Dick by Law

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "No worries! Splinters make the best luck!" said Mobai. "That's what we say back home."

  Simon nodded. He couldn't free his arms from Mobai's viselike grip.

  "It means bad things bring good juju." Mobai nodded earnestly. "Understand? You and me are pals now."

  "Okay then." Simon strained against Mobai's grip. "Sounds great."

  Just then, he heard Ishi's voice. "There you are!"

  Instantly, Mobai released Simon. "Yes I am! And you're the brightest angel I've ever met!"

  Simon quickly backed away from Mobai. "We'd better get going, sweetheart." He took Ishi's hand and started up the street, giving Mobai a wide berth.

  "Come to the pub!" Mobai's voice echoed along the arcade of pubs, shops, and restaurants. "The HogPenny! Drinks are on me in honor of my new pals!"

  "Thanks anyway." Simon waved and kept moving. "We have to make an early night of it."

  "Another time, then!" said Mobai. "In the meantime, I'll toast you both!"

  "Bye!" said Ishi.

  "Hello, pals!" Simon looked over his shoulder and saw Mobai approaching someone else on the sidewalk--an elderly couple. "It's your lucky splinter! I'm buying you drinks and you can't say boo!"

  *****

  Chapter 35

  Next Morning

  Hamilton, Bermuda

  As the crack of the starting gun echoed over the harbor, Adolph Hitler, Satan, Death, and other well-known dicks stampeded down Front Street in the bright morning sunlight toward Simon.

  The Running of the Dicks was starting on schedule, promptly at eight a.m.

  There were over a thousand of them, all dressed as famous dicks from history, books, movies, and current events. Whoever crossed the finish line first at the far end of the street would win the event, with special points awarded for the most creative famous dick impersonation.

  Or, if Simon had his way, no one would win this race because it was about to turn into a nightmare.

  As he watched from the sidelines among the mob of spectators, halfway down the street from the starting line of the one kilometer course, his heart hammered. The brown paper sack in his left hand was soggy with sweat where he clutched it.

  Any moment now, he was going to cross the point of no return. In defiance of Ishi and his own common sense, Simon was about to put himself on the line.

  He only hoped it would be enough to ruin the dicks' day. He especially hoped it would be enough to seriously fuck with Horne Shaw.

  Simon spotted him at the front of the pack, dressed as himself, of course. General Mobai ran alongside him, dressed in an orange, red, and black dashiki and a leopard-skin hat and cape. He was supposed to look like the president of Ziwi, a rival African nation that bordered his own; at least that was what he'd told the crowd during the pre-race ceremony.

  "Now there's a dick for you!" Mobai had told the crowd. "But I will outdick him any dick of the week!"

  Simon's pulse quickened as Mobai and Horne drew closer. The sound of more than two thousand running feet pounding the pavement filled his ears.

  It was almost time. Simon inched forward, pushing his toes over the edge of the sidewalk. He unrolled the mouth of the paper sack and stuffed his hand inside. Felt the cool metal under his fingertips.

  Adrenaline sizzled in his bloodstream as he imagined the chaos to come. He couldn't wait to see the look on Horne's face when the Running of the Dicks collapsed around him.

  The spectators around Simon cheered and clapped as the racers drew nearer. At the front of the costumed rank, Lizzie Borden waved a plastic axe, and Fidel Castro waved a gigantic cigar. Billy the Kid shot cap guns, and the Wicked Witch of the West brandished her broom. Sunlight glinted from the helmets of knights and Vikings, the sunglasses of gangsters, the visors of mad scientists.

  Along with the thundering of so many feet, a wave of cackles, hoots, and howls rushed out ahead of the approaching mob. Sound effects mingled with the symphony of dicks--the screeching of toy ray guns, the chattering of toy machine guns, the explosions of toy torpedoes.

  When Simon stepped out into the street, it was like facing a horde of lunatics. Half a block away, they showed no sign of slowing down when they saw him. If anything, the front line picked up its pace.

  People on the sidewalk shouted for Simon to get out of the street...and for an instant, he almost did. Ishi's words from the night before came back to him, and he wondered if he ought to abandon his plan.

