Critical Failures III (Caverns and Creatures Book 3), page 14
He wiped frost off the labels of some stacked cardboard chicken boxes. Blue labels were Original. Red labels were Spicy. That made sense. These boxes would be the biggest sellers, and there were far more of them than there were boxes with differently colored labels. A small stack of green and orange labeled boxes sat at the back of the freezer. Chaz guessed the orange ones were –
The freezer door slammed shut. Chaz heard the folding chair being wedged back into place. Oh no.
He ran to the door and pushed. It didn’t budge.
“Come on, Randy!” Dennis’s voice called faintly through the thick, steel door. “Let’s go!”
Chaz beat on the door. “Hey! Let me out of here!” It was pointless. The only ones who might have heard him were the ones who had trapped him in there. He backed up, then rammed his shoulder into the door. It hurt, but the door didn’t give an inch. In his real body, he could bench two hundred fifty pounds. Now he couldn’t overpower a goddamn folding chair.
He banged on the door as hard as he could, shouting for help at the top of his lungs until he finally ran out of breath.
“Hello?” said a high, faint voice. Goosewaddle.
“Professor!” said Chaz.
“Yes?” said Goosewaddle. “Where are you?”
“I’m in here,” said Chaz, rapping sharply on the door. “The door’s stuck.”
“Ah yes,” said Goosewaddle. “There appears to be some strange metallic apparatus holding it shut.”
“It’s called a chair,” said Chaz. “Can you move it?”
After a brief scrape of metal on metal, the door swung open.
Professor Goosewaddle was carefully examining the folding chair. “Chair?”
Chaz ran through the open back door. There was no sign of Dennis or Randy.
“Shit!” he shouted. He’d never live this down. He stomped back into the Chicken Hut.
Professor Goosewaddle spread the rear legs of the chair apart from the front legs. The seat slid down to its horizontal position. “It is a chair! My, but that’s clever.”
“We are so fucked,” said Chaz.
“Sit down,” said the professor, gesturing proudly to the chair he’d just unfolded. “You seem distraught. Is something amiss?”
Chaz sat in the chair. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here at all?”
Professor Goosewaddle looked away. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Randy and Dennis just escaped,” said Chaz. “If they bring the police back here before we get Mordred, we’re fucked with a capital FUCK.”
“Would you like me to scry them?”
“To what them?” It had been a long time since he played C&C.
“Scry,” said the professor. “It’s a spell which allows me to see through their eyes.”
“Hell yes!” said Chaz. “Do it!”
“I will require a mirror or a crystal ball.”
“There’s a mirror in the office.”
“That one is cracked. The fragments are too small.”
Chaz combed his fingers through his hair, thinking as hard as he could. Finally, it hit him. “The bathroom!” He ran out the back door again. “Follow me.”
He ran around to the side of the building and pushed open the bathroom door. A warm, moist wave of urine and shit laden air forced him back a few steps. Bracing himself, he pushed the door open again. It looked like a shit grenade had been tossed in there. The toilet was utterly destroyed. Broken pieces of porcelain poked out like little icebergs in a brown sea of shit-water on the floor. As grim as the bathroom was, the one thing it had going for it was an unbroken mirror mounted on the wall.
“Merciful gods!” said Professor Goosewaddle. “What is this place? What happened in here?”
“This is a bathroom,” said Chaz. “Cooper happened.”
“How can I be expected to concentrate on my spell in an environment such as this?”
“You’ll just have to do your best. We’ve got to hurry.”
“Hurry indeed,” said the professor. “I don’t wish to spend one more second than is necessary in this foul pit.”
Chaz picked up the professor and leaned in to place him atop the sink counter. Fortunately, it was close enough so that he didn’t have to actually step into Cooper’s half-orc gumbo.
Professor Goosewaddle looked into the mirror and choked out a few words that Chaz couldn’t understand. After a few seconds passed, he said, “I see with the eyes of the one called Dennis.”
