Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation

by Marshall Miller

  “Think they’ll ask for ID, Sharon? We haven’t even reached nineteen yet.”

  The blonde laughed. “Yeah. The liquor control board or vice squad is waiting around the corner. They’re going to take one look—then try to take advantage of us. We’re hot looking. Men often get horny in dangerous situations. Fucking us would make them forget how fucked they actually are.”

  “I wish you were wrong,” said Susanne. “But I know you’re right. Alright. Like the late Dave the tour bus driver told us, we have each other’s backs. That gives us an advantage.”

  “That it does, my friend, that it does.”

  Once the group of males noticed the two very attractive females approaching them, they forgot the tobacco and marijuana cigarettes they were passing around, all eyes now on the beautiful women approaching, dusty appearance and all.

  One medium-sized man with a wry smile and tied back long hair separated from the group and approached the athletes.

  “Well hello, ladies. Out for a walk?”

  Sharon snorted. She knew the guy thought this was the ultimate example of wit and a good pickup line. Before she could make some nasty comment, Susanne broke in. “So, is this place open to the public?”

  “Why yes, pretty lady. They have an active bar and stage. You two applying for jobs…I hope.” This elicited a round of laughter from the group of young men.

  “Right now, we’re looking for a place to wash up and something cold to drink.”

  Long Hair snickered and stepped closer to the two young women.

  “I can get you a shower if you let me watch, or we could save water and shower together.”

  Once again the group laughed. Before Sharon could snap something back, Susanne gave a half smile and replied.

  “Right now we’d kind of just like to be alone. We’ve had a rough week.”

  “You two aren’t into men at all, are you?” It was apparent that Long Hair had never really learned how to talk with women much past asking “how much” or “Here, have another drink.”

  “Hey, buddy,” Sharon butted in. “Act like a shepherd and get the flock out of here. We’ll call you if we want you.”

  Long Haired frowned. “That’s not very nice,” he said, as he grabbed a hold of Sharon’s tanned arm… And was on the ground, crying in pain as Sharon put the hurt on him, using a combination wrist lock, arm twist, and a foot on the side of his neck.

  “Didn’t your momma tell you it is rude to grab things?” Sharon asked with a bit of a feral grin.

  “Hey!” someone yelled as the group of men began to advance. Susanne had the revolver out in a heartbeat and pointing it in the faces of the advancing men.

  “Stop, Now! We just want a cold drink and wash up a bit. Got it?”

  The men backed up slowly, grumbling. But no one wanted to take a bullet, no matter how horny they were.

  Sharon let loose of Long Hair’s arm. “Stay there until we’re inside,” she ordered.

  “Bitch,” the man said, rubbing his hurt arm. Sharon choose to ignore him, as she walked into Toys in the Attic, with Susanne keeping an eye on the others. The entrance was dark, their eyes trying to adjust from the sunny outside, when they heard a deep voice from the shadows.

  “Leave me the gun. Then you can go in.” The owner of the voice was the largest man they had ever seen close up. Tall, caucasian looking with braided blonde hair, his seven foot frame bespoke of a Viking warrior of old.

  “You going to give us a receipt, Mister…?” Sharon asked.

  “I’m John. I’ll remember who it belongs to. Not too many pretty women been around here lately.” He said all that with a straight face, but not with a stern demeanor.

  “Here,” Susanne said as she handed over the revolver. ”I’d appreciate it back in the same condition I gave it to you, John.”

  “Of course, ladies.”

  “To whom do we need to talk about washing up, getting a drink?”

  “Talk to Hernando at the main bar. He runs the place.”

  “Thanks, John.” Susanne smiled, then gently led Sharon into the establishment.

  Like all such businesses, its lighting was very subdued, except for two stages in the center of the main floor, where additional lights helped illuminate the local talent. As the two friends walked towards the bar area, they saw a less than enthusiastic woman on one of the stages, going through slow attempts at bumps and grinds to some rock and roll music.

  “If that’s the best they have,” Sharon said in low tones. “No wonder so many guys are smoking outside.”

