. The young girl, lost in revery, failed to take proper precaution. A hand gripped her slim ankle firmly, and before she knew it, the inebriated customer had pulled the young woman from the runway into his lap. Sweaty hands fondled Dee Dee's smooth skin, but before she could scream for Markus, or before that worthy could even exit his accustomed place behind the long bar, she was swiftly extricated from the loathsome grasp and set upon her feet. The tall man in the Amanti suit quickly dispatched the violator of her person with a single, powerful blow. An instant later his expensive jacket was comfortingly placed about her, still carrying the warmth of his muscular body. Dee Dee was ushered through the crowd, out of the club, and into the back of a dark limousine. "Are you all right?" Brace Bozhart inquired as the driver started the vehicle. "Thank goodness I arrived when I did. You do not belong in a place like that. It would break your father's noble heart if he knew." "My father?" Dee Dee gasped. "Oh, dear!" Brace relaxed, the moment of action passed, and spoke soothingly. "I have just come from a meeting with Kojak. Splendid fellow! I have long been interested in exotic gases as an investment opportunity and I am pleased to say that your father and I have just signed a contract which, I am sure, will bring great benefit to us both." "You saved Kojak's Helium? Mr. Bozhart, I do not know what to say!" The young woman was moved to tears and gratefully accepted a linen handkerchief bearing an intricately embroidered "B." "I don't know how to thank you," she said. "I do," Brace said evenly. "Come work for Jane. She needs you." Dee Dee sniffled, daubing her pert nose. "And you, Mr. Bozhart, what do you need?" "In due time, my dear. In due time." Retrieving his wallet, residing in the inside pocket of the jacket Dee Dee wore, Brace produced ten $100 bills and offered them to her. "Are we agreed?" Miss Morris hesitated for a heartbeat, then demurely accepted. WE INTERRUPT our broadcast schedule to bring you late breaking news. A fire has broken out near Ventura Boulevard. All traffic is being diverted by emergency services. Drivers are urged to find alternate routes. Stay tuned for more updates. We now resume our regularly scheduled program. Brace Bozhart smiled mysteriously as the dark limosine pulled away from Dee Dee Morris' home.
Tune in next time, same station, same channel for the the next thrilling installment of "The Ratnaz Files."
tangor@erblist.com CHAPTER VII: Portal of Peril "Fire? No! Not the warehouse?!!" shouted an incredulous Edgar Nyce. "You gotta get my prize burro outta there Rathmind...Oh...and we gotta find that silly sot! Where'd you leave the garden hose?" "Those crazy Brits have it, OB...the new neighbours who moved into the old Klimb house. They borrowed it last week." "Curses...damned foreigners...I'll get it." The new neighbours were just another prick point in what had been long series of thorns in Nyce's side. For weeks he had put up with mysterious noises, ground rumblings, and comings and goings at all hours of the night -- and now this. Rathmind, on his mercy mission to save OB's ass, tailed the harassed author out through the study room door, pushing his limited physical resources to the limit by revving into his fastest snail gait. After turning the sometimes forgetful Rathmind in the right direction, Ed wended his way through the jungle of overgrown and untended flora which had taken over the garden that once had been his and Enna's crowning achievement. Since Enna's sudden departure with Ed's long-time neighbour and some-time ghost writer, Otis Elevator Klimb, he had lost all interest in horticulture and he spent very little time exploring the grounds. God, how things had changed. Ed followed the familiar shadow cast by the silver lunar orb shining through the branches of the trees that he had planted so many years before. As he rushed up the neighbour's walkway, the familiar silhouette of the Klimb house stirred bitter-sweet memories but he put such thoughts aside to concentrate on finding the door to the newly renovated workshop. Ed pushed open what once had been a stable door and groped for what proved to be a non-existent light switch. Relying on moonlight and the disturbing, ever-growing, flickering luminance from the direction of his warehouse, he started his frantic search for the hose. An incessant drone and rumble piqued his curiosity and he took a few steps toward the source of the sounds. What must have been a metal trap door gave way and Edgar Nyce found himself hurtling downward to what surely must be his doom. CHAPTER VIII: The Giant Rodents on Helium The passengers in the Rodent Pictures limousine lunged forward as the luxury car skidded to an unexpected halt. "What the hell is going on driver...those scum paparazzi again?" "The street's blocked off Mr. Miser...must be that fire we heard about on the radio," explained the uniformed driver. "Turn left here...take the side streets," ordered Brace Bozhart as he dabbed his monogrammed handkerchief at the stain his spilled martini had left on his finely tailored suit. Any other time Bozhart would have been upset over this annoyance, but tonight he had reason to gloat and was oblivious to such petty calamities. He had Ed and his Ratnaz character right where he wanted them. Furthermore, he stood to make a fortune from the helium contract he had negotiated between Kojak Morris Helium Supply and Rodent Pictures -- what a stroke of luck! Just when Miser was planning his first non-animated Randy Rodent flick. A cast of thousands of live actors -- all speaking with helium-induced high cartoon mouse voices...and Boz had just obtained the monopoly on the helium market AND control of Morris' beautiful daughter. Genius! Dee Dee Morris, former Princess of Bars, but soon to be star of Boz's new jungle picture: Sleeza, the Bimbo Jungle Girl. Nothing could stand in his way. "I say Mr. Boz," exclaimed the chauffeur. "Aren't those fire trucks gathered around the Edgar Nyce estate?" --Bill Hillman Brace Bozhart leaned forward, the martini forgotten in his hand. "Sure looks like it. Curious." The handsome man with an aristocratic air pondered the significance with furrowed brow. Pulling his cell phone from an inner pocket, he dialed a number that only a select few could obtain. "Dr. Datsun? Is that you? Is Herlock Cabyns in? Herlock? How's the weather there? Cold, wet, foggy...no change. I see. Well, that's not why I called. I am in need of your services. Yes--it appears a friend of mine may be in trouble." Lowering his voice to a forceful whisper, the man in the immaculate suit said: "Find out who else, besides me, has a grudge against Edgar Nyce!" Terminating the call, Brace scowled. "Nobody is cutting into my time!" "Pardon?" the head of Rodent Pictures politely asked. "I said: 'Probably bearing left we'll get through fine.'" tangor@erblist.com CHAPTER IX: Pellucifer The moment was at hand. Devon McGuinness, Lord Greatstrokes, and his eccentric techno geek friend Carmon Nappie, had been working around the clock in the underground annex of their workshop -- and their labours were about to bear fruit. McGuinness had invested what remained of the once-fabulous family fortune into a scheme that would put them on easy street for the rest of their lives. The house they had bought in Southern California was perfect for their nefarious underground activities and for what he felt confident would be the heist of the century. While Carmon tinkered with his Pellucifer Burrower invention, Lord Greatstrokes, last of a long line of embarrassments to the British Nobility, papered the walls of their newly purchased Ratnaza mansion with aerial photos and sketches, as well as land use, geologic, and topographic maps of the valley area. This location was ideal. They were in the epicentre of the major banking institutions of Southern California and all he had to do was to find a way to burrow through to one underground vault after another. And his klutzy cohort had invented the device to achieve this goal. "Stop your diddling with the spanner, Nappie. Start the blooming engine rotor countdown. Let's get on with it before that snoopy old neighbour starts poking around and messes up the whole thing," urged an impatient Lord Greatstrokes. "Blimey Lard, you know that once we start the countdown there ain't no turnin' back," groused the preoccupied technician. The two men finally clambered through the large topside hatch of the sleek machine. Once settled into the cockpit, the thick-spectacled designer of the craft threw a series of switches and the whole front section of the vehicle sprang to life -- rotating in giant corkscrew fashion. "It works! It works! Close the blasted hatch Lard...I can't stop 'er now...the Pellucifer Burrower is takin' off! As McGuinness moved under the hatch and pressed the hatch-secure button, he was thrown brutally to the Burrower floor by the dead weight of a screaming body falling through the rapidly closing hatch. Bill Hillman CHAPTER X. The Characters that Mimes Forgot "Pull over here, Splay-toe. This is where we drop off Mr. Ratnaz." The yellow-skinned driver slowed but did not come to a complete stop at the front of a three story office building. The Yellow Jacket leaned across Ratnaz, holding he breath as he did so, and thrust the door open. With the other hand he pushed the unsuspecting Ratnaz out. The Lord of the Leaves hit the pavement, rolling crazily. Before the powerful car sped away, the dazed vine swinger heard the Yellow Jacket's voice. "Second floor, left. Room 20." Every surface muscle bruised, and some internal ones as well, Ratnaz carefully pushed himself upright. No bones were broken, but he would feel the pain in his joints for some time to come. "Da bum! Why'd he go and do a thing like that? I've half a mind..." The unshaven hero stopped the flow of angry speech. That particular phrase was always finished by Edgar Nyce as "That's a fact." Gloomy, the despondent hero of two dozen novels took a close look at himself and his relationship with OB. "'Obnoxious' fits for sure! An' maybe dat Yeller Jacket ain't off da mark on Boz, either!" Absentmindedly counting the bumps on his skull as he rubbed them, Ratnaz looked at the dark entrance of the old building. "Maybe, I'll just go check an' see." The door was open. The narrow hallway sported doors to the left and right, and directly before him was a steep flight of stairs that looped back on themselves. Lifting feet that had lost all energy from the extended binge and the excesses of beautiful women, Ratnaz held tight to the railing to pull himself upwards. Puffing slightly at the second floor landing, there were two doors again. One had no number, the other had "22" nailed to the unpainted panel. Before he could knock, the door swung inward. Inside, looking ghoulish from the glow of the green glass desk lamp, were three hard cases. The one at the door stepped aside and jerked a thumb. "Come in, Ratnaz, we been expecting you." Leery, but curious, the still imposing figure entered. "I'm at the end of my patience, boys. Let's hear it fast, and it better be funny." The man in a rumpled blue suit closed the door. "That's Ike Slammer, Dickie Spillway and I'm Cam Spaid. We got it in for your boss, but nothing against you," he swiftly added. Ratnaz's eyes adjusted to the light. Hard-boiled dicks they were, the lot of them. He even knew their names though he'd never met them. Popular fellows one time they weren't the in the public light very much anymore. "And you know why?" Ike Slammer said, letting Ratnaz know the vine swinger had been thinking out loud. "Your boss. Wrote a series of ghodawphul minute murder mysteries. Killed the whole genre. Well, we've been looking for a chance to get even. You're it." Ratnaz may have lost significant mental prowess over the years, but he wasn't totally stupid. "What? You gonna whack me?" Spillway laughed and it was not a pretty sound. "Thought cross our minds, bub, but you're a better revenge alive than a martyred legend like that George Reeves fellow. Nah, we ain't going to hurt you. We're going to take very good care of you." "Why should I believe that?" Ratnaz narrowed distrusting eyes. "We're after bigger fish than you or your cranky old boss. We want Bozhart--in jail or dead, we don't much care." Ratnaz rubbed his chin, then quickly pulled it away, smelling something he rather not. For once, he kept his mouth shut. Four guys, if that Yellow Jacket was