Lick Your Neighbor (20 page)

“We also have a band of mutants after us. Four men, highly skilled martial artists. All of them with beaks. They’ve been trying to kill us all day. Know anything about them, Feathers? Or are you going to keep playing dumb and let two innocent men die?”

Feathers grabbed Randy’s beer and downed it. “Beaks, you say?”

“Yeah beaks. Like pigeons or something.”

“No, not like pigeons, Randy. Like turkeys.”

* * *

Outside, four long shadows fell on the Oldsmobile. The Mohwak turkey, locked inside the wagon, gobbled furiously. It hopped down to the back door and pecked desperately at the lock. But the lock wouldn’t budge. The bird went back to the window and began slamming its head against the glass.

* * *

“You know about the Psycho Assassins, don’t you?” Randy asked. “Who are they? Better yet, what are they?”

“Those miserable creatures,” Feathers said, “are the first-born sons of Miles Standish, William Bradford, Reverend Brewster, and John Alden.”

Randy took this opportunity to blink a few times while he collected his thoughts.

“You do realize,” he finally said, “that would make them three-hundred years old.”

The doors to The Thirsty Pilgrim slammed open and in walked the four beakman.

Feathers whispered, “Three-hundred and eighty-five years old to be exact. But who’s counting?”

The beakmen looked around the bar as the few other patrons decided to shuffle out the backdoor. Randy breathed a sigh of relief as the mutants only looked side to side, and not up at him and Mr. Feathers, or down at the still passed out Dale.

“A bit late for Halloween, wouldn’t you say, boys?” Twitchy asked.

One of the men opened his beak and let out a booming gobble that filled the entire room.

“I’ll take that as a no. So what’ll it be? Wait, let me guess. Four shots of Wild Turkey.”

While Twitchy poured, the beakmen gathered around the bar. One of them spotted the jukebox in the back corner and quickly darted over to make a selection. As he walked back to the bar, Poison’s
Every Rose Has Its Thorn
started to play.

“Damn,” Randy whispered, “just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.”

“What is it?” Feathers asked.

“They had to pick that song, didn’t they? It’s impossible not to sing along with the chorus! I’m going to have to bite my hand!”

Mr. Feathers closed his eyes, put his hands together in prayer, and breathed deep. He whispered, “Master Shi De Qian, I fear I am not ready for this battle.”

“Who are you talking to?” Randy whispered.

“Shi De Qian of the Illumination Rock Temple.”

“Is that in China?”

“Close. Oregon.”

“When were you in Oregon?”

“I fled there many years ago,” Feathers explained. “Some men were trying to kill me.”

“What men?”

“Those monsters down there.”

“They were after you too? Why?”

“They go after anyone who knows the truth about the Auwaog,” Feathers said. “And once they set their sights on you, they don’t stop until they get what they want. And what they want, usually, is you to die. So I took refuge far away in the mountains of Oregon for over ten years. There I found an old man named Shi De Qian, a Shaolin monk who had fled the communist purge in China. Shi taught me everything from how to use a live rabbit as a camping pillow, to how to kick a man in the groin so hard that his testicles shoot out of his mouth like ping pong balls. He gave me the courage and the skills to come back home and face these assassins. But now that the moment has arrived, I don’t know if I’m ready. I feel weak. I feel small. So I need you to be quiet, Tinker. I must have complete silence to contact Shi De Qian’s chi.”

“His what?”

“His chi. The eternal essence that flows through all living things. Shi died some time ago, so that’s all that’s left of him.”

“Is this like an Ouija board thing?” Randy asked. “Should I put on pajamas, put my hair in pigtails, and start giggling? Would that help?”

“Just shut up for a few minutes.”

Mr. Feathers cleared his head of all earthly thoughts. In their place he filled his mind with an endless black void that rivaled the very universe itself. Through this blackness, Feathers sent out a thunderous telepathic plea to his dead Shaolin Master.

Master Shi De Qian! The hour of darkness is upon me!

“Have you done this before?” Randy asked.

