{Another Author's Note: Everyone doesn't really start here. I mean, come on, folks. You looked at the character list, right? Let me tell ya, bud, trying to fit all those people into one narrative is bad enough. You want us to put them all into one part? Hah! You'll see that right around the time you see Michael Jackson as President - maybe not even then. I repeat, not everyone starts here. We just had a hard time coming up with a good section title, so this was our compromise position. If you don't like it, sue us, assuming you can actually deliver a subpoena. We regret any inconvenience, etc, etc, et al. Enjoy the rest of the plot.
KDAmery.}
{Still Another Author's Note: It's not to say that our audience has lost the physical capability to deliver a subpoena, though they might after reading this book, but that our audience may never be able to find us. So, if you took that statement the wrong way - sue us!
CWBorysowich.}
{The Last Silly Author's Note: I can't believe you're sucking up to a non-existent audience.
KDAmery.}
Moon Runner Hendrix sat at the bar of The Roach Motel, rolling a joint of Colombian Red. Paisley sat across from him, dipping her fingers in the remains of a drink and watching the water drip back into the glass.
"Want a hit?" asked Moon Runner.
"No thanks, I hate violence."
Moon Runner lit the joint, keeping his eye on her chest. As he inhaled, he thought that, sometimes, the world could be a very good place.
A man in khakis and sunglasses sat at one of the tables in the bar. He watched the pair with a bored demeanour.
Harry, owner and operator of The Roach Motel, also watched them from down the bar. ISO had told Harry about Moon Runner's activities, how he was a Daemon Cultist, drug runner, and communist. Harry believed that like he believed budget estimates. Besides, he had larger troubles; Moon Runner might score with Paisley. Harry hated him for this, because Harry thought Paisley was the living incarnation of love itself, the heiress to the tradition of Venus and Marilyn Monroe. It didn't help that her father, Stormin Normin, would blow his head clean off if anything his person had contact with in the last twenty years ever came into contact with her. This even included air molecules; thus Harry was taking a big chance just being in the same room with Paisley. Even so, Harry refused to let Moon Runner go between thighs he would never see. That wouldn't do, no way. He signalled ISO to move in.
The Secret Assassin burst through the basement door. "Freeze you red-skinned-red-commie-red-daemon-worshipping-drug-fiend!" A gattling gun the size of an El Dorado hung taut in his hands, and Paisley stared in amazement. The man in khakis raised an ironic eyebrow.
But Moon Runner was a fast fuck when stoned. "Excuse me, while I kiss the sky, Kimo-Sabe," and he disappeared.
Paisley blinked. She could have sworn that someone had been sitting in front of her a second before. Moon Unit or somebody, right? Maybe he got up when that guy with the big gun burst in. Paisley hated guns; they promoted violence. She turned and saw Harry sitting in the corner. Flashing a scowl, she ran towards the door. The door swung open and she landed in the arms of a woman. "Whoa, girl," the new comer said. "What's the hurry?"
"I want to get away from Harry."
Lickin' Linda Lovelace the lesbian said, "Come with me, I've got a van with tinted windows..."
The Secret Assassin blinked twice and said, "Fuck me, how'd he do dat? Harry, whatch yoo bin feedin dese ijits, anyway?"
"Dunno, man, he does that a lot."
"Well warn a guy, wouldja?"
"Sorry man, you mean it wasn't in his dossier?"
"Do bears travel warped speed?"
Just then a fizzling image appeared in the middle of the room and materialized as Smokey the Bear. Leaving his freeze frame position, he glanced around the room.
"Can anyone tell me where Yellowstone is?"
"Sure", Harry said, "go outside and make a left, then follow the smoke. You can't miss it. By the way Ed, how come we're talkin' like hoods?"
"You idiot!" The Secret Assassin screamed. "You just compromised my cover!" He opened fire and annihilated everything in the bar, except Smokey, who zapped up REAL quick.
Harry made a narrow escape through a closed window with fifty bullets in his knees. The left knee won 27 to 23 (hey, we're keeping score). The secret assassin vanished into the shadows from which he had appeared.
The casual observer was not to be found in the wreckage.
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