counted, had it in for Boz. Despite the good times and his friendly ways, perhaps Brace was up to something. Well, he'd find out. "Where can a fellow get a shower, razor and a change of clothes?" Cam Spaid nodded toward a half-opened door on the other side the room. "There's a bath. The closet's full--might be something your size in there." Ratnaz started across the room, shedding his torn and soiled coat. Spillway touched his arm in passing. "By the way, Ratz, there's an old chum of yours in there." Perplexed, the vine swinger entered the room. The lights were out. A harsh neon sign on the next building over barely shed light through dirty curtains drawn over the window. As he stood silhouetted in the doorway, a woman's soft voice startled Ratnaz. "Close the door." He did. A moment later the bedside light came on. The woman, tall, sharply dressed, and very attractive, smiled at the man's stunned expression. "Hello, Ratz. Miss me?" "Bertie Ketchum!" Ratnaz exclaimed. CHAPTER XI. The Gams That Man Forgot Meanwhile, as Ratnaz renewed acquaintance with a double agent from an early episode in his career as Edgar Nyce's jungle flunky, Dee Dee Morris tried on several blouses before settling on a white silk with loose sleeves. It draped nicely over her black bra. Stepping into a knee-length black skirt, she zipped the side and buttoned the eighteen inch waistband. Taupe stockings encased her slim legs and her toes wiggled inside sensible black pumps with a two inch heel. A sleeveless vest matching the skirt was donned, then she checked her reflection in the mirror. Satisfied she looked her best without looking slutty, a light touch of lipstick was applied and blotted. Kojak Morris was at the breakfast table, a bowl of Sugar Whammies in front of him. He looked up from the morning paper and whistled at his daughter. "I swear Dee Dee, you look prettier every day." The girl turned then asked, "Too much?" "Very beautiful, and proper, too. I'm proud of you darling. It broke my heart every night you went of Mars Markus'." Dee Dee was staggered. "Oh, daddy! You knew?" "To my eternal shame, yes, I did. I didn't worry about you because Mars and I go way back, but we were desperate, honey. And I couldn't forbid you to do whatever you felt was needful to help us through hard times. I also heard what Brace Bozhart did for you. Fine man, he is, don't you think?" Dee Dee took a bite of her father's toast. "I can't really say. I am grateful, not only for pulling that drunk off me, but for offering me this job. Still," she grew misty-eyed, "I feel like I am leaving you when you need me most." Kojak chuckled. "Not to worry, Dee Dee. The advance on the contract pays off the creditors and leaves plenty for operations for a while. Once we start supplying Rodent Pictures with helium, we'll be able to expand operations, just like we always dreamed." The back door of the kitchen suddenly opened. A black-haired, grey-eyed warrior entered--Dan Darter, late captain U. S. Air Cavalry. "Dee, Kojak," he said. "So, it is true." There was a rage smoldering in his eyes that frightened Dee Dee Morris. "You aren't welcome here, Dan," she stammered. "Please leave." "Not until I get what I came after." Dan Darter hardened his expression and walked toward Dee Dee.
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tangor@erblist.com CHAPTER XII: Into Klimb's Abyss Back in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, young Splay-Toe, had been raised on imported American Blackhawk comics and before he had ever met his current idol, Yellow Jacket, The Zoot Suit Crusader, he had developed a profound case of hero envy for the hotshot fly boys' Chinese sidekick -- Chop Chop. It seemed natural then, when it came time to emigrate to America that he should obtain a false Chinese passport. The fact that he had red hair and could speak no Chinese, and for that matter had not even mastered the blunt-end style chopsticks favoured by the Asian mainland horde, offered no deterrent to the gung ho houseboy. He did, however, emulate the Chinese costume of the diminutive Chop Chop...right down to the silk pyjamas, pigtail and the cleaver which doubled both as a weapon against evil-doers and, in less frenetic moments, a kitchen utensil for chop suey preparation. As Splay-Toe aimed the powerful Yellowjacketmobile through valley traffic -- for the second time this night -- he glanced into the rear view mirror at his masked friend in the back seat. "Bryce?" -- Only Splay-Toe, and the masked man's faithful female companion, Pancho Lane, knew the shameful secret of Yellow Jacket's real identity. Behind the mask was -- Bryce Lee -- illegitimate half-Cantonese brother of Brace Bozhart! -- "Bryce? You awake?" "Mmm. Just thinking Splay-Toe. We are being followed...that limo did a U-ie a few blocks back and it's been closing in on us. Step on it!" The yellow vegetable dye on the driver's brow was beginning to join the beads of nervous sweat in a race down his unmistakably Caucasian features. "Look out! There's a detour. Turn left and take the side streets." A little farther on, a quick glance out the side window met with an almost surrealistic scene of a hobbling elderly man in his boxer shorts -- leading a burro and badly singed milk cow...all of this against a backdrop of the still-smoldering ruins of a recently burnt out warehouse. "Up ahead...to your right," shouted the masked man. "There's a large building with an open stable door. Turn in and douse the lights!" The yellow behemoth rolled easily through the wide portal, but immediately following the extinguishing of the lights the rear end of the vehicle tipped violently upward and the surprised occupants found themselves hurtling downward to meet what surely must be their doom. CHAPTER XIII: The Bandits from Hell's Bells The Stranger from Farris's Through the night Bertie had used all of her feminine wiles and every trick she had learned from the Mata Hari handbook to eke out of Ratnaz everything he knew about Brace Bozhart. The morning sun lured three "has-been" PIs, a now much more presentable and contented man of the jungle, and a seductively dressed, radiant woman out of the rundown three-story building. They crossed a litter-strewn and crumbling sidewalk to a waiting 1949 maroon Ford sedan. A few moments later, as they sped off, a canary yellow 1966 Camaro nosed out from the nearby service alley beside Ferris's Big Wheel Club and roared in pursuit. The Mucker "Come on, yuse guys...where ya takin' me," pleaded an increasingly anxious Ratnaz. To mask his unease, he was trying hard to emulate the sonorous, dulcet, and glibly eloquent vocal abilities of his cinema hero, Johnny Weissmuller. The Family Jewels of Opar Feelings of apprehension, however, where soon assuaged by the ever-resourceful Bertie who pressed her full warm body even closer to the protesting apeman and fondled his freshly shaven face with seductive caresses. The spell wasn't broken until the car pulled into a parking lot ringed with palms and Ratnaz was startled to realize that he was staring at the familiar signage of the Ratnaza Branch of the Bank of America. Before he was fully aware of what was happening, he found himself transported to the basement of the bank building, where he and Bertie were being escorted by a burly security guard into the safety deposit box section of the bank's massive vault - a vault that the retreating guard pointed out with pride was impregnable, having being designed by the Opar Company of Cucamonga. By this time Bertie knew what she was looking for as she reached over and unbuckled the belt which held up her ruggedly handsome friend's baggy pleated trousers: "Can I see it again Ratz, honey? Please...ummmm?" Once again the noble savage felt a rush of embarrassment and shame. Embarrassment because he had promised his poor dear, long-departed African mother that he would never let anyone see him like this...hunched and cowering in his BVDs... his underwear in full view of...a girl. Shame because he had only yesterday promised his best buddy Boz that he would never betray the secret entrusted to him. Bertie knelt down in front of the poor, pitiful creature and reached out with both hands. She then lowered her sensuous face until he could feel her hot breath on his lower body. The mood built to a climax as she pulled on the handle of a huge magnifying glass hidden in the deep recesses of her handbag. Closer she came until she could make out the numbers tattooed on that part of him about which he felt most sensitive ...his knees. How clever and diabolical was Bozhart...would any sane man have thought of hiding the combination for his safety deposit box in such a private place? Bertie gasped, "I've Got It!" The clever seductress raced to the wall of security boxes and frantically engaged the tumblers on the combination lock which was guarding Box 22. The series of numbers unleashed the thick metal door of safe and Bertie ran to the inspection table with a large waterproof, oilskin packet in hand. Ratnaz could see over her shoulder that the packet contained a cornucopia of photographs and documents...and precious gem stones. Just as the woman made a motion to return to the waiting henchmen upstairs, one entire wall of the vault gave way in an explosion of dust and brick, as a gigantic corkscrew monster crashed toward them and threatened to impale the startled couple who sought safety in each other's arms. CHAPTER XIV: Airship 2-U-2 Dan Darter lunged past Dee Dee Morris in an attempt to snatch away the master key to the Helium Works, but his move was thwarted by Kojak Morris who sensed immediately what the man was seeking. The old man barred Darter's way, but in doing so, toppled over the key chest and found himself inextricably pinned beneath its immense weight. Uttering a curse, Darter seized the Princess of Bars by her slender wrist and unceremoniously pulled, pushed and carried the struggling beauty out to his waiting escape vehicle. Darter had not always been of this ilk. When Dee Dee first met him he had a promising military career with the Uganda Secret Air Cavalry after a dishonorable discharge for bad conduct from the US military forces, but everything seemed to unravel when, during a hazardous mission in hostile jungle territory, his state-of-the-art (for Uganda) biplane went down. No one ever really knew what terrors he had faced alone in the jungle but he wandered out of that savage realm a very different man -- his once baby blue eyes had turned a steely gray. He had never fully recovered from his head injuries, and for a time had drifted from country to country offering his services as a mercenary ultralight pilot. But always there were the headaches... and the flashbacks... and the hallucinations. He was no longer the chivalrous warrior -- the gallant who had won the heart of the incomparable Dee Dee Morris so long ago -- but she never lost hope... The Jed of Clampett Princess Dee Dee was thrown unceremoniously onto what appeared to be an old sofa -- in the back of a very old truck. Behind her was a huge pile of rubber material wrapped in a web of rough jute twine. It was only after Darter had turned the sputtering jalopy onto Sunset Boulevard that he explained to her that he had purchased the truck from Honest Jed of Clampett auto sales...and it had once been used in some sort of TV comedy series. Then, after they turned into her father's Helium Atmosphere Works complex, she learned the startling secret of the large rubber material in the back. Darter gained forcible entry into the plant and was soon pumping helium gas into what turned out to be a giant Holstein-shaped promotional balloon he had obtained from the Cows 2U theatrical supply company. After they were airborne and sitting in the open cockpit of Darter's makeshift flier, Dee learned the rest of the story. The Grimley Wave The Grimley Wave was a Hollywood landmark...Jasmine Grimley had taken over her (his) father Ed's hair styling salon which specialized in the much-sought-after Grimley Wave hair curl. Countless celebrities -- Veronica Lake, Marlon Brando, Martin Short, Bill Haley...an endless list. Darter was visiting Jasmine for a perm, a few weeks previously, when an old prospector -- Zany Grany, accompanied by his burro, stormed in through the back entrance of the salon for his annual hair cut and shave. The old codger had a reputation as a teller of wild tales so after the first shock wave had subsided, Darter only half listened as he sat under the Grimley permanent wave