Let's Go Bowling

Last Rites

So he drops the bottle to the floor and calls out to his new friends, that is everyone but LP, "Meet me at my place if you wish.  I have no desire to be here when the cops arrive."  He turns to Pierre.  "No hard feelings I hope, look me up we'll do lunch."  With that he drops a twenty on the bar and skeedaddles out the back.

Harvey looks at Leo, at Pierre, at Kyle, thinks on the fact that he has seen two people die horribly in the last few minutes and knows that at least one more has been blown away with a shotgun, remembers that he himself has been downed from behind by a flying bottle and was about to be killed by a psychotic with blood tattoos.  He has had his life saved twice inside of ten minutes.  He looks at Leo and says in a weary tone "thank you, now, lets get the fuck out of here, yes?"  He then attempts to follow Chris, holding his head down in case anyone tries to throw any more bottles, fire any more shotguns, or launch complicated martial arts maneouvers at him from behind.

Buttery Goodness cocks a throwing star to throw it at the hamstring of Pierre when he hears the unmistakable snap of his slave's neck.  "Um tut sut," he says with a sigh, and pockets the shurukin.  As his newfound compatriots regain their bearings, he pulls his copy of the slave contract from his jacket, sets it on a plate on the nearby table, pulls out his Zippo, and lights it on fire.  As he sees several familiar faces slinking unobtrusively for the back door, he takes a long look around Sad Mary's, thinking of his pre-paid, pending date with Siobhan, then turns to face the descending Ingar.  "Engar!" he says brightly.  "Let's go bowling!"

Lucky Pierre ignores Chris and heads back in the direction of the barstool he originally came from.

The door has been blasted off the hinges so seeing into the kitchen should not be a problem. Chris does a quick head peek and see if there are any gunman or any other threats in the kitchen. Getting around the corpse is not a problem as Chris walks right over it.

Harvey has confidence right now in two things only, Chris and the fact that he never wants to see this bar again.  If Chris goes into the kitchen, Harvey follows (stepping over another corpse on the way, a trip to the local gun merchant would seem to be in order).  Also, Harvey keeps a nervous eye out for Goodness.

Leo politely stands up and releases the bruised doctor, although he points him in the direction of the front door.

As he is starting to head over to Chris, Harvey turns to Leo with an expression of slight incredutlity "Bowling?  I don't suppose any of you play golf?"

"Uh, I'm sure that can be arranged, doctor," Leo says politely over his shoulder as he walks away towards the front door.   He catches Ghishu's eye and gestures significantly towards the exit.  Then he starts moving in that direction too, stopping only to talk briefly to Ben.  "We're headed for the bowling alley around the corner on Bilge Street," he murmurs.  "The restaurant is called the Spare-A-Minute Diner."

Ben nods in acknowledgment. "Right behind you, just as soon as I collect my partner."

Leo continues out, hoping that his companions will all imitate Chris's cool and composed exit.

Ingar looks at Goodness.  "Do you really think that would be the proper thing to do, friend?  Perhaps it is.  Yes, I guess so.  A celebration of life and friendship.  You are quite right.  Poor Griffon. I was rather concerned about him being too aggressive. Nice touch burning his contract - in death he gained freedom. Quite moving. Yes - Let us go bowling!"  Ingar waddles towards Goodness, Ghishu firmly in hand.

The university graduate ogre stops, turns to look at Griffon, and asks: "Shouldn't something be done about his body? Organ donation, burial, that sort of thing?"

"Ah, good point," replies Goodness.  He quickly crosses to the ex-slave and removes the dead man's wallet, sticking it into his back pocket. "All set," he says to Ingar, patting the big man on the back. In an odd sort of way, the strange Norwegian's presence brings a sense of comfort to the Scotsman. He remembers the last time he felt that way, and wonders what will go horribly wrong next.

KK isn't having a great time sitting behind the bar, and when it looks like everyone's leaving, he dares taking a quick peek over the bar to see what's really going on. And indeed, things seem to have calmed down to an acceptable level. So with his soda in his hand he strolls over to big Ben, working on something cool to say after all killings.  "Do they always put on a show like this, or is it just because I'm new here?"

"Yeah, we do it for all the burgers," admits Ben.  "They seem to get a kick out of it, those that survive anyway."  Ben glances over KK's shoulder across the bar towards the kitchen and his long lost beer before giving a sigh of resignation.  "We should probably get the hell out of here before the Judas Priests show up again.  You hungry?  I hear there's a diner around here somewhere."

KK's belly growls in reply to Ben's question. KK just nods, but before he starts following Ben to a new battle field, he quickly looks over the current one to see if anyone have dropped any knives or other interesting objects.

Goodness trails behind Leo, with Ingar in tow, picking up his stray throwing star and Leo's juggling balls as he goes.  He casts suspicious glances about the whole time, looking for any signs that someone may try to impede their egress.  He begins singing "Ave Maria" quietly for the memory of his fallen slave.  Of course, it's an a capella swing version, and he's snapping his fingers to the beat, but the bass line jumps in a Bobby McFerrin kind of way, so there you go.

