Greg Times stood patiently outside “Mr. Ten’s Burger Joint” and watched as the wind scattered the dust mounds on the opposite side of the street. The small dust particles would get caught up in the cool breeze and dance around the air like little gnats. To Greg, it reminded him of a swarm of flies hovering over the dead carcass of an animal that had been hit by a truck. He had seen a lot of road kill on the way down to the Fantas Estate from the police station. Each lifeless body had flies swarming around it. It was unpleasant to witness, but a common occurrence… the ‘Topaz Sand Flies’ were indigenous to the beaches and sand traps around Aggerton City. They didn’t bother the vacationers much, but they loved to sift through the rubbish left behind each day on the sandy shores. The Topaz Sand Flies would get pretty big, feasting on the leftovers sprawled on the beaches. Some would get to the size of a small coin while others would get larger. They could consume anything it seemed and some joked that they had become the state bird; you could find them almost anywhere.
Greg paused and shifted his thoughts towards the long, black asphalt road next to the burger joint. A mighty wind was picking up from down its long, dusty way. Street signs were beginning to sway back and forth with protest. Greg held his tan jacket close to his body as the strong gust rushed over him. His eyes began to get dry and water. News papers and plastic bags were fluttering all over the place. It felt as if the god of wind had sneezed. The air went turbulent all around him, then as if by magic, it stopped and all was calm. The only things that showed through the night horizon were the headlights of the cars that pass by.
Weird weather we’re having, thought Greg. It’s amazing how quickly it gets dark around here. It’s like the night just came out of nowhere but Greg was used to working cases in the city where the streetlamps and lighted signs from casinos and clubs gave a synthetic daylight to the night. He turned around and faced the burger joint behind him. It wasn’t very big; it almost looked like a concession stand. The thing was a completely random eyesore on the back drop of the coastal regain. The name ‘Mr. Ten’s Burger Joint’ was also very misleading. The dilapidated shack looked nothing like a burger joint at all. It looked like someone had placed a tool shed on a slab of cement and cut out a window. It was a pathetic establishment.
Who owns this thing? Thought Greg, and why would they put it all the way out here in no man’s land? He walked up to the ordering window and stared at the pimply-faced kid inside the box. He was wearing a ridiculous costume. His button up t-shirt was striped with all the colors of the rainbow, his hat was bulging from his head and had the name of the business on it: “Mr. Ten’s Burger Joint”. Greg suppressed a laugh forming in his throat. The whole scene looked sad. The kid looked like he had lost a bet.
“Is my order almost done?” asked Greg impatiently. He checked his watch. He would need to get back to the patrol car soon. His partner, Fred, would be wondering where he got off to. He had left the young cop sleeping in the front seat. The kid looked up and smiled showing a mouth full of braces.
“It should be just about done, sir.” He finished wrapping the hot dog and placed it in a small paper bag; he filled up a drink cup and sorted out some onion rings. When he was done, he handed it all over to Greg. The seasoned cop accepted the food with a sarcastic smile. He was still amused at what the kid was dressed in. It felt like bozo the clown was making his first debut in the fast-food business, though, he had to admit, he couldn’t consider it “fast” food: the kid had taken far too long. He brought out his wallet and paid.
“Keep the change, kid. You look like you need it.”
The concession-stand worker’s face went bright red and he pocketed the money. He tried to act liked he hadn’t heard the cop’s rude remark. Greg laughed cheerfully at the passive behavior. It seemed that all kids today just pretended not to care what others thought about them. Most people internalize everything. He hauled the food away and left the weird teenager to his thoughts and pathetic job.
Greg whistled softly as he walked down the road to his undercover squad car. It was still resting in the bushes just off the industrial street; it was hidden well. He walked over to it and rested his food on the top of the vehicle. He bent over and peered into the car at his sleeping companion. The guy in the passenger seat looked dead; his jaw was hanging wide open and his eyes were closed. A long piece of drool was coming down his chin. His whole body was leaning up against the door. Greg laughed at how much of a child Fred looked like at that moment. He gripped the door handle and pulled it to open his door. The thing didn’t budge.
“What the heck?” said Greg under his breath; he had forgotten that the door to the police car’s lock automatically when a person left, or shut the door. The new design was to prevent criminals from escaping after being detained. Greg had left his keys in the ignition. He was stuck outside.
