Dex Wexler: Space Detective (Chronicles of Bif Book 1)

by Richard Langridge

  He nodded. ‘That’s right—but be careful with it, eh? That was my old man’s. It’s kind of important to me or whatever.’

  I frowned as a thought occurred to me. ‘Wait, Dex—have you had this the entire time?’

  ‘That’s right, Bif.’

  ‘So you’re saying we could have teleported here right at the beginning and sidestepped all that horrible business?’

  ‘Ah, but then would we have had as much fun?’

  I gripped the Translocator tight and fought the sudden urge to bludgeon him to death with it.

  ‘So how does it work, exactly?’ I said once the moment had passed. ‘What do I do?’ I had the sudden, worrying image of me clicking my heels together.

  There’s no place like home!

  ‘Just point it at yourself and say where you want to go,’ said Dex. ‘The Translocator will do the rest.’

  I stepped into the middle of the room.

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘Well. Here goes nothing, I guess.’

  Dex patted me on the shoulder. ‘Just remember—it’s not a toy. With great power, there must also come great responsibility. So like, only use it for coming here, or sneaking into the girls changing room or whatever. NO FUNNY BUSINESS, are we clear?’

  ‘Sure thing, Dex.’

  I shot a glance over at Luna, who was sitting propped against the desk, arms folded across her chest. ‘Bye, Luna.’

  She offered me a curt salute. ‘Laters, little dude.’

  I went to say goodbye to Dex too, but he had already lost interest, was now busy staring at some random spot on the ceiling, no doubt wondering if he could get a fireman’s pole put in there or something.

  I pointed the Translocator at my chest.

  Well. Here goes…

  I was expecting it to be a gradual process, my limbs turning a hazy blue before disappearing off to pastures new (or, as in this case, I guessed, “familiar”), the rest of my body with it.

  Instead, there was a heavy flip-flop feeling in my stomach, and then before I could so much as blink, I was suddenly lying on my back, staring up at what I recognized at once to be ol’ screaming Jesus.

  I pushed myself up and looked around, just to be doubly certain.

  But no. Same bedroom. Same bed, with its too-small frame, its even smaller Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bedsheets, still months overdue for a wash.

  I nodded to myself.

  Yup. I was home, all right.

  I began to push myself up, then thought better of it, and pointed the Translocator at myself again.

  I arrived back in the office mere seconds later, rematerializing back in the exact same spot I’d left—

  Dex and Luna immediately jumped away from each other.

  ‘Oh—hey Bif!’ said Dex. He adjusted his hair, which for some reason was now sticking up all over the place. His leather jacket lay pulled half-off. ‘What a nice surprise. We, uh, weren’t expecting you back so soon—right, Luna?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Luna.

  I stared from one to the other. ‘What were you guys doing just now?’

  ‘Who—us?’ said Dex. He scoffed. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. What were you doing, Bif? That’s the real question.’

  ‘You have lipstick on your face. And Luna’s shirt is on backwards…’

  ‘Really?’ He made a thoughtful face. ‘Hmm. That’s weird.’ He reached toward the ceiling and yawned. ‘Anyway, I’m pooped. Think I’m going to go hit the old hay, as they say—unless you needed something, that is?’

  I stared hard at him. ‘I’m good.’

  ‘Good. Great. Well, guess I’ll be seeing you. Off I go, then. Laters, Bif.’ He turned to Luna, still with her shirt on backwards. ‘Can I, uh, walk you to your quarters, Luna? Rumor has it there are some pretty unsavory characters around these parts.’

  ‘I would like that,’ said Luna.

  And off they disappeared together, through the frosted glass door, walking as far apart from each other as they could get.

  I waited until the sound of their hushed giggles had faded out of earshot.

  Then I grabbed the Translocator and went home.

  Turns out I wouldn’t have needed to worry about being missed, after all, as it soon became apparent that not a single person had noticed my absence in all the many weeks I’d spent traveling across the galaxy. Not my Aunt Loretta, nor the people at my school—which was either incredibly lucky, or impossibly tragic, depending on how you chose to look at it. Personally, I was just glad I didn’t have to try explaining to anybody why it was I’d been AWOL for what I was pretty sure was the past two and a half weeks—mostly, because I wouldn’t have been able to.

  Dex visited me on occasion, materializing right in front of me whenever he saw fit, usually at the worst of times. Turns out he also had a “Translocator”, one he proclaimed at almost every opportunity to be “much bigger and girthier” than mine. Whenever I was about to fall asleep, or visiting the bathroom—boom, there he’d be, sitting there grinning at me while I tried my best to do my business. I think he did it on purpose.

  I returned to school, where I was simultaneously both pleased and disheartened to find everything pretty much the same as it had always been. From the students with their faces constantly buried in their phones, to the faculty members, who each looked at any given moment about one deep sigh away from grabbing a protractor and ending it all.

  And it was while at school that Todd approached me.

  It was the third day after returning to Elk Grove. I hadn’t seen the guy since I got back, and figured he must have come down with a stomach bug or something. Or maybe karma had finally caught up with him. I mean you never know, right?