machine. He later became intrigued, however, with the outrageous story of a giant rift that the old guy claimed had been opened in the desert just after the last big earthquake. Zany had been travelling across the Tappan Range just west of Death Valley's Stovepipe Wells when he saw giant, featherless birds in the distance. Upon approaching, he was horrified to see three of his burros pitch forward and fall into what had to be a bottomless pit -- to meet what surely must be their doom. Two more of his burros were carried off and down into the depths by the giant lizard-birds which had been flying overhead. The improbable tale stuck in Darter's mind and stoked his sense of adventure to a fever pitch. Now high above the dead sea bottoms of Southern California, Dee Dee Morris was suffering from emotional overload, and was trying to take a calm level-headed assessment of her hopeless predicament Trapped by the Synthetic Cow Here she was: kidnapped by a madman AND forced to participate in his wild fantasy AND clinging for her life to a solitary coil spring protruding from an Ozarkian loveseat, AND trying to avoid the escaping gases of a rubber flying cow sac which was propelling them ever higher into the increasingly rarefied Jasoomian air AND watching in hopeless abandonment as the twin towers of her father's beloved Helium Works shrank into the distance. All of this utter hopelessness was framed against the blood red disc of a far off sun plummeting into the wild treacherous waters of the mighty Pacific. Facing a fate worse than death, the lovely Dee Dee Morris, Princess of Bars, had only one choice. The girl let her fingers slide from their grip on the spring...and she plunged to what surely must be her doom. Bill Hillman CHAPTER XV. The Game's a Foot Herlock Cabyns and Dr. Datsun caught the first Concorde to the States. During the uneventful supersonic flight the world renowned detective and his ever present assistant reviewed the facts of the developing caper. Cabyns and Bozhart had a long relationship, primarily based on industrial espionage (Bozhart's) which had been profitable to them both--commissions from the British Government or the Royal Family had been few and far between in latter years. "Brace is concerned," Herlock said quietly as he studied the faces of the well-dressed passengers in First Class. "I've never known him to be easily ruffled, so it must be something quite nefarious." "My dear Cabyns," Dr. Datsun replied, "I heartily agree. Mr. Bozhart must be protected at all costs." Herlock, without realizing it, had produced his discolored briar pipe. He was about to clench it between his teeth when a stern-faced stewardess tapped his shoulder. "Oh!" the detective ejected apologetically. "Force of habit. Sorry." As the attendant walked away, Herlock Cabyns scowled. "One of life's small comforts, and it is illegal in the air. By so much has the world changed." Dr. Datsun surreptitiously offered Cabyns a small packet. "To calm your nerves," the good doctor said. For a moment the consulting detective considered the offer, then declined. "A clear head is needed, my good Datsun. Brace Bozhart deserves our keenest deductive abilities." Datsun returned the packet to his tweed jacket pocket without further comment. Upon landing, the two travelers were met by a well-dressed, stone-faced employee of Brace Bozhart's worldwide organization BB, Inc. "Mr. Bozhart sends his greetings and apologizes for the urgency. I'll take your bags, sir." Datsun was left to carry his own bag, which fortunately for the aging medical practitioner, was a small black valise. Cabyns and Datsun were driven from the commercial airport to a smaller private field where a sleek executive jet emblazoned with "BB, Inc." awaited their arrival. The turbines were turning at a low whine as the man delivered the detective and assistant. With little waste motion both boarded and the powerful aircraft took off. The men were not alone in the cabin. An affable gentleman, blond-haired and husky, extended a hand. "My name is Hillie Billman. I'm to fill you in and assist you any way possible." Cabyns accepted the handshake with cool aplomb. "Wait, do not tell me... you are originally from West Virginia, a farmer's son, experienced in manual labor and devoted to the works of Herman Melville. You are currently employed for your skills in martial combat and dedication to duty." Dr. Datsun rolled his eyes. "Cabyns! Must you do that?" Hillie Billman chuckled. "That's okay, Datsun. I'm curious, Cabyns, how'd you make that deduction?" "T'is obvious, sir. Your hands are well-calloused and your shoulders well-muscled, strength gained in early youth from manual labor and maintained to the present. Your name is an honorary to your native mountains. Your accent reveals your upbringing and your stick pin, a small harpoon, declares your interest. As to the latter, Brace Bozhart never hires Milquetoast or those who are not personally loyal to him." "Not bad," the young man grinned. "But I'm a Canuk, a boxer when I'm not playing guitar, never saw a farm in my life. The stick pin was given to me by my mother, who did like Moby Dick. As for the name...it's short for 'Hilary' and that's why I grew up handy with my hands. I don't like it, or the teasing. But you are correct, I am totally devoted to Brace Bozhart." The aircraft suddenly veered left, g forces mounting as the jets increased pressure at a mad rate. Hillie, hanging sideways by the seat belt, shouted forward. "What the hell?" The pilot replied. "Unmarked F-16. The son of a bitch is tracking us!" Several violent maneuvers threw the passengers against seat cushions. Hillie Billman grabbed an arm rest to steady himself. Expending tremendous effort, the BB, Inc. employee pulled himself to the window and looked out. He saw the deadly aircraft, painted black, turning hard on their tail. He also saw the racks of rockets mounted beneath the wings. The pilot's next turn took the aircraft out of sight, but a few seconds later Hillie saw it again--just as it released an air-to-air missile! CHAPTER XVI. Into The Inner World "Criminey, Lard! Are you alright?" Carmon Nappie sat at the controls of the darkened cabin of the Pellucifar Burrower. He was torn between abandoning his post and rushing to Lord Greatstrokes aid--for it seemed the British nobleman was in need of assistance! Devon McGuinness grunted suddenly as the heavy weight fell upon him at the hatch closing. It was a frantically writhing body which pinned him to the floor. How many arms and legs he had was undetermined in the dim light, but it seemed far too many than the ordinary number. "Hold still, you idiot!" McGuinness cried. Adding: "Get off me! Nappie, get a light on! Let's see what dropped in." A harsh yellow light revealed a balding individual in casual clothes. McGuinness recognized him immediately. "Edgar Nyce--how kind of you to drop in." Nyce blinked several times, adjusting to the light and the abruptly altered situation. "Where the hell am I, McGuinness?" "Some place you weren't meant to be. Why are you skulking about? What were you doing anyway? I should have you arrested for trespass!" Ed Nyce dusted himself off, then jutted his chin toward the English lord. "Get ready for a counter-suit if you try it. I needed the hose. My warehouse is on fire!" Having had a moment to catch his breath, Lord Greatstrokes, who inherited the name from his family's extensive holdings in Scottish golf courses, reconsidered his threat--especially in view of the Pellucifar's intended expedition. "I'm sorry to hear that, OB," he said with conciliatory tone. "Of course, you may borrow the hose, but alas, I fear it will be impossible to do so any time soon." Nyce had regained his composure as well, looking with interest at the inside of the contraption. "Hell, Rathmind will get the animals out...as for the rest, good riddance to bad rubbish. What is this thing?" Greatstrokes hesitated only a heartbeat before replying. "An invention of mine--and Nappie's, of course." He nodded to the engineer who moved the hand holding a heavy spanner behind his leg. "It is an earth mole, a vehicle for exploring the inner world." Ed smiled. "I wrote something like that in my early days. What a lot of balderdash it was. Still, technology has finally caught up with imagination. I'm impressed, Greatstrokes. Very impressed indeed. Show me more." Seeing no harm, the English lord gestured for Ed to take the navigator's seat. He pointed to the various panels, some glowing with neat rows of leds. Dials indicating depth, course and speed were to the left of the steering yoke. The author, now deeply immersed, smiled his admiration. "Very impressed," he repeated himself, "very impressed indeed. What does this button do?" Ed Nyce's extended finger punched the large red button before either Devon McGuinness or Carmon Nappie could shout "NO!" The Pellucifar Burrower lurched awkwardly, a loud clanking developed in the rear of the vehicle. The grinding bore at the front whirled at a frantic pace, crunching through soil, rock, water mains and gas lines in an instant. Nappie gripped Greatstrokes' shoulder, fear distending his eyes to the size of saucers. "We werna clear o' the utilities, Lard! 'e's cut the gas mains." "One spark," McGuinness frowned. "One spark and it is all over." As if on cue, a thunderous explosion rocked the crippled earth mole. CHAPTER XVII. The Mad King Sings Splay-Toe changed pyjamas when they returned to the secret hideout. The only difference between the one removed and the one donned was the discarded one bore soil picked up when they retrieved Ratnaz. Feeling better, the pseudo-Cantonese tucked his cleaver in the sash and went to the kitchen. Bryce Bozhart, now in familiar street clothes, sat at the table with a cup of freshly brewed oolong. "I would have done that, boss," Splay-Toe groused. "That's what I hired on to do." "Be unconcerned, my faithful servant," the handsome Bozhart replied. "Pour a cup for yourself and sit with me." The oriental wannabe did as bid. Taking a sip, Splay-Toe asked: "What's this all about, boss? What's the beef between you and Brace?" "Being the illegitimate son has few advantages, my friend. My mother, Junie Lambchop, was a working girl at Harris' for some years. She was the exclusive girl of Buzz Bozhart--" Splay-Toe choked on the tea. "THEBuzz Bozhart? Golly!" "The very same. John D. Rockerfeller came to Buzz for lessons in greed, though he failed in the execution of my father's suggestions." Splay-Toe thought,"If that's failure, let me at it!"The camouflaged Cantonese remained quiet as the Yellow Jacket continued. "Brace got the breaks, I got the bum's rush because a few months after I was born Junie Lambchop got religion and broke away from the prostitution game. Married a total jerk named Oggie Hash--but that's another story. In any event, mom told me who my real father was when I turned 21, a belated conscience, if you will. It was she who suggested I hit old Buzz up for past child support, so I guess she wasn't all bad in the end. "But that meeting with Buzz Bozhart did not go well because Brace was there--talk about looking into a mirror and seeing yourself! 'Don't listen to this guy, Dad,' he said. 'He's a fortune hunter with a sad story that won't hold up in court.'" "'We'll see,' I said, 'DNA tests are pretty common these days. I just want what's due me.'" The Yellow Jacket fell silent, staring into the bottom of the tea cup. The suspense was unendurable for Splay-Toe. "Well, what happened?" With a hard expression compressing his handsome features, Bryce Bozhart's voice was cold as ice. "Brace promised to see me in court, then took me by the collar and gave me the bum's rush. Humiliated, angry, frustrated at every turn, I vowed to one day claim my birthright--even if it meant destroying Buzz Bozhart and his son Brace. I became the Yellow Jacket, perfecting my skills, righting wrongs--but only wrongs which had been created by BB, Inc.