Max Rage: Intergalactic Badass!

by Jake Bible

  “You must work those hands out a lot,” Rage said, extremely uncomfortable.

  “How about I show you the private loo?” the woman said, her voice sickly sweet, but her yellow eyes hard as rock. “Now, stud. Right now.”

  Rage considered breaking the woman’s arm then her eyes flashed to a different color for only a split second. Rage understood and nodded. The grip loosened and the woman turned on her heels, hand outstretched behind her, and started to walk off. Rage took the offered hand and followed as the woman wound back through the array of tables and pedestals to the opposite wall where a hidden door slid wide as soon as they approached.

  The woman led Rage inside and the second the door was closed, her body shifted and Rage was looking at Neela’s normal chosen form. Still buck naked, though.

  “Strip,” Neela said as she sighed and stretched. “Damn, I’ve never gotten good at the amphibious races. Their anatomy is a lot different internally than they look externally. Keeping the rights parts moving so I don’t suffocate outside water is a bitch, Rage.” She frowned. “Why aren’t you stripping?”

  “I think you’re a little backward on how this whole strip club thing works, Neela,” Rage said.

  “No, I’m not,” she said and waved a hand at the room. “Does this look like a loo to you? It’s not. Way different bodily fluids are expelled in here. There’s no surveillance, but that door behind you doesn’t lock. If security decides to come check on me, then they’ll need to see your naked ass or they’ll get suspicious. So strip.”

  Neela morphed back into her amphibious form and cocked her hips, waiting.

  Rage shrugged and started to strip.

  “You know, I do actually have to take a leak,” Rage said as he yanked off his boots and dropped his jeans to the floor. He kicked them aside as he pulled his T-shirt off.

  “Here,” Neela said and pressed a webbed hand against the wall. A small urinal was revealed and she pointed at it. “Go for it, stud.”

  Rage kicked his boxer briefs off right at Neela. She caught them then let them drop fast and glared.

  “Take your leak, asshole,” she said with an annoyed smile.

  Rage stood in front of the urinal and relieved himself. It took a while.

  “Been holding that,” Rage said as he shook off and turned to face Neela. He wasn’t exactly relaxed down there. “So, how real do we need to make this look? You know, in case someone comes in.”

  “If all this is getting you hot, then you’ll have to take care of that on your own later, Rage,” Neela said as she sat down on the only furniture in the room, a small couch against the far wall. “We need to talk right now.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Rage said, looking about the room.

  “Sit. Here,” Neela said, patting the couch. “That door opens and you get to cop a feel. Just the boobs. No between the legs stuff.”

  “What’s your real form look like?” Rage asked as he sat down. “Not sure I’ve ever seen it.”

  “My real form would drive you insane,” Neela said. “Literally. Only my kind can look upon our original forms without losing our minds.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Huh. Sounds like a challenge,” Rage said.

  “We can only change to our true forms on our home planet, so don’t get any macho ideas,” Neela said. “You want to hear about the goddess or not?”

  “You get her true name?” Rage asked. “Or are we going to have to rip the name out of Morlaw?”

  “I don’t have the name yet, but I will soon. Just gotta chat with the strippers on my next break,” Neela said. “No need to torture Morlaw. That’ll be near impossible anyway. I’ve seen his security detail. They make you look puny.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’ve got it all worked out, Rage,” Neela continued. “I know how I can get the name without being found out. It’ll take me most of the night, though. Gotta make it look casual when I ask. You’re going to need to stay for the Midnight Murder Mash.” Neela shivered. “Sorry.”

  “I’ve seen people vivisected before,” Rage said. “Ain’t fun to watch, but I won’t be puking up any wings.”

  “Oh, don’t get the wings,” Neela said.

  “This place is supposed to have the best wings,” Rage replied.

  “You saw the line for the public loos,” Neela replied. “You won’t last three seconds in that line if you eat more than three wings. Stick to the booze.”

  “No wings, all booze,” Rage said and shrugged. “I can handle that.”

  He watched Neela for a couple seconds then frowned.