“Where are they?” said Chaz.
“I do not know,” said the professor. “I am not familiar with this place.”
“Well what do you see?”
“He is running. To his left there is coastline, and a vast, moonlit sea.”
“The Gulf,” said Chaz. “So they’re on the beach?”
“No,” said the professor. “They are on the other side of the great road. Dozens of those… oh, what were they called? Otto-mobiles?”
“Automobiles?” said Chaz. “You mean cars?”
“Yes, that’s it,” said the professor. “Do you know they light up in the front when it turns dark?”
“Car!” said Chaz. “That’s where they’re going. They’re making a break for Dennis’s squad car. We ditched it just a few miles away from – Hang on. Why didn’t you use this Scry spell to help us find Mordred?”
“Who’s Mordred?”
“You really have no clue as to anything that’s going on around here, do you?”
Professor Goosewaddle shrugged. “Nobody tells me anything. I’m just a gnome.”
“Let’s go,” said Chaz. “We’re wasting time.” He held out his arms to catch the professor.
Professor Goosewaddle jumped off the counter into Chaz’s open arms. “You’ll have to go alone. My little old legs can’t move as fast as theirs.”
“No way,” said Chaz. “Those two rednecks would kick my ass. I need you to magic them.” He ran around to the front of the building.
“But how?” asked the professor, waddling after him. “We have no Otto-mobiles.”
“We’ve got something better,” said Chaz. “An Otto-bike.” He wheeled his motorcycle out from the other side of the building. The keys were still in the ignition. He’d only meant to step into the Chicken Hut for a second to see what was keeping Katherine when Mordred tricked him into rolling that die.
“What is that?” asked the professor, clearly mesmerized.
“It’s like a car,” said Chaz. “It goes just as fast, only on two wheels instead of four.”
“You’re mad!” said the professor. “I’m not riding on that thing!”
“Oh yes you are. It’s the only way we’ll catch them.”
“Look at that thing!” cried the professor. “The only thing keeping it from falling over is a metal stick!”
Chaz pushed back the kickstand. “Happy?”
“And what happens if you let go of it?”
“What are you talking about?” said Chaz. His patience was wearing thin. “It’ll fall over I guess.”
“Exactly!” said the professor. “And that’s when it’s standing still. How much less stable will it be in motion?”
“It’s plenty more stable in motion. That’s the whole point!”
“You speak madness, boy! Have you ever tried to run with a book atop your head?”
“This is different,” said Chaz. He understood Goosewaddle’s argument, and didn’t know how to counter it. Why does a bicycle or motorcycle stay upright while in motion? He had no fucking idea. He just knew that it was true because – “How about a demonstration?”
“Come again?”
“If I show you that it’s safe, if you see it with your own eyes, will you stop being a little bitch?”
“Absolutely not,” said Professor Goosewaddle. “But please demonstrate anyway. I must see it.”
Chaz put the kickstand down and crossed his arms. “No.” He hoped Goosewaddle was as curious as he let on. Plan B involved tackling him, and Chaz knew that wouldn’t end well.
“Oh please!”
“Only once we have an agreement.”
Goosewaddle shook his little fists. “Fine! If it appears safe, I will ride with you.”
Chaz mounted his bike and turned the key. The engine roared to life. He twisted the throttle, and it roared even louder. Professor Goosewaddle took a step back.
“Watch and learn,” said Chaz strapping on his helmet.
“Oh, that’s very reassuring,” said the professor.
Chaz pulled out of the parking lot onto Beach Road. It felt good to be back on his bike. He rode up to the next light, turned around, and sped clear past the Chicken Hut. He caught Professor Goosewaddle staring slack-jawed at him. He made one more U-turn and pulled back into the Chicken Hut parking lot.
“Astounding!” said the professor. “It’s like a wheeled, mechanical horse!”
“Bon Jovi made the same observation.”
“Who?”
“Come on, Goosewaddle,” said Chaz. “Time to saddle up.”
