by Eirik Gumeny
“And sending our special ops dragoons ...?”
“Out of the question, sir. With the level of scrutiny and media attention currently on the Vegas Four, someone would undoubtedly catch something. Especially since our special ops dragoons are, in fact, branded with the Lindsey Louse logo.”
“You don’t think that’s a good idea?”
“Well, the point of special ops is stealth, isn’t it, sir?”
“That’s why the logo is black, on black armor.”
“But it’s two different shades of black, sir ...”
“Because I want the people we go after to know we went after them.”
“But you also don’t want them to know that,” continued Ah Puch, “am I correct? Which is why we send in the special ops units instead of the Louseketeers?”
“Exactly.”
“I ...” The underworld god finally stopped smiling. “I’m really not sure how to respond to that, sir.”
PART THREE
The Big Get-Even
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
The Beeps Are Short, the Boops Are Long
“Say hello to the new Charlie,” exclaimed William H. Taft XLII, one arm in a sling, the other holding open the door to his guest bedroom as a commercial blender hot-glued to a Roomba rolled in unsteadily.
“Oh, this is not good,” said Queen Victoria XXX from where she was sitting on top of the bed. Gingerly, ice packs duct-taped over her midsection, she slid the scrapbook off her lap and her legs off the bed, then approached the robot. Tentatively, she put out a hand.
Nothing happened.
“Does he even know I’m –”
“beepbeepbeepbeep beep boopbeepboopboop boopboopbeepbeepboopboop beepbeepbeep beep boopbeepbeepboop boopbeepboopboop boopboop beepboop boopboop beepboop beepboopbeepboopbeepboop,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII.
“Shang Tsung’s stanky sharts, Billy. Seriously?” inquired the cloned head of state. “Morse code?”
“beepbeep boop beepboopboopboopboopbeep beepbeepbeep boop beepbeepbeepbeep beep boopbeepbeepbeep beep beepbeepbeep boop beepbeep boopbeepboopbeep boopboopboop beepbeepboop beepboopbeepbeep boopbeepbeep boopbeepbeep boopboopboop boopboopbeepbeepboopboop boopboopbeep beepbeep beepbeepbeepboop beep boopbeep boop beepbeepbeepbeep beep boopbeepboopbeep beepbeep beepboopbeep boopbeepboopbeep beepbeepboop boopboop beepbeepbeep boop beepboop boopbeep boopbeepboopbeep beep beepbeepbeep beepboopbeepboopbeepboop”
“This is going to make pillow talk exceptionally terrible,” she said, tilting her head and sizing up the robot. “Not to mention everything else terribly wrong with this situation.”
“beepbeep boopbeepboopbeep beepboop boopbeep beepboopboopboopboopbeep boop beepbeepbeepbeep beep beepboopbeepbeep beepboopboopbeep boopbeepbeepbeep beepbeepboop boop boop beepboop boopbeepboop beep boopboopboop beepbeepboopbeep beepbeepboopbeep beep boopbeep beepbeepbeep beep boop boopboopboop boop beepbeepbeepbeep beepboop boop beepbeepbeepboop beepbeep boopbeepboopbeep boopbeepboop boopbeepboopboop”
“You seriously couldn’t get a translator on there?”
“They’re working on it,” replied the mayor-king.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m leaving then,” said a butt-naked Thor, brushing past William H. Taft XLII and ransacking the guest room’s many, many closets in search of a duffle bag and a couple changes of clothes.
“What does you leaving have to do with Charlie?” asked Queen Victoria XXX, taking a long, languished look at her boyfriend, before sliding back onto the bed and crossing her sweatpanted legs. “Also, where are you going?”
“And why are you going through my shit?” asked the president.
“It was a convenient segue to getting my revenge,” replied the Norse god. “Because all of my clothes are missing.”
The queen knit her brow. “That doesn’t – What?”
“Huh?” replied Thor. Then: “Oh. No. I hear it now. Those were three separate answers. My leaving has nothing to do with Charlie, I just saw a good segue and segued with it.”
“Since when do you know what ‘segue’ means?” asked William H. Taft XLII.
“I know things. Sometimes.”
“And the other two questions?” asked the queen.
“Right. I’m leaving to go get revenge. And I’m going through Billy’s shit because all my clothes are missing.”
“They’re at the dry cleaners,” explained the exasperated president. “I left a note on the refrigerator.”