Harvey, who is looking more than somewhat confused by this time, says to Goodness "Do you need a fourth for bowling?"

"Mariiiiiiiaaaaa...  Hmm?  Oh, of a sairtanty, m' good fellow.  Trail along behind, oor lead the way!  Ye've shown yerself t'be a bowling soort o' man, an' by that I mean ye've got the balls. Ha ha. Ah-bahdoobeduhdeedum-dadayyyyve'...."

Harvey says, "In that case I guess I'll tag along, by the way, did I hear you say you were from Scotland?  I spent a holiday there a couple of years back, nice country"

Unless his rather sad conversational attempts bear fruit, Harvey tags along with a bemused and glassy expression.  If anyone here were medically trained, they might suspect him to be in shock, sadly he is the only person present with any medical training and this possibility has not yet occurred to him.

"You know, I never did get that drink I ordered, at least my camera is OK, there's a lot of good golf courses in Scotland, did you know that?".

Harvey's voice starts to trail off...  Occasionally he rubs the back of his head, sure that there is something you need to do with head injuries but right now it just doesn't seem to matter that much.  He tries to keep up with Goodness, who at least has rythm (who could ask for anything more?).

Not quite happy with Agent Goodness's last rites, Dr. Forn ambles over and picks up Griffin's body, cradling him gently in his arms.  He then falls in behind his friend the Scotsman.

Ingar, having received training as a psychologist, rather suspects that poor Harvey may be in shock, but is painfully aware of the fact that his presence is not exactly soothing, especially not with a corpse in his arms.  In an unusually soft voice he says: "I think that it might be a good idea to get you to a doctor, Harvey.  If I am not much mistaken you received a blow to the head recently, and it is my considered opinion that you may be under post-traumatic stress from the many rather unpleasant events which have taken place.  Isn't there a doctor next door?"
 

Come to the House

Leo, Buttery, Ben, Ghishu, Harvey, Ingar, and KK all head out the front door, Ingar with the body of Griffin Kyle thrown over one shoulder.  The evening crowd is thick in Flowers at the moment, and the group draws stares from passing pedestrians (well, OK - let's be honest.  INGAR draws stares from the passing crowd - everyone else in comparison might as well be invisible.)  General reactions run the gauntlet from a) looking mildly surprised and giving Ingar a wide berth while passing, to b) screams of horror and immediate high speed flight.

As the group tries to get its bearings and decide which direction to go in, a group of aryan looking men approach.  Most of them are in their twenties, with long, braided blonde hair, large and muscular bodies, and leather jackets.  They are, however, led by an older man in his forties - no less fit (and perhaps even more so) with a thick, plaited beard, a barrel chest, and tattoos of strange, nordic runes across his forehead.  They are approaching the entrance to Sad Mary's purposefully.

Chris darts out of the alleyway to join the others at just the moment when Griffin, still slung over Ingar's shoulder, says "Come to the House.  We need you." in a thoroughly creepy Boris Carloff-esque voice.

"Grrrrreat, Ingar has disembodied voice mail," Chris groans.

Harvey turns to Ingar and his talking corpse, and says "You may be right about seeing that doctor, I could swear that corpse just invited us home".  "Do you know where he lives?"  Harvey notices his grasp on reality walking away quickly on the other side of the street.

"No," the Norwegian admits.

"Well, given it almost certainly didn't happen, it's probably not that important where he lives, anyway.  Do you bowl much?"

"Okay," says Goodness, stopping with his hands on his hips. "Fairst, a talkin' willie.  Now, a fucking cor... piss-drunk friend that we're jest gettin' safely home, nothin' to see here."  He takes a moment to adjust Griffin's head and take a bit of the angle out of the way it hangs on his neck. "Who knows aboot this hoos?  Where's this freakin' hoos?  You, Juggle Bug!  Doctair Hairvey!  Is it the freakin' hoos on the prairie?  Hoos o' Pancakes?  Horton Hears a Hoos?"  He steps back to examine his work.  "Ah, tha's the stuff.  Engar, what exactly air ye plannin' t' do wi' Mr. Sleepy 'ere?"

"Well, I haven't thought about yet" say Ingar.  His back is undulating slightly  under his jacket.  "But it seemed too callous just to abandon him there."

"Mmhmm.  Eh, ye do realize it's na usually thought of as a good idea t' carry a body over yer shoulder, though?  As in, if the Peace Force show up, they may stairt askin' questions an' take us all t' jail?  How aboot this: Take 'im next door t' Ahmed's where I got me nose fixed up, an' leave 'im in the waiting room wi' the rest o' the patients?  Then they kin take care of 'im. Organ donation, like ye said earlier."

"It seems a bit cynical. Can't we take him home?  Please?" the Norwegian insists.