--and they are many and varied, my friend, as you well know." "Indeed," Splay-Toe replied. There was a long silence as the two men sat thinking. A special bond arose, one that would link the two together for many years to come. Splay-Toe rose, bowing to his master, then asked, "Egg sandwiches or a cheese omelet?" CHAPTER XVIII. The Fateful Plunge Dee Dee Morris closed her eyes. She did not wish to see the earth rushing toward her. Her only regret was dying a virgin. The sickening sensation of falling lasted only a few seconds as she came to an abrupt stop! A sharp pain at her left ankle revealed why her tragic descent was aborted. A loop of rope had twisted about her shapely foot. Upside down, her skirt nearly over her head, exposing stocking tops, garter belt and red French cut bikini panties, the young woman was mortified with embarrassment. "Dee Dee!" Dan Darter cried. "My God, girl!" The grey-eyed man quickly hauled on the rope until the woman was inside the Clampett dirigible. "You could have been killed!" "That was the general idea," Dee Dee Morris muttered under her breath. Louder, she said, "I can do that myself!" She fended off Darter's hands which were trying to smooth down her skirt but lingering too long on her nylons. Dan Darter moved back, slightly amused. Dee Dee stamped her foot, as much to settle it inside the shoe as to express her petulance. "Dan Darter, take me home immediately! "My princess," Darter sighed, "fair Helium Supply is lost to view and we are, I'm sorry to say, lost, too." "Well, stop and ask directions. Oh, I forgot, you're a man, you don't ask for directions. Listen to me, Dan, you need help." The wind had carried the cow-shaped airship northwest of Los Angeles. Below them Ventura Boulevard was a ribbon of light as darkness descended. There was a fire below them, surrounded by emergency vehicles, yet here, hundreds of feet above the earth, it seemed distant and inconsequential. Dan Darter whispered, "Will you call me 'my chieftain' tonight? I have great feelings for you, Dee Dee Morris." "The only thing I feel for you at this moment, Mr. Darter, is a great pain in the a--" At that moment (as in all cliff hanger chapter endings) there was a huge explosion several hundred yards from the burning house. The fireball rose directly beneath the Jed of Clampett dirigible! CHAPTER XIX. The Inefficiency Expert Ratnaz pushed Bertie Ketchum away. Ignoring the huge twisting drill penetrating the concrete and steel vault, the vine swinger reached down and pulled up his pants. As he buckled them, Bertie got behind and pushed Ratnaz out of the way. Dickie Spillway and Ike Slammer grabbed Ratnaz by the jacket and helped Bertie. "Where's Cam Spaid?" Ike shouted over the mechanical din as the monstrous vehicle crossed the vault and began drilling into the opposite wall. "On the other side!" Spaid yelled, coughing as rock dust and smoke filled the room. Though it seemed to take forever, the mechanical mole, grinding at a fantastic rate, soon exited the destroyed vault. The three dicks and Bertie exchanged looks while Ratnaz pulled up his zipper. Bertie spoke, her voice high-pitched with astonishment. "Did you swing into too many trees, Ratz? What were you thinking? There wasn't time to do up your pants!" The Lord of the Leaves scowled. "I've spent my whole life runnin' around in my BVD's or less. I sure as hell wasn't goin' to die without pants on. Ah, fergit, youse wouldn't understand." Ike Slammer motioned for his two friends to leave the couple alone. They began sorting through the debris left behind the contraption, which was still making a racket in the new shaft. Bertie, the fright over, wilted against the vine swinger's broad chest. "Oh, Ratz, I was scared to death for you. You are an icon, a symbol, you cannot be allowed to die--either by neglect or for real." Ratnaz was touched, and he liked the way Bertie touched his face. "Say, kid, you're not gettin' soft on me are ya?" The woman lowered her eyes, her voice soft. "I've always been soft on you, you big galoot." Feelings long denied, Ratnaz lifted Bertie's chin with thumb and forefinger. He gazed into her eyes, seeing in them that which he had repressed for nearly 70 years. "I think I'm stuck on you, too, kid." Arm in arm, the couple walked out of the vault into the bank lobby. Spaid, Slammer and Spillway kept digging, happily announcing each find with cheerful glee. Spillway called out, causing Ratnaz and Bertie to break a long overdue kiss to look over their shoulders. "We got enough here to put Bozhart away forever!" The ground shook in a fashion that Californians associate with earthquakes. Then a flash of yellow flame shot into the vault from the second tunnel made by the mysterious drilling machine. Spillway, Spaid and Slammer barely had a chance to scream before they were burnt to a cinder. Bertie screamed and buried her face into Ratnaz's jacket. Filled with a resolve he had not known in years, Ratnaz, Lord of the Leaves, put his arm about the sobbing woman. "It's over, Bertie," he said. "Gas main blew. They never knew what hit them." "Take me out of here, Ratz!" The street was deserted, as most after hours business districts would be, but Ratnaz knew the police and fire services would soon arrive, and he had no intention of being detained by questions. They walked rapidly away from the gutted bank, crossed two streets, then hailed a cab. As they entered, the electrical grid went down, plunging several city blocks into complete darkness. The cabbie reneged. "Sorry folks. My family lives close by. I got to go home and make sure they're okay." Ratnaz and Bertie watched the cab pull away. Bertie took the man's hand. "I liked those guys." "Who? Spaid and da udders? Don't give it a second thought, dear. They wuz cardboard characters in a cheap pulp. Somebody hasta die, or many somebodies, so da reader gets a body count. And to my way of thinking, there ain't been enough bodies--yet!" "Ratz, what are you going to do? Whatever it is, I want to be with you!" "Dat's talkin', baby. I'm gonna find out who's muckin' with my life and--" the vine swinger's hard fist slammed into his palm. CHAPTER XX. A Fighting Man of Bars Mars Markus knew something was wrong the minute he drove up. Dee Dee Morris' two-seat speedster was parked in the drive. The burly barman unfolded himself from the economical Fiesta, yet again wishing he could afford better. Walking up the drive, he paused to look into Dee Dee's vehicle. The hood was cold. She should have left hours ago. Perplexed, he continued along side the house toward the back door, the favored entrance to the Morris household. The alert barman noticed immediately that the back door was half-open, and coming from the inside were cries for help! Pushing the door open with a thick muscled shoulder, Mars Markus saw his old friend Kojak Morris pinned beneath a fallen key case! Instantly, he was at the old man's side. It took no time to remove the case and to lift Kojak to his feet. "What happened, Morris? Where's Dee Dee?" Kojak shook his head. "No time for that. We have to hurry!" The man rushed outside, spindly legs pumping rapidly. Markus dug his car keys out as he ran after Kojak Morris. He banged his head getting into the car while trying to reach across and unlock the passenger door at the same time. Feeling a little dizzy, Mars started the engine and backed into the street. "Which way?" "Helium Supply, and step on it!" On the way to the location, Kojak told of Dan Darter's theft of the key and kidnapping of Dee Dee. "I'll make that brain-damaged idiot pay," Kojak promised. Mars Markus twisted the wheel savagely around corners. "You'll have to stand in line, Morris. I think of that kid like my own daughter."Of course, my daughter never worked as a stripper... The gate to Helium Supply's yard was unlocked. Above the corroded metal roof of the main building stood the twin towers of helium--one scarlet, the other yellow. At Kojak's instruction Mars Markus drove into the yard and came to a screeching halt at the rear loading dock. It had rained during the day which had washed the dirt road clear of tracks. Because of that rain both men could clearly see that a vehicle had been driven to the scarlet helium tower--and there they ended! "Where did he go?" Kojak exclaimed. "Somebody came in, but they didn't go out!" Mars Markus was equally confused as he criss-crossed the earth looking for clues. Then he saw it. Glittering, shining, even as the sun set: Dee Dee's charm bracelet. "She was here, Kojak." The barman, who had been a boxer in the Navy, showed the bauble to the distraught father. In tears, clutching the fighting barman's shirt, Kojak Morris pleaded. "You gotta help me find her. You gotta help me!" "I will," Mars Markus promised. "You can bet on it." tangor@erblist.com
BOOK IICHAPTER 21: El Rancho Ratnaza Lord of the Roost Edgar Nyce had moved out to Southern California from the windy city many decades before, to take proud ownership of a sprawling tract of rangeland with canyons radiating out from a high rugged hill. Ed chose the hill as the site on which to build a mansion which he funded with royalties from his pulp fiction creations. A short time after he had modified the ranch to his specifications -- a ranch he called Ratnaza, after "you-know-who" -- a mystery lady moved into an abandoned range cabin down by the tar pits. Here, nestled away from prying eyes her main source of income ostensibly was a small chicken ranch. When Ed hit on harder times, he gradually subdivided most of the range land, and for some strange reason, the whole area became the Mecca for dozens of other chicken ranchers. From Ed's perch in the hilltop mansion, he could look out in all directions over a red sea of fowl since Rhode Island Reds were the bird of choice of the ranchers. Years later, Ed used the income from these poultry subdivisions to implement a grand and glorious plan... he would build a theme park -- featuring all the fantasy lands and characters from his books -- on what remained of the once sprawling El Rancho Ratnaza. It's a Nyce World After All? Phase one of the theme park plan involved expanding a natural cave site he had discovered in the rocky crag beside the mansion. -- a cave which he christened the Ratz Cave, again in honour of the famous character he had created in his books. This attraction would take the form of a guided ride through caverns which would feature miniature animated versions of his many fictional characters -- all positioned in scenarios drawn from the many fantasy worlds he had created. At the cave entrance he designed an elaborate facade, rife with animation and colour. Ed himself wrote a song: "It's a Nyce World After All" and a huge sound system was built to play the ditty non-stop. Ed's dream was not to be, as Brace Bozhart called in old debts and foreclosed on what remained of the ranch property. To appease his renegade half brother, or perhaps for other reasons known only to Boz, he signed the deed to the mortgage-ridden property over to his half-Chinese half-sibling, Bryce Lee. Ed was evicted and took up residence in a modest bungalow on nearby Ventura Boulevard -- downwind from the chicken fields. Sadly, the attraction, although near completion, never opened its doors to the public, as Bozhart sold away exclusive franchise rights to Nick Miser's Rodentland -- the giant world-famous studio theme park. Ed's original prototype of what would become a very famous attraction for Rodentland, was soon forgotten...a demise hastened by the wild growth of a decorative fronting hedge. The bushes soon grew into a tall and near-impenetrable thorn hedge that almost completely hid the facade and cave entrance. The Ratz Cave Realizing that the cave was an ideal base for their fight against crime, Bryce and his young Canadian sidekick created the secret personae Yellow Jacket and Slay-Toe, and moved in. The new owners pushed aside most of the miniature attractions within the cave to make room to store all their crime fighting toys, including the powerful Jacketmobile and the new sleek, black F-16 fighter jet. The one thing they were never able modify, however, was the incessant theme music which had been looped to play 24 hours a day through the massive sound system. The masked zoot-suited crusader raised his voice to be heard over the cutesy chorus of toddlers singing "It's a Nyce world after all...." to try to get the attention of his companion who stood decked out in a yellow silk flight suit, leather helmet and goggles. For a second time he shouted, "This is it Splay-Toe...the day you've been waiting for...Splay-Toe!...Listen up!" The begoggled companion, who had been singing and swaying with the music, took a long enough break to reply: "No sweat, Bryce. I could make this first solo flight with my eyes closed. Has old Hitchcock got the F-16 fueled yet? `...a Nyce, Nyce world. It's a Nyce...' ...awright, awright, I'm listenin'. Where's the bird?" The two men glanced toward the huge animated facade of the Ratz Cave in time to see a portly, triple-chinned