“beepboop boopboopbeep beepboop beepbeep boopbeep beepbeepbeep boop beepboopboop beepbeepbeepbeep boopboopboop boopboop beepboop beepboopbeep beep boopbeepboopboop boopboopboop beepbeepboop boopboopbeep beep boop boop beepbeep boopbeep boopboopbeep boopbeepboopboop boopboopboop beepbeepboop beepboopbeep beepboopbeep beep beepbeepbeepboop beep boopbeep boopboopbeep beep beepbeepboopboopbeepbeep”
“I have no idea what that was,” replied Thor.
“Against who ... are you ... revenging?” translated Queen Victoria XXX, adding, “You killed everyone.”
“Not yet I haven’t,” answered the former Norse god. “I’m going after Walt Sidney. If he wasn’t such a good boss, those two assholes wouldn’t have come after us and Catrina would be alive.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever, Thor.”
“You have a better idea, Vicky?”
“Many.”
“I ... I can’t sleep.” The brawny blonde nudist closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “I feel ... off, wrong, all the time. I have all my powers back but all I keep thinking about is ... Catrina’s gone, and Ali and Bo and that black dude that saved me from the old lady ghosts but then I never really saw again but Billy was all torn up about, and all the random mortals that got mauled and chewed up by monsters ... I should have done more.” He shook his golden head. “So now I’m going to. For her, for them. I need to do ... something and killing Walt Sidney seems like the something to do.”
“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” said William H. Taft XLII.
“Maybe for you.” Thor Odinson smiled a swaggering smile and the building rocked, the lights flickered. “But I’m invincible,” he said.
“boop beepbeepbeepbeep beepboop boop boopboop beepboop boopbeepboopboop beepboopboop beep beepboopbeepbeep beepboopbeepbeep boopbeepbeepbeep beep boopboopbeepbeepboopboop boopbeepbeepbeep beepbeepboop boop boopbeepboopboop boopboopboop beepbeepboop boopbeepboopbeep beepboop boopbeep boop beepboopboopboop beepbeepboop beepbeepbeep boop boopboop beepbeepboop beepboopbeep boopbeepbeep beep beepboopbeep beepboopboop beepboop beepboopbeepbeep boop beepbeepbeep beepbeep boopbeepbeep boopbeep beep boopbeepboopboop beepboopbeepboopbeepboop beepboopbeepbeep beep boop beepbeepbeep boopboopbeep boopboopboop beepboop beepbeepboopbeep boop beep beepboopbeep beepbeepbeepbeep beepbeep boopboop boop beepbeepbeepbeep beep beepboopbeep beepbeep boopboopbeep beepbeepbeepbeep boop beepboopboop beepboop boopbeepboopboop boopboopbeepbeepboopboop beepboopboopbeep beepboopbeep boopboopboop beepbeepbeepboop beep boop boopboopboop boop beepbeepbeepbeep beep beepboopboop boopboopboop beepboopbeep beepboopbeepbeep boopbeepbeep beepbeepbeepbeep beep beepboopboop beepboop beepbeepbeep boopbeepbeepbeep beep beepbeepbeepbeep beepbeep boopbeep boopbeepbeep beepboopboop beepboop boopbeep boopboopbeep beepboop boopbeep boopbeepbeep boop beepbeepbeepbeep beep boopbeepbeepbeep beepboopbeepbeep beepboop boopbeepboopbeep boopbeepboop boopboopboop beepbeepboop boop beepbeepbeep boopboopbeepbeepboopboop boop beepbeepbeepbeep beepboop boop beepbeepbeepbeep beep beepbeepbeep beep boopbeep boop beepbeepbeepbeep beepbeep beepbeepbeep beepboop beepbeepbeep beepbeepbeep boopboopboop boopbeepboopbeep beepbeep beepboop boop beep beepbeepbeep beepboop beepbeepboopbeep boop beep beepboopbeep beepbeepboop beepbeepbeep beepboop boopbeep boopbeepbeep beepboop boop boop beepboop boopbeepboopbeep boopbeepboop beep boopbeepbeep beepboopbeepbeep beepboop beepbeepbeep beepbeepbeepboop beep boopboopbeep beepboop beepbeepbeep beepboopbeepboopbeepboop beepboopboop beep boopbeep beep beep boopbeepbeep boop boopboopboop boopbeepbeep beepboop boopboop beepboop boopboopbeep beep beepbeepbeepbeep beepbeep beepbeepbeep
beepboopbeep beep beepboopboopbeep beepbeepboop boop beepboop boop beepbeep boopboopboop boopbeep boopboopbeepbeepboopboop boopbeepbeep beep beepbeepbeep boop beepboopbeep boopboopboop boopbeepboopboop beepbeepbeepbeep beepbeep beepbeepbeep boopbeepboopbeep boopboopboop boopboop beepboopboopbeep beepboop boopbeep boopbeepboopboop boopboopbeepbeepboopboop boopboop beepboop boopbeepboop beep beepbeepbeep beepbeepboop beepboopbeep beep beepbeepbeepbeep beep boopbeepbeep boopboopboop beep beepbeepbeep boopbeep boop boopbeepbeep beepbeep beep beepboop boopboop beepboop beepboopbeep boop boopbeepboopboop beepboopbeep beepboopbeepboopbeepboop”
“I can’t understand a single damn thing you’re ... saying? Is that the right word?”