“What a wonderful night this is going to be. I’m locked outside my own car.” He lifted up and hand and rapped his knuckles on the window loudly. He started to yell and scream like a mad man. “Wake up, and open the door. I locked myself out!”
Fred suddenly sprang to life and jumped out of his seat. He hit his head on the roof and smashed his legs into the dashboard. He gripped his head and started cursing and grumbling. Pain was now shooting through his skull and knee caps. He wiped the spittle from his jaw and looked over to the window. Greg’s face held a large grin. The old cop looked like a peeping Tom. Fred wanted nothing more than to smack him across the face.
“What the heck are you doing?” yelled Fred. “Can’t you, for once, just act professional? We’re supposed to be undercover here. The last thing we need is everyone in the neighborhood knowing that we are staking out the Fantas house!”
Greg laughed.
“Open the door, you dunce, I brought some food from the stand down the road!” He grabbed the bag from off the roof of the car and held it in front of the window. Fred studied the stuff with disinterest, he wasn’t hungry at all. He reached over and unlocked the car door. Greg noticed a profound annoyance on his partners face. He looked jaded and uncomfortable.
“What’s the matter, Fred?” asked Greg as he opened the door and sat down. He adjusted his feet and closed the door. “Did I wake you from a nice dream? Were you off in your own little candy land? Did I pull you from that?” The harshness in his voice was slowly getting more whiny and annoying, as if Greg were talking to a baby. The condescension was almost unbearable. Fred hated being in the squad car with this guy.
“Can’t you act your age, for once?” barked Fred.
“Hey, you listen here, rookie. I am here to show you the ropes of a good staking out. This isn’t nap time at the daycare center. I am not your mother. How the heck are we supposed to nail this guy, if you’re sleeping half the time?”
“Shut up, already.” Fred looked out the passenger side window. He was getting frustrated with the whole “rookie” talk. “I am getting sick of your attitude. We have been in this car for what feels like an eternity and all you can do is make snide remarks…” He looked back over to Greg, his eyes were on fire. “I have some news for you; you’re not that good of a cop yourself. I’ve heard the guys at the department talking about you. They say you’re a washed up, old fart.”
Greg waved his hand at this.
“Calm down, calm down.” He grabbed the fast food bag off the console and tore it open. “I was just messing with you; you know, trying to have a little fun. You don’t have to get all personal with me. I am not the bad guy here, Tash is. He’s the one we should be fighting.”
Fred grumbled at this remark. He was trying to channel his anger now. Greg always seemed to know how to get him all riled up and ready for an argument.
“Whatever Greg, just… whatever.”
Greg pulled out his hot dog and unwrapped it from the hot foil, steam pouring everywhere.
“What did I miss? I was gone for awhile.” He bit into the tasty wiener and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The smell of pickled sauerkraut was encompassing the cab area and Fred was staring at his companion with complete disgust. He hated the smell of sauerkraut. It burned his eyes and dried his mouth.
“Do you have to eat that in here?”
Greg ignored him.
“I wonder what all those vans were delivering this morning. Everyone looked so busy.” He pointed out the window at all the nice vehicles resting in front of the house. “It’s got to be a party, or a meeting of some kind. We’ve been seeing cars coming in and out of this place all day. Tash is up to something with all this business. I bet he’s trading illegal goods as we speak! Did you see all those guys in black suits and ties walking around to the back yard?”
Fred’s eyes were beginning to water and get puffy. He rolled down the window and sucked in some fresh air.
“It’s been a long day Greg, and I am tired and agitated. Could you please eat that thing outside? It’s giving me a headache.” He looked over to his companion for any sign of sympathy. The guy didn’t move a muscle. He was acting like he didn’t hear.
“Mr. Tash has his sources,” whispered Greg to himself as he took another giant bite of the smelly hotdog. “He has his sources, and then some.” He was getting lost in his thoughts. He wanted to catch this guy more than anything in the world.
“Are you even listening to me?!” shouted Fred suddenly.
Greg jumped slightly at the burst of noise. He looked over to his companion.
“What did you say?” He piled another bite into his mouth and chewed it down. His breath smelled ripe with sauerkraut.
“I said ‘are you listening to me’?”
“Yes,” said Greg rigidly. “I am listening to you Fred, and I wish you would just shut up for one brief moment and let me think. There’s a lot going on out there and I want in on the action.”
“Did you have to put sauerkraut on that thing? It’s making me sick,” said Fred. “Can’t you just take that stuff off and throw it out the window?”