  Then, Horne locked eyes with him, and that was it. The moment of doubt spun away like a feather in a whirlwind.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Simon pulled out the contents of the sack: a battery-powered megaphone. He switched it on, turned the volume all the way up, and raised the receiver to his lips.

  "Surprise!" The megaphone cast his voice out over the horde of approaching runners. "Time for the second stage of the Running of the Dicks!"

  The racing dicks looked at each other with puzzled expressions. They shrugged, shook their heads, and kept running.

  "One hundred of you have thousand-dollar bills taped under your number signs!" said Simon. "And it's finders keepers!"

  Without stopping, the dicks looked around at the signs stuck to themselves and their neighbors--white rectangles with contestant numbers printed in black. Many runners immediately started prying the signs from their own chests and backs.

  "Whoever gets the most cash wins!" said Simon. "No matter what you do to get it!"

  The runners became more excited and grabbed at each other's numbers. Everyone instantly got into the spirit of things...except Horne, whose eyes were still fixed on Simon.

  "It's a free-for-all!" said Simon. "Get rich, dicks!"

  By now, the crowd was nearly upon him. Simon got ready to run...but then he didn't have to. With a roar, the mob of runners stopped its forward progress and turned back in on itself.

  Costumed racers attacked each other on the spot, tearing off numbers in search of the nonexistent cash. Some were rougher than others, and fistfights broke out. People punched, kicked, and knocked each other down, clawing at each other like animals.

  None of which much surprised Simon. He'd picked his strategy well, targeting his audience with precision. After all, they were a bunch of dicks.

  Unfortunately, one of the worst among them managed to untangle himself from the chaos. Horne, who was taking a beating from Mobai's monstrous paws, twisted out of the giant's grasp and sprinted away...straight for Simon.

  Simon dropped the megaphone and bolted in the opposite direction. Threading through the spectators on the street and sidewalk, he dashed toward a side-street less than half a block away.

  Simon ran full-tilt, desperate to get away. He couldn't stand up to Horne in a fair fight, not to mention the trouble he'd be in if Horne handed him over to the authorities...or, worse, if he threw him to the dicks.

  At least Simon had scoped out the area earlier and had a plan to shake Horne. If he could just hold on to his lead long enough to get up the side street, he'd find an escape vehicle waiting: a motor scooter with Ishi in the driver's seat. She hadn't approved of his scheme to disrupt the Running of the Dicks, but she'd still promised to help with his getaway.

  With the roar of the dick riot at his back, Simon hurtled toward the corner. He didn't bother looking behind him; he knew Horne was back there, running just as hard or harder.

  Arms and legs pumping like pistons, Simon dashed around the corner and charged left up the street. Instantly, his eyes locked on Ishi, who was straddling a scooter on the other side of the street, facing uphill.

  Simon aimed himself at Ishi. He couldn't wait to leap on the bike, wrap his arms around her, and ride off to lie low at some out-of-the-way place on the other side of the island.

  Ishi was close, less than twenty yards away. She saw him coming, and she revved the scooter's motor. Simon knew he would reach her in seconds, and they would be gone in a few seconds more.

  That was why he was especially surprised when the back door of a
white van parked along the street shot open in his path. Before Simon could dodge out of the way, two burly black men in white v-neck t-shirts and khaki pants leaped out of the back of the van and grabbed him.

  As the men chucked him in the van, Simon saw one of them stumble backward. The man struggled as two beefy arms swung him around, then threw him down in the street.

  The arms belonged to Horne Shaw, who'd been even closer than Simon had thought. As soon as Horne dumped the first man, he leaped at the second, tackling him against the door of the van. The kidnapper got the wind knocked out of him and staggered as Horne landed a powerful punch in his belly.

  With an angry grunt, Horne grabbed the man's green t-shirt and hauled him away from the van's back door. Simon scrambled after them both, hoping to jump out and make a run for Ishi and the scooter.

  Instead, he ended up ducking as Horne suddenly flew in through the open door.