Harvey says "I'm not sure its entirely responsible to leave a corpse in a doctor's waiting room, it seems unhygienic and may affect patients waiting to be seen in an adverse manner.  You would be surprised how upset ill people can be when they see corpses lying around the doctor's treatment area.  I would suggest an alley or dumpster as being more appropriate."

"Come to the House," repeats Kyle, "We need you.  Come to the House.  We need you.  Come to the House.  We need you.  Come to...."

Ingar's back grows more agitated and he begins moaning slightly.  He whispers  desperately (curiously he manages to keep moaning at the same time): "Nei, ae reis itj' taebake tae Nor-Norge.  Dae faar finn nokkan andre.  Ae vill itj' taenna fakkelen"¹ in his Northern Norwegian dialect, which he has not spoken since he left home.

Harvey says to Ingar "you know, as consensual hallucinations go it's remarkably persistent.  By the way, are you carrying some kind of animal under your jacket there?"  He points to the gently writhing back of Ingar's jacket.

"No, it is just part of our communal hallucination," the Norwegian lies brightly through his teeth.

"Hey, how much for that talking corpse?" KK asks.  It would certainly be a nice addition to the Compton Collection.  But wait, this isn't the first time KK has heard about that house.  The first time KK heard about the house something dangerous was about to happen...  "Yo, corpse. Who are you? Where's the house? Talk to me, Hudson."

Ingar ignores KK's question.

"I've been hearing that 'Come to the House' line a lot lately," comments Leo, "and not just from corpses.  The barista who collapsed at Breakneck Café (well, he was dead), the cousellor at Deadly Temptations (she was alive), the, uh, body part in the restroom of Sad Mary's (not much left), and now this.  Apparently, they don't have to be alive of even in one piece to say that.  Eeech!"

Ingar looks surprisedly at Leo. "But then it is not my family -" he breaks off with a guilty start and then continues "Then perhaps it is a parapsychological phenomena. Or just self-suggestion brought on by some persistent urban legend.

Harvey turns to the corpse "excuse me, can you give us directions to this house?"

...we need you.  Come to the H...."

There is an odd noise that seems to come from everywhere at once and Griffin's head disappears.

Now when we say "disappears" we mean that in the most literal sense.  Where Griffin's head was, attached to his body, there is now only a two-dimensional white head-shaped space, as though the head were suddenly turned into a flat paper silhouette.
 

The Butterfly Kid

"YOU BASTARD!" the kid screams, "YOU'VE GOT MY BUTTERFLY!"

At the sound of that horrible noise, KK immediately leaps back to a relatively safe distance. He's about to explain to everyone that he heard the same sound in the alley, but is interrupted by the butterfly kid.  For now he settles for just listening very carefully and being prepared to dodge and run.

Harvey looks at Ingar's undulating back, the space where Griffin's head was, the screaming boy, and shouts "I understand now, I've seen Jacob's ladder, well I'm not ready damn you, I want to live..."

He turns to the kid and screams back "THE BUTTERFLY CAN WAIT, I'M NOT READY".  He then starts to giggle.

Chris, having had a bit to much of this stuff turns toward the alley and leaning over a trash can vomits up his last meal. "Uhnnn, maybe I should have retired to Amarillo like I planned."

Goodness calmly regards the boy.  "Aye,'" he retorts.  "I'm tryin' t' effect the weather.  Look, it flapped it's wings.  Now 'tis rainin' in Mozambique.  Synchronistastic!"

Eugene, of course, has had enough and is in the mood to kill, if necessary.

To the babbling loony, he says, "It canNOT wait, dammit, it's mine and I want it back!"

To the snide Scots guy, he says, "Look, I don't care where you found it, but I want my Butterfly back, and I'll walk away calmly. Try to keep it, and I go on a killing spree, and that damn Terminal building will be the first to go! I've lost my money , my luggage, my dignity, my health from being dunked in a Water Reclamation System, and my faith in the kindness of people, courtesy of those charming guards, one of whom is a barely repressed pederast. Give me my butterfly, and I'll be happy."

To his errant Butterfly, he says, "And just where the hell have you been, anyhow? This is another one of your bright ideas, isn't it, you Dayglo son of a bitch! If this is your way of getting me to acknowledge you exist, fine, you exist! Just get back to me, and start doing whatever you do so I don't end up dead in a gutter somewhere on this floating dungpile of an island!"

"And by the way, is there a decent hotel somewhere around here?"

Leo looks at the unhappy young man with some misgivings.  "Ooookaaay," he sighs.  "Everyone's entitled to one invisible friend, here.  That's the sanest reaction I've seen in a while.  Look, yeah, there are a few decent hotels in this place, but they're not cheap.  You said you'd lost your money, so...  And, guys, why don't we just dump the body in the neares convenient spot, like a fountain, a ditch, or a convertible Mercedes, and keep walking without turning back?"  He gives the example, tugging at Ghishu (who is his oldest friend, since they've been together since they left the Terminal in the morning.)