  “What’s the real problem?” he asked. “Something is bugging you. And it’s not the wings and my digestion. Spill, Neela.”

  “You have three hours between now and when the goddess goes on,” Neela said. “I’ll have her true name by then, but you’re going to need to work out some logistics.”

  “Logistics? Like what?”

  “Like how we get the goddess out of this club and through the station.”

  “Uh, yeah, that’s kind of always been part of the job. I figured either Tin Man or Bolt Butt will carry her,” Rage said. “Unless she’s one of those deities that needs to be contained in some special box or bag or something. Is she one of those or can we cart her out over a shoulder?”

  “She doesn’t need a special box or anything,” Neela said. “Not technically. What she’s gonna need is a forklift.”

  “A forklift? Why? Is she super fat? What, does she weigh like four hundred pounds?” Neela blinked. Rage frowned. “More than four hundred pounds?”

  “She takes up half the main stage when she performs,” Neela said. “The stage slides apart and she’s raised up to it. The goddess weighs about half a metric ton.”

  Rage coughed. “Half a metric ton? She takes up half the stage? This is a joke, right? Those are two facts that Lisha should have told us.”

  “I know,” Neela said. “Makes you wonder if Lisha actually wants us to succeed or not.”

  “If she wanted us to fail, then there are easier ways than sending us in to pick up some obese goddess,” Rage said. “I’m thinking she was given bad intel and has no clue the size of the goddess.”

  “You think that way and I’ll think the other more paranoid way that this is all a set-up,” Neela said.

  “Oh, it’s a set-up,” Rage said. “I completely expect Lisha to try to murder us as soon as we deliver the goods. Even with Bolt Butt around, she’s got a rude awakening coming if she believes she can take me down.”

  “Take us down,” Neela said.

  “Yeah, sure, that’s what I meant,” Rage said. He looked her up and down. “The blue is nice on you.”

  “Down, boy,” Neela said, but not unkindly. “I’ll slip the goddess’s name to you as soon as I can. Be ready to grab her and get her out of the club the second you say her name.”

  “Why don’t you say it?” Rage asked.

  “I’m going to be busy creating a distraction and clearing a path to the front door,” Neela said. “You’re going to want both. Trust me.”

  “You know what I really want right now?” Rage asked.

  “Not touching your dick, Rage,” Neela said and stood up. She walked to the door and paused. “Try to look satisfied instead of frustrated when you leave. And tip through the roof. I really don’t want to end up on stage getting my guts ripped out because I’m one of the tip losers tonight.”

  “Big tip. Got it,” Rage said. He slouched on the couch and put a dazed look on his face. “How’s this for satisfied?”

  “Jesus. You ever get a woman to do you a second time looking like that?” Neela opened the door and left laughing.

  Rage had to bite back a retort as several of the patrons out in the club glanced his way. Some looked right between his legs and smiled then gave him approving nods. He gave them two thumbs up then got up and fetched his clothes so he could get dressed. Annoyingly, the door didn’t shut, so he had to dre
ss with eyes still on him.

  “Like the show?” Rage asked, fully dressed. He walked out of the room and past the staring patrons. Rage pointed at Neela as she navigated the room once more, headed for the bar. “Tip the chick there. Tip her well. Trust me, she’ll see who the tips come from and you’ll be glad she knows.”

  Rage received thankful nods at the advice.

  Twenty-Eight

  Rage slid back into the booth and eyed the trays of wing bones. They were pretty much picked clean.

  “Damn,” Rage said. “Looks like I missed the party.”

  “I was hungry,” Mosh said. “So was Book.”

  The teddy bear had wing sauce all over its furry face.

  “There are more coming,” Mosh continued as he licked his metal fingers.

  “Great. Great,” Rage said, eyeing the metal man carefully. “How strong is your digestive system?”

  “I ate Xevian granite for three months straight and never got gas like they say you do when you eat Xevian granite,” Mosh said.

  “Is that what they say?” Rage asked. He nodded at the trays of wing bones. “Then you should be fine. Pinky? How many did you eat?”