“Sure,” said William H. Taft XLII.
“You can’t just up and murder Walt Sidney,” began the exasperated queen, sighing heavily. “You have to ... prove to the world that he was behind WANG and the blackouts, and that he sent his henchholes after us and took a big, bloody dump all over Las Vegas. You need to ... fuck up his reputation, bankrupt his megalomaniacal ass, and make sure no one wants to so much as be seen at the funeral of such a colossal jack-off.”
“She’s paraphrasing,” explained the cloned man-mountain.
“Yeah, I figured,” replied Thor. He shook his head. “We don’t have proof for, like, any of that.”
“We can get it.”
“He’ll buy his way out of a trial.”
“His public image will be ruined.”
“No, it won’t,” said Thor. “And if I know that, then you totally know that. Plus I really, really want to hit him myself.”
“boopboopboop boopbeepboop boopboopbeepbeepboopboop beepbeepboopbeep beepbeep boopbeep beep boopboopbeepbeepboopboop boopbeepbeepbeep beepbeepboop boop boopbeepboopboop boopboopboop beepbeepboop boopbeepbeep boopboopboop boopbeep boop boopbeepboop boopbeep boopboopboop beepboopboop beepboopboop beepbeepbeepbeep beep beepboopbeep beep beepbeepbeepbeep beep beepbeep beepbeepbeep”
“You won’t be able to find him,” translated the cloned lady. “Wait, no, that’s dumb.” She glared at her fifth-grade science experiment of a boyfriend. “He’d obviously be holed up somewhere in Sidneyland headquarters on his private island.”
“Finally, someone being useful,” said the thunder god.
“You won’t be able to get in there,” countered Queen Victoria XXX. “And, no, not even you. Sidneyland is the single most heavily-fortified location in the known universe. And that’s not hyperbole. They’ve done studies.”
They had. Even before Walt Sidney had started hiring fallen gods and demons cast out of the various hells, he wasn’t someone to be trifled with. As a holdout from the American 1940s and ‘50s, he was a staunch advocate of the “men were men” philosophy, as well as the “the Russians are going to bomb us back to the stone age so get cozy in this bunker” ism and the “sometimes Nazis try to breed man-eating cows so you better be ready” doctrine. And being a cryogenically frozen head didn’t exactly make him any less nuts.
Sidneyland’s headquarters was designed by crazy people for crazy people – the Walt Sidney Company did most of its headhunting in the less reputable sanitariums available, and a large number of their architects were troubled children – on a private island in international waters, using all of the alien technology collected after the failed invasion that ended the world for the fourth time. The building itself could kill people in new and imaginative ways, and that’s not even including the security system, the outer security system, or the perimeter security systems. And it’s best to not even bring the fence into the conversation.
“I’ll find a way,” said Thor gravely. The foundation shook again, the lights blinked.
“Stop that,” said William H. Taft XLII, “you’re going to break something. Again. Also, again, no, no you won’t. You’ll go bounding up to the front door, throwing lightning around like beer at a kindergarten commencement party, they’ll see you, they’ll hide him in some other heavily-fortified part of their sprawling, extraterrestrially-militarized headquarters, and then they’ll kill you. And then they’ll kill you again for good measure. And then probably a third time for fun.”
“Do you guys not understand who I am?” rumbled the Norse God of Thunder.