Eugene sighs. "Yes, I know how it looks, and quite frankly I don't care. Ever since I got to this place, things have been going very badly in a weird sort of way, weird to the point that I don't give a shit if people hear me talking to my 'invisible friend.' In this place, insanity seems like good camouflage." He looks at the skinny guy with the French accent. "So, any places where I can crash cheap without having my organs harvested? If you want, I'll even help you dump the body somewhere. Right now, I don't know anybody, and since all you guys seem to have relatively harmless lunacies, I'd like to tag along."

Leo knows better, oh yes he does.  He shouldn't encourage more weirdoes to follow.  But he looks over his shoulder at the tired, beaten, haggard young burger who just left the Terminal, like Leo himself did only hours ago (god!  it seems like a couple of years...)  He waves the kid on.

"Tag along, just don't do anything stupid..." he says, not unkindly.  "Burger gotta look out for one another..."

Eugene nods, wondering to himself if there's any profitability in setting up a center designed to counsel those poor tourists who've gotten on the wrong end of Al Amarja.  Call it, perhaps, "The Decompression Chamber," make it a combination therapy center/hostel/bar and grill...  Such thoughts preoccupy him, until he sees what the fuggly-looking giant is doing to the body that was over his shoulder.
 

Rick's Bowling Palace

He then turns to Chris, his expression sad but somehow relieved and says: "Now, Chris, it was only a small but violent change in the fabric of the universe.  Upsy-daisy, lets get on and face life with courage and good cheer."

By this time true chaos has broken out in the Plaza of Flowers, as terrified citizens seeking escape from the ghoulish creature which has appeared in their midst run headlong into sybaritic thrill seekers who are curious about what all the fuss is about over at Sad Mary's.  Mayhem, fist fights, and additional automobile accidents result, and the Aries Gang members approaching find themselves caught up in crowd control instead.  The barrel chested man spares a single, piercing look at Ingar, then sketches something in the air and turns away with a scowl to help out.  Ingar's body jerks slightly at the gang member's sketching.

"Can we go somewhere else now, please?" the Norwegian asks his fellow Burgers.

Under cover of this mayhem the party decides that now would be an excellent time to exercise discretion as the better part of valor, and makes a run for it up Bilge Street to the North.  Ingar tries to keep an eye on Chris and (especially) Harvey, as they seem to be more emotionally affected than the others.  After a run of a half dozen blocks through a mixed residential/business neighborhood with lots of little cafés and art galleries, and the odd coffee shop and bookstore.  They pass a far number of evening strollers, many of them heading for whatever excitement seems to be occurring in the Plaza of Flowers.  In the distance, sirens can be heard.

Eventually the group pulls up in front of a large, dark building set back from the street by an extensive parking lot.  Any passerby who happen to look at the signage on the front of the building will see that many of the big red letters that spell out RICK'S BOWLING PALACE are missing or inoperative. So many so that the sign actually reads RICK'S          P LACE.  Under it is another handwritten sign; the glare from streetlights allows everyone to read a large sign saying "BILGE BOWL" with the obligatory picture of a bowling ball knocking down pins next to it.  Smaller signs indicate the presence of the "King Pin Lounge" and the "Spare-A-Minute" diner.  The place looks closed - deserted - dare we say...  eerie?

Eugene gasps, and tries not to heave the precious chewy goodies given to him by the nice African lady fanatic onto the cold, unforgiving ground.  Recovering his oxygen, he sees that the people he's teamed with have stopped in front of a bowling alley, which it appears they are now entering.  He looks around for his Chaos Butterfly, and suddenly gets the eerie feeling that he has become, without knowing it, a character in a latter-era Phillip K. Dick novel, where it seems that everything is spinning out of control, but there's nothing anyone can do but react as calmly as possible.  He follows the party in, glancing over his shoulder both to see if they were followed and to see if, in fact, a pink laser from Radio Free Albemuth is targeting him.

Chris pulls out the keys and throws open the double doors, ushers everyone in and then looks for the master light switch box, which is near the main desk.  Happy to get there in one piece he opens the cover to the box and one-by-one throws the switches.  One by one the banks of lights come on over the main desk, in the diner, in the cafe, by the bathrooms.  Chris activates a couple of the lanes as well, which come to life with a hum and a whirr of pin setters.

Harvey, acting as if the surreal events outside never happened, looks around the dim foyer of the bowling alley and says "this should be a whole lot of fun.  Say, want me to go look for the bowling shoes?"  He turns to Ingar "you and me team up, ok?  Show these guys how to bowl".

"I'd be delighted to," Ingar replies, "but I do not know how to bowl."

"That my friend, is no problem, I shall teach you.  Basically all you do is roll a ball at a target and attempt to knock over some small poles.  It's easy,"  Harvey says.  "First though, we need to find you some bowling shoes.  You see the trick in any sporting activity, be it golf, bowling, tennis, running or whatever, is having the right footwear."