  It was a shocker. One minute, Horne had been beating the crap out of two muscular thugs at once. The next, his body was thudding heavily onto the filthy metal floor of the kidnappers' van.

  Simon didn't have long to wonder what had happened. An enormous, grinning face appeared in the doorway, fierce and familiar. It belonged to none other than General Omoo Mobai. "Your shuttle has arrived!" He was out of breath, but he still managed to laugh as he said it.

  Mobai squeezed into the back of the van, followed by the two burly thugs. The van started rolling before the last man had pulled the back door shut.

  "Comfy back there?" said a voice from up front, the van's driver. "Give a holler if you need a pillow or a bon bon, y'hear?"

  Amazingly, the driver's voice was familiar, too. Simon recognized him before he even got a look at his face. "Poppa Free?"

  "Why if it ain't one a' my fans!" Poppa Free looked back, flashing a bright white smile like a wedge of hard-boiled ostrich egg. "Couldn't do it without ya, sonny." Laughing, he jerked the steering wheel hard to the left.

  As the van swung around a turn, Simon was crushed between Horne's unconscious body and the wheel well. He listened closely for the sound of Ishi's scooter giving chase, but all he heard were the van's squealing tires.

  "So, Poppa." Simon tried hard to sound casual. "What's up? Where're we going?"

  Poppa Free chuckled. "To be with the tree frogs, Mr. Fan. General Mobai's gonna teach you to sing like they do."

  "No need to thank me." Mobai reached over and tousled Simon's sandy hair. "Just pay it forward, my pal."

  "He can't, General," said Poppa Free. "Remember?"

  "Yes, yes," said Mobai. "How could I forget?"

  "What are you talking about?" said Simon.

  "Your shuttle ticket," said Poppa Free. "It's one way only."

  "Both tickets." Mobai winked and nodded. "Now isn't that a bargain?"

  "Sure." Again, Simon listened for the sound of Ishi's scooter...again, to no avail. He was on his own.

  And the closest thing to a friendly face was Horne Shaw's. So that was how much trouble he was in.

  *****

  Chapter 36

  130 Million Years Ago

  China

  Grip was surrounded by enemies. He stood in the moonlight between the bodies of two sleeping killer dinosaurs, choking on the stink of them. The moment was almost upon him...the moment for action.

  The moment for revenge.

  He'd spent a long time tracking the dinos through the forest to this secluded thicket. He'd also spent a long time creeping from the weeds where he'd been watching.

  Inching along the ground from the weeds, he'd been taking tiny, careful steps so as not to wake the killers. Stealth and surprise would be crucial to his success; after all, each of the killer dinos was five times his size and at least as vicious.

  But Grip had motivation beyond the usual. The memory of his murdered mate and pups loomed large in his mind. What he did next, he would do for them.

  Standing between the killers, Grip stared at them in the silver moonlight. Heart pounding, he picked his first target, the white-spotted dino on the left, and crouched beside it.

  He shifted his weight from side to side, considering his plan. Once he leaped, he would have to move fast to get the job done without getting killed. Assuming he put down the first target, he would have only seconds to put down the second...during which he would be a target himself.

  Grip gathered his strength and got ready to move. He drew back on his haunches, about to spring...and just then, something screeched loudly in the nearby forest.

  Grip froze as both his targets stirred. He nearly backed away, but neither killer moved another muscle or opened his eyes. There was more nearby screeching, but it didn't rouse them at all.

  Grip waited another few moments to be sure the killers were completely at ease. Then, he drew back again and tensed for the final plunge.

  Revenge.

  Suddenly, Grip launched himself from the ground, springing up onto the back of the white-spotted killer. Immediately, the dinosaur's eyes shot wide open.

  The killer's head laid in the meat of his back, nose facing his tail, neck strung along his spine. Before he had a chance to lift his neck out of range, Grip bolted over and pounced on it, digging in his claws. Then, he plunged his teeth into the flesh and ripped it open.

  Blood spurted from the torn artery in the dinosaur's throat. Grip had bitten exactly the right spot. Some things were no different in bigger dinosaurs than in the smaller ones he was used to fighting.