“Calm down, I am not throwing anything out the window.”
Fred grabbed the handle on his door and opened it with a violent shove.
“I am going for a walk. I want to see if I can inspect the house from the bushes over there.” He slammed the door and murmured to himself as he walked away. “I need to get out of this car. This whole situation is driving me insane. Nothing ever happens here. We have been waiting forever.”
Greg looked stunned at his partner’s behavior.
“You can’t do that!” he yelled. “You can’t go for a walk around the lot alone; it’s in the rules!”
“I don’t give a damn!” yelled Fred back at the car and he disappeared into the bushes. Greg shook his head in disgust.
“That rookie has a lot to learn!”
* * *
Bob Morgan studied all the well dressed people as they walked and talked around the party. Everything looked expensive and colorful. The Fantas house certainly wasn’t a very hard place to find on a map. It stood out like a sore thumb, as a matter-of-fact, one could probably spot the mountainous structure from outer space. The place was big, and it was all over the news and media. Reporters from all over were talking all about how Mr. Fantas was supposedly involved with warlords overseas; telling everyone that he was illegally trading weapons and ammunition. News paper headlines were screaming the abomination that he was working all over the globe, and yet, no one had any hard evidence to convict him. He was a sly duck, and Bob admired his ability to cover his tracks; apparently, this guy was good at what he did.
“Lee and Marten picked a perfect place to ask for help,” Bob grinned. The sound of the orchestra was playing loudly and carried on the cool evening breeze. He had snuck in from the other side of the lot, being careful not to attract the attention of the guard towers. He eventually found a good bush to hide behind in the backyard. His heart was pumping frantically in his chest. He tried to control his labored breathing. He was getting too excited. He had to calm himself down; there could be no mistakes with this mission. Everything had to be perfect. The last time he got excited and overconfident, it ended in tragedy. Runt and Tom had been killed too soon, and they had lost the map.
“Here’s my chance to redeem myself, and prove to Ruler that I am not a stupid, incompetent individual. I’ll just find a way into the Fantas Mansion, grab Marten or Lee, and the rest will be history. I’ll have a copy of the star map in no time flat!”
Bob searched under the bush in front him for a rock or a stone. He needed something to bash open a window with. His fingers ran over a nice, smooth, cold surface. He grabbed the rock and stood up slowly. His eyes scanned the lawn for any guests that might be watching. He was about to run to the house when a voice suddenly spoke up from behind.
“What are you looking for, sir?”
Bob got stiff and cold as the words escaped the stranger’s lips. His insides churned with horror. He had only been on the Fantas lot for thirty minutes and had managed to get caught. He turned around and spotted his stalker. He let a slight breath pass his lips when he noticed who it was. It was one of the caterers. The guy was holding a cigarette in his hands. He looked tired and over worked.
“I was, uh looking for the, uh…” Bob paused and felt around his pockets with his left hand. He was pretending to look for something. He concealed the big stone behind his back with his right hand, being careful not to look suspicious. He slowly approached the caterer. “I was looking for the bathroom and must have gotten lost. I apologize; I can be so forgetful sometimes.”
The caterer started to laugh. He flicked his cigarette away, into the grass.
“I’d say you got lost… you’re nowhere near the house, or the bathroom. Were you thinking about peeing in the bush there?” He paused and thought for a second. He looked suspiciously at Bob.
Bob looked surprised at the question. He shook his head no.
“Then what are you doing out here, sir?” asked the Caterer. “Why were you in the bushes?”
“I could ask you the same question,” demanded Bob presently. “Why are you out here lollygagging and not helping the guests back at the party? This looks like a nice party for someone like yourself to be standing around. What do they pay you for?”
“For your information, I came out this far for a cigarette. It’s my evening brake. I am allotted one break every five hours. It’s the workers union rules. Mr. Tash doesn’t want his guests inhaling smoke against their will, so he sent me out here. He gets all butt-hurt about the little things; he’s a control freak!” The caterer paused and looked Bob up and down. “Do you need to use the bathroom still?”
Bob nodded his head
“Okay,” said the caterer. “What’s your name?”
Bob fabricated one quickly.
“It’s Mr. Torrance.”
The caterer looked incredulously at him. He had never heard of a Mr. Torrance before.
“Okay, Mr. Torrance. How are you related to the host? Are you even on the guest list?”