"Well, I guess the only bowling halls in the world having my size of footwear would be found in Al-Amarja, so this should be a good place to start bowling," says Ingar.

Harvey then tries to lead Ingar off to look for the bowling shoes, happily whistling a tune which he fails to recognise is Ave Maria as arranged by Agent Buttery Goodness.  "Catchy that," he muses, "wonder where I heard it".

Ingar follows compliantly, humming the bass.  Incidentally, a nasty lump is now apparent on the back of Harvey's head.

The place where the shoes are rented is, in fact, the main desk where Chris is standing, flipping on lights.  Chris walks over to the double doors to make sure they are locked.  He looks out at the sign that says 'Bilge Bowl' and says, "That looks like a recent addition, some joker probably put it there.  I will have it hauled away tomorrow."

As Chris walks back to the desk he says to Harvey, "Perhaps you should see a doctor about that lump, make sure there is no blood building up on the dura."

A slightly petulant Ingar injects, "I already suggested as much, but you were all so eager to go here."

"Yes" says Harvey, "perhaps that would have been for the best.  I think I may be in shock.."  Harvey suddenly sits down heavily on the floor.  "I have to admit I don't feel so good.  Could one of you come over and describe the back of my head to me?"  "You have to be careful with head injuries you know..."  His voice trails off again.  "I think that if you leave aside the multiple violent deaths, shootings, invisible butterflies and dissapearing heads we did pretty ok back there all told.  In the circumstances I think we're all coping admirably".  Harvey's tone and expression are extremely, almost glassily, calm.  "Some soda would be nice..."

To Ingar Chris says, "Mind if we wait on the bowling for just a sec? I have to make sure the lanes are oiled and the pinsetter is set up right."

"Not at all," responds the combined mental health professional and mental health hazard.

Chris then kicks off his ruined shoes, finds a pair of rentals in his size and puts them on.  Then he grabs a couple of manuals and heads to the diner to grab a seat.  "I need to study up a bit on the equipment before anyone bowls."

Leo takes a look around.  He is beginning to look fairly tired, it has been a very long day.  The sight of the Slave's body being trashed did not help.  Harvey is acting weird, and the rent-a-vikings have taken their collective number for the next time there is trouble.  No, not a good finish.  "All right," he sighs, "I think we need to talk about this whole wonderful day.  Maybe we could grad a table in the diner.  Chris, mind if I look for something to drink for everyone?"

Chris nods.  "Go ahead, all there is are chips and drinks and that sort of thing I have not laid in any perishables yet; and I won't until I firm up my opening and staffing."

Ben looks around the deserted bowling alley.  "Nice place you got here," he says to Chris.  "Nice and quiet anyway."

Leo walks into the diner area, and walks through it towards the kitchen, in search for a fridge full of sodas or, failing that, a case of warm sodas.  Mmm, warm soda!

Ben follows Leo into the diner and crashes at the nearest table.  He leans back, stretches out his legs, and tries to relax.  Who knows, maybe he'll get a few minutes of peace and quiet before the Judas Priests kick in the front door.

Leo grabs an armful and comes back to the dining room section.  He heads for the large circular table where the others are settling down, and puts down the sodas.  He keeps one for himself and pops it open, swallowing most of it in one swig.

"God!" he sighs again.  Ingar winces slightly.  "What a day!"  The circus artist sits down and looks at his motley companions.  "Well, everyone, pleased to meet those of you I haven't been introduced to," he nods at KK, Harvey, and Eugene in turn.  "I'm Leo Barbeau.  If you guys don't know, Chris here is the owner of this place.  Pretty cool place, Chris."  He runs a hand through his wavy hair, rubs his eyes, looks at the group again.  "Where do we start?" he muses.  "We've just landed in a mess, even though I don't recall doing anything particularly stupid..."

Ben gives a snort.  "I wouldn't exactly call that debacle back at Sad Mary's a work of genius."

Goodness opens a soda and takes a long drink, then lights up a smoke and takes a seat, sighing deeply as he exhales the smoke. He absently takes out his ex-slave's wallet and takes out whatever money the man was carrying, transferring it to his pocket.  Who was going to get to him first, he wonders?  Peace Force?  Judge Fang?  Judas Priests?  Ah, well.  Perhaps he would find a way to work things out; ways that wouldn't involve any more unnecessary death, including (most importantly) his own.  He snaps himself out of this revery and Ben's mention of "that debacle" and smiles.  "Aye, but what a time, eh?  Folks'll be talkin' aboot that scene fer years t' come.  I think we need t' figure oot what's goin' on at this hoos.  Someone here is bein' summoned, an' I dinna think it's me."

Forn's brow furrows in a way only barely compatible with human musculature.  "I would like to know about this as well."

"Hi Leo" says Harvey.  "My name is Harvey Finkelbaum, I'm a dermatologist..."