  Both of the athletes noticed that there were about a dozen figures lounging around the stages and bar areas, nursing various beverages. They continued on to the bar and saw a young, rather small dark haired man behind it.

  “Excuse me,” Susanne asked. “Hernando?”

  The man looked up, his eyes focused, then flashed a large smile.

  “No, sorry to say, if you two are looking for him. I’m Mike, the assistant bartender and bar back. Can I help you two young ladies?”

  “How about something cold to drink?” Sharon asked.

  “How about draft beer in a frosted mug?”

  Sharon grinned. “I’d almost die for that.”

  “Hey, no need to die, pretty lady. Two beers coming up.”

  With practiced hands, Mike drew the two beers, flipped coasters onto the bar top and placed the beers on the coasters.”

  “What do you take as payment, Mike?” Susanne asked.

  He laughed. “Not plastic! Machines have been down for a week. Cash, although that’s inflated. Precious metals, jewelry, ammunition, food, firearms…”

  Sharon pulled two 5.56 millimeter rounds out of a pocket, from a small stash provided by a dead Private First Class they had watched die.

  “Will this do?”

  As if by magic, the shells disappeared.

  “Any more where those came from?”

  “Maybe. If you give me the going rate.”

  “Two rounds per beer. How’s that?”

  “One and a half, plus a little of that inflated cash you mentioned.”

  “Done.”

  Sharon pulled out another couple of rounds, plus some wadded dollar bills.

  “Here. One bullet for your tip. You figure out the dollars. Just keep the cold beer coming.”

  “Will do, ladies.”

  “You have a restroom?” Susanne asked.

  “Yeah. See the sign? Plumbing still works, too. All the comforts of home.”

  Susanne smiled. “Thanks. Mike. Sharon—be right back.”

  As Susanne walked away, Sharon asked Mike, “Home near here?”

  Mike snorted. “This is home now. Whatever those things are the military is fighting out there, my neighborhood in Jacksonville is trashed. I just moved up here from the Keys, so what condition my family is in, I don’t know. How about you?”

  “Pensacola, Florida. No idea either—we were on a working tour.” Sharon then gave him a quick and dirty explanation as to how the two friends had come to be at Toys in the Attic.

  “Beach volleyball players. No wonder you two look so fit.”

  Susanne returned at that moment, so Sharon went to the use the facilities.

  “Heard Sharon telling you our story, Mike.”

  “Yeah. We have one now, that’s for sure.”

  Susanne drank her beer. “Man, that’s cold. You guys have a generator to keep the refrigerator going?”

  “Yes Ma’am. And once the word gets around that we are one of the few places with power, we may start having problems controlling the riff-raff.”

  “John looks huge enough to take care of just about anything.”

  “Yeah, but enough bullets can take down anyone.”

  “Mike, is Hernando coming back anytime soon?”

  “Yeah. He’s in the back, checking on things. By the way, you know my name, I don’t know yours.”

  “I’m Susanne. ” She shook hands with Mike.

  Just
then, a large bearded, middle aged man who—judging by the smell of alcohol on him—had apparently been in the business location for quite some time, came up to Susanne.

  “Can I buy you a drink, young lady?”

  “Well Sir, we have already bought some…”

  “Mike, set them up again. With a whiskey chaser. With all the shit going on outside, everyone needs a good stiff drink.”

  “I don’t suppose, Sir, I could have a glass of cold water instead of the whisky?”

  “Mike, give her both.”

  “Okay, Big Jake.”

  Sharon returned from the ladies room at that moment, sliding into the seat between Big Jake and Susanne, saying “Excuse me,” with a smile.

  “My God. There’s two of you pretty ladies. Mike, a round for her also.”

  The two had dealt with so many beer addled older men on the tour that it had become second nature. The overall majority were harmless, just wanted to flirt a bit with younger ladies to feel young again. Those who were “real” problems, there had been Dave and Jeet Kun Do if necessary.

  “This is Big Jake, Sharon.”

