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Chapter 7:
Just hanging around

The guard didn't know what hit him.

It had only taken about a minute for Dak to inflate the Tyvek into a fairly good likeness of himself, only not quite as tan (just in case).

He had borrowed Paula's belt and made a noose, and within minutes he was looking at himself, dangling limp from a pipe. "The lighting could be better," he thought to himself, "but this will just have to do until they make a movie of my life at which point we can make it look really good with that kind of Joan Crawford slit of light across bloodshot eyes."

He put the Nutzi uniform over his jumpsuit. It was a little too short--not like in the movies where every stolen uniform fits like Edith Head altered it. Now he had a uniform, an Uzi and a set of keys. He deflated his likeness and stuck it in his pocket, just in case he needed it again. He knew he wouldn't, he never used the same gag twice in one story.

He grabbed Paula with one hand, the Uzi with the other and walked down the hall, looking like he was taking her somewhere. He'd learned in high-school that as long as you look like you know what you're doing, most people assume you do because chances are they don't even know what they're doing.

He glanced into each cell. There were several decorated in the tasteless white French provincial style that Nutzi's used to hold "important" prisoners they wanted to impress. Finally he reached more dark stainless steel cells, and found his friends.

Arial, chic as always in a black jumpsuit with gold chains by Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel, was not happy. "What took you so long, Dakky?" She asked. I'd already escaped, found a pay phone and contacted Interpol, then they told me you'd been caught. Really, Dak you should know better than to fall for that old car in the canal bit. I came back, otherwise I knew you'd just worry about me. I was just about to let you out, but I saw your shoes and I know how much you love doing that hanging bit, so I just waited. I didn't want to spoil your fun."

"The professor?" Dak said, a bit testy.

"I wasn't able to open his cell, or Cora's either. But Interpol is on their way."

"Yeah, right. Last time I needed their help it was tea time or something. We'd better do this ourselves."

"Men," thought Arial as she rolled her eyes, she knew that Dak just liked to do it himself and that Interpol should be there in no time.

The group found Mrs. Net and the Professor, who'd been drugged with "Truth Serum," in hopes that he'd tell the Nutzis about the McGuffin Stone.

But Truth Serum is really nothing more than sodium pentathol which often removes someone's inhibitions or fears. Too large of a dose simply puts you to sleep forever. Rot had given the Professor just a little too much. It didn't kill him, but it did make him almost completely incoherent. They couldn't understand what he was mumbling, and even if they had, they wouldn't have understood.

The professor thought he was in the basement of the Century Plaza Hotel waiting to be presented with the Alumina Award for being the first to discover that it wasn't such a good idea to cook tomato products in aluminum cookware (thereby combining his two great interests).

He was quite happy, although he kept muttering something about how unsanitary the kitchen staff was and that he couldn't understand why all the side dishes were Germanic since he was under the impression that they specialized in some kind of light California Cuisine. He also complained about the quality of the stainless steel walls, how they had too much carbon in them which explained why they stained.

Paula quieted him down by telling that they'd go to Spago Bistro a little later and chat with world famous chef Woofie and his wife with the frightening eye-makeup who had decorated the entire restaurant with cheap lawn furniture that the professor liked because it was light weight.

The professor had visions of goat cheese and aluminum as he shuffled quietly down the hallway with the others. Arial knew the way out, or so she said, but they seemed to be going around in circles because they passed George W. Bush’s cell at least twice.

W kept begging to go with them, whining something about “daddy.” He'd been kidnapped in Kennibunkport by a Nutzi in a Mickey Mouse costume. Actually, kidnapped isn't the right word, W went willingly.

Dak momentarily thought, “Well, this explains why President Bush seems to act so irrationally,” then he whispered to W to be quiet. “We’re on a mission that could change the course of mankind, and besides, Interpol will get you soon enough.”

As they moved down the hallway, they could still hear him muttering, "When I get back to Washington, I have a button too you know, I can blow up this whole stinking continent if I want to!"

As they rounded one corner, they saw a group of Nutzi's leading handcuffed Interpol agents into yet another dark cell. Dak gave Arial a look which meant either, "Yeah, right we were going to wait for them to rescue us" or "Women."

Then the lights went out
 

Read Chapter 8: Seeing things

 

 

Copyright © 2001 Daniel Will-Harris, www.will-harris.com

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SchmoozeLetter

[1: A plain brown bloodstained wrapper]
[Cunning Plans]
[Death takes a cruise]
[A little underwater music]
[International house of toast]
[Just loafing around]
[Just hanging around]
[Seeing things]
[Fish stories]
[Merman to Mermen]
[The scenic route]
[Malibu-bu]
[The value of nothing]
[Garbage out]
[All rights reserved]