Dick by Law

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "Chip!" Simon put up his hands. "It's me! Hey, Chip!"

  "Shit!" Chip had just pulled back the bat for a second swing...and he relaxed, letting it fall at his side. "Simon! Thank God I missed!"

  Suddenly, someone outside the house tugged open the front door, and the noise from Dickfest surged into the room. Simon shot out a hand and grabbed the knob, fighting for control with whoever was on the other side. After a moment's struggle, he finally wrenched the door shut again. As soon as it closed, Simon locked it tight, then turned and blew out his breath.

  "So, Chip," he said. "Ever have one of those days?"

  Chip clawed at his green-tipped hair. He looked pretty bedraggled. "Now might be a good time for that raise I've been after."

  "Now might also be a good time for you to tell me where the fuck the cops are! Surely, you've already called them about this!" He hiked a thumb at the madness on the other side of the front door.

  Chip stepped back, looking hurt. "Of course we did! Hours ago! But guess what? Apparently, there are some real dicks in the police department."

  "They said they're not coming?" said Simon.

  "Actually, they promised they were." Chip gestured at the window. "I think they're out there with the other dicks."

  "Shit." Simon closed his eyes. "Where's everyone else?"

  "Josie and Ishi are in the kitchen," said Chip. "Ankha's gone."

  "She went home?"

  "For good." Chip tugged at the collar of his black bowling shirt with the red flames along the bottom half. "She quit."

  Simon gaped in disbelief. "Ankha quit? Since when?"

  "Since two hours into the Festivus of Dicks out there," said Chip. "She said something about getting away from the craziness. Her resignation's on the coffee table."

  "Oh, man." Simon held his head in his hands and stumbled toward the recliner. "I need to sit down."

  "I hear ya', Sime." Chip leaned the baseball bat against the wall and threw himself down on the sofa. "Maybe you should've stayed out of town for another day, huh?"

  Simon grabbed Ankha's resignation from the coffee table and slumped into the recliner to read it. "Geez, Ankha. A little advance warning would've been nice."

  "Somebody painted the word 'pussy' all over her car," said Chip. "And they gave her so much shit on her way in this morning. They gave all of us shit."

  "I'll call her." Simon tossed the letter on the table. "She'll come back."

  "Is Ishi leaving too, Boss?" said Chip. "She mentioned something about going to Japan."

  "She what?"

  "Whoops." Chip stiffened. "I figured you knew."

  Without another word, Simon launched himself out of the chair. As he headed for the kitchen, he felt like everything was falling apart, like the ground itself could open up and swallow him whole at any moment.

  What a day.

  "Ishi?" When Simon plunged through the doorway, he saw her sitting at the kitchen table with Josie. The mood in the room was grim. "Ishi, what's wrong?"

  "It's my father." Ishi's eyes were red. She looked like she'd been crying. "He's demanding I come home."

  Josie got up from the table. "I'll leave you guys alone." She gave Simon's shoulder a quick squeeze on her way out the door.

  Simon sat down at the table in her place. "He's demanding? Why's that?"

  "He says I'm dishonoring him," said Ishi. "Ruining his career. The pro-dick movement is really taking off in Japan. Other mangaka have put out manga making fun of me--Sweet Queen Dicktamer instead of Sweet Bean Liontamer--and it's making him look bad. His publisher's about to cut him loose."

  "That's not your fault," said Simon.

  "He demands I come home to Japan so he can formally disown me." Ishi rubbed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm supposed to leave tomorrow."

  Panic swelled in Simon's chest. "You're not going, are you?"

  "I don't want to," said Ishi. "I've been a massive failure to him since I became a courtroom artist instead of following in his footsteps. Now he wants to disown me?" She let out a heavy sigh. "But I don't want to ruin him. I don't want to hurt him."

  "Don't go." Simon took her hand. "You haven't done anything wrong. If he's such a big shot, I'm sure he can work it out on his own without humiliating you."

  "I know you're right!" Ishi jumped up from her chair and paced across the kitchen. "It's just...it's just..."

  "What?"

  When Ishi faced him, there were tears in her eyes. "I think part of me hopes we might still be able to work things out. How screwed up is that?"