  ‘Bif! Hey, Bif!’

  I froze in the corridor, wondering what it was going to be this time; a Chinese burn, a wet-willy, baptism-by-toilet. All of the above.

  Instead, he came run-waddling over to me, big oversized legs pumping. There was something different about him, I saw. He’d lost weight, for one. His eyes shone back at me from within his pale face, so impossibly wide it was almost comical. He even moved different; all skittish and nervous, jumping at every little sound in the corridor, damn-near jumping out of his skin at every squeak of sneakers running over linoleum.

  ‘Uh, hey Todd,’ I said. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Is everything okay? You were late getting in this morning and I started to worry that maybe something had—’ He suddenly straightened. ‘Wait, nobody’s giving you any trouble are they?’

  ‘Uh, no…?’

  ‘You’re looking thin. Are you eating okay? Do you need money? Here, take my money—’ He began frantically shoving bills into my hands.

  I stared at him. ‘Todd, is everything okay?’

  Before I could stop him, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head.

  Then came his pants.

  He tossed them at me. ‘JUST TAKE IT! TAKE ALL OF IT!’ And he ran off screaming down the corridor, leaving myself and the rest of the people stood in the hallway to stare bemusedly after him.

  Once he was gone, I dropped the clothes as discreetly as I could and quickly made my way over to my locker.

  I lifted the Translocator to my mouth.

  ‘Hey, Dex? Dex, you there?’

  A brief pause, and then: Go ahead, Goose.

  ‘You, uh, didn’t happen to do anything to Todd, did you?’

  What? Please—as if I’d abduct Todd in the middle of the night, transport him screaming across the galaxy, before leaving him for an extended period of time on a frozen planet with little-to-no oxygen. I’m insulted, Bif.

  ‘Dex!’

  Or not! To be honest, I was black-out drunk at the time, so I guess we’ll never know for sure. Either way, I get the feeling ol’ Todd won’t be hassling you anymore.

  ‘Oh my God…’

  Ha. Right? Anyway, I’m glad you called. I was just thinking, if you’re going to be my sidekick, you might want to consider keeping a pen a
nd paper with you from now on. I’m thinking about writing a book about our adventures, see. Something to help generate clients.

  ‘A book?’ I said. That didn’t sound good. ‘What kind of book?’

  Like a book—you know. A chronicling of our time together, or whatever. We could call it, “Dex Wexler: Space Detective”. Something like that. Something cool. Then later on we could branch out into merchandising, movie deals, et cetera.

  Personally, I didn’t know who would want to read about something so stupid, but whatever.

  ‘I have to get back to class now, Dex.’

  I said my goodbyes and hurriedly placed the Translocator back inside my locker.

  I was just turning back to the corridor when Audrey suddenly appeared beside me.

  Today she was wearing a green wool-cardigan and jeans. I had no idea green could be so sexy. Whoever said red was the color of passion had clearly never seen Audrey Deen in a green wool cardigan before.

  I let out a little yelp of surprise. ‘Oh—hey! Hey, Audrey. How’s it going?’

  She eyed me curiously. ‘Did I startle you?’

  ‘Me?’ I scoffed like merely the idea was preposterous. Clearly, I was a man with nerves of steel. ‘No, I was just, uh…’

  ‘Are you okay? I haven’t seen you at school for the past couple weeks. I thought maybe you’d moved, or something.’

  ‘Uh, well, see, I—’

  Quick—tell her you were competing in a national bodybuilding competition! Or building schools for orphans in Africa! Anything!

  ‘I had a bug. Sickness and diarrhea. I almost died.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  WHY DID YOU JUST SAY THAT?!

  Audrey nodded. ‘Well. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. Don’t be a stranger, okay?’

  ‘I won’t, Audrey.’

  And she left me with that, swanning off down the corridor in that smooth, graceful way she always did, unaware of the many gazes following her as she walked, both from students and faculty alike.

  So apparently not everybody had been unawares to my absence, after all.

  I watched her until she had disappeared, smiling to myself.

  Then the bell rang, and I went to class.

  Did You Enjoy this Book?

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  About the Author

  Richard is a novelist, musician, and notorious cheese lover. He currently lives in the United Kingdom with his fiancée Victoria, and their children Harry and Daisy. He once rescued a litter of puppies from an abandoned building and is prone to telling outrageous lies. He also likes to refer to himself in third person. He does not know why.

  When not writing about nonsense, you can usually find him over at his website, richardlangridgeauthor.com

  Acknowledgments

  Acknowledgments are difficult things.

  You’re supposed to sit down, carefully detail in as few words as possible all the people who helped assist in the creation of the book you now hold in your hands. It’s the written equivalent to those awards speeches like the ones famous people are always offering, only you get no reward, and you’re not famous (at least, not in any way you’d want advertised).

  But the truth is, God played very little part in the writing process, and even if the opposite were true, I doubt “ol’ big balls” would let me inform you of his involvement via the acknowledgments section in said book’s back-matter (I mean, he’d at least get a contributing author title, right?).

  Anyway.

  As is customary in these sections, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to take a moment now to thank all the people who assisted (not you, God) in this book’s creation. So here we go.

