Banana Hammock (10 page)

He scuttled insanely off, and I wondered what time it was, and if his butt ugly whore of a second wife had remembered to call Lieutenant Jackie when I failed to check in. Then I remembered I’d given her a bottle full of piss and told her it was apple juice, so I probably couldn’t count on that particular horse to come in.

Like it had happened so many times before, the burden of saving my own skin rested on my own skin. I needed to figure out some sort of ingenious plan to escape. If I could only do that, then I’d be free.

Freak boy returned, pushing a wheeled wine cart stacked with electronic equipment. He shoved it in front of his living undead zombie wife who was really just a putrefying corpse.

“Behold the Rejuvenation Ray, Mr. McGlade!”

“How do you know my name, anyway?”

“Your wallet.”

“I had eight bucks in there. It better still be in there.”

“I didn’t take your money.”

“And a Blockbuster Video card. They charge you five bucks if you lose that.”

“Silence! Through magnetron technology, I have harnessed the life-giving properties of ordinary microwaves, coaxing the spirit back into the body!”

“That’s a big microwave?”

“Behold!”

He hit a switch, and the stack of electronics hummed and whirred, throwing off an huge amount of heat. Most of it was directed at Roberta, the undead living zombie wife. Some of it came my way, and it hurt like a bad sunburn.

Then the smell hit me. Honey baked ham and bacon strips. I watched through squinty eyes as Roberta sizzled and popped and exuded a scent that was downright mouth-watering.

Now it all made sense. Phil’s sunburn. Why he smelled like ham. Why his first wife’s skin was so brown and wrinkly. Why his second wife smelled like sweaty feet.

Actually, this didn’t explain why his second wife smelled like sweaty feet. But I guessed that to be a hygiene thing.

Blofeld finally turned off the microwave stack, then embraced his hanging wife. The embrace became a kiss. The kiss became a nibble. The nibble became a corn-on-the-cob chow-down, and I realized what had happened to the zombie’s breasts.

“And now!” He wiped the grease off his mouth with his sleeve. “Now it is time for Roberta to feast!”

Fred reached under the cart, pulled out a meat cleaver. Didn’t see too many meat cleavers, outside of a butcher shop.

“What shall we start with, Roberta? The leg? Yes, I agree. The leg looks delicious. Do you prefer the left one or the right one, dear? Yes, the left one.”

He raised the cleaver. There are few things more terrifying than being tied to a chair about to be hacked up by a lunatic so he could feed the pieces to his dead wife who he thinks is actually a zombie and is hanging from the ceiling using an admittedly clever series of weights and pulleys.

“Stop!” I yelled.

Incredibly, he stopped.

“What?”

“Your parents!” I said, speaking quickly. “What would your parents think?”

“Why don’t we… ask them!”

He stepped over to the menacing curtain, and with a flourish drew it back. Mom and Dad were hanging there, roped together so it looked like Dad was giving it to Mom, doggy-style.

“Oops!” Fred said, tugging on ropes and making his parents bump uglies. “Daddy! Why are you hurting Mommy?”

He pulled the cord again and again, Dad’s hips rising and falling. A shrink would have a field day with this guy. Field days were fun. I liked dodge ball best.

“Say that again, Daddy? You’re wrestling? What wrestling move is that?”

It looked, to my untrained eye, like a sodomyplex. I tore my eyes away and pointed at something with my chin. “What’s that hanging next to them?”

“Fluffy. My cat.”

“And those tiny things?”

“My goldfish, BA and Hannibal. Fluffy loves to chase them around. Don’t you, Fluffy?”

More manic pulling of ropes, and the three dead animals knocked into each other. While he was preoccupied, I called out in my best falsetto, “Honey, it’s Roberta!”

John turned his attention back to Roberta the zombie living bacon wife.

“Dearest? Did you say something?”

“I said,” I said, “We should let Mr. McGlade go. I’m not hungry right now.”

Nut job was buying it. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling against her tasty ribs.

“But you need to eat, honey. You’re getting thinner and thinner.”

“Tack a couple of tomatoes to my chest. I’ll look a lot better.”

Bert began to laugh. A chilling laugh that chilled me. He spun, pointing the cleaver at my nose.