  Simon went to her and took her in his arms. "Not screwed up at all."

  "Oh, Simon." Ishi buried her face in his shoulder. "I wish we could get away from it all. Just for a while."

  Simon stroked her dark, silky hair. "So do I," he said, and he meant it. After the day he'd been having, he wanted to get away more than anything.

  He hated how things had gone, how Horne Shaw and the dicks had been kicking his ass. It was starting to wear him down.

  Maybe Buck had been right. Maybe he needed to drop under the radar for a while and reassess his plan.

  Or maybe he just needed to make a bold move.

  "I wish we had somewhere else to go," said Ishi. "Anywhere else but here."

  Just then, Simon spotted a flyer taped to the kitchen window from outside. It was a brightly colored ad for the First International Dicklympics.

  For the first time all day, Simon smiled. Horne Shaw would be at the Dicklympics, crowning the World's Biggest Dick.

  What better place for Simon to make a bold move and regain the upper hand?

  "I think I have an idea," said Simon. "I think I know where we can go."

  Ishi leaned back and looked at him, her gaze streaming with hope. "Where? Tell me where."

  Simon smiled and touched her face. "How would you like to go to Bermuda?"

  *****

  Chapter 31

  130 Million Years Ago

  China

  Grip watched as the two killer dinosaurs cackled and fought over the red-feathered body of the creature they'd just murdered. Maybe, in their feeding frenzy, they would kill each other over the corpse of their prey.

  But Grip hoped not. It had taken him days of running hard through the forest to track down these two, and he was looking forward to taking care of them himself.

  They were two of the six dinosaurs who'd murdered his family. The pack had split up, and these were the first two he'd found.

  Hunkered down in the nearby brush, Grip watched carefully, staying downwind so the killers wouldn't sniff him out. He knew how fierce they could be, and he wanted to pick his moment of greatest advantage.

  Besides which, they were bigger than he'd expected. Based on the scents he'd been tracking, Grip had thought they'd be about three times his size. Instead, they were more like five times bigger than he was, bigger than any creature he'd ever brought down before.

  But Grip was determined to find a way. Down among the ferns, he watched and sniffed and listened for the killers' weak spots. He lay perfectly silent and still as a stone, but the brain in his canine head buzzed like a beehive, processing sensory information and computing a plan.

  One of the killers had a brown hide with white spots; the other had jagged green and gold stripes. Their coloration might have been different, but they had one thing in common: pure viciousness. Fighting over the meat of the red-feathered creature they'd killed, they hissed and bit and kicked each other with razor-sharp claws. They might have killed the creature together, but they clearly didn't plan on sharing it.

  One killer slashed the other's chest with his heel claw, drawing blood. The victim shrieked in pain and rage, then sprang at his attacker with finger claws extended. Both dinosaurs ended up on the ground, thrashing and howling in a ball of whipping tails, flashing fangs, and slashing claws.

  As the two fought an all-out battle, Grip thought about jumping into the fray, taking advantage of the chaos...but he changed his mind. The dinosaurs m
ight have been fighting each other at that moment, but Grip knew they'd team up against him as soon as he intervened.

  Suddenly, the white-spotted dinosaur unleashed a fierce fusillade of slashing blows. The green-and-gold striped dinosaur fell away, bleeding and screeching.

  The victorious spotted dinosaur claimed his prize, howling as he scooped up the red-feathered creature. Saliva poured from his chin as he sniffed the corpse--and then he gulped it down, feathers and all.

  The striped dinosaur wailed but did not leap up and continue the fight. For the moment, at least, he was beaten.

  The spotted dinosaur rubbed it in by hopping over and belching loudly in his face.

  Down in the brush, Grip raised his upper lip and snarled silently. The spotted dinosaur turned in his direction as if he'd heard him...then returned his attention to tormenting his companion.

  And Grip continued to wait. He watched the two killers squawk and squabble, and he watched the forest darken as the sun went down.

  The dinosaurs hunkered down under trees, warbling their night-time song. Framed in silver moonlight, they craned their necks around to face backward and rested their chins in the meat along their spines.

