PART LV - BULLETS FULL of GRATITUDE

Ed raised his gun. "No body come any closer!"

The security guards dropped behind the tables and tipped them over, forming shields. Wanderer, Music Man, and Moon Runner just looked around. Wanderer said, "Ed, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Protecting my interests. Get down, you moron, there's going to be shooting!"

"That's another thing," said Wanderer, "where did you get those guns?"

"I always had them."

"Okay, where did you hide those guns?"

"In several places on my person where nobody would ever look."

"I see... No I don't."

"Well I'm not about to show you right now. Just get down for crying out loud!"

"Who do you want to shoot?"

"Not you, fool, but it can be arranged, now get down." Ed backed towards a door.

Moon Runner started chanting and waving his hands, and Music Man dove for cover. Ed pointed the gun at Moon Runner.

"Don't try that magic bull shit on me, you red-skinned-red-commie-red-daemon-worshipping-drug-fiend!"

Moon Runner stopped, and frowning, said, "I do know you, kimo sabe."

"That's right, Satan-Shaman, and before I step out I'm taking you out. And don't try any of this kissing the sky bullshit."

Wanderer was moving his fingers back and forth as if counting up a complex total. "Ed, what the hell is this about?"

"It's about national security and a decent, conventional, Christian way of life. Now get down, you idiot!"

"Just who the hell do you think you are?"

"He's the Secret Assassin," said Moon Runner.

"He's what?"

Ed rolled his eyes. "Great move, Medicine Man, now I have to waste everybody!" He pulled out the Cadillac of Mini-guns and leveled it.

The door behind him burst open, knocking Ed to the floor, where he hit his head on a roulette wheel that had fallen in the confusion. Roger Harpell stepped through the door, looking very puzzled. "What is this, I have a casino in my house, too?"

"Who are you, kimo-sabe?"

"Oh, Hi I'm Roger Harpell. Who is the unconscious guy?"

"The Secret Assassin," said Music Man.

"Oh. Not very secret, is he? So, where are we, anyway?"

Wanderer said, "Las Vegas, where else?"

"Say what?!"

"What were you expecting, Kimo-Sabe?"

"I was just asking where in my house we were."

"Your house?" asked Moon Runner and Wanderer together.

"Yeah, I..."

Music Man got up and dragged Wanderer and Moon Runner to the door. "Look, Roger, we'd love to chat, but this guy here on the floor wants to kill us, so can we follow you back?"

"Uh, sure." They stepped back through the door and shut it.

Ed started to come to. "Wha the... now where the fuck did they go?"

As he asked this, a brilliant flash erupted, and most of the room ignited. Ed was left standing in a blackened waste land. A large bird and a beautiful girl stood before him.

"What the fuck are we doing here?" asked Pheonix.

"Looking for Moon Runner Hendrix," said Raquel.

"You just missed him," said Ed.

"Really? Where'd he go?"

"Fucked if I know. I was about to blow him away when somebody hit me from behind."

"You what?!"

"I said..."

"I heard what you said! Pheonix, toast this mother fucker!"

"Why?" asked Pheonix.

"Yeah, why?" asked Ed.

"He tried to kill Moon Runner!"

"Oh, shit, are you his squeeze?" asked Ed.

Both Raquel and Pheonix glared at Ed. "How well done do you want him?" asked Pheonix.

"Oh, fuck!" Ed slapped a button on his shirt. "Unlimited, one to zap up!"

PART LIV - LOOKING for the LIBRARY

Roger Harpell collected his notebooks and set off in what he hoped was a southerly direction from the Entry Cathedral. His précis for his thesis was due in three weeks, and so far the library at school was missing more pages than it had. According to a scrap of printout he'd found in the kitchen, this house had a well stocked library... somewhere.

Down a narrow hallway were several doors on both sides, each made of a different wood and style. Upon reaching the first door on the left, he took a deep breath and pulled the ornate west Indian handle. Inside was a bathroom that looked much more stable than the previous one he had used.