“You idiot! Do you think I’m that stupid?”

“Yes.”

“What good husband doesn’t know the sound of my wife’s own voice?”

“You, I was hoping.”

“Enough of this tomfoolery! This ends now!”

He launched himself at me, screaming and drooling insanely, his probably very sharp cleaver raised for the killing blow.

Then Lieutenant Jackie Daniels shot him in the head.

Chapter 14

“You’re an idiot, McGlade,” Jackie said, using the cleaver to cut away the ropes.

Carl was dead on the floor. He was finally with his wife. Because she was dead on the floor too. Jack had made me sit there until the Crime Scene Unit arrived, taking pictures and gathering evidence. They cut the bodies down before they freed me.

“So how did you know I was here?” I asked.

Jack wore a short skirt and heels that probably cost a fortune but still looked kind of slutty, just how I liked them.

“Norma Cauldridge,” she said.

“Who?”

“George Cauldridge’s wife.”

“Who?”

“She called me, wanted me to arrest you for trying to poison her. I asked where you were, and she said probably here. After we nabbed those necrophiliacs at the cemetery last night, I needed to find you anyway to get your statement. Lucky I heard your girlish screams which gave me probable cause to bust in here without a warrant.”

I wasn’t listening, because it sounded like a boring infodump.

“Can I give you my statement tomorrow?” I asked. “I gotta take a monster dump. I had some hot dogs earlier that are going to look better coming out than going in.”

Jackie leaned in close. I braced myself for the kiss. It didn’t come.

“Did you give Norma a bottle full of your urine and tell her it was apple juice?”

“Maybe. Did she drink any?”

“She said the second glass went down rough. She’s going to sue you, McGlade.”

“She can take a number. Seriously. I’ve got one of those number things. I swiped it from the deli.” I grinned. “You can come over later, and watch me cut the cheese. You know you want to.”

“I’d rather gouge out my own eyes with forks.”

“Don’t be coy. This could be a way to pay back what you owe me.”

She cocked her hips, hot and sexy. “Excuse me? I just saved your ass, McGlade.”

“Are you kidding? This is front page news. You’ll probably get a promotion. There’s no need to thank me. It’s all part of the service I perform.”

“I really think I hate you.”

“Really, Jackie?” I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah, really. Be in my office tomorrow morning for your statement. And try to stay of trouble until then.”

I stood up, stretched, and gave her one of my famous Harry McGlade smiles.

“I’ll try. But trouble is my business.” I winked. “And business is good.”

The end.

To go back to the beginning,
click here
.

To return to the Amish adventure,
click here
.

I chose the blade, because only a complete moron would try to battle a T-rex with some matches and hairspray.

Taking the vorpal sword in hand, I bravely wet my pants and cried like a little Amish boy whose bunny just died. The dinosaur was big. We’re talking dinosaur big. It had a head the size of a pickup truck. Not a full-sized truck, like a Dodge Ram or a Chevy Silverado. But a bit larger than a mid-sized, like a Nissan Frontier or a Toyota Tacoma. But it didn’t have doors. Or wheels. Or an engine.

“Don’t cry. I won’t hurt you.”

I stopped peeing myself long enough to realize the dinosaur was talking to me. It was only a few feet away, and had breath like car exhaust. Not an eight cylinder car, like a Ford Mustang or a BMW M3. But more like a hybrid car, like a Toyota Prius, or a—

“I said I won’t hurt you,” said the dinosaur. “We can both live through this if we work together. We just have to put on a show for the aliens.”

“A show?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’ll roar and snap at you. You wave your sword and run around. We do that for a little bit, then we make a break for it.”

“There’s a zombie on your back.”

“Yeah. He was dying to ride me. But don’t worry, he won’t hurt you either.”

“You really promise not to hurt me?”

“I’d cross my heart, but I’ve got these tiny little arms and can’t reach.”

“I believe you,” I said.

Then I raised my sword and jabbed it into the monster’s throat. The crowd of angels thundered into applause as the ghastly monster choked on its own blood and fell over. Then I disemboweled the creature, running my blade down its belly, its guts spilling out like a dinosaur being disemboweled.

The zombie, who was pinned under the beast, was making a
time-out
signal with his hands, which I then chopped off.