  As the night bugs chirped and chittered and distant dog-things howled, Grip's heart beat faster. He knew it was almost time for his revenge to begin.

  *****

  Chapter 32

  130 Million Years Later

  Bermuda

  The flight to Bermuda was short and smooth for Simon and Ishi. Not a cloud or a dick in sight.

  The landing was like a dream, easy and gentle. Going through Customs was also a breeze. It was all such a relief after the craziness at home.

  Walking out of the airport into the warm afternoon sunshine, breathing in the salt air of the ocean, Simon couldn't help smiling. For the moment, he forgot about why he'd gone there. All that mattered was the soft breeze, the blue sky, the waving palm trees.

  Ishi pulled on the wide-brimmed white hat she'd brought and beamed as she gazed at their surroundings. "I like this place already," she said, leaning against his shoulder.

  Simon kissed her on the cheek. "You and me both." He felt a sense of well-being, an inner warmth that equaled the outer warmth around him. Maybe things were going to work out fine after all.

  That was what he thought before they got into the shuttle van.

  At first, when the white van pulled up, it looked perfectly normal--well-maintained, a few years old, with "Island Shuttle" painted in big black letters on the side. The driver, when he hopped out, looked perfectly pleasant--an old guy, maybe in his mid to late sixties, with skin like licorice and a knobby head with patchy black hair.

  Simon handed him the tickets he'd bought at a counter inside the airport, and the man loaded Simon and Ishi's luggage in the back of the van. Then, he held the door for Ishi and gave her a hand stepping up into the cabin.

  "Call me Papa Free. That's 'Poppa' with an 'O.'" He said it with a wide, white smile. "I hope you'll enjoy the lovely scenery on the way to your hotel."

  "Thank you," said Simon as he followed Ishi inside. He sat beside her on the bench seat behind the driver's seat and took her hand.

  Seven more passengers boarded the shuttle before Poppa Free swung the door shut and got behind the wheel. "Prepare to be amazed at the wonders of beautiful Bermuda," he said, and then he started driving.

  At first, the ride was relaxing, a perfect tour of the island. As the van cruised along the open road from the airport, gliding British-style on the left side of the road, Simon watched the scenery flow past--palm trees, pink sand beaches, and sparkling azure waters. It looked like a tropical paradise.

  Further along, the van zipped inland, swooping through neighborhoods that obstructed the ocean view, replacing it with a different kind of beauty. Rainbow clusters of houses covered the hills, each one painted a different pastel color--pale blue, green, red, purple, and yellow. Every house was topped with a white limestone roof carved in tiers to capture and direct the flow of rainwater. Special shutters in many colors slanted from every window, attached at the top and propped open at the bottom to let in the fresh air.

  The sidewalks were filled with dark-skinned and light-skinned people alike, dressed in colorful clothing. Business people whisked along with suit jackets over shirts and ties...and shorts instead of dress slacks, showing off dark socks and polished dress shoes. Whenever Poppa Free hit the horn, whoever was nearby waved and smiled at the van.

  Automatically, Simon liked what he saw. Bermuda struck him as a pretty, friendly place, the perfect spot for a vacation getaway. Poppa Free made a good impression, too, coming across as a laid-back bullshitter with a boatload of crazy stories and opinions.

  But that good first impression of Poppa went downhill fast.

  "This ain't Bermuda." Poppa Free shook his head fiercely as he ran a stoplight in downtown St. George's. "You've come to the wrong place."

  "Then where are we?" Simon kept staring out the window, watching the colorful pastel buildings stacked up along both sides of the street.

  "Oh, they call it Bermuda." Poppa Free's knobby head bobbled on his scrawny neck. "But it makes me sad, 'cause everything here has gone rotten."

  "That's too bad." Simon was only half-listening. He was too busy watching a troop of thirty or forty school children marching down the sidewalk in matching uniforms--the boys in white button-down shirts and brown shorts, the girls in white blouses and brown skirts.

  "It's all about money now." The driver rubbed his thumb and forefingers together. His tone turned sharply bitter. "All about the rich. All that's left for my brothers is scraps from the table."

