The Space Noir Bar, Michael Marino [people reading books txt] 📗

of 1812 Overture for the libido literate.

The “general” himself was no prize either. He was notorious in this pus filled little pool and as he approached I could see he was flying high with a jet stream fix in his arm, a communist Com-Red sympathizer, (they paid the most to mercenaries) and his amphetamine adrenaline anxiety was at it’s peak.

“Asrini and Maddie. My my my,” he chortled with a smile that went from grim to delighted as soon as he saw who they were in the dense smoke that enveloped us like smoked salmon in a fish shop in Marseilles. A cheeky cheek kissing frenzy followed between the trio as pretentious as an over acted scene in which some deranged limp wristed playwright has combined elements of “Richard the Third” and “Deliverance” being presented on stage by a hysterical gender bending theatrical troupe performing perchance in the round of Saturn’s left wing rings.
“And who is this delightful gentleman?” he queried of Asrini. I always cringe when a man in gold lame pants and blue eyeliner a little too thick “queries” I decided to take the initiative and go on the offensive. I reached out, grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard, you know manly man grip and pumped it hard. Real dick shit macho crap to intimidate. Unfortunately it backfired on me...his grip was just as strong and the look in his eyes betrayed him. Great, another admirer, but put the brakes on lad yboy...you’re not gonna put the pedal to the metal with me sweetheart. I could tell by the look on his face...he understood.

“Doc Yucatan” I said firmly. His response was unexpected. “You’re the one that has a 1,000,000 space buck reward on his head by the Com-Reds. The Toho’s aren’t too happy with you either. Any of you. Rewards on all of ya and ha. They also want you alive, or at least one of you, doesn’t matter which one. Hell, they know what you’re looking for. The whole goddamn quadrant knows….it’s the Falcon and the Rabbit has it...doesn’t she ASRINI!” 
I didn’t like the tone of his voice as he screamed out her name. “What’s your problem asshole?” His face brightened. “Ah, you are protective I see. Well, let me assure you Yucatan. Asrini is beautiful yes, but even more intriguing is her intellect. She hasn’t told you has she?” At this point he doubled over in laughter. 
I leaned towards Asrini and asked under my breath, “What haven’t you told me, dammit? You know I had a feeling this whole trip was a bad idea. Like the Edsel or the Corvair!”

The General couldn’t contain his laughter any longer. Follow me to our bunker, a lot safer there...Robotian reinforcements usually arrive by now with fresh ammo and you could end up with some nasty wounds. You’re gonna love his one Yucatan! Oh gawd, you’re gonna love it I promise!” As he exploded in a gale of laughter we followed the General to safe harbor amid the smoke and grime and the rubble and I couldn’t help but notice the pale worried looks on both Asrini and Maddie’s faces. Everyone seemed to know what was going on except me. I felt as though I was in that dream … the one where you enter the room and everyone is dressed in formal wear and you’re buck naked. Now I could also claim that along with be bucked..I was being fucked.. by experts.

 

Chapter 23 - Starbucks Star Wars and Cannabis Croisssants

We followed the Gen to Red Zeppelin headquarters, or a reasonable facsimile of one if and only if your army consisted of The Three Stooges. Sweaty pipes overhead  leaking hot water gave the impression you were entering a incontinent rainforest or Seattle in the wet season which is pretty much 13 months out of 12 every year. A real bakers dozen.  

 

In fact, speaking of Seattle and bakers, the building was nothing more than a converted franchised Retropolin Starbucks turned into a Robotian Starbunker during the Coffee Wars when Starbucks tried to caffeinate the galaxy by invading each planet, one at a time to gain a frappuccino foothold the same way Dunkin Donuts attained donut hole dominance  by introducing it’s Alice B. Toklas Tonkin Bay Tokin’  Cannabis Croissants.

 

The Toho’s were not taking it lying down. Cyborgs, being  half machine are not Cappuccino drinkers and do prefer their own special Robotian blends  such as homegrown WD-40 mocha while the human Japanese Toho’s had  a yen for zen blends. The Coffee War lasted all of six months and Starbucks left as battered and bruised as Juan Valdez falling off of a rocky Columbian cliff with a dead donkey.

 

Dunkin Donuts however did prospered as Robotia was a police state after all!

 

“Nice place Gen,” Asrini said with a smirk in her voice. “You always were a snarky bitch Asrini,” the Gen replied. “Sit. Coffee?” We all shook our heads. “Got any Toklas around here,” I blurted out. “I could use a bot buzz about now.” The Gen snapped his fingers and his toady brought out a tray of some of the best buzz donuts a mechanical planet could offer.  