“Dude! Don’t kill me! I’m unarmed!”

“You’re also defeated,” I said. Then I cut off his feet.

Finally, I delivered the final blow, and sliced off the zombie’s head. Because I always wanted to get ahead in life.

The crowd went crazy, and a little green angel ran out onto the field with a microphone and said, “Reptiloids of Reptilon, I give you your new champion! His name is…” He cast a sidelong glance at me. “What’s your name, buddy?”

This was my chance to come up with some super-cool badass name, like Mister Killer, or Captain Pain, or Psychoticus Maximus. anything but Bitch Tits.

“I present your champion, Bitch Tits!”

Shit. They must be able to read minds in heaven.

“We can read minds. And this isn’t heaven.”

Still, the crowd applauded like the fatties at Super Buffet when they brought out another tray of chicken wings. I raised my sword up and posed mightily like the mighty gladiator I was.

“To the victor, the spoils!” said the green angel. “What do you wish to do? Mate with another earthling in front of this crowd of adoring fans? Or eat some bananas?”

“Huh?” I said. I had been thinking about Amtrak, and lost my train of thought.

“Sex or bananas? Which shall it be?”

Should Harry have sex in front of the crowd? If so,
click here
.

Should Harry eat some bananas? If so,
click here
.

To return to the previous section,
click here
.

Moving quickly, I snatched up the hairspray and matches as the zombie rider steered the dinosaur straight at me.

I had barely enough time to light a cigarette and then give my hair one final styling before the tyrannosaurus rex bit me in half.

Nice job, moron. You killed me. Way to go.

To start the adventure over,
click here
.

To grab the sword,
click here
.

To return to the previous section,
click here
.

I reached for the sword, grasping it in both hands. But I couldn’t raise it because I WAS ALREADY BITTEN IN HALF DUE TO YOUR STUPIDITY! My guts were strewn about the arena like Christmas decorations, and I was bleeding from eighteen different arteries. What good would a sword do me?

Boy, you’re an idiot.

To return to the beginning,
click here
.

To get really confused,
click here
.

To return to the previous section,
click here
.

“Jesus, McGlade. Do you ever clean up?” Jack said.

I wondered how Lieutenant Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels got into my apartment. In fact, I wondered how
I
got into my apartment. A second ago I was in Indiana in an Amish cornfield.

Then I remembered. This was a
Write Your Own Damn Story
ebook, and you, the reader, made me come here instead. Thanks a lot for that.

This particular scene I was now involved in was during one of Jack’s cases, the one where I helped her immeasurably.

But then, that’s pretty much all of Jack’s cases.

“Nah,” I told her. “I pay a girl to come in once a week. But every time she comes over we just hump the whole time and she never has a chance to clean anything. Want to go into the kitchen, have a seat?”

“I’m afraid I’d stick to something and never be able to leave.”

“No need to be rude,” I said. Then I belched, and watched Jack look at my aquarium. Moldering fish corpses and chunks of multicolored rotting things bubbled around in the brown water, buoyed by the tank aerator. She stared as a corn dog floated by.

“Some kind of fish disease wiped out my whole gang within twenty-four hours,” I explained.

“There’s a shocker.”

“I like it more now. There’s always something new growing, and I save a bundle on fish food.”

Jack pulled her eyes away. “I’m here to talk about Theresa Metcalf. She was a client of yours. Back in April.”

“Got a picture? I can’t place the name.”

She handed me one. Yuck. Ugly.

“Yuck. Ugly,” I said.

“She’s dead.”

“Then she’d smell bad too.”

“Do you remember her?”

“Not offhand. No. But then I have a hard time remembering last week. How long has it been, Jackie?”

“Not long enough.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

A while ago Jack and I had a misunderstanding. Since she was a bit bitchy, she had trouble learning how to forgive. Nice boobs, though.

“If you don’t feel like cooperating…” Jack said.

“You’ll drag me in. Can’t it wait? I was watching the new
Snow White
DVD, the director’s version with the extra footage. The gang-bang scene is next.”

It featured the eighth dwarf, Sodomy. He played a big part in the end.

Man, I’m funny.

“Do you keep files?” Jack asked.

“Sure. At the office.”