  "That's terrible." Ishi squeezed Simon's hand. When he glanced at her, she winced.

  Now that Poppa Free's folksy ramblings were taking a darker turn, Simon started to feel restless. Looking around, he wondered how far the van was from the hotel he and Ishi would be staying at in the city of Hamilton. Bermuda wasn't that big of a place, so hopefully they'd get there before Poppa Free got much gloomier.

  Simon wasn't in the mood for gloom. He didn't want anything to spoil the good vibes he was getting from Bermuda. He needed all the good vibes he could get before he faced the International Dicklympics and Horne Shaw.

  As the van left St. George's and rolled along a stretch of open shoreline, Poppa Free drummed on the steering wheel. "In the old days, my brothers lived in the trees. Right there." He pointed to a cove lined with low brush. "Then, they drove 'em out and burned down all the trees to keep 'em out."

  "Wow," said a middle-aged woman sitting behind Simon and Ishi. She sounded stuffed up, as if she had a bad head cold. "That's awful!"

  "We had a good life here," said Poppa Free. "Puttin' up tourists in our own homes...playin' our own music...smokin' marijuana. Now all a' that's over. The rich do whatever they want, and the cops keep the rest of us down."

  "No more pot, huh?" said a guy in the back.

  "Oh, it's here, all right." Poppa Free snorted. "But now, the government controls it. They catch some poor scapegoat and take his shipment...but it goes out one door and comes back in another. And guess who makes the money?"

  The angrier Poppa Free sounded, the faster he drove. As the van careened along the narrow two-lane road, it crossed the outskirts of another town, filling up with clusters of pastel houses.

  Traffic thickened, but Poppa Free barely slowed down. He dodged and passed aggressively, pulling maneuvers that sent Simon's heart racing.

  "They don't care about us." Poppa Free tooted the horn, and a black man on the sidewalk grinned and waved as the van hurtled past. "They want to take away everything we have and leave us with nothin'."

  "How awful," said the woman with the head cold. "I didn't know it was like that here."

  "They don't want you to know," said Poppa Free. "But I'm getting' the word out with my music."

  "Your music?" said the woman with the cold.

  Poppa Free tooted the horn again, and thre
e heavyset women on the street grinned and waved. "Rhythm and blues and soul." He pulled a CD case out of the wide-open glove compartment and handed it back to Ishi. "I've played with Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Smokey Robinson, Aretha Franklin, the Temptations, all a' them. All right here in Bermuda."

  "That's great." Ishi gave Simon the CD case, which had a handwritten $20 price tag stuck on the corner. The black-and-white cover photo inside the clear plastic case featured Poppa Free, posing under a palm tree in a floral shirt and leather porkpie hat with an electric guitar in his arms.

  "Music is the testimony, see? Speaks to the heart." Poppa Free looked in the rear-view mirror, gazing intensely at his passengers, and pounded his chest with his fist. "They try to take that treasure, too, yeah? Like right there!" He shook a finger at a blocky white building on the corner as the van barreled past. "Used to be a theater there, till they tore it down and put up a bank."

  "A theater?" said Ishi.

  "It was our place," said Poppa Free. "We had our shows there. It was the center of our community and culture. Now what do we have? Where can my brothers go? Nowhere, that's where!"

  Simon passed the CD case over his shoulder to the woman sitting behind him and wished the ride was over. After a long day of travel--driving from Melville to Baltimore, getting through the airport, flying to Bermuda--he wasn't in the mood for Poppa Free's rant.

  It looked like they'd be parting company soon, though. The tall, sleek buildings of Hamilton, the island's biggest city, rose around them--gleaming banks and insurance companies and investment brokerages. Any minute now, the van would pull up at Simon and Ishi's hotel.

  "I tried to do right by my brothers." Poppa Free tooted and waved at a woman on the street. "When I ran for minister, I promised to build five community centers. The government's man promised to build ten. Guess how many he's put up since he beat me?"

  "None?" said Ishi.

  "That's what I'm sayin'!" The driver hit the horn hard, this time for no apparent reason. "This place don't do nothin' for my brothers. We got to take what's ours.