old gentleman in butler attire, appear at the entrance. He was straining and lunging in a specially made harness which was linked to a taut chain stretched out and attached to some heavy object still hidden from view in the cave. The duo waited expectantly. The sight of the sleek, unmarked black F-16 easing its way out of the Ratz Cave, around the thorn forest, and to the improvised runway was breathtaking. The Yellow Man Gets...and Loses His Wings An even more thrilling event transpired a short time later as a very proud Yellow Jacket watched his young protege race the craft down the runway and up into the sun -- clipping the top off the row of thorn hedges as he climbed.. "Ye-Ess! Loop the loop baby. Wow, if Bryce could see me, I bet that..... yikes... what in hell?... BB Inc..... that's Bozhart's private jet.... ooo yah!... Will I have a surprise for Bryce... gotta crank this baby around.... arm the missiles... here we go... locked in... now... Fire..." As the young daredevil released the missile which he thought would precipitate an end to all of his masked friend's problems, a large square object, surrounded by an escort of wildly flapping birds, rocketed up into the path of the missile. Splay-Toe had no time to duck as a feathered creature smashed through the canopy and attached itself to his flight goggles. The startled, gasping pilot felt consciousness fast slipping away. The last thing he remembered, as the aircraft went into a screaming dive, was an explosion, the whole world turning red, and his own frantic groping for the seat ejection trigger. CHAPTER 22: "You're a Lucky Girl...Bertha La Rapo!" As a young woman back in windy Chicago, Bertha La Rapo had dreamed of someday moving to California...and living on a chicken ranch of her very own. That dream had come true, thanks to the generosity of her old friend Edgar Nyce who provided a piece of property on his Ratnaza Ranch. And, many a lonely night thereafter, Ed had come down from the hill to help her with her pullets. But ever since Ed had fallen on hard times and had been forced out of the hilltop mansion, his visits had become fewer and farther between, and she had started to look forward, more and more, to the visits from the new occupants of the mansion -- especially that nice young red-haired man from Canada with the Chinese accent and big cleaver. Income from the chicken operation was somewhat meager, but luckily Bertha had been able to supplement her poultry income with pin money garnered from modeling fees. She had spent long hours over the years in the drafty studio of Allen J. St. Jacques, posing in various stages of undress for his paintings of heroines, which he sold as illustrations for Ed's books. But alas, those days were behind her as her figure -- largely because of a steady diet egg sandwiches and cheese omelettes -- had grown too Rubinesque, even for St. Jacques' tastes. Shadows from the Black Lagoon Bertha was tired -- she had been up all night again. The situation was getting worse. When she first moved here, the nearby tar pits were quiet...but now...they seemed to be the source of regular raids on her chickens. Every night, ominous, grotesque shadows and unearthly prehistoric sounds haunted the wooded path between her beloved fowl house and the mysterious La Gaspack Tar Pits. Today, not even the irregular and ominous sounds of two jet aircraft overhead tempted her to look up from her work as she rushed through the daily chore of decapitating birds for market. With just a half dozen left she started in to an impatient count down: "Chop Chick 6... Chop Chick 5... Chop Chick 4... Chop Chick 3... Chop Chick 2... Chop Chick 1..." Dejah Vu Bertha was almost thrown from her feet as the ground shook from a mighty explosion. She looked on in helpless anguish as a billowing cloud of flame and smoke appeared under her clapboard chicken coop and the whole structure was propelled into the sky leaving a vapour trail of feathers, eggs, ammonia gases, and droppings. This was followed by a shock wave which covered her in feathers and tar droplets... followed by yet another wave which dropped a torrent of bank notes and coins. Bertha, suddenly in molting blackface, cried out in disbelief, "No! Dejah... Dejah Vu! ....Not Again!...Ed---GAR!!!?!!! CHAPTER 23: The Terrible Game A-Foot (Wherein Our Intrepid Sleuth Plays A-Hand, Looks A-Head and Is Set A-Back) Hallucinations A-Bound Cabyns was confused. With flashes of lights still exploding on his retinas and his ears still ringing from the exploding fireball that seconds ago had exploded outside the portside window of Bozhart's speeding jet, he sat white-knuckled and rigid in his seat. Cabyns settled back into the cushions and humphed: "Crazy Country." Seconds before he had faced certain death as a menacing renegade F-16 launched a deadly missile in his direction. It was then that the hallucinations began: Looking closer at the fighter jet he saw it was being flown by a red chicken, on the horizon far beyond he could just make out the apparition of a cow that appeared to be piloting an old tin lizzie lorry, coming up to intercept the missile was a rocket designed to look like a chicken coop -- and flown by chicken astronauts...and all of this taking place in an inverted hailstorm of gold coins and gobs of black tar. Then the whole fantasy scene seemed to explode and suddenly the sky was clear as the aircraft raced eastward toward Bozhart's secret desert headquarters. The Klezmar Kings His resolve to maintain a clear head for his meeting with Bozhart seemed pointless now. "Datsun ...my briar...and THE pouch...if you please." Datsun produced the notorious pouch and passed it to the sleuth. Cabyns' habit had progressed to the stage that he was now using a battery-powered, automatic injector. With shaky hand he loaded the contents of a foil-covered package into the dispensing injector, raised the device to his mouth and in rapid succession clicked a strong dose of three Pez pellets into the waiting orifice. "Ohhhhh...I needed that!" crooned a much-relaxed Cabyns. He then took his favourite custom-made briar pipe...lovingly hand-crafted by the resident flute artiste in the exclusive inner sanctum of Wing Music in Bromley, Kent. He clenched the long, discolored pipe between his teeth and ran his fingers over the sound holes which were aligned along the length of the pipe. "Care to join me, Datsun? Bring out the old licorice stick." Dr. Datsun opened his small black valise and produced a vintage ebony Clarinet. Noticing a guitar case that had fallen from its stowed position during the squirmish with the F-16, Cabyns urged Billman to join in on guitar. Boz's trusted lieutenant expressed reluctance but was eventually coaxed into opening the case -- only to reveal not a guitar, but an ornate Gibson 5-string banjo, complete with Scruggs pegs. "I say Master Hillie...we were led to believe that you were a guitar player," blurted the surprised Datsun. "Well ahhh...I...ahhh...," the blond Canuck stammered. All three had a sudden unexplainable urge to burst simultaneously into a rousing Klezmar version of the "Theme from the Beverly Hillbillies." Mesmerized by their music, the musicians were oblivious to the passage of time and carried their spontaneous jam to a fever pitch. It was this scene then that Brace Bozhart walked in on after meeting the aircraft on the reception tarmac of his secret Death Valley airport. Remember WENN Later, in the private chambers of his elaborate underground office complex, Bozhart removed his prescription earplugs and settled in for a crucial meeting with his old English ally over a competitive game of Pinochle. While dealing the opening hand, he whispered: "Careful my friend...the walls have ears. Cabyns...this is serious. Things have not being going smoothly of late. I don't know who I can trust anymore...strange doings are at hand. Even my right hand man Hillie is suspect. Wanna know how he got that sissy name? Back in the '40s, just before he was born, his old lady was really hooked on some Pittsburgh radio station, WENN or some damn thing -- the only station that their Atwater Kent could pick up on their good for nothin' farm out in the sticks. Well, when she had the kid, the first voice she heard was some ham actress on there named Hillary Booth. So she saddled kid with a stupid girlie moniker. You know, when I took him in he was a starving, one-legged, banjo picking, son of a West Virginia sharecropper. He was useful to me because of his blind loyalty and his expertise in Tai Chi -- despite the fact that he was slowed down considerably by his wooden leg. But now the blighter is telling everyone he's some kind of a boxing Canuck -- he's flipped, I tell ya Herlock. But now, let's get down to this business about..." The deep conversation between the two card players came to an abrupt and unceremonious halt as they turned their attention to the office door which suddenly burst into splinters. Racing across the room from the demolished entrance came a harpoon-wielding, peg-legged man who was pointing behind them at the wall-to-wall plate glass window which offered a panoramic view of the gigantic BB Inc. pool. "Thar she blows Cap'n...It's the Great White, eh...Break out the harpoons! All hands..." screamed the man in a heavy Canadian accent. CHAPTER 24: The Hair Rage of the Desert Where The Trail End Kojak Morris and Mars Markus stared in disbelief . All that remained of Dee Dee Morris -- Princess of Bars -- was her charm bracelet. And the tracks ended here at the twin towers of Helium Supply...she had disappeared! "What's the problem yung fellers? Wooz-ya lookin' fer?" came a voice from across the yard. The two men spun around to face a curious sight. A clean-shaven, well-manicured old codger, in ragged gray clothing, sat astride a small burro. In tow, he led another burro, heavily loaded with an arsenal of weapons...and a charred and singed milk cow sporting the brand "Cows 2-U" which had been burned into the left rump. Most unusual, however, was geezer's hair do - his long gray hair was done in a style that featured unique permanent waves closely resembling that worn by many of the Hollywood stars. Seeming to sense the cause of their concern, the old galoot squinted his laughing gray eyes and offered some information: "The filly went thataway...under the cow... look... up... way o'er thar... driftin' out t'ward Death Valley," The trio stared into the darkening skies and were horrified to see a terrific explosion beneath the far-off bovine airship. The last image they had of the ship was lost in a billowing cloud of exploding gases. As one, the two worried men turned and ran toward the Fiesta. Overzealous Mars Markus hit his head on the rear view mirror as he reached to start the engine. With a curse he twisted the key with such force that it broke in the ignition. Now totally frustrated, he pounded the steering wheel -- an irresponsible action which resulted in an explosion that engulfed both driver and passenger in a cloud of carbon dioxide gases and a cocoon of mushrooming rubber-- Markus had inadvertently deployed the Fiesta's custom-made airbags. The situation looked hopeless as the men painfully extricated themselves from the now-derelict auto, but the old desert prospector saved the day. M&M The Riders "Lookin' to hitch a ride gents? Just bot them thar critters today. Got a good deal from some old guy wandrin' round in his underpants. Hop aboard ole bossie there... she's a fine sturdy cow." Showing some trepidation the two men prepared to mount the beast. Suddenly recalling something he had been told earlier, old Zany leapt into action. "Hold on there young fellers... O'Leery here's got a nasty kick with her hind hoofs." The teller of tall tales pulled a miner's shovel from his pack, went through a couple warm-up swings and soundly whacked the devious devil mount on her scheming snout. The dazed animal had met her match. Knowing there was no time to lose, the Zany Grany rescue caravan soon was thundering out through the red-oxide decorated east gates of the ancient Helium Works. Morris and Marcus led the way by spurring their shared mount to a breakneck trot -- stirring up clouds of red dust as they charged across the abandoned parking lot. Would they be too late to rescue the divine Dee Dee Morris, Princess of Bars? CHAPTER 25: Into the Depths The Outlaw of Porn Ratnaz and Bertie stood amazed as the taxi drove away leaving them without conveyance. With a curse, Ratnaz was in hot pursuit. Realizing the futility of such a chase, Bertie took a moment to examine the oilskin packet she had retrieved from Bozhart's safety deposit box. Placed in no particular order among the rare gems and large denomination bills were documents detailing his many shady business dealings, as well as an abundance of photographs of well-known celebrities in compromising positions. Bertie's expertise born of years of espionage work led her to a secret inner pocket in which was hidden a computer diskette. On the label was a cryptic code that only the fiendishly clever Brace Bozhart could have devised: http://www.docker.com/~hillmanjr/bananarchy.html Obviously this would have to be taken to a Cray supercomputer for decrypting. Ratnaz Becomes a Beast Again Bertie's investigation was interrupted by a loud explosion from the direction of La Gaspack Tar Pits, but before she had time to ponder the cause of it her attention was turned to the approach of a panting, dusty and staggering figure, clad only in leopard skin patterned bikini underwear. "Ratz?" she asked in a faltering voice. The reply was an unintelligible "!