  “Good to meet you—I understand you want to buy us drinks. That is very nice of you. You’re not trying to get us drunk, take advantage of us, are you?”

  Big Jake sputtered a bit, then said “Hell no—I have daughters not much younger than you…” He stopped, realizing he was talking as if it were weeks ago, when things were normal. His look turned serious.

  “Sorry, ladies. I’m a truck driver, on the road, can’t reach my home. I’m stuck here until they get this…mess worked out.”

  Sharon’s voice softened. “Can I ask your daughters names?”

  Before Big Jake could answer, a hard-looking, bleached blonde woman who had seen better days stomped up.

  “What the hell do you two bitches think you’re doing, muscling in on my action?”

  “Now, Cindy,” Mike began, but was cut off.

  “Mike, you son of a bitch, you forget about our arrangement?”

  Susanne and Sharon knew then that Cindy had been “working” the bar, probably an older “pro”, who had found a place to stay until the problems blew over.

  “Cindy, Ma’am, excuse me, we didn’t…”

  The bar girl cut Sharon off. “Fuck you. You want trouble, I’ll give you trouble.” She tried to claw at Sharon’s face.

  Susanne grabbed her by the hair before Sharon could get a hold of her, spun her around away from her friend and slammed her face into the bar top. She slid to the floor, out, when Susanne let go of her hair. Someone yelled “Catfight!” Then chairs were pushed back and hollers began.

  “Damnit, Susanne, I had her,” protested Sharon.

  “No old whore is going to lay a hand on my…”

  Just then a new loud voice was heard. “What the chinga is going on?”

  “Who wants to know?” Sharon snapped.

  A tall man with permanent, medium skin tan and a sculpted bodybuilder physique stepped up and eyed the two athletes. Before he could say anything else, the other strip club patrons became even louder. This was the most fun they had seen in hours—if not days.

  “Quiet!” a voice used to being listened to boomed out. “Or do I have to use Mister Hand Cannon again?” The comment had the desired effect. The decibel level dropped to a murmur.

  He fixed the two friends with a stern gaze. “You two, come with me. We need to have a little discussion.”

  “And just who the hell are you?” Sharon responded in a pissed off tone of voice.

  “I am Hernando. I now run this place. This,” from under a loose fitting tropical shirt he pulled the largest revolver anybody in the strip club had ever seen, “is Mister Hand Cannon. If you piss me off, you may hear it roar. Now, move.” The huge bore was now pointed in the general direction of the two women. They both weighed their chances of disarming the man and decided that, for now, discretion was the better part of valor. They moved in the direction his non-gun hand was pointing, through the club to a rather large office near the bar. They entered in front of Hernando and headed towards the two chairs in front of a large, padded desk. Nothing cheap existed in this business room, there being an air of opulence.

  After the two women put down their small packs and sat in the padded chairs, Sharon said, “Nice office. You the owner of this place?”

  “I am now. And before you two try to take control of this conversation with your good looks and big egos, let’s set some ground rules.” Hernando set the hand cannon in front of him on the desk, the bore pointing over to Sharon’s right side.

  “You have come into my establishment and have disrupted its peace. It started when you took that guy down outside. And yes, along with Mister Hand Cannon, I have Mister Camera System. I can see almost everything in this club.”

  “Including the ladies room?” Sharon spat out.

  Hernando sighed and looked at Susanne. “Let me guess. She’s the pushy, mean appearing one of your duo. You come off as the more reasonable one. Good cop, bad cop. Right?”

  “If you say so…Hernando,” Susanne replied.

  Hernando laughed. “Now, want a cold ice tea? I don’t drink much alcohol these days—need to keep my wits about me.”

  “Who’s paying?” Susanne asked.

  Hernando laughed again. “Man, you two are something. Now I know how two hot chicks have survived this last week, on the road, with outlaw bikers, possible space aliens, the military, not to mention associated scum running up and down what’s left of our roadways. You are tough and smart.” Hernando paused. “But I am tougher and smarter. I’ve been at this game for a while. You two were running around beaches, judging by your tan. I was running a business as the managing bartender, especially after the owner disappeared in the rock strikes in Atlanta.” He shook his head. ”Damn fool just had to go there to recruit new talent. I told him there was plenty in Florida, local talent, not run by the mob or dope smugglers. Now he’s dead. So, this is mine now.”

