by Gareth Lewis
* * *
Razza’s aged hegamuk chauffeur, Bayob, also half asleep, parked Razza’s bright pink hover-car on the rooftop parking platform of the Wonder Mall mega boutique. Bruze exited the vehicle in Razza’s wake. He glanced at Bayob. He could hear the twig-like alien’s creaky snoring resume even before the car doors shut.
Razza led the way to the super swanky store and Bruze, fully awake now, followed. Thirty minutes later, Bruze followed the blue, yellow, and glow-green fury that was Razza Ma’Razza as she stomped from the store and headed back to the hover-car.
“I am never shopping in that place ever, ever, ever again!” she huffed. “They didn’t even have what I’m looking for. And they call themselves a mega boutique.”
Four hours and six upscale shopping outlets later, Bruze followed Razza toward the car once again and, yet again, he had no idea what it was that had his media star employer wound to the point of exploding.
They reached the car, only to catch Bayob once again zonked out in the driver’s seat. Without so much as a word, Razza halted beside the hover-car, crossed her arms and stood tapping the toes of her elegantly sandaled right foot.
Bruze considered waking Bayob but opted to open the door for Razza himself. Even in such an inexplicably foul mood, Bruze found Razza’s appeal inescapable. As he wedged himself next to her in the back seat, he asked, “uh, Ma’am? What exactly is it that we’re looking for? And… if I might ask, why is it so important to find it tonight?
“Really, Bruze, you of all people should know.”
Bruze shrugged his massive shoulders. “But I don’t. At least I don’t think I know.”
“I thought you said you weren’t asleep when I called for you this morning.”
“Well, uh…”
“Well uh, if you weren’t asleep, didn’t you see Brock Caster’s late, late, later-than-late, late-night show?”
Bruze’s broad jaw dropped. “You watch Brock Caster?”
“Oh don’t be silly, Bruze. Watching that poo-head isn’t fun. It’s work. I have to know what my competition is up to.”
Bruze nodded. Obviously, Razza was playing “Keeping Up with The Caster”… again.
“He just bought himself a pet; some kind of nasty little lizardy thing. He was showing it off to his viewers.”
Bruze rubbed his chin. “But you don’t like pets. In fact I’m pretty sure I’ve heard you say that pets were for sentients without social lives.”
Razza turned to face forward in her seat. Her bottom lip pooched out in defeat. “That was before.”
“Before what?”
“I could almost hear Brock Caster’s ratings climbing higher every second he had that creature on screen.”
Bruze nodded. “I see. So we’re looking for a pet.”
“Yes!” she exclaimed with a sudden smile. “So you do understand why it’s so important that I find, not just a pet but, the perfect pet before this morning’s show.”
Bruze glanced over the front seat to the dashboard clock. “Ma’am, your show starts on little more than an hour from now.”
“Then we’ll just have to hurry. But darn it, I’m all out of ideas as to where we should look.”
“Well,” Bruze mumbled. “We may have had more luck had we been looking in pet shops.”
Razza arched an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“Uh, I said, we should ask Bayob. He probably knows all the best places to find top quality pets.” As he spoke, Bruze thumped the snoring hegamuk on the back of his leafy head.
“Ouch! What?”
“The Mistress is looking for a pet. Preferably something rare, exotic, and…” Bruze glanced at Razza, “…cute?”
Razza’s billion-dollar smile flared back to life. She added, “And I need to find it within the next hour.”
“Hmmm,” said the old twig. “A pet you say. I know just the place.”
“Well then let’s get moving,” Razza said. And away they went.