($#,!(&(*!" so she directed his attention to a strange scenario unfolding before them in the sky above. High overhead they saw two aircraft converge, and after an explosion the smaller of the two planes hurtled to the ground. At the last minute they saw the pilot eject and they waited with bated breath for his parachute to open. Open it did, but apparently the luckless parachutist was headed for the dreaded tar pits. The daring duo raced to his rescue. The Gaspack Tar Pits By the time they reached the lake of black goo, the aviator was sinking fast and was screaming for help in some unfamiliar language. Only after the rescuers were up to their knees in the steaming primeval pitch did they realize that their efforts could be to no avail -- the poor unfortunate had sunk beneath the surface leaving a gurgle of dark bubbles. As the defeated pair turned to retreat to the shore they were met with the roar of a large yellow car racing toward them. The masked man at the wheel ordered them into the rear passenger seat and to their horror he then slammed the gear shift into low gear, pumped the accelerator to the floor and aimed the powerful machine directly into the pits. The passengers huddled in horror as tar engulfed the windows of the sinking car. Ratnaz and Bertie were at the mercy of a madman. CHAPTER 26: The Dancing Girl of the Leper Guy (Note to All-Gory editor: I can't figure out what to call this chapter but I've always liked this title --or-- Gone with the Wind is a good one too -- my mother likes IT.-- BH) Master Blunder An advancing chain reaction of exploding gases trailed and rocked the Pellucifer Burrower as the wayward burrowing craft broke through the reinforced concrete walls of the underground Ratnaza sewage treatment reservoir. Shock waves from the blast carried the machine ever deeper into the foul excremental sludge. Thankful for the sanctity of the waterproof cabin, the passengers deployed every means possible to gain command of their wildly out-of-control earthship. Edgar Nyce, momentarily overcome by the revolting odour of sewage which permeated the cabin, for some reason noticed that his thoughts turned to Ratnaz. "Jeeze," he thought. "What would that clown do in a situation like this?" "Damn it Nyce... What were you thinkin' of... keep your soddin' hands off me controls! Ya really done it now," threatened Carson Nappie, the designer of this scientific marvel of engineering and the only one who knew how to manage the complex controls. Edgar Nyce's unfortunate blunder at the controls had resulted in an explosion that appeared to have damaged the depth and direction fins. Not only that, they soon realized that the blast had opened rifts along some of the notorious subterranean California faults. They used the remaining facility of the Burrower to follow this huge complex pattern of fault lines -- looking all the while for an opening to the surface and hoping that the transpired events would not trigger a major earthquake. Ahab's Revenge The cockpit compass readings told them they were going east and the distance indicator suggested that they must have travelled hundreds of miles. Realizing the serious nature of their predicament, the three men had given up all hope of survival when the Burrower broke through a concrete wall and their machine came to a rest at the bottom of the clear blue waters of a what appeared to be a shallow lake. Lord Greatstrokes heaved a sigh of relief. The euphoria experienced by the English Lord proved to be short lived, however. The first sight that met the three adventurers as they peered through the charred and scorched front navigation port sent shivers down their spines. They could see through the foreboding waters a screaming, peg-legged wild man charging at them while brandishing a deadly harpoon! -- This could be the end of the story! I haven't been paid yet.--Bill Hillman hillmans@docker.com CHAPTER 27: The Prize Chump of Helium When Splay-Toe's American-made Sidewinder mis-targeted the Jed of Clampett dirigible, Dan Darter ducked. Dee Dee Morris, however, watched with horrorfied fascination as the missile tore through the flimsy helium-filled cow bag and exploded seconds later. The fireball and concussion drove the mortally wounded dirigible into the path of the supersonic F-16. Realizing they were about to die, Dee Dee Morris suddenly wanted to live more than anything. If only they could achieve a few feet of altitude they might survive. Thought became action. The spunky girl reached down and, with both hands, flipped the Ozarkian loveseat off the rear of the rusted automobile. Where she got the strength Dee Dee could never say, but the ejection of the heavy piece shot the Clampett dirigible several dozen feet into the air. The F-16 did not fare so well. The sleek aircraft slammed into the falling sofa, ripping off one wing and half of the tail assembly. Dee Dee turned to watch the aircraft plunging to the ground, but did not see it crash, or if the pilot bailed out as their own situation worsened. A loud ripping noise overhead revealed that the gas bag was disintegrating. The composite aircraft was descending rapidly toward the California landscape. "Hold together!" the girl prayed. "Please hold together!" The cow-shaped balloon shrank at an alarming rate and the ground seemed to be approaching awfully fast. "Do something, Dan!" Kojak Morris' daughter demanded. "Be a man!" Darter looked up from the floorboard, where he cowered in a fetal position, weeping. "We're going to die! We're going to die!" he wailed incessantly. With a scowl of disgust, Dee Dee ignored the panicked warrior and began throwing everything overboard that she could. Her frantic exercise proved to be working, the descent slowed. A capricious wind at the lower altitude carried the Clampett dirigible along at a good clip. Looking over the side, Dee Dee noticed that large sections of the city below were blacked out. She could not tell where they were headed. Though it seemed longer, moments later the skinny spoke wheels of the antique auto crashed through tree tops, slowing the vehicle and bringing them closer to earth. Dee Dee watched carefully, looking for an appropriate time and place to jump out. A belated spasm of conscience forced the young girl to grab Darter by the collar and haul him erect. "When I say, we jump. Got it?" Darter, eyes distended with terror, could only nod. In the darkness below, Dee Dee saw what she thought to be a man. The truck was low to the ground and they were headed straight for him! "Look out!" Dee Dee shouted a warning, but it was too late. The running board bashed into the big man's head, knocking him to the ground. Mortified, Dee Dee looked behind and was relieved to see the man sitting up, rubbing his head. She turned her attention to their own dilemma. Dan Darter, having come to his senses, spoke lucidly for the first time in minutes. "I know this place. We're near La Gaspack tar pits." The damaged dirigible went to ground, but the landing was soft--too soft! Dee Dee accurately observed: "Near? Hell, we're in the middle of it!" CHAPTER 28: Together--Again! Bryce Lee Bozhart, the Yellow Jacket, gunned the powerful car from the Ratz Cave as soon as the explosion in the sky occurred. The intervening distance was covered rapidly, and as he neared the La Gaspack tar pits, brilliant headlights revealed Bertie Ketchum. Not far away, running toward her, was Ratz, but radically altered since the last time Bryce saw him. "Into the car!" the Yellow Jacket commanded. Bertie pulled Ratnaz inside. Bryce looked over his shoulder. "What's wrong with him?" "Bump on the head," she replied, petting the drooling Ratnaz like a large puppy. "He's harmless in this state. Happens rather frequently." "Watch him, I'm going after Splay-Toe!" Bertie Ketchum screamed when she realized what the zoot-suited crime fighter intended. The sleek Yellowjacketmobile plunged into the tarry mass! Ratnaz didn't seem to notice. He was checking for fleas in Bertie's hair. Bryce, his voice filled with authority, silenced Bertie Ketchum. "Shut up! You're in no danger. The Yellowjacketmobile doubles as a submarine when necessary." As the car sank deeper, Bertie's fear subsided when nothing untoward happened. But she did scream again when a man's body, clad in a yellow silk flight suit, though it wasn't very yellow now, slammed into the windshield. Bryce, having all he could handle, reached back to slap Bertie and clobbered Ratnaz instead. Ratnaz shook his head, coming out of a daze. The first thing he saw was his briefs. "Oh, no! Not again!" Bertie threw her arms around the Lord of the Leaves with relief. "Thank goodness! The last time that happened to you wouldn't come down from the trees for weeks!" Ratz was touched. "I didn't know youse kept tabs on me, Bertie, but gee, yer sucha swell dame!" Bryce, meanwhile, had surfaced the now besmeared Yellowjacketmobile. "Pipe down, you two," the masked crime fighter commanded. "Five sentences in a row ending in exclamation points is not allowed!" The vine swinger chuckled. "That's six, shame on you." The Yellow Jacket ignored the man--when he was right, he was right. Steering the vehicle, with Splay-Toe on the hood, Bryce Lee Bozhart drove out of La Gaspack onto solid ground. Leaving the reunited love-birds in the back seat, the masked crusader leapt out to assist his trusty sidekick--who received a kick as soon he knew Splay-Toe was uninjured. "What the hell happened up there?" Bryce demanded. Splay-Toe, looking more like Amos or Andy, lowered his head. "I had him in my sights, boss." "Who?" "Brace Bozhart. Just as I got a rocket off, this cow gets in the way and then dumps a sofa on me." "Hmm," the Yellow Jacket hummed. "Your injuries must be more serious than I thought. Get in the car. We'll sort this out back at the cave. First, we have to drop off those two." Splay-Toe looked toward the car. "Who?" Bryce's intense gaze followed the pseudo-Oriental's. The back seat was empty! CHAPTER 29: The City of Ancient Heads Zany Grany forced cow and burros into a fast stroll using a combination of colorful, though exceedingly blasphemous language and a stick with a carrot dangling from a string. "Hold yer water, gents," the old man cackled. "The wind's about to go rippin' past your face." Kojak Morris impatiently waited. "Drats!" he ejaculated, jumping down from the cow. "Let's go, Mars, we can make better time on foot!" The old man proceeded to demonstrate, pulling rapidly away. "Thanks, old timer," Mars Markus said to Zany Grany and took out after the disappearing father. Daisy: Built For Two They hadn't travelled very far when they came across a tandem bicycle chained to a darkened lamp post. It only took a moment for the powerfully-built fighting barman to break the chain. An instant later the thieves in the cause of justice raced away. "This is more like it," Kojak gasped, pedaling hard behind Markus' broad back. "Hurry, man, my daughter may be in mortal danger." This was the big man's intent, and toward that end he bent every effort. Through the strangely deserted streets the duo passed on whispering tires. Yet, even as they traveled, Mars Markus wondered where everybody was. Then he remembered, Star Trek: Voyager was on and since they added that voluptuous Borg female, no red-blooded man missed it. This knowledge heartened the man of bars, for it meant no traffic would impede their