 

As we got buzz bombed we got down to biz buzzed. “My men can get you safely the Rabbit Hole. We can’t go any further. Too dangerous,” he explained. “Once there you’re on your own but you won’t have any trouble, as I’m sure Asrini can get you in and out without any problem.” Why would they let Asrini in without question? More damned questions on this quest fest and not one answer, and Asrini was not about to spill her guts. Who the hell were these Rabbit Hole Amazons anyway, and more importantly how do they know Asrini.

 

The Gen and all of us were as comfortably numb as a coma patient in Bellevue awaiting transfer to a cuckoo’s nest. At last he spoke. “I have three conditions and unless you agree  them ...No Deal!” We had no choice so we bit the bullet. “Fine. First, we will require half the reward money for the Falcons retrieval. Second, arrange with the Tohos a sit down with us to discuss amnesty, and third,” damn I hate pregnant pauses as much as  I do a pregnant girlfriend. “Third...Maddie stays here.” I sat up fast, “As a hostage?” He smiled benignly, “As a guarantee, Mr. Yucatan, as a guarantee. You can’t be too careful, now can you?”

 

Maddie said is was fine with her. She had grit and spunk as well as body as hot as a comets tail. “Agreed,” I grumbled. “Good. Then we can begin. I’ll tell you what you are up against Mr. Yucatan in case you weren’t fully filled in. The Rabbit Hole Rebels are dangerous..real Eves of Destruction!”

Chapter 24 - Fishnets and the Ethel Merman Cyborgs

It all happened faster than a meteor crash landing on a blind man in the desert. Asrini and Maddie were well heeled with Link Wrays and in one well choreographed swift Swiss movement drew and fired relentlessly vaporizing not only the Gen, but the armed hulks who stood guard at the only exit and who would have certainly done massive bodily damage to yours truly in the doom and gloom of the dark, dank room. The Gen had no intention of letting Maddie leave with us, that was apparent. Even more apparent in hindsight was that Maddie had no intention of remaining behind at the Red Zeppelin version of the Bates Motel. She and Asrini thought and acted in complete unison. One mind...two great bodies loaded with action. I could feel the rush and smell the resultant vaginal discharge flowing like hot lava and I smiled as I thought to myself...how nice it would be if I were Pompeii!

The stench of the vaped body count added  the musty smell of the standing water and dead space rats and the fog of death mixed with the smoking haze from the crashing rubble breaking up outside from the pitched battle between the Red Zeps on the ground and the surrounding allied forces of Tohos and Com-Reds  and their magnificent armed flying drones...death from above raining down on the Vortex. I knew the Tohos and Comreds wanted us too, but strangely enough I had the feeling they were clear cutting a path filled with dead Zeps so we could reach our destination. A reality check reminded me...they both wanted the Falcon too and were strange allied bedfellows now, but I had an uneasy feeling that once we had the Falcon in our possession they would turn their attention to our ultimate demise before concentrating on eliminating each other. Meanwhile at the end of this deadly rainbow Narco Marx would deal himself into  game for his grab at the pot of gold, and would in all likelihood be the last man standing, along with Joel Faberge the Fabulous Fabulon assassin and part time hairdresser and maker of feather boa dream catchers shaped like Sock Monkeys.

 

The lasers and phasers were heating up the grey dark of the night, maybe it was dusk, you couldn’t tell the difference between the grey ash and smoke of battle, a nuclear winter effect that would cut off photosynthesis in any case for struggling flora reaching out for a drink of sunshine. Even our clothes became covered in dust...in every direction it was grey, black and faded dirty white. Pleasantville revisited or the back lot of a Tim Burton film where grey card tones trumped a box of Crayola’s. Even the M & M’s were black and white and all the jelly beans are masses of melted colorless gel with islands of sweet sugar  the attract the holy roamin’ empire of rodents  claiming the black back alley’s and stench filled sewers shooting steam through vents creating islands of global warming for the hopeless homeless winos and junkies to ward off hypodermic hypothermia hypothetically.

 

Asrini stopped fast, alarmed. “Look. We’ve got big trouble,” we whispered. As my eyes focused through the gauze of grey I had to agree. “Shit. Who the hell are they?” Silence except for the fact that dead ahead the streets were alive with the sound of music. As I listened intently I recognized the songs...BROADWAY SHOW TUNES being sung by two opposing female gangs carrying chains, knives, guns, all old school and all with a look of murder in their eyes.

 

“Asrini, who the hell are they?” I wanted to know. I could tell by the look on her