Roger closed the door again and turned to the door on the right side of the hallway. It was heavy oak with a carving of King Henry III in a clown suit. With a strange feeling that this wasn't the right door, he opened it anyway. Upon opening the door fully, he was greeted by Bip the Michelin Man who had a great set of tires under his left arm.

"Hi. Are you the new owner?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Interest you in a set of white walls?"

"No, I don't have a car, and I really can't see putting them under the TV."

"Oh. How about a position as manager for the Cleveland Indians?"

"How stupid do I look?"

"Alright, alright, I had to try!"

"It's alright. You don't happen to know where the library is, do you?"

"Hey, man, I'm a cartoon. I don't read much, y'know what I'm saying?"

"I guess... but that doesn't mean you can't know where the place is."

"Well I don't. I can sell you a road map to the continental United States though."

"I don't think that'll help. Thanks anyway." Roger closed the door and hurried down the hall. At the end, it turned left, and so did Roger. He followed it through an arch, and found himself on the field of a baseball stadium. He looked about; there were twenty-five decks of seats, and far above he could see open sky. The white lines seemed to be made of a strange sort of powder. He kneeled down to get a closer look, but couldn't identify it. The base bags were easier; they were either silk or rayon.

"Uncle Sturmgosse must have been a hell of a baseball nut. Emphasis on the `nut'."

Roger looked around the decks and in the dug-outs. Empty. The whole place was barren, then he noticed a pair of legs sticking out from behind the tarp roll. Approaching the pair of legs, Roger noticed they quivered as if the upper body was working on something. The man was in a suit, and appeared to be working on a pump under the first row of seats.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh what the hell do you want ya blasted runt?"

"Umn, I'm the new owner of this house.."

"Well, there goes the bloody dimension."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Klaus!"

"Ahh, the grounds keeper!"

"No, the mechanic. Of course I'm the grounds keeper, you dumkopf!"

"Ya know, your job isn't exactly unassailable, Klaus."

"My job is what?"

"Negotiable."

"Huh? Talk sense, you twit!"

"The point is you probably shouldn't piss off the boss."

Klaus pulled out from under the seats. "Oh, well, if you're going to stand on the employer-employee relationship, sir, you should know that I'm owed one hundred thousand dollars in back pay."

"What!?"

"Yer uncle never quite got around to paying me," said Klaus, disappearing under the seats again. "So, either pay me or piss off."

"Uh, yeah." Roger didn't think his student loan would cover that kind of check. "By the way, you wouldn't know where the library is, would you?"

"Of course I do."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Where is it?"

"Lift up home plate and follow the tunnel. Just get out of my hair, numb nuts."

Roger shook his head and wandered over to home plate, which turned out to be a manhole. He yanked it up, and found a set of red-carpeted stairs going down. He started down to find that the carpet was soaked. Roger lost his footing and slid to the bottom of the stairs where it turned into a chute, and he continued to slide around corners and then into a small wire grating, which fortunately popped out of the wall, and Roger landed on the floor. Shaking his head and trying to settle his stomach, Roger looked around a dimly lit room filled with rows upon rows of book shelves. A row of tables ran along the one wall. Several other people sat at these tables reading diligently.

Roger approached the first person. It was Abraham Lincoln and he was reading some of the original works of Ayn Rand.

"Excuse me...Abe?"

Abe slowly turned to him with a scowl and pulled a finger up to his mouth in a gesture to shoosh.

Walking further along the table, Roger found King Arthur thumbing through the Magna Carta. He sat in full armor with the sword Excalibur at his side. Roger decided not to bother him.

After passing Ghenghis Kahn (reading up on advanced macrame) and Queen Victoria (checking out a book on the latest sexual techniques and their use in unarmed combat), he ran across a distinguished looking gentleman wearing a brown suit and perusing a book on comparative religion as pertaining to property rights and regulations.

"That's an odd subject, isn't it?"

"Perhaps, my boy, but that really depends on one's faith. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Rodney Locke, Barrister and Solicitor." Rodney extended his hand.

Roger shook it, saying, "Roger Harpell."

"Ahh, Sturmgosse's nephew, glad to meet you, me boy. So, what brings you here?"