swift journey; yet, even as that thought passed, there was a group of strange-looking men blocking the road! There was no way around them, and he couldn't just crash through them, so Markus was forced to slow and to eventually stop. The leader, a tall skinny oldster wearing a fantastically-colored shirt and wide-bottomed jeans seemed untroubled by the many strands of beads around his neck. Upon his head was a bandanna or turban, Markus was not quite sure which, that topped a mass of incredibly long white hair. The other members of his party were near the same advanced age and similarly dressed. They seemed to be passing lit cigarettes amongst themselves. The leader raised a hand in benediction, thumb, third and fourth fingers clasped with index and middle upraised the shape of a "v", and said "Peace, brother. Love. It's a beautiful night. Slow down, smell the roses, man. Groovy." "I wish I could," Markus tried to be polite, "but I am in a hurry. Please move aside." "Uncool, man. Very uncool. Like, what's the rush?" One of the other members of the eerie band laughed. "Rush? Yeah, man, I could use a rush!" Somebody else said, "Far out!" "Chill out, night rider man. Have a toke of the love weed," another offered. Markus would have none of the pungent smoke, whereupon the leader frowned. "Bad vibes, dude. Relax, that's the only way love will come to you." Markus, his temper strained, replied, "Love is not what I have in mind at the moment." The leader of the ancient heads, long ago evicted from San Francisco, became agitated. "Hey, man, that sounds like a threat!" "Take it any way you like, just get out of the way!" Kojak Morris shouted. "Bummer." Looking at his flock, the leader said, "It is time, my friends. It is time we march upon hurry and progress. It is time we take action against the Yankee capitalist pigs!" Whereupon the determined and silent group closed in upon the men astride the bicycle. CHAPTER 30: The Case of the Be-speckled Dodo Hillie Billman jabbed at the monstrous device in the swimming pool--now rapidly draining through the large shaft in the side. "Avast ye demon of the deep! Drink deep of this blade, for I am Ishmael!" Herlock Cabyns scratched his chin in amazement. The one-legged banjo-picking Canuk was transformed into a ineffectual and ludicrous hero. "Can't you do something, Brace?" he asked. "The man will hurt himself." Taking Cabyns and Datsun by the arm, Brace Bozhart ushered his guests back into the house and out the front door where a long limousine was parked. The driver, a shapely lady who gazed at Brace with adoring eyes, closed the passenger door behind them and entered the front. "Where to, Mr. Bozhart?" The way the woman fluttered her eyes indicated where she'd like to take the wealthy man. Brace, ever the gentleman and faithful to his wife, at least in the presence of witnesses, said, "The vacation house." Datsun looked out the rear window as the expensive car departed. "What about young Hilary? What's to become of him?" Brace Bozhart narrowed his eyes. "That's Hillie's lookout. After tonight, I really do not care. Do you now see how serious this is, Cabyns? Have you nothing to offer at this time?" Cabyns swiftly offered his automatic Pez dispenser. "Take two, they will calm your nerves. Do not fret, Bozhart, Datsun and I will get to the bottom of this." Meanwhile, back at the pond, Hillie Billman, who now thought himself Ishmael, clanged his blunt harpoon against the earth mole's tough exterior. He waded deeper into the water, seeking a vital spot in the huge animal of his perception. Again and again the harpoon struck, only to be turned aside by the heavy armor. Billman shouted his rage, drawing back a powerful arm to deliver what surely must be the death blow, and slipped in the out-rushing water and was sucked into the flow. He disappeared into the dark tunnel, still cursing, still waving his harpoon. CHAPTER 31: The Eternal Barbarian Bertie struggled in Ratnaz's tight embrace. His large hand covered her mouth, preventing any outcry. Into the darkness away from the filthy Yellowjacketmobile the Lord of the Leaves carried the struggling woman. When they were well away, and especially after Bertie managed to get a painful grip on the big man's crotch, Ratnaz put Ketchum on her feet and released her. Bertie, however, retained her hold. "You big idiot! I don't take that from any man." "Let up a little, wontcha, kid? I didn't have time ta explain and I didn't want an argument." Eyes crossed, legs bent, Ratnaz pleaded. "Please release the family jewels, o! par! don! me!" he whimpered as Bertie tightened her grip. "Like you said a few hours ago, talk fast and keep it funny." She released him--and found a part of her mind occupied with the residual warmth of the big man's gonads heating her palm. Even though the city lights were out and no moon filled the sky, Bertie's eyes shone with inner fire. Ratnaz massaged himself gingerly. "I don't trust dat guy. The polooka tossed me outta dat car oncet today. He's got it in for old Boz fer some reason." "Sounds like a man after my own heart," Bertie said. Ratz shook his head, slowly straightening up. Looking down at her face, he continued. "I think dere's more goin' on here than meets da eye. Big fires, explosions on the ground and in the sky, Spaid, Spillway and Slammer wasted...that funny Oriental in the tar pit...Yellow Jacket can't be doin' all dat. Dere's somethin' bigger goin' on." The retired seductress spy considered the man's earnest words. "Maybe that last conk on the head did you some good, honey. That's mighty smart thinking." Then she slapped him. "And you'll get more of that if you ever drag me off like that again!" Ratnaz wilted. He was a small boy in an instant. "Does dat mean youse and meese ain't gonna..." Bertie stepped close, smiling gently. "Dear, I may be angry, but I still love you. Sure, it's going to happen. Sooner or later, some time during this episodic lurid adventure pulp, we'll tango at the Kit Kat." The Lord of the Leaves brightened. "Dat's a relief! I thought youse was really mad." Bertie linked her arm with his as they began to walk back toward the city proper. "What's the game plan, Ratz? This was your idea. Surely you have something in mind....besides that," she laughed at his goofy leer. "Well, I wuz thinkin' that if youse can take me down, dere's only one person who can take down Brace Bozhart." "Who's that?" "Jane Porker, his wife." CHAPTER 32: Twenty Inches Under the Sea WHAM! "What is that infernal clanking?" Devon McGuinness shouted. WHAM! "I dinno, Lard," Carmon Nappie covered his ears against the reverberating echoes. "It's outside!" "I know that, you dolt," Greatstrokes scowled. "What happened to the Pellucifar Burrower? We have no forward motion." Nappie looked at the gauges. "Fuel cell one is empty." WHAM! Edgar Nyce was beneath the burrower's hatch. "Well, it has been pleasant, fellows, but I think I'll get off here." Greatstrokes looked at the old author with a frown. "I think not, OB." The English lord pulled a dark snub-nosed pistol from his hip pocket. Aiming it at Ed Nyce, Greatstrokes motioned for the man to sit down. "Switch to the second fuel cell, Nappie---and clear that overdrive instruction our stupid friend entered into the computer." "Yes, Lard!" WHAM! Ed narrowed his eyes, distrusting the man holding the gun. "What are you going to do with me?" "I'm going to make you famous, OB, even more famous than that decrepit hero of yours. You see, you are going to help us rob banks tonight--and we'll let you take the credit!" The loud banging outside the ship had ceased. Carmon Nappie switched the fuel lines and started the engine. The heavy treads began rolling, and for an instant Lord Greatstrokes was unbalanced. Ed leaped upon the mad dog Englishman and wrestled for control of the weapon. But Greatstrokes was younger, larger, and stronger. The muzzle of the gun slowly came close to Edgar Nyce's gray-haired temple. Beads of sweat popped out on the author's terrified face as Greatstrokes' finger tightened on the trigger. Meanwhile, as the Pellucifar Burrower and its desperate passengers began to drill into the earth, a yellow 1966 Camaro pulled away from the scene. tangor@erblist.com CHAPTER 33: The Best Little Chicken Ranch in Tappan Range Madame Jane Porker A small herd of mangy wild burros looked up from their unending quest for sustenance from the meager resources of Death Valley and let their jaded gaze follow the cloud of dust chasing a long limousine as it sped along a rutted, well-used desert road snaking across the Tappan Range. The dust-covered luxury vehicle rattled over a Texas gate and through a timber arch from which hung a swinging weather-beaten sign heralding entry to the famed Chicken Ranch Vacation House. Tethered over the main building strained a giant helium-filled balloon which had been manufactured in the almost ludicrous image of a scarlet chicken. Without slowing, the limo sped past the main entrance, sending a bombardment of dust over the front veranda - momentarily blocking from view the garish display of red lights and the cursing young ladies who were lounging on the weathered steps in various stages of undress. The comely driver pulled up to a private entrance at the rear whereupon she quickly adjusted her leather micro-skirt and diaphanous blouse and checked her makeup in the rear view mirror. Exiting she moved fetchingly to the rear of the many-doored automobile where she ceremoniously opened a door to assist her three passengers onto the gravel driveway. The girl's hand lingered on the arm of the last man to leave the car. "Get your hands off my man, you Bimbo!" bellowed the husky voice of a heavy set, matronly woman who had just appeared around the corner of the building. "Why Mr. Cabyns, it's Ma Kettle," whispered the eldest of the three men standing in the driveway. The blonde driver hastened to neutral ground at the front of the limo, obediently answering with, "Yes, Madame Jane." "Gentlemen, you've met my wife, the lovely Jane Porker," introduced the owner of the limo who then turned to motion to his two travel companions. "And Jane, you remember Mr. Cabyns and Dr. Da...ooof:" The man was interrupted in mid sentence by a heavy blow from a riding crop across his ample buttocks . He flinched and turned in time to see the love of his life in hot pursuit of the blonde chauffeur. "Ah...Gentlemen, I believe a storm is brewing. Perhaps we should retire to my private quarters." Terror in the Inner Sanctum Brace Bozhart led his British guests, Herlock Cabyns and Dr. Datsun into his desert headquarters. The visitors stood amazed in the midst of the internal grandeur of the structure which had displayed such a shoddy barnwood exterior. After positioning his cohorts around the huge computer control desk, Bozhart was soon detailing his master plan for world anarchy. Bozhart started by presenting the technical description of his elaborate computer system with which he had assembled his nefarious plan for world domination: "What you see here my dear Cabyns is a state-of-the-art Radio Shack, Asian imported, IBM-XT compatible computer with a super fast 8 megahertz microprocessor. I have recently added a massive 10 inch monochrome display monitor and have installed a built-in storage device which stores everything - DIGITALLY - on this 3 1/2 inch floppy DOUBLE DENSITY DISKETTE! ...And are you ready for my crowning achievement? ...I have ingeniously jury-rigged the machine via this telephone cable so that it is linked to nearly every other computer system in the world!!!" Bozhart's voice was rising to a fever pitch. The response from the famous sleuth and his able assistant was an involuntary gasp. All of the high tech talk had gone completely over the heads of these internationally renowned investigators, but they were visibly impressed. "I say Cabyns...the man is absolutely amazing," exclaimed an awestruck Dr. Datsun to his colleague. Cabyns stared in open-mouthed admiration of the technical expertise of this genius among men. "Incredible achievement Mr. Bozhart!" The genius then set both forefingers to work. Employing a laborious, determined Columbus typing method (discover it and land on it) typing technique, Brace Bozhart proceeded to enter secret codes. Despite the breakneck speed at which the codes flashed up on the screen, Cabyns' trained eye for detail mentally stored away the encrypted entries. BANANARCHY seemed to be the code word. Following this was an incredibly complex main code line which Cabyns' straining eyes made out to be: http://www.docker.com/~hillmanjr/bananarchy.html A few more key strokes beyond the ken of even the master sleuth brought forth information which would certainly have instilled terror into the hearts of the heads of all peace-loving nations of the world. --Bill Hillman Bananarchy (Top Secret - For Your Eyes Only) (The Partial Text of Brace Bozhart's Bananarchist's Handbook) 'Gorilla' Bananarchy Tactics Every good bananarchist should have at least 20 pounds of bananas in his fridge. All bananarchy weapons listed below are the result of much research, preparation, and experimentation on the properties of bananas. Should you decide to become a bananarchist, I suggest you purchase a book on bananas. The Banana Blade The banana blade is a dangerous weapon in the hand of a skilled bananarchist. Materials: 1 Frozen Banana & 1 Carving Knife. The banana blade is far superior to a regular knife. It can be designed quickly for the job at hand, and if you are ever caught, it IS edible. Once the banana has been frozen solid, you may then carve it into the desired shape. Remember: The banana blade must be used quickly before it thaws.