“No but I saw Shi contact his dead master this way.”

“Ah. So uh…you getting anything yet?” Randy asked. “Any chichi?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe he’s on the toilet.”

“Please be quiet.”

Master Shi! I am surrounded by evil! I beg for your guidance for I cannot face this trial alone!

With a soft bubble-popping sound, the floating head of kung fu master Shi De Qian, bathed in glorious white light, materialized before Feathers and Randy.

“Master!” Feathers exclaimed.

Randy swallowed a gulp of whiskey. “Well this is fucking terrifying.”

Shi De Qian was over 100 years old when he died, and he had been growing his white beard for most of those years. In his later years, it was so long he would often walk around with it wrapped around his neck like a scarf. So it was no surprise to Feathers to see that the beard was still there. What was troubling was that the beard reached down so low that it almost touched the heads of the turkey ninjas.

As Shi’s head bobbed gently up and down in silence, Randy reached out a finger and poked the spirit’s cheek. It sounded like a drop of rain plopping into a creek as Randy’s finger disappeared into Shi’s face. “Wow. It’s like touching Jell-O.”

Bloop, bloop, bloop. Randy tapped his finger against Shi’s cheek.

“Keep it up,” Shi said, “And I will shred the blubber off that finger with my two front teeth.”

Randy recoiled.

“Master, I need your help,” Feathers said. “The Evil I spoke to you of is here.”

Shi glanced over at Randy. “Him? Are you kidding me?
This
is the Evil you refused to talk to me about? This fat drunk?”

Randy shot a stern finger at Shi. “Now you listen here, old man. What you see here around my chest, midsection and rump is an evolutionary marvel. It is a thin, protective layer of blubber. Blubber which my body, in its infinite knowledge and grace, has wisely decided to encase me in to protect my vital organs from the impending Ice Age.”

“You’re so fat, I could orbit around you,” Shi said, completely ignoring Randy. Shi then floated over to Randy and demonstrated.

Randy watched the old man’s slowly head float by him three times before speaking up.

“Stop that.”

“No. This is what happens to large, dense objects. They get a moon.”

“Master Shi, that is my friend Randy,” Feather explained. “It is true that he is quite dense, but he is not evil. The evil ones are below us. They are murderous monsters who kill innocent men.”

Shi looked down and saw the beakmen standing at the bar drinking bourbon. “Oh I know those beaky fellas. Hello boys!”

The ninjas looked up. Randy waved back a timid hello.

“Master, I don’t understand,” Feathers said, “How do you know them?”

“An old friend of mine trained them in Ninjutsu quite a few years ago.”

Feathers blinked. “Who did what now?”

Shi kept orbiting around a scowling Randy. “This was many years before I trained you, Feathers. A farmer brought those four deformed young men to me and offered quite a large sum of money to train them. I didn’t like the look of the farmer, so I refused. There was something about him, something about the look in his eyes, that was almost…inhuman. But my friend Masaaki Takamatsu needed the money badly, so he accepted the farmer’s offer in my place.”

The ninjas, keeping an eye on Shi’s head, moved directly underneath the ceiling beam and gobbled amongst themselves.

Twitchy looked up at the floating head for a moment, and then calmly got out the bottle of Dr. T’s, twisted off the cap, and started chugging.

“The farmer.” Feathers shook his head. “It’s always the farmer.”

“A farmer visited Dale this morning as well,” Randy said, “He wanted John Alden’s diary.”

“Well that would make sense. Since it is his diary.”

Randy nodded. “Right. Wait, what?”

“Takamatsu.” Feathers turned back to Shi, ignoring Randy. “Is that a Japanese name?”

“Yes,” Shi said. “Masaaki Takamatsu was a great master of Ninjutsu who had just come to America from Japan. I warned Masaaki against training those boys, but he was desperate. It was 1929 and times were tough. Masaaki was down to wearing dead rats strapped to his feet as shoes. Dark, dark days.”