"Well, I just inherited the place, so I thought I'd do some research for my thesis."

"Inherited? Interesting, I wasn't aware Sturmgosse had died."

"That's okay, I wasn't aware he'd lived until a week ago."

"Touché. Well, I'd best let you get back to your studies. If you should need any legal assistance, about the house, say, give me a call. My card."

Roger took the card. "Thanks." He wandered into the stacks, looking for medieval English volumes.

About to put Rodney's card in his pocket, he glanced at it quickly.

Locke, Schtocke & Bahrl

Barristers and Solicitors

Slipping it into his pocket, Roger looked up to see the collected works of Eduardo Madino. He was obviously in the wrong section.

Roger looked left. Then he looked right. To the left was the wall he had fallen through. To the right there didn't appear to be a wall for more than half a mile.

`This place could really use a catalog.'

He wandered down the row, scanning titles. `The Complete Guide to Belly Button Lint.' `A Taxidermy of Presidents.' `Literary Criticism of the Gulf War.' `Morphasite.' `Cyberdoom.' Uncle Sturmgosse's book collection sucked, as far as Roger could tell.

Looking around a corner of the shelf, he saw the rows seemed to go on indefinitely. Millions of books for inquiring minds, or just lost ones.

Travelling down a few rows, Roger inspected some more titles `The Rogues Guide To Bubble Gum Under Cafe Tables.' `Putting Your Typewriter To Work.' `Self-Employment For The Under Nourished.' `How-To Build Your Own Titanic.' Nothing relevant.

And so it went, down the row.

At the end, he found a door. It was made of high tensile steel, and had a giant combination lock. Scratched into the wall beside the doors were the numbers 42, 69, and 812. Roger shrugged and spun the lock to those numbers. The lock clicked.

"What the fuck, let's go for it." Roger opened the door.

PART LIII - PSSST... WANNA BUY a MONK?

At a little known religious retreat in Peru, a new face had appeared on the scene. A face of caring and unsuppressed compassion. It was Licking Linda Lovelace the... Theologian?

Lawrence looked about the courtyard, then up at the lady on his back. "Look, lady, I've heard of trick riding, but this takes the hay bale."

Linda slid off, a crease of puzzlement the size of the grand canyon marring her forehead. "Where the hell are we."

"Now, now, child, one mustn't blaspheme in the house of the Lord," said a voice behind them.

Linda spun around in surprise. Lawrence turned his head quickly and pulled a muscle in his neck.

"Where are we?" asked Linda.

"Peru."

"Oh... Who are you?"

"I am a man of the cloth."

"Oh... I've heard that can be a nasty addiction."

"Excuse me?"

"What do you use? Lycra?"

"No, no... I'm a religious nut."

"Oh... You're into tapestries?"

"Look, My name is Nick "The Noose" Edwards of the Brothers of Perpetual Strangulation."

"That would explain the tight chain around your neck and the squeeky voice."

"Maybe we oughta look for another space warp," said Lawrence in a low voice.

"Who the he... heck are you, anyway, Mr. Ed?" asked Linda.

"No, Lawrence the Arabian, you?"

"Lickin Linda Lovelace."

"The... what title are you using now, anyway?"

"I don't know, I've lost track."

"So," said Nick, "are you here as disciples?"

"Uh, no," said Linda, eying his noose. "We were just leaving."

Nick looked puzzled. "But... no one leaves. The Lord forbids it."

"Yeah, well," said Linda, "you guys are monks?"

"All of us except our leader."

"Yeah, so I guess you'd have a problem with having a woman around, right."

"Not really. Our leader needs a new mistress."

"Uh, sorry pal, I don't swing that way."

"You will find that the Reverend Rhombus swings many ways," replied Nick.

"I don't swing that way either," said Lawrence.

"Oh? Pity. Anyway, you should at least stay for the evening. The Reverend Rhombus is televising a sermon."

"That's the Reverend Jerry Rhombus?" asked Linda.

"Yes it is."

"C'mon Lawrence. I've heard of this guy. He's got crocodiles and man-eating snakes and... well, I don't want to find out what else."

"You think they eat horses?" asked Lawrence.

