[If you’re new to this story please visit Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels for the whole shebang. If you forgot Twitch MacGuffin, he first appears in Billy Deploys An Attitude Adjustment: Part 09: Who Ya’ Gonna’ Call.
I apologize for the delay. This post was supposed to go live a few days ago but I missed my self-imposed deadline. In my defense, a snowstorm had me literally (not figuratively!) snowed in and that became a priority situation. By the time the snow was cleared I was as far behind schedule as hapless Twitch.
To review, Twitch is a human avatar of bad decisions. Perpetually indebted, he lives in a 1959 Cadillac hearse, rebuilt to look like ECTO1 from Ghostbusters. He crossed Billy and within minutes received history’s first interspecies turbo wedgie from Bart the bear. And he took a gig job as a colorist for Edna Kampsett and Gertrude Smith but missed the deadline. (I can only hope Edna lets me slide for starting a sentence with a preposition.)]
This was a new experience, Goon #2 mused. His job was to reach into a hearse and pull out a living person. He loved life’s ironies!
He hefted a five pound maul and approached the car. It was a 1959 Cadillac hearse. Some weirdo had retrofitted it to look like the famous vehicle from Ghostbusters. Such a waste of a fine car; turning it into a movie prop like that. He’d been informed by his employer that the owner slept in the back of the hearse, ostensibly because he had no money after the expensive rebuild. The owner was also apparently a dipshit and a loser; which seemed self explanatory once you knew he lived in a hearse.
Goon #2 had dealt with plenty of dipshits in his career. They were best corrected immediately, lest they cause drama later. Sadly not all dipshits could be fixed. Recently, he’d been training up a young fellow who showed promise in the time honored career track of a professional Goon. Unfortunately, the fellow turned out to be a dipshit. He’d failed to follow his employer’s precise instructions. Classic dipshit behavior!
That particular dipshit had eaten a cookie which had been cooked up by a dangerous psychotic genius. What kind of fool eats a cookie served by such a person? Things had gotten out of hand. He lived but only after enduring a detailed and esoteric lecture involving advanced chemistry. Apparently, polonium and the process of chemically binding it with an iodide solution within an acid bath of a stomach is something geniuses enjoy discussing. In the end, the “student” got the right solution and saved both himself and the dipshit. However, it had been a close call. Timing seemed to affect the matter. Goon #1 had eaten the cookie prior to the introduction to the lesson. He’d had a bad night.
In the end, Goon #2 counseled Goon #1 that he didn’t have what it takes to be a Goon. Perhaps he should try a less challenging career path, such as Thuggery? To which the retching poisoned man assented. That’s why Goon #2 was working alone… again. He sighed. Kids these days simply didn’t have the intellectual wherewithal to properly fill the role of Goon. How sad for society. After all, society needs Goons. Where would we be without them?
He was more than willing to smash the window, but before damaging the old car he idly checked the door. It was unlocked. Dropping the sledge he reached in and grabbed the first bit of human he could reach. It was the left big toe of an idiot named Twitch. That’s all the handhold a proper Goon needs! He dragged the half asleep and completely confused limp noodle of a comic colorist out of the vehicle. Once that was done, he gave him a few dope slaps to wake him up. Not too hard! He’d been informed that the victim in question was as weak as he was stupid. He’d agreed to deliver a more or less functional person with most of his body parts intact; no more attitude corrections than necessary.
“What the…” Twitch babbled.
SMACK, Goon #2 replied.
“Please stop…”
SMACK
“For the love of God don’t…”
SMACK
Goon #2 paused. He figured three was about the right dosage. Then he got a good look at Twitch’s face and added a fourth. SMACK.
Some faces are meant to be slapped.
Twitch cowered against the car while Goon #2 held him up with one hand. His big meaty fist was wrapped up in Twitch’s Baby Yoda pajamas. Baby Yoda? SMACK! That last one wasn’t related to the job; it was a freebie to help balance the universe.
Goon #2 fished a cell phone out of his pocket with his free hand. He dialed the number and held the phone to the quivering Twitch’s ear.
“Twitch! You’ve missed the deadline.” It was the voice of Gertrude.
“I’m close. Just a bit more work. You’ll be happy.” Twitch gibbered.
“I’d be happy if I didn’t have to bring in additional personnel to encourage timely delivery.” She complained.
“Uhhhh….” Twitch tried to think of something but was distracted by the five pound maul at his feet. It was the second time this week he expected to die… and it was only Thursday!
“Have I not paid you?” Gertrude prompted. “Did the check fail to clear?”
“Drrrrr….” Twitch’s brain, never far from the edge, had more or less shorted out.
“Keys.” Goon #2 demanded; letting go of a severely rumpled Baby Yoda and opening his hand.
Twitch pointed to the ignition. The keychain (a cross stitched facsimile of Wile E. Coyote) dangled merrily. Goon #2 brought his hand to his forehead in a genuine face palm. The keys were in the ignition? Of an unlocked car? In a neighborhood like this? Who knows what criminal element could have taken advantage of such a blunder!
Goon #2 dragged Twitch to the passenger side of the car and paused. There was a portfolio with some work in it. Carefully, he opened the portfolio and perused the contents. It was incomplete, but what was done was beautiful. Gingerly, he closed the portfolio and moved it to the back of the car. Then he tossed Twitch in the seat.
“It looks like he’s maybe three quarters done.” Goon #2 reported to the cell phone.
Gertrude was pleased. This was better news than expected! Goon #2 concluded the call and hung up. He considered destroying the phone in case it was traced, but thought better of it. He’d had a guy install special privacy software on the phone. His conversation with Gertrude was encrypted and private. Also, Gertrude hadn’t said anything particularly incriminating.
He started up and rolled out, driving with the dignity appropriate to an antique Cadillac instead of Twitch’s method of careening around with the stupidity of a movie prop. The Cadillac rolled as smooth as butter.
In the passenger seat Twitch worked hard on staying calm. First a bear wedgie and then this? Was there no justice in the world?
After a time, Goon #2 decided to make conversation. “You might as well relax, we’re going clear to Portland.”
“Ngggh?” Twitch wasn’t yet up to verbal communication. He wasn’t a morning person. He’d had worse mornings (which of itself tells you a lot about Twitch) but this wasn’t exactly a good morning. He could use an espresso right about now.
“I gotta’ hand it to you.” Goon #2 continued, jovially. “You pissed off The Cleaner AND The Inspector.”
“Swroix?”
“I’ve never met someone who pissed them both off. Well, I’m sure they once existed, but obviously I’ve never seen even a trace of such a thing. You can’t even imagine how rare you are.”
“Dblork?”
“They’re going legit.” Goon #2 explained. “That’s why they need you to finish on time; like a friggin’ adult.” He paused, trying to fit a compliment into what had become a lecture. “I like the sunset on page 3, very…” He grasped for words “…red-like? Orangy?”
“Burnt umber.” Twitch corrected.
SMACK.
Goon #2 wasn’t even sure where that came from. The kid just needed smacking.
“So what’s the title?” Goon #2 continued, as if he hadn’t just walloped the kid in his Baby Yodas.
“The Grammarian.” Twitch responded… bracing for another hit.
“The Grammarian!” Goon #2 smiled, “I like it.”
He handed Twitch a crisp $20. “If you get it done, and therefore live, I’d like a copy.”
Twitch clutched the $20 and vowed that he’d have it done in time to man the booth they’d rented for this weekend or die trying… which was basically what Goon #2 was all about anyway.
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