  First off, to my many beta readers, whose feedback helped shape this story. You are the best unpaid editors an author could ask for.

  To my parents, who never quite managed to disown me during my teenage years, even though they tried. Many times. I owe my resilient nature to you.

  And lastly, to my ever-growing family, who occupy my non-writing time, and have never once urged me to forget all this story-telling business and go get a “real job” (or if they have, I wasn’t listening).

  Thanks, fam.

  But Wait—There’s More!

  Read on for an exclusive sneak peek of the next book in the Chronicles of Bif series: My Other Car is a Screaming Dead Chick, coming 2018!

  My Other Car is a Screaming Dead Chick

  Everybody has that one moment.

  It’s that moment where the pieces holding your life and everything in it in place finally give way, scattering you and everything you hold dear so far and wide not even all the king’s horses and all the king’s men would be able to put it back together again. I call it the Humpty Dumpty effect. You probably think because it sounds cool, and you’d be right.

  For me, that moment came one seemingly typical Friday evening, after a surprise visit from my good friend Dex.

  I’d been fast asleep at the time, having sweet dreams about girls and cars, and cars that were also girls. So I have weird dreams. Shut up.

  There’d been the usual blinding flash of light as the Translocator briefly tore a hole in the fabric of space-time, a floop! like the sound water in a bottle makes when you turn it on its head. Only of course, this wasn’t water, but merely the sound of atoms being frantically sucked together as they sought to adhere to the blueprint that was Dex’s ravaged biology. Or, err, something. Teleportation is very scientific.

  As I lay there half-naked in bed, and as if by magic, suddenly there was Dex, stumbling into my room like the functioning alcoholic he was, Translocator in hand, knocking all kinds of crap over as he began his drunken lilt towards me.

  ‘Bif! Oh, man, I’m glad I found you!’

  Dex was a tall man in a skin-tight spandex bodysuit and leather jacket, who smelled at any given moment like a mixture of beer, vomit, and what was arguably more beer. He looked like what you’d get if you were to cross an ’80s glam rocker with a professional wrestler, then gave the resultant outcome a flock of seagulls haircut and a serious drinking problem. He was also the greatest detective in the entire galaxy (and if you think that’s weird, just wait until you get to the rest of this story).

  I should mention this wasn’t the first time Dex had appeared to me in my room, wasted and raving. Not even the first time that week, in fact. I’m not saying there aren’t any upsides to being Dex’s friend (he was the greatest detective in the galaxy, after all). But these drunken visits? Yeah, these weren’t one of them.

  ‘Dex?’ I rubbed at my eyes. ‘Jesus, what time is it?’

  He waddled drunkenly over to me and thrust a small, ball-shaped object into my hand. About the size of an orange. All hard and smooth, and—possibly—steel, with strange markings on them, like lines on a topographical map. Didn’t look like something capable of bringing about the end of the universe—not then, anyway. But then, they never do, do they?

  ‘I need you to look after this for me.’

  I stared at it, all those strange markings. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. To be honest, the less you know at this point the better.’

  Umm… what?

  He waddled back across the room. He pointed the Translocator at himself.

  Before he could press the button and vanish, he turned back to me. ‘Oh, and if a Crunkadite called Weeboo should show up looking for me—I was never here. Got it?’

  ‘Wait, Dex—!’

  But he was already dematerializing.

  I waited until he had vanished, then lay back down
in bed, tired and confused, the orb-thing still clutched tightly in my hand.

  Of course, looking back now, I should have tossed the thing the moment Dex handed it to me. I mean, even if it wasn’t a strange (and, knowing Dex, probably illegal) object from the other side of the galaxy, I had no business handling… whatever this was.

  Either way, all I know is, I didn’t toss it.

  So I guess that’s how it all started, or whatever.

  I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be someone with an actual plan for their life.

  The type of person who gets up each morning and never even pauses to consider the flammability of most cotton-based clothing items, or exactly what kind of effect repeated exposure to the cold, heavily radiated vacuum of space might have on a person’s ability to reproduce. To go forth with the simple knowledge that no matter how terribly insufferable your day becomes, at least you’ll never have to fight a space dragon, or alien cannibal-bandits, or [insert generic bad guy here].

  I have a feeling it must be pretty nice.

  ‘So you see the position you’ve put me in?’ said Miss Carnegie from across the table.

  Miss Carnegie was a middle-aged woman in a button-down blouse and green-tipped spectacles. She was tall; maybe around six-four or so, and thin as a fashion model (although, comparing these two to literally any degree was really doing a disservice to both). Being that she was taller than both the students and the rest of the faculty, she’d taken to stooping to address folk, and because of this her top half had since developed a permanent slouch, giving her the unfortunate appearance of a bird about to strike at prey—which, if I’m honest, could go some way to explaining why it was people around town found her so terrifying. Or maybe it was that one lazy eye she had, whose focus would often drift when you talked, and while you knew it was unlikely said eye was haunted, you still weren’t willing to take the chance, because ghosts. Still, I guess she looked pretty much like anybody else.