  Grip got in another good bite before the wounded dinosaur started to wail. Whipping around, Grip saw that the other killer was awake, raising his neck and head, looking right at him.

  If Grip had any hope of taking down the second dinosaur, he had to react instantly. It was his only chance for success and survival; drop the killer before the killer dropped him.

  The spotted dinosaur was thrashing in his death throes just as Grip leaped off his back, springing through the air toward the second dinosaur. That dino, with its jagged green and gold stripes flashing in the moonlight, tried to swat him away...but Grip caught himself the best way he knew how, sinking his teeth into the green and gold dinosaur's shoulder.

  The striped dinosaur hacked at Grip with his claws, but only succeeded in slicing open his own chest. Screaming in pain, the dinosaur stumbled and bucked, still clawing at the dog-thing on his shoulder.

  But holding on to things was Grip's specialty. The dinosaur cut him several times, but Grip wouldn't let up the pressure even the tiniest bit.

  And when he found another opening, he made the most of it. When the striped dinosaur tripped over the dying spotted one and fell over backward on top of him, Grip let go of the shoulder and went for the throat.

  By the time the striped dinosaur got back on his feet, Grip was already tearing open his throat. Holding on to the scaly hide with his claws, Grip ripped through the stringy meat with snarling savagery, digging for an artery.

  Just before the striped dinosaur finally latched onto him, Grip found the artery and tore into it. The killer wrenched him free and hurled him away like a rock, sending him crashing into the brush...but it was too late. Grip had chewed through the artery.

  Blood sprayed everywhere. The striped dinosaur staggered around, screeching and braying, clutching its throat. By the time Grip was back on his feet, the killer had dropped to his knees.

  The striped dinosaur's glittering golden eyes stared at Grip, flashing in the moonlight. The hostility quickly drained out of them, leaving only confusion.

  And resignation.

  The dinosaur whimpered and fell on his side at Grip's feet. Blood poured out of the killer's throat, soaking the earth in a black, oozing pool like a crawling shadow.

  Then, with a last moan and a shudder, the killer was dead. Both killer dinosaurs were.

  Two of the monsters who'd slaughtered Grip's family were gone. In spite of their greater size, he'd murdered them for what they'd done.

  That just left four more for him to kil
l.

  Grip stood there a while, smelling the dissipating scent on the cool night air. He sensed other creatures smelling it, too, scrabbling in the trees and brush and dirt, closing in on the meal to be had there.

  Grip thought about digging in before the scavengers took over. It had been a long time since he'd last eaten, and his stomach growled with hunger.

  But he couldn't do it. The killers still smelled too much like his family. Grip couldn't even bring himself to have just a nibble.

  He wasn't sure where he would find his next meal, but it wouldn't be there. All that meat was laid out before him, still fresh, still pulsing with blood...and all of it would go to the scavengers. Eating would have to wait.

  Anyway, he had more pressing matters on his mind. Other scents flickered on the breeze, drawing his attention away from the two dead killers.

  Grip turned away from the bodies and pulled in deep breaths of the cool night air, filtering out everything extraneous and focusing on the scents he wanted most. The signals were dim, yet still he was able to track them.

  They were the scents of the other four killers.

  Leaving the two bodies behind, Grip headed deeper into the forest, sniffing out the trail of the four surviving killer dinosaurs...the other four who'd helped slaughter his mate and pups.

  The other four he was going to kill, just as he'd killed the two who lay rotting on the forest floor behind him.

  *****

  Chapter 37

  130 Million Years Later

  Horseshoe Bay, Bermuda

  Simon and Horne sat on the floor of the filthy garage where they had been taken by the white van, hands tied behind their backs against the wall, and watched Mobai strangle a man with his bare hands.

  Mobai was still dressed in his orange, red, and black dashiki and leopard-skin hat and cape from the Running of the Dicks. The outfit made him look like even more of a maniac as he toyed with his prey like a cat with a mouse. "Poor little traitor." He smiled lovingly at the dark-skinned man in his grasp. "Have you had a change of heart about betraying the revolution?"