“I’m sorry,” said the professor. “It’s just too terrifying. I can’t possibly –”
Chaz grabbed the professor by his arm and pulled him up onto the seat behind him. “Now hold on, and don’t try anything stupid or we’ll both die.”
Goosewaddle’s long, continuous scream drowned out the engine noise as Chaz pulled out onto Beach Road again. The little guy had quite a grip, but Chaz didn’t have time to worry about his kidneys being squeezed into his spine, or the unexpected rush of warmth he felt in the small of his back.
Also low on his list of worries was getting a speeding ticket. He was on his way to assault a cop anyway. They flew down Beach Road, swerving around cars or riding on the shoulder when they had to. As fast as they rode, it wasn’t fast enough.
When they pulled up behind Dennis’s car, Dennis stepped out from behind a nearby tree with a shotgun pointed at them.
“Get off the bike.” Dennis’s voice was shaky and nervous, which troubled Chaz far more than it would have if he’d been speaking forcefully and confidently. Arresting them might have worse consequences for him than just flat out murdering them.
“Take it easy, man,” said Chaz. “Let’s talk this through.”
“Get off the bike!” His voice was more resolute this time, as if he’d come to a stronger decision as to which way he was leaning.
Chaz got off the motorcycle, put the kickstand down, and then put Professor Goosewaddle down. The professor dropped to his knees and vomited.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Dennis.
“He’s never been on a motorcycle before.”
Dennis scrunched up his face in confusion. “Never?”
“He’s never even seen one.” Chaz took a step forward. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He wished he’d brought his lute along.
Dennis cocked the shotgun and held it up firmly at Chaz. “Not another step!”
“Easy, man,” said Chaz, his hands in the air. “We can work this out.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to work out,” said Dennis. He sniffled, and a tear ran down his cheek. “Y’all cut my goddamn nuts off and fed ‘em to a bird!” His words choked out, leading into sobs.
“Aw man, don’t cry,” said Chaz. “Now you’re just making it weird.”
“Say one more word!” sobbed Dennis, stepping forward and thrusting the gun at Chaz. “Go on, I dare you! Say one more goddamn w—”
He stopped talking. As a matter of fact, he just stopped altogether. He stood as still as a statue, his mouth frozen mid-word, and his finger frozen on the trigger of his shotgun.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Chaz stepped out of the path of the gun.
Dennis’s gun being held out so far in front of him didn’t leave him very well balanced for a person unable to control his actions. He started to tip forward.
“Goosewaddle!” cried Chaz. “Watch out!”
Professor Goosewaddle may have never seen a shotgun before, but the expression on his face said that he knew well enough that he didn’t want to be at the business end of one. He rolled out of the way.
When Dennis hit the dirt, the gun went off with a deafening, explosive boom. It blasted Chaz’s motorcycle all to hell.
“Shit!” screamed Chaz. “I haven’t even finished paying for that yet!” He looked at Professor Goosewaddle. “What the hell just happened? What did you do to him?”
Goosewaddle stood up and wiped some vomit off of his beard. “I cast a Hold Person spell on him. It won’t last long. You may want to relieve him of his rod.”
The shotgun blast was still ringing in Chaz’s ears, but he heard a small whimper near his feet. He looked down. A single tear ran down Dennis’s face.
“Relax, asshole,” said Chaz. “I think he meant your gun.” He took the shotgun out of Dennis’s frozen hands just in time.
“—ord!” Dennis said, and immediately broke down in a sobbing fit.
Chaz pretended he was familiar with shotguns, imitating the pose Dennis had used to threaten him. “Reach into your pocket, pull out your car keys, and get in the back of the car.”
Dennis did as he was told, crying the whole time. He crawled to his own squad car on his hands and knees. Once inside, Chaz closed the door behind him.
“What happened to the other one?” asked Professor Goosewaddle.