"Hi!" Eugene chirps in.  "I'm Eugene Truman.  Recently, I was a citizen of the USA, where I stood out and was judged exceptionally weird by my peers, and now I'm hoping to become a productive citizen of Al Amarja, where I'm feeling worried that suddenly I'm not weird enough.  In case you're wondering, I'm around fourteen-and-a-half.  From what they tell me, I'm bright for my age."  He catches his breath, and says, "Hi, Leo!  Hi, Chris!  Say, any job openings for a precocious adolescent who thinks he's haunted by a fractal in the shape of a butterfly, but is feeling much better now?"

KK nods back at the tall man. Then he proceeds to study the others, mostly to have something to do while thinking about the current situation. Seems like this Ben character knows some people who knows some pretty strange creatures. What's up with that? However, before KK can delve further into this line of thinking, his nose reminds him that it still hurts like hell. So he decides to finally make good use of the soda he's clutching in his right hand. After downing a pill with a swig of cool, tasty SHIAVIT orange soda, he hopes that the world will become a much better place.

Chris takes Leo's compliments with grace.  "Thanks, my Uncle Norman left all of us something.  My half sister Abby got a diamond mine in Zaire... er Congo... uh the Peoples Repub... never mind, John, my older brother found himself owner of a cattle rendering plant in Ulan Bator.  And my cousin Constance got a running shoe factory in Bogota.  She is a paraplegic by the way.  We cannot figure out if Norman hated us or loved us."

Chris pauses and says, "I apologize for the lack of real food.  If anyone needs more substantial fare the dairy that sits at the edge of the parking lot has milk and pastries or you can go across the street and down a half block to the Kanga-Burger.  Actually they may deliver, do you mind if I just order up some food for everyone?"

"Not at all," rumbles Ingar.  "Actually, I am feeling a bit peckish."

"Yeah, I'm up for burgers!" KK says quickly.  His belly growls in agreement.

Eugen's stomach does a slow growl.  "I'll take just about whatever food I can get.  And thank you so much."

"Excuse me everyone, I will be right back."  Chris leaves his manuals on the table and heads back out to the front desk, he grabs a phone book and leafs through it.  He then dials.  All the while he is waiting for the other party to pick up he twirls his pen in his off hand.  Chris makes one lenghtly call which, based on his body language, caused him no small amount of irritation. After resting for a bit he leafs through the phone book and makes two other, much shorter calls.
 

Kanga-Burger

*CLICK*

"Thank you for calling the Office of Biological Disposal.  To report a roadkill, press one.  For domestic pet euthanasia, press two.  For livestock disposal and..."

*CLICK*

"Kanga-burger."

"Hello? Is this Kanga-Burger?"

"Yeah, didn't I just say that?"

"Yes, of course you just said that, sorry, I missed it."

"So whatddya want?"

"Whaddya mean whaddya want?  I want to place a delivery order. You do deliver, right?"

"Didn't you read the ad?  Sez right there."

"OK, next time I will read the ad more carefully."

"So what does it say, smart guy?"

"You want me to read it to you?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I WORK HERE?  Because of that I don't NEED to get my food delivered - it's all over the place here."

"Fine! All right! if it gets me a delivery, fine! AHEM Call Kanga-Burger for the finest bun served meat and meat substitutes on the Island. Farm, sea, urban, and exotic meats available. Catering and delivery.  MC/VISA/AMEX/DIS/OLK/JPC/DRQ. Cash preferred. No cheques. Happy?"

"I work at a fast food restaurant.  I spend my nights answering stupid questions from idiot customers like you.  What do you think?"

"Do you want the business or not!?"

"Whats the matter, tough guy?  Can't take a little verbal salsa?  Betcher a Burger - man, you aren't going to last a week here at this rate, whining like that.  You'll be a patty in the free..."

[Pause]

[Muttered] "Fucking pantywaist...."

"I AM not a pantywaist! I am NOT whining! I WANT some food!"

"Then stop acting like an asshole and maybe I'll take your order.  Didn't your mama teach you manners?"

"Sure. OK. No problem."

"So, do you want to hear the specials or do you already know what sort of mysterious ground meatlike substance you want slapped between two pieces of stale bun and served to you with fries and beans?"

"Um, OK, tell me the specials."

"Today we have Calamari burger, tangy meatball hero, frog with peaches on a fresh baked croissant, the Austrian Whammy, and the usual - whatever fell out of the wrapper and is lying around loose on a bun with condiments for a buck."

"Calamari... yes.... tangy meatball.. .OK....... frog à la peach à la croissant... right..... Austrian Whammy..... loose meat sandwich.  Is that all?

"What the hell do you want, the Earl of Sandwich to come with some sliced meats and personally construct them to your specifications and blueprints while dancing a waltz?"

"Actually, none of those sound like what I am looking for...."

"Then what the hell did you ask about them for?"

"YOU offered to read them pal, don't blame me!"