The Banana Mine A banana peel is a very inconspicuous weapon. The common tourist may mistake it for a simple pile of refuse or a discarded food item but beware, the banana mine can cause serious damage if positioned correctly in a highly trafficked area. The Banana Bomb The banana bomb is a stable high explosive, so it can be jarred or dropped without exploding. To detonate it, you use an electrical charge. Materials: 3 Peeled Bananas -- 1 Potato Masher -- 1 Cookie Sheet Mash up the bananas really well using the potato masher. Then form the bananas into the desired shape. Plop the mass onto the cookie sheet and bake at 300 degrees for 30 minutes. Usage: Connect an electric detonator to the Banana Bomb. Stay at least 20 feet away from the bomb when detonating. Banana Pudding Napalm Banana Pudding Napalm is a highly flammable mixture, and when it's finished burning, you've got banana survival cookies! Materials: 5 Unpeeled Bananas -- 1 Blender -- 1 Container Mix up the bananas in a blender until a thick paste is formed. Pour the mixture into a container. Usage: Pour the pudding on the intended surface, and light it up! Banana Thermite Banana Thermite is created from a chemical reaction between bananas, and aluminum. Materials: 1 unpeeled Banana -- 30 cm square sheet of aluminum foil -- a sparkler (the kind you get on birthday cakes) Wrap the banana entirely in aluminum foil. Push the sparkler halfway through banana. Usage: Place the banana on the intended surface, and light the sparkler. The substance created will melt through anything! -- Robin Hillman hillmanjr@docker.com A Terrible Secret The potential ramifications of this evil document were staggering. Cabyns could not contain himself. "Datsun...THE packet...quickly!" It was during moments like this that Cabyns' addiction reached a state beyond his control. He injected a large number of the Pez pellets through his trembling lips and settled back into his chair while the euphoric waves of contented pleasure washed through his lean and aged body. "I fear that the work I have put into compiling this powerful information shall go for naught if we can not find a supply of the secret ingredient for these weapons," Bozhart continued. "There is only one known variety of this yellow fruit that is totally suitable for weapons use. We must find the location of a secret valley hidden somewhere in the African interior. Only two men know the way into this valley -- one is a missing mystery aviator who went through untold, despicable tortures while imprisoned there, but somehow escaped. But there is only one known person who has a map -- we must stop at nothing to wrest it from him -- that man is Edgar Nyce!" As the name of his arch enemy slid from his lips, an ominous shadow moved across the dome skylight above and a woman's frantic screams could be heard over the howling desert winds: "Brace!...Help!" CHAPTER 34: Escape from the City of Ancient Heads Butch and Sundance Ride Again As the ancient heads, a group that somehow had escaped the advance of evolution, circled and closed in on Kojak Morris and Mars Markus, the men smiled and glanced at one another as they had done prior to so many battles before. Still balancing on the wobbly tandem bicycle that they shared, Markus boasted, "We still live, my old friend!" and he strained to push his shirt sleeves up past his bulging biceps. He then took a battle position by spinning around on his seat so that he and Morris were back to back. With Morris steering and Markus pedaling backwards, they raced their two-wheeled mount in a tight circle to keep the enemy at bay. Kojak shouted, "Remember the Bijou, Mars...1, 2, 3," and with warrior bravado they burst into a fighting song they had sung so often in their prime: "Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do/I'm half-crazy on a bicycle built for two..." The ancient heads were taken aback. The melody triggered memories long forgotten which prompted a collective resounding response of: "Right On, Man... HAL rides again... Too cool... 2001... Wow." Not having complete faith in the holding power of their guru abilities, the two veterans of untold bar wars changed their song after a few choruses: "Raindrops keep falling from my head, but..." "Far out man...1969...cool...Katharine Ross...Hey! the Sundance Kid...too much...." As one, the assemblage burst into applause, assumed lotus positions, and mumbled along with the lyrics. Unfortunately for the revelers, their venture into song was washed out by a sudden cloudburst which appeared as if on cue. The nostalgic songsters were soaked under a deluge of raindrops. The cyclists took advantage of the confusion to disembark and to ease their way out through the drenched crowd on foot. "Touch the sky man...Manson's back...They're prophets man... Hey! Anybody know 'Feelings'?" were the fading words they heard from the born-again hipsters as they continued their odyssey. Return of the Living Dead As the victorious gladiators resumed their reckless race through the rain-soaked streets they noticed that the deserted city was coming alive again. With the conclusion of the weekly showing of Star Trek: Voyager came a partial return to normalcy as mobs of Seven of Nine worshippers spilled into the street, wandering Borg-like in the face of wind-driven beads of rain. The increasingly frantic pair jostled their way through the wild-eyed masses of video zombies until they found another vehicle to commandeer -- this time it was a multi-coloured but rusted Volkswagen van of ancient vintage. Although the rain was subsiding, the winds were taking on gale-like proportions which rocked the van as the indomitable rescuers sped eastward on their mission to rescue the incomparable Dee Dee Morris. They had travelled only a short distance before being startled by a loud unearthly moan emanating from the rear of the van. Bill Hillman CHAPTER 35: Alone in the City of Mummies "Dang fickle fools," cursed Zany Grany as he turned his back on the more than slightly comical sight of two oversized men struggling to navigate a wobble-wheeled tandem bicycle. Zany and his entourage of cow and burros struck out for the desert. "We're goin' home me lovelies. Had 'nuff them galldurned empty-headed city slickers ain't we pards," he chortled in glee. Shortly after reaching the desert lands, however, the weaver of tales found himself battling for his life in the face of a sudden and blinding desert sand storm. Struggling to find shelter he looked up to see a giant palomino rearing above him. After skillfully ducking to one side of the towering monster, he could barely make out the shape of a large building. A few deft swings of his miner's pick axe opened the sealed entrance way and Zany led his loyal followers into the unnatural chill of a chamber bathed in Cimmerian darkness. A hastily lit torch revealed a scene which made his blood run cold. The grizzled raconteur stood in an eerie tomb surrounded by terrifying animals and glassy-eyed people who appeared frozen into a state of suspended animation. Weapons of destruction hung from the foreboding walls and a smaller version of the palomino that had attacked him earlier stood poised on hind legs, its evil eyes suggesting that it might revive at any time to attack him with murderous flailing hoofs. Back edged the the shaken old storyteller until he came to a huge ornately carved door. A quick inspection revealed that it was decorated with two ornately carved letters: RR. In need of water and believing this to be an entrance to a rest room, Zany turned and burst through the heavy doors -- only to find himself again facing the raging sandstorm which had engulfed the hostile plains of the Tappan Range. A sudden panic swept over the old timer. He mounted his faithful burro but his race to escape the terrors which lay behind took an unexpected turn. Giant talons from above cruelly dug into the flesh of both man and beast as they were lifted high above the blowing sand which still covered the desert surface in a shroud of mystery. CHAPTER 36: Ratnaz and the Forbidden Valley King Dong and the Goat Kid Ed's life passed before his eyes. He wished once more that Ratnaz were here. Thoughts turned to Ratnaz and away from the cold reality of the deadly weapon pressed to his throbbing temple. Despite all his faults, Ratz was the closest thing Ed had to a son. His mind raced back to a time so long ago. Ed had funded a safari to the unexplored heart of Africa, hoping to find research material for his adventure stories. He had been intrigued by incredible native stories about a hidden valley lost deep in the heart of the Dark Continent: ...tales of a giant three-legged ape - King Dong ...of cruel barbaric tribesmen of unusual physical proportions...of human and animal sacrifices to the gargantuan ape ...of bananas with unbelievable properties. Perhaps most intriguing to Ed were the legends of a white boy - the only survivor of a plane crash - who had been raised with the tribe's sacrificial goats. He had earned the name Ratnaz, which in the native tongue meant Goat Kid. His duties were to lead goats out beyond the giant walls of the village and to tie them to a huge sacrificial altar in hopes of appeasing the ape god - Dong. Eventually he came to be feared and despised as a traitor by the goats who had so lovingly raised him as one of their own. This rejection led him to spend more and more time with the three-legged giant ape from whom he learned the ways of the Great Dong Apes. The Valley of Death When Ed stumbled upon the village, Ratnaz was about to lead a captive white aviator to the sacrificial altar as an offering to the giant ape. Ed rescued both men before Dong arrived, but in the ensuing battle with the tribe, the aviator was recaptured. When Ed made his way back to civilization, all he had to show for his efforts were the Goat-Kid/Ape-Boy, a bunch of magic bananas, a map and an aviator's leather helmet with the name Darter finger-printed onto the temple. Stories of these daring exploits... and more... found their way into Ed's books of course, but he kept the location of the valley a closely guarded secret. A loud explosion reverberated through the Pellucifer Burrower and Ed realized that he was about to meet his maker. CHAPTER 37: At the Mercy of the Elements Flight of the Phoenix Ever-resourceful, Dee Dee Morris assessed in an instant; the dire situation which she and her comatose companion now faced after their crash landing into the dreaded La Gaspack Tar Pits. The makeshift gondola of their airship was sinking rapidly in the putrid pitch while the still-attached but now deflated bovine-shaped buoyancy sac was completely covered in the sticky mire. Dee reached for the one remaining full Helium tank in the horde that her abductor had absconded from her father's Helium Supply. Wasting no time, she connected the tank to the air sac, hoping that the coating of tar from the pits had patched the large tears in the fabric. As the balloon gained buoyancy she drew her trusty Swiss knife from her lacy garter and cut the affixing lengths of hemp twine. The princess clung to an appendage of the one-time Holstein -- now resurrected as a Black Angus -- as it started to rise above the predacious pitch. She then groped for the whimpering Darter only to see him sink ineffectually beneath the primeva |