As if on cue, Randy barreled through some bushes. “Dennis! Are you okay?” His eyes met Chaz’s. “Aw shit.”
Chaz held the shotgun casually at his side. He didn’t point it at Randy, but he wanted him to know it was there. “Come on, Randy. Get in the car.”
Randy didn’t look like he could run anymore if he’d wanted to. He wasn’t in nearly as good of shape as Dennis, and his recent exertion left him a panting, sweaty mess. “I’m really sorry,” he said between pants. “Dennis put me up to it. We was scared y’all was gonna kill us.”
“I still might,” said Chaz. “Look what he did to my bike!”
The motorcycle lay on its side, a complete wreck. The shotgun blast had hit it in the rear. The tire was flat, the chain broken, what was left of the shredded muffler had fused into the spokes. Completely unrideable.
Randy frowned. “I’ll admit that was uncalled for.”
Chaz opened the door to let Randy sit next to Dennis.
Dennis leaned on Randy’s chest. “Hold me.”
“There’s powerful magic where we came from,” said Chaz. “If you ever want to have a pair of testicles again, you’ll behave.”
Dennis stopped crying and looked up at Chaz. “Truly? Do you really think there’s a chance I might –”
Chaz slammed the door shut. Maybe it was true. Maybe it was just false hope. He didn’t give a shit about Dennis’s testicles, but if it kept him in line for a while…
The drive back to the Chicken Hut, while uneventful, was probably the most intense six or seven minutes in Chaz’s life. He’d watched a vampire murder his girlfriend, but that didn’t even compare with driving around in a stolen cop car with two hostages and a gnome.
Chapter 17
Stacy sat at the bar just inside the front entrance of the Olive Garden. Tim had shown her Mordred’s Facebook profile picture, and explained how he’d changed since it was taken. Mostly facial hair and fat. Although the place was crowded, mostly with old couples and young families, there was no one in the restaurant that she could see who even remotely matched that description. She felt nervous, in spite of the fact that – or maybe because of the fact that – Tim had reassured her so many times that she had nothing to be afraid of. He and Julian had both exits covered, and the bird would follow the car when they left. Strangely enough, her nervousness was less about what this freak might do to her if he got the chance, and more like blind date jitters. After all she’d been through today, she deserved a drink.
“You here alone?”
Stacy whipped around. If this was Mordred, she might not have such a bad night after all. This guy was tall and handsome, with blond, wavy hair and a tailored blue suit. He was almost exactly the opposite of what Tim had described.
“Mordred?”
He gave her a shocked and exaggeratedly quizzical look. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but that one’s new to me. My name’s Brad Tanner.” He offered his hand. Stacy accepted. His handshake was firm.
“That’s too bad, Brad,” said Stacy. “Looks like you’re not the guy I’m waiting for tonight.”
“Can I at least buy you a drink until this Mordred fellow shows up?”
“I won’t stop you.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Surprise me.”
“Bartender,” said Brad. “Two Manhattans, please.” He didn’t shout, but he knew how to project his voice effectively, and the bartender acknowledged his order from the other side of the noisy bar.
“Right away, sir.”
“So how do you know this Mordred?” Brad asked Stacy.
Considering the freak show that she was expecting to walk through the front door any second now, Stacy said the most embarrassing thing she was likely to say all night. “I met him online.” Her face felt warm, and she wished the bartender would hurry the hell up with those Manhattans.
Brad smiled. It was just condescending enough to show that he recognized her embarrassment, and was enjoying it a bit. “You need to be careful who you meet online. They aren’t always who they seem to be.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brad said to the bartender, accepting the two glasses. He passed one to Stacy.
Stacy took a sip, savoring the boozy goodness running into her bloodstream. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“What kind of guy leaves a knockout like you sitting alone at a bar?”
Stacy appreciated the compliment, though she wasn’t thrilled about the term ‘knockout’. It sounded like something her grandpa would say.
“And at an Olive Garden?” Brad continued. “Sounds like a real class act.”