"That's it pal, no soup for you!  I don't have time for this crap!"

"No soup for me? What the Hell does that mean? I don't even want any soup!"

"Two small words for you pal:  tele, vision."

"Television? Oh riiiight, Seinfeld. He's a jerk. Owes me 20 bucks."

"Oh bullshit.  You never met Seinfeld."

"Yes I have."

"OK then smart boy, you probably know what sort of birthmark he has on his scrotum, right?"

"No I don't."

"I fucking knew it!  Don't bullshit me, burger boy!  I bet you don't even know if you're in our delivery area!"

"I'm across the street in the bowling alley."

"Oh yeah, right.  Sure you are."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"The hell you are.  Nobody living stays in that place."

"Look, I'll flip the lights on and off. Satisfied?"

"Oh man!  You are TOAST!"  [laughs]  "OK, I'll take your order.  Supplying you with your last meal is the least I can do."

"Fine."

"'Evil Dead', man.  Checked the fruit cellar yet?  Hand acting funny these days?  Seen any legions of undead going bowling after hours?"

"No, I haven't noticed any undead in the building but if I find some I will let you know. Can I order now?"

"Sure.  But you better stay alive long enough to pay for all this shit."

"Great. I'll have..."

"Hang on a minute, let me get a pen."

"Sure, I'll wait."

[Interminable minutes of "The Macarena"]

"Hello?"

"Come to the House, we need you."

"Hello?"

*CLICK*

"Still breathing?"

"OK, you ready now? Great. I'll have..."

[SOUND OF A CHICKEN CLUCKING]

"Hang on - this one's still moving a bit."

"Errr, maybe you should have thought of that before."

[SEVERAL BRUTAL SECONDS WORTH OF CHICKEN NECK WRINGING LATER....]

"OK shoot."

"OK, no interruptions this time, right?"

"Not on my end.  I guess it's in your hands, heh heh heh heh."

"Fine, I'll have 15 steak sandwiches..."

"Brontosaurus, Cat, Cow, Crow, Dog, Emu, Goat, Iguana, Kangaroo, Parakeet, Pigeon, Pig, Pork, Rat, Sheep..."

"Umm, cow."

"Lettuce, Tomato, Onions, Pimento, Oil & Vinegar..."

"The works."

"Oh-kay pal, your funeral.  Coleslaw?  Fries?  Beans?"

"Yes, coleslaw and fries and beans."

"Beans?  What kind of beans?"

"Umm, beans, you know, beans. As in pork and."

"This is a fast food joint pal.  What the hell makes you think we have beans?"

"No beans, huh? Then why did you ask me what kind?"

"What, are you stupid or something?  I asked you because I want to know what kind of beans you want!"

"You do have beans?"

"Did I say that?  Have I even once said 'we have beans'?"

"You don't have beans?"

"Getting rattled huh?  Scary sounds coming from the alleys yet?  Bowling shoes starting to glow with blue light?  Is there a knocking sound coming from the freezer yet?  Hey pal, do you have a chainsaw handy?"  [Laughs].

"Forget the beans.

"If you didn't want the damned things then why did you ask about them?  Want anything to drink with that?  My advice - make it alcoholic, you may as well be drunk."

"Four six-packs of beer."

"I knew it!  You ARE a pantywaist.  Beer's for pussys who can't take real booze.  What sort of beer do you want pantywaist?"

"Umm, Fosters, I wish to toast a friend."

"Fosters it is - I'll have that Australian guy that works in the back start pissing into the cans."

"Oh, hey! Can you send over, say three or four raw steaks? Fresh, not frozen."

"Brontosaurus, Cat, Cow, Crow, Dog, Emu...  let me guess, COW, right?"

"Something like that."

"So - you got some meat eating demon from another dimension with unknown powers and intent lurking over there in your haunted bowling alley?"

"Yeah, he's friendly."

"SUUUUURE he is pal.  Will he let me pet him?"

"Umm, no I don't think he would let you pet him."

"Well there you go then!  Sounds aggressive to me!  You sure you want to feed him?  When those daemonic bowels let go its quite a mess let me tell you!  And I bet you don't even know if he's Housebroken!"

"Housebroken? It really hasn't come up."

"Well don't you think that's something you ought to find out?  I mean, if I had a meat eating demon from another dimension with unknown powers and intent that's something I would want to be finding out!"

"I'm sure he was licensed by the proper Norwegian authorities."

[SNORTS]  "Like Al Amarjan C&I cares what the Norwegians do.  You better have him fixed if you don't want to be contending with demonic polyps in addition to undead bowlers.  Take my word on it buddy, I've seen it before.  Those demonic polyps are bad news!"

"It would not be my place to have him fixed. Can you tell me how much please?"

"$135.25"

"How long will that be?"

"Fifteen minutes."  *CLICK*

"Thank y...

Chris looks at the phone and then cradles it (on the hook, not in his arms) then he looks through the phone book again searching for a doctor that makes bowling alley calls.