“I am his accountant!” stated Bob firmly. “And of course I am on the guest list. Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”
“I see,” said the Caterer. He poked at his chin for a bit, Bob was most definitely not dressed for a party. I mean the guy was wearing denim jeans for heaven’s sake. “All right, I’ll escort you to the bathroom.” He walked passed Bob and started toward the house. Bob smiled at this. He ran up behind the Caterer and bashed him over the head. The guy let out a grunt and then collapsed on the ground. He wasn’t going to allow this man to check the guest list, which, Bob was sure he was planning on doing as soon as he escorted Bob to the toilets.
“There has been a change in plans, it seems,” said Bob. “I won’t be in need of your services anymore.” He grabbed the unconscious man and pulled him over to the bush. He started taking off the man’s clothes and began to dress himself. When he was all done, he shoved the naked man into the bush. Bob brushed off the sticks on his coat and headed for the party in the distance. He walked as close to the massive house as possible. His sharp eyes scanned the dark eaves of the building for any security alarms. In minutes, he would be inside the house looking for the star map. Everything was going smoothly. It seemed that this evening was going to be a cake walk.
I am a genius, thought Bob. No one can stop me now. He was about to enter the party when someone grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. Bob nearly lost his balance as the action was preformed.
“What on this good earth, are you doing?!”
Bob’s jaw hung open. He began to stutter and shake. He had been caught yet again. He stared dumfounded at a very big, chubby man before him. He was wearing a chef’s hat and a white cooking coat. His face was round and red and his eyes were intense and bloodshot.
“Who are you?” demanded the chef as he shoved Bob in the chest. “Where did crazy Tony get off to? Is he still smoking?” He looked behind him at the dark yard. His voice sounded frustrated. “I have ten trays of finger snacks resting in the kitchen and everyone disappears! It’s like my whole staff is evaporating into the atmosphere. What do I pay you guys for? You’re worthless! From now on, you listen to me!”
Bob stood there quietly. He did not want to say anything to give himself away. He had a job to do. The chef grabbed him by the shoulder and forcibly led him to a side door that was located on the southern end of the building. The sound of pots and pans were heard coming through the threshold as they approached the kitchen.
“I want you to stop messing around and get to work. I don’t have time for this crap; the evening is still young and the guests are getting restless. If Mr. Tash doesn’t like the service he’s going to be pissed off, and believe me you don’t want to see this man when he’s pissed off. He does some crazy stuff.”
“I am sure I don’t want to see him that way,” muttered Bob.
The chef led him through the kitchen and stopped in front of the grilling station. Fire was roaring from the pans and a man in a yellow vest was cooking chicken. His hands dance rapidly across the many seasonings and herbs that rested on the counter. He began sprinkling and dashing the meat. He looked totally focused on his work. He was in the zone.
“Where are the finger trays?” asked the chef.
The man looked up from his grilling and stared at the chef. The whites of his eyes were completely yellow and he had a dark feeling about him. It looked as if he were possessed by some evil spirit.
The yellow-eyed griller pointed to the far end of the kitchen where a single door was resting in the wall and Bob was happy to turn his vision away from the abnormal stare. The door had gold lettering on it.
“I left the finger snacks on a table in the nightmare halls.” The man smiled devilishly. His teeth were gray and misplaced all over his mouth. “Just to cool them down for a bit. I hear there is a lot of wind in the nightmare halls… I wouldn’t want Mr. Tash’s guests to burn their tongues.”
The chef looked over to the door, then back to the man at the grill. Something weird was going on.
“Why did you put them in there? Mr. Tash said we were not to enter the nightmare halls for any reason. He said that…” the chef paused and looked around the kitchen and noticed that it was empty for the first time. “Where is Edington, I thought he was cooking the chicken for tonight? Who the heck are you?”
“My name is Tory.” He looked back down at the grill and flipped a piece of chicken. “I took over after Edington. He got caught up into something really big.” His words were dark and sinister. He looked over to Bob. “Do I know you from some place? I think we have met before.”
Bob shook his head.
“I don’t know you”
Tory laughed.
“I am sure I do.”
The room started to get cold.
“Where the heck is my staff?” barked the chef. He led Bob over to the door at the other side of the kitchen. “Let’s get those finger trays, and get them out to the guests. We can work on finding the staff later.”
“Okay,” said Bob.
Both men opened the door and walked into the nightmare halls.
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