  “None,” Fig said. “They didn’t smell very…fresh.”

  “Cheap wings in a strip club didn’t smell fresh? Good thing we got you on observation,” Rage said. “You don’t miss a thing, man.”

  “We are wasting time, Rage,” Watchdog said. “When will Neela make contact with us? We cannot wait all night to finish this job.”

  “We kind of have to wait all night, Bolt Butt,” Rage replied. “At least that’s what Neela said.”

  “You have spoken to her?” Watchdog asked. “Did she give you the—”

  Rage slapped the table’s surface with his palm loud enough to stop conversation at the closest booths. The waitress that was approaching with a massive tray laden with wing baskets pulled up short.

  “Sorry,” Rage said. “My friend was saying that the Jupiter Storms are the best spaceball team in the galaxy.”

  The waitress smiled and set the tray of wing baskets down then shook her head.

  “Everyone knows the Celestine Prophecies are the best spaceball team,” she said as she pulled a stack of napkins from somewhere Rage couldn’t figure out and set them on the table next to the baskets of wings. “You boys need more whiskey?”

  Rage looked at three empty bottles of booze and frowned. “I guess so. Who drank all this?”

  Mosh made Book raise his little paw. The waitress giggled and batted her eyes at the metal man before turning and walking off.

  “Nah. We dumped the booze behind the booth,” Mosh said. “Make it look like we’re drinking it up, but we’re really sober.”

  “You dumped the whiskey? Why? I can drink six bottles and be perfectly fine,” Rage said “I burn alcohol fast, you metal moron. Do you know how much bad luck that is to waste whiskey like that?”

  “Then it is a good thing this operation’s success is not dictated by human superstition,” Watchdog said. “Now, what did Neela say?”

  Rage relayed the information and that brought the mood down at the table. Not that the mood was all French Quarter during Mardi Gras anyway, but it certainly was not rainbow sprinkles on a soft serve cone fun anymore.

  “She is that large?” Watchdog asked.

  “Yeah,” Rage said. “Your lady neglected to tell us that part.”

  “She did not know,” Watchdog said. “My lady would have prepared me for that contingency if she did know.”

  Rage couldn’t exactly read bots and tell whether they were lying or not, but his gut said Watchdog was shooting him straight.

  “I figured as much,” Rage said. “But whether she knew or not, we still need to figure out how we’re getting her from this club to the Hourglass. If she’s as big as half that stage, then she’ll take up most of the space in every corridor we have to navigate.”

  “Oh, and getting her through the atrium markets will be extremely difficult,” Fig said.

  “So we need a faster way to transport her,” Rage said. “Any ideas?”

  “Isn’t she a goddess?” Mosh asked. He’d already finished half the new baskets of wings. Book was collapsed over one empty basket like a drunk hanging on to a toilet for dear life. “Can’t she change size? Gods can do that, right?”

  “Maybe. Not too up on my Venn diagram of deity abilities,” Rage replied.

  “I am checking the surrounding supply closets for a handcart,” Fig said.

  Watchdog and Rage glared at him like he’d farted visible sulfur gas.

  “What?” Fig asked.

  “She’s the size of half the stage, Pinky,” Rage said.

  “A handcart will be grossly inadequate,” Watchdog added.

  “I mean I’m looking for a size-appropriate handcart,” Fig said.

  “That’d be a dolly, right?” Mosh asked.

  “We need a forklift,” Rage said.

  “How do they transport her when she’s below the stage?” Mosh asked. “Roll her from one place to the next?”

  All eyes fell on Mosh then they turned to stare at the stage.

  “We’ll have to get below once the show starts and steal whatever is down there that they use to move her around,” Rage said.

  “Oh, you picked up on that?” Watchdog said. “The galaxy is a better place with your immense intellect in it, Rage.”

  “Bite me, Bolt Butt,” Rage said.

  “Can you grant me access to the club’s security system?” Fig asked Watchdog, interrupting before things could get too heated. “I’m having a hard time cracking the codes.”