  Hernando turned around and grabbed some ice teas from a small refrigerator behind his desk, ignoring the fact his huge revolver was still sitting on the desk. Was it a test of the two ladies? Sharon and Susanne looked at each other. Sharon slowly checked her concealed snubby, made sure it was within easy reach.

  Hernando turned back around with three bottles of iced tea, smiled at the two athletes.

  “I know. You two were sizing up Mister Hand Cannon. Thinking about grabbing it and making a run for it. But where would you go? Huh?”

  Sharon looked into Hernando’s eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. We were sizing things up.”

  “So—now what, ladies?”

  “Hey, buddy, you told us to come back here, with that large revolver stuck in our faces. You tell us what’s up.”

  Hernando turned and looked at Susanne. “She’s the badass, right? You’re the more reasonable one. So, good cop, bad cop.”

  “Don’t get us wrong, Hernando,” Susanne said. “We’re a team that goes way back. No games. You see what you get.”

  “Which is?”

  Susanne pointed to her best friend.

  “She’s Sharon, I’m Susanne. We just spent a week on the road. We are looking for a place to stay, get some food, hot water, a secure place to sleep. But we are not going to be somebody’s bitch.”

  “Bit of an edge on the good cop, I see,” Hernando mused.

  “So what are you looking for? Why drag us back here?” Sharon interjected.

  Hernando leaned back in his chair, sipping his bottle of iced tea. “Tea’s still cold, but it will warm up.”

  With that invitation, both women began drinking their tea, as there was a lull in the conversation. The three sat, and each side sized up the other. Then Hernando broke the silence.

  “Okay. As you probably figured out, Cindy gave us a cut of whatever she earned. I don’t think her face is going to be up to earning much for a few days. So, there is that. And you two want a place to stay for a while.” />
  Hernando leaned forward. “So other than some more rounds of .223 ammunition, what do have to offer?”

  Sharon and Susanne looked at each other. Susanne nodded at Sharon.

  “Alright, Hernando,” Sharon began. “My partner here wants me to negotiate—so here goes.” She took a breath, let it out, and continued.

  “Your…talent on the stage out there is getting rather lazy and is not exactly very exciting. But being as this has turned into an oasis with power and hot water, not to mention the booze, people put up with it. Am I right?”

  “Go on,” Hernando said.

  “We can put on a show that will definitely take your patrons’ minds off what is happening in the rest of Florida. Hopefully, the military comes back, helps get things organized and running again. Until then, we become—well, contractual employees.” She looked at Susanne.

  “Those bikinis we wore playing beach volleyball did not leave much to the imagination. So, being nude part of the time won’t explode our heads. Especially if it means a safe place to stay, hot food, and cold drinks.”

  Hernando tented his fingers and leaned back again, a bit of a smile on his face.

  “But just like my best friend here said. We are not someone’s bitch. No touchee, no pokee. If someone does, they get their testicles handed to them. Even if we have to do it when they are asleep. Got it?”

  Hernando shifted and with a quick motion opened a drawer in his desk. Out came a bottle of high end imported rum. Then he produced three highball glasses, which he filled with ice from some hidden container. He placed one glass in front of each of the women.

  “A toast to seal the deal. But first, since I have come to respect the hell out of you young ladies in this short time, let me tell you the real situation out there.” Hernando made a slight sweeping motion with his hand.

  “I have a CB in the back with a bigass antenna. So far, what I have heard is chaos. The on again, off again radio transmissions are all bad news. Basically, it’s fend for yourself, we’ll get back to you.” Hernando paused, seemed to be looking at something in the distance.

  “I’m Cuban—still have family in Havana. The last info was an email they snuck past the government four days ago. These creatures, whatever they are, whereever the hell they came from, I have no idea. Anyways, they are taking or harvesting people.”