“beepbeep boopbeepbeep boopboopboop boopbeep beepboopboopboopboopbeep boop boop beepbeepbeepbeep beepbeep boopbeep boopbeepboop boopbeepboopboop boopboopboop beepbeepboop beepbeepboop boopbeep boopbeepbeep beep beepboopbeep beepbeepbeep boop beepboop boopbeep boopbeepbeep beepboopboop beepbeepbeepbeep boopboopboop beepboopboop beepboop beepboopbeepbeep boop beepbeepbeep beepbeep boopbeepbeep boopbeep beep boopbeepboopboop beepbeep beepbeepbeep beepboopbeepboopbeepboop”
“He’s got a point,” said Queen Victoria XXX. “Sidney scared the shit out of Satan.”
“Because he didn’t have his powers back,” countered Thor.
“And then he did, and then he thought he was invincible, and then you took his literally godforsaken head off. Proving he was not invincible. There’s no such thing, dude. You’re going to die.” Staring at Chester A. Arthur XVII, the queen’s eyes became just the slightest bit moist. She turned her head. “And, honestly, I don’t know if I can take another one.”
“Look, Thor, we get it. And we’re not even saying don’t go after him. But not now, and not your way. Aside from all the sane and logical reasons, you just won’t be able to get it done.” Then, putting a hand on the plastic lid of Chester A. Arthur XVII, the mayor-king said: “But we will. Just give us a few days.”
“That’s too many days,” replied the burly blonde god. “Can you get it done before dinner?”
“It’s already five o’clock, Thor. No.”
“Then I’m going.”
“We just went over this,” said Queen Victoria XXX, hopping off the bed, her hands balling into fists. “You’ll be vaporized before you get past the doormat. Again, literally.”
“Then I’ll make him find me.” The thunder god slung a duffel bag full of William H. Taft XLII’s clothes over his shoulder and stomped out the door, nuts swinging in the breeze.
“If you’re going to take my clothes, at least put them on!” the mayor-king called after him, leaning out of the doorway.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Maps
The closest Sidney store to Las Vegas was in Reno, Nevada.
Then Thor showed up.
***
The closest Sidney Store to Las Vegas was in New Hollywood, in what used to be Denver, in what used to be Colorado.
Then Thor showed up.
***
“Hello?” said the manager of the Sidney Store in Sioux Falls, in the Hyper-Dakota Territories, picking up the phone.
“What was that?” he continued. “There’s a what on the way?
“Can you speak a little slower, my Morse code isn’t great.
“Look, just ... just hold on a second. There’s some serious thunder going on and I’ve got to bring in the outdoor displays.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Check the Vending Machines!
Wei and Shannon Leber-Zheng were in the Cretaceous Park gift shop, ruffling through t-shirts and fingering coffee mugs. A thick glass wall surrounded the store, showcasing some of the Park’s less remarkable flora and fauna – like an aquarium tank, except with a jungle instead of water and tiny dinosaurs instead of fish. Suddenly a tall, Scandinavian-looking man in ill-fitting corduroys and a Star Trek t-shirt stormed through the door. Shannon cocked her head.
“Hey, honey,” she said, tapping her husband’s shoulder, “do we ... know that guy?”
The large, blonde man marched up to the front register and grabbed the teenager behind the counter by his red-and-black polo shirt.
“Is it true,” snarled the man, “that the Walt Sidney Company recently bought Cretaceous Park?”
“Y-Yeah ...”
The man released the clerk. “Then you may want to evacuate.”
“What?”
“I think he’s Charlie’s friend
...” said Wei, staring uncertainly at the big man, “from the diner ...”
“The guy who fought the dragons?”
“The guy who fought the dragons.”
“Oh,” said Shannon. “Oh, shit.”
Thunder rumbled from seemingly everywhere, shaking the merchandise and shattering the reinforced windows surrounding the gift shop. Shards of dense Plexiglas rained onto the floor, as herds of tiny compsognathus and microraptors and aquilops swarmed into the store, scrambling across the floor and the racks and the shelving units, chomping down on everything in their way.
One of the chicken-sized carnivores leapt up and latched its tiny claws onto the clerk’s face. He began screaming and spinning around behind the counter.
A pack of compsognathus weaved past Wei and Shannon, streaming by like a thick, shrieking river. A few nipped at their calves as they raced past. One jumped at Shannon’s midsection. Wei clobbered it with an expensive, giant-sized box of officially-licensed Cretaceous Park Legos.
“That does it,” he said, helping his wife up onto the shelves. “We are never leaving the house again.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
He’s Wrecked ‘em
Ah Puch, the smiling god of death, leaned through the doorway of Walt Sidney’s retro-futuristic office and tapped his knuckles against the white plastic wall.