  “Give me a moment,” Watchdog said as his eyes went dull. A second passed and his eyes brightened once more. “There. You should have access to the sub-level security and surveillance.”

  “Thank you,” Fig said. “I will be studying that for the next several minutes, so please cover for me if anyone tries to interact.”

  “I’ll run interference with your fan club, Pinky,” Rage said. “You can count on me.”

  “My fan club?” Fig asked.

  “It’s a joke, dipshit,” Rage said. “Just go deep and get us a way to transport Big Bertha when it’s time to bail, okay?”

  “Right. You can count on me,” Fig said and relaxed into the back of the booth.

  A silly grin spread across his face and his eyes became unfocused.

  “Jesus Christ, he needs some sunglasses on,” Rage said. “He’s going to creep me out looking like that.”

  “Leave him be and let him do his job,” Watchdog said.

  “Let’s all do our jobs,” Rage said and raised a hand, getting the waitress’s attention.

  “You can alert me by texting—” the waitress began when she reached the table.

  “Nah, I like the personal touch,” Rage said.

  “Great.” The waitress did not sound like it was great. “What can I get ya?”

  “More whiskey, please. And what else do you have to eat beside wings?” Rage asked.

  The waitress blinked a couple times then looked straight at the twirling holo of the club’s menu.

  “Oh, right, stupid me,” Rage said, laying it on thick. He pulled the holo menu to him, flicked through it then made it disappear with a swipe of his fingers. “I’ll take the Concha burger with extra pickled Pap herring. Three sides of fries and an order of the calamari.”

  Several tentacled patrons sitting a booth away stood up suddenly and began chittering at Rage.

  “It’s on the fucking menu!” Rage snapped. “Sit your asses down.”

  “Put their bill on our tab,” Watchdog said. “We’d prefer to keep the peace.”

  “I am keeping the peace,” Rage said. “They’re the ones that got all weird.”

  “Is that all you want?” the waitress asked as she entered Rage’s order.

  “More wings,” Mosh said around a mouth filled with meat. He nodded at Book. “And some wet wipes for my buddy here.”
/>   “I’ll have everything out shortly,” the waitress said.

  “Don’t wait on the whiskey,” Rage said. “Bring that right out.”

  “Yes. Great idea. I’d never thought of that before,” the waitress said and walked off. No strut, no hip sway, no ass wiggle.

  “She does not like you,” Mosh said.

  “I don’t care,” Rage said. “No, that’s not true. I do care. I want her to not like me. I’m playing the dick at the booth that she will try to ignore. She’ll let the rest of the staff know and they’ll dismiss us out of hand for the rest of the night.”

  Mosh stopped chewing and glared at Rage. “I was getting somewhere with her, man. This is going to be a long night and I was hoping to spice it up a little.”

  Mosh belched and Rage’s eyes started watering.

  “You’ve spiced it up enough, Tin Man,” Rage said. “And I thought you were trying to be disarming, not get you some.”

  “Can’t a man made of metal do both?” Mosh asked.

  “I suppose so,” Rage said and shrugged.

  “Biological beings are so tedious,” Watchdog muttered.

  “We invented your kind, so what does that make you?” Rage asked.

  “Evolution,” Watchdog replied as the waitress arrived with bottles of whiskey.

  “Thanks, doll,” Rage said and gave her a huge grin. “Keep ‘em coming, will ya? Big tip in it for you if you do.”

  The waitress rolled her eyes and walked off. Rage picked up one of the bottles and drank straight from the neck. He downed half the liquor, pulled his head back, and belched.

  “That’s the stuff,” Rage said. Then he finished off the bottle and belched again. “And that’s more of the stuff.”

  The team spent the next couple of hours sitting and drinking, or fake drinking, and eating. Or not eating, in Watchdog’s case. The dancers on stage switched out constantly and the music changed to fit the gender and race of the entertainment. At one point, Rage stood up and started doing a little jig, his teeth tucked down over his bottom lip as he shook his ass in Watchdog’s face.

  “Sir?” the waitress asked as she came over. “I have been told to tell you to stop dancing or you’ll be asked to leave.”