As he reaches for the phone, it rings.  He picks up.  "Hello, Rick's Bowling Palace, also known as Bilge Bowl."

"Do you still want all this shit?"

"Yes, I still want the food."

"You didn't want that delivered did you?"

"Yes, delivered."

"So where the hell do you want it delivered to?"

"Across the street."

"An address asshole!  I need an address!"

"Jesus! 1313 Bilge."

"Don't know it.  What's it next to?"

"Right, next to The Henpeckery."

"Oh wait, and that weird dairy place, right?"

"And the dairy, yes."

"Yeah, we got a lot of good business from them during the tuberculosis outbreak last year.  Cross street?"

"Cross street?"

"Don't give me that crap!  If you want the food you'll give me the cross street.  We're sick and tired of people like you giving inadequate directions and then whining when the food's late because the driver got lost."

"It's ACROSS THE STREET. You cannot get lost!"

"All right, but its your own damned fault if the food's late.  I'll have the driver call you if there's a problem."

"Sure, have the driver call me if there is a problem."

"What's your number?"

"You have my number you called me back, remember."

"Yeah, that's right.  Sorry.  It'll be about twenty minutes."

"OK, fine, 20 minutes then? Excellent. Goodbye."

"It would be less if you had given me a cross street."

"Goodbye."

"But now the driver will have to look for the place, so I can't promise less than twenty."

"Right, goodbye."

"It's not my fault.  I just do my job.  I work hard, but this job doesn't pay much.  Management sucks, and this place is creepy enough to bend your sanity.  You would not believe the stuff that...  but I'm not supposed to talk about it.  The Employee Handbook says not to.  I don't want to make any waves.  This is the only job my caseworker could find for me.  But..  but...  it's just that.  Nevermind.  I do my job, and that's all that matters."

"Your'e a fine employee, goodbye."

"Damn right I am.  Do you know what I had to go through to get here?  I was locked up and questioned by C&I for three weeks!  Three weeks in that madhouse!  It was like something out of 'Clockwork Orange'!  Sensory deprivation, chemotherapy, GI purge, electric shocks!  All that for a job at Kanga Burger!  But it will all be worth it!  I'm saving money - a little at a time.  I live in a rat infested tenement, I only eat the sweepings from the floor and what I can sneak out of the back.  But if I can free my mother from the oppressive reign of the Foursquare Southern Baptist Church of Christ the King and Savior of Man (but not Woman) then it will all be worthwhile!"

"Earning money to bring your mother to freedom? Good for you, goodbye."

"Hey look, you sound like an OK guy.  Would you be interested in purchasing a magazine subscription?  Its for a great cause.  You don't want my mother held in the grip of the Foursquare Southern Baptist Church of Christ the King and Savior of Man (but not Woman) do you?"

"I don't need a magazine subscription, thanks anyway. Goodbye."

"Please!  I am begging you!" [begins weeping copiously] "Help me!  HELP ME!  I am in HELL!  In HELL!!!!"

"OK OK OK OK OK OK! If you get the food over here properly cooked and as I ordered it I will subscribe to something. I promise. Goodbye."

"Thank you!  Thank you!  You are truly a saint!  I will sing praises to your name!  I will burn offerings in your memory after you are consumed by the undead bowlers!  Your kindness and generosity will not be forgotten!  Please, I beg you, don't die before you sign the subscription form.  And the check."

"Thank you, goodbye."

As for the doctor, a quick perusal of the Al Amarjan phone book will reveal the following doctors who make housecalls.

Dr. Alexandria Bennet - Housecalls a specialty.
Doc Shokk - mobile trauma center.  On call 24/7.  Cash only.
Dr. Peter Turnball - specializing in forensic surgery.

Dr. Bennet's numbr is numerical beeper.  Chris punches in his phone number and hangs up.

Doc Shokk's number rings not quite once before someone picks it up.  "Hello?" says a badly modulated male voice on the other end.

"If this is Doc Shokk then you have a gig at 1313 Bilge Lane, it's the bowling alley.  I have a person here with a head wound and signs of shock.  If you can get here in 20 minutes there is an extra hundred in it for you."

"You betcher fuckin' ass!" the voice at the other end says.  There is a rustling sound as the person on the other end moves their mouth away from the receiver.

"Hold this," he says to someone.  There is a muffled voice in response.

"Just hold it!  I'm almost fucking done!"

More muffled voice, sounding plaintive this time.

"I SAID I'm almost fucking done!  I'll sew it up when we get there.  Its not as if I hadn't already gotten the damned thing out!  Just don't stand up and you'll be fine!"

There is a shriek, which cuts off after a few seconds.  More muffled sounds as the person comes back on the line.  "I'll be right there."  The last thing Chris hears before the line goes dead is "And that'll be an extra $200.00 for the anaesthetic, dickweed."

*CLICK*

To Be Continued...