“Training mutants in the deadly arts,” Randy said with disgust. “Why didn’t this Masaaki teach them how to fart bullets while he was at it? Your buddy was a damn fool, and if he was here I would call upon the talons and beak of the merciless vulture to pull out his guts, voracious dogs to tear apart his treacherous heart, and I would fall to my knees and pray that over his body shall rage fights of insatiable wolves! And you can tell him I said that.”

Shi smirked. “Why don’t you tell him yourself. Maaaaasaaaaakiiiii!”

Another popping sound and the floating head of Japanese Ninjutsu Master Masaaki Takamatsu appeared next to Shi. Masaaki was completely bald, with a long, thin white mustache and puffy bags under his eyes.

Masaaki blinked as if he had just woken up. “Who called me? What’s going on? Oh it’s you, Shi. What’s happening? Is the Queen of England riding around naked on top of one of those palace guards with the puffy hats?”

Shi shook his head. “Not this time, Masaaki. This is serious. My pupil here says that the deformed men with beaks that you trained are now evil killers. Also, this fat man here wishes to see vultures, dogs, and wolves feast on your intestines.”

Masaaki floated over close to Randy’s face. “Is that so, fat man?”

“Maybe,” Randy gulped. “Those beaked freaks killed a man. A good man. A man with a doctorate! And they probably killed my dad too. Now they want to kill my brother-in-law.”

“Why would they want to kill these men?” Masaaki asked. “There must a cause. Was your father a criminal, eh? What about your brother-in-law? Does he, in his spare time, perhaps, scamper off to the nearest forest and slap around some bunnies?”

“My brother-in-law isn’t strong enough to overpower a forest creature. He’s down there on the floor.”

Masaaki looked down. Dale was still passed out, curled up in the fetal position and sucking his thumb.

“Hmmmmm.”

“It’s true, Masaaki,” Feathers said. “Those men are known as the Duxbury Psycho Assassin Hellhounds. They have used your training to kill innocent men, and they will kill again. They must be stopped.”

Masaaki sighed and shook his head. “Who would have thought that training a few mutant kids in Ninjitsu could led to such trouble.”

Randy and Feathers exchanged a look.

“Let me talk to them,” Masaaki said, “I am sure that they will listen to their old master.”

Masaaki floated down. The ninjas all dropped to their knees and bowed profusely before his glowing bald head.

“Yes, yes, yes, enough of that. I’m happy to see you too. Now stand up and listen here, my pupils. Those men up there tell me that you have become evil monsters and that you kill innocent men. Is this true?”

The ninjas all put their heads down and gobbled softly in shame.

“I see. I suppose it’s partially my fault. I should never have trained you. But I did, and I will accept the consequences of my actions. As will you. We are going down to the police station to turn ourselves in. All of us. I realize that I am a floating head, but that doesn’t mean that I am above the law. I will accept my punishment. Perhaps they will take pity on the fact that I’m just a head and put me in one of those minimum security prisons with the chubby white men and ping pong tables. I suppose I could manage to hold a ping pong paddle in my mouth, between my teeth. But then how would I serve? Maybe I could suck up the ball with my nostrils and—it doesn’t matter. The important thing that must be served here is Justice. Because without Justi—”

With one quick upward stroke, the Sword-ninja sliced Masaaki’s head in half.

Both halves of Masaaki sighed. “So it has come to this, eh boys? Well if you traitors think I don’t have any fight left in me just because I am dead, then you are grossly mistaken. For I am the Great Masaaki Takamatsu! And if I can play ping pong with my mouth and nose then I can most certainly give you all a sound thrashing. So prepare yourselves! For! The! Rrrrreckoning!”

With a sweeping blow, Bo-ninja smashed both of Masaaki’s head pieces into a billion specks of light.

Randy sniffed. “Well that went well.”

Feathers was shaking.

“Pull yourself together!” Shi commanded. “If I had hands I would slap you, Feathers. You trained for many years to prepare for this very day, and when it finally arrives you tremble like a child. Ha! Don’t you see that you are ready!”