"You wanna find out?"

They turned to leave. They turned again. And again. Then they turned back to Nick. "What's the deal?" asked Linda. "You guys don't have a front door?"

"Or even a back one?" put in Lawrence.

"No. I told you no one leaves."

"How do they get in?"

"Those who want to get in can."

"How?"

"Faith."

"Ok, Whatever."

Nick then wandered through an archway and down one of the passages. Lawrence and Linda stood there. They stood a little longer. They stood some more. Linda screamed at the top of her lungs, and Lawrence whinnied.

"Oh shit, let's go Lawrence..."

"Ok."

They started through the archway and down a different passage than the one that Nick had taken. They had hardly gone five paces before encountering a dead end.

"Ok, we'll try another way." That was a dead end too.

They all were.

"You ever get the feeling you're in a Kafka novel?" asked Lawrence.

"Who?"

"He was... never mind. It doesn't look like there's a way out."

"I don't believe that."

Lawrence looked up; Linda thought she could see a light bulb turn on over his head. "What do you believe?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Do you believe there's an entrance?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Where?"

Linda rolled her eyes. "Right at the front."

"Where's that?"

"Right there... holy shit! I don't..."

"Don't say it!" said Lawrence.

In front of them was an arch. Beyond it, they could see a mountain path.

"Lawrence, my friend, you are positively handy to have around."

"Yeah, too bad I don't have any hands. Hop on." They rode out.

PART LII - LITTLE GREEN MINERS

Nameless One Jr wandered through the tunnels, looking at the rocks and whistling `Download' by Skinny Puppy. He stopped when he saw a group of small green balls bouncing up and down on the rocks, slowly digging a new tunnel.

"Have any of you seen my father?"

The chief ball bounced over to him. "What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one."

"No one with no name around here. Get lost, kid." He went back to mining.

"But I already am lost."

The balls just kept bouncing and ignored Nameless jr., so he wandered on down the tunnel and found nothing remarkable, until he came across a small gem sitting on the floor. The gem was foreign to this planet and, yes, even this galaxy. Nameless jr. picked it up, not realizing (because he didn't know), that it was the GEM OF KARNATH.

"Put me down, you greasy air-breather you."

Nameless One jr. dropped the gem and stepped back.

"Obedient, aren't you."

"Have you seen my father?"

"What do I look like, a lost and found? Go find him yourself, you whiney freak."

"Hey... my Dad says... you should be nice to people you meet... you know why?"

"No, why?"

"Because... they might have a gun... and kill you."

"Oh. Do you have a gun?"

Nameless One Jr. pulled out a water pistol.

"Oooh, scary."

"It's a gun."

"Well, I don't have to be nice to creatures of any kind because I'm the GEM OF KARNATH!" (an orchestra played stirring music in the background.)

"You're just a rock."

"Just a rock?! Kid, that's like saying the Dark One is just a dude who doesn't like the lights. I'm a very sophisticated rock."

"Yeah... but you're still a rock."

"Yes... wonderful, isn't it?"

"Well... what do you do?"

"Wha... I'm the GEM OF KARNATH!" (more stirring music) "Isn't that enough?"

"No... in school... if you said that... it would only answer the first blank."

"Hmm, guess I'll have to come up with something more impressive."

"Do you do windows?"

"No, but I have done a water heater... what do my sexual habits have to do with it?"

"Huh?"

"Go away, brat."

"Okay." Nameless One Jr. started walking down the tunnel.

"Hey, where ya goin?"

"You told me to go away."

"That was rhetorical."

"Oh. What's that?"

"Well, it's... never mind. Where are you going?"

"I'm looking for my father, The Nameless One."

"Catchy handle. Well don't just stand there, take me with you."

"But you said..."

"Said schmaid, you think I want to stay here?!"

Nameless One Jr looked around. "Why not?"

"Just pick me up, you snot nosed..."

"I do not have a snotty nose... cause I picked it..."

"I don't want to hear about it."

"I wasn't going to tell you about it anyway."

"Thank god. Are we going now or what?"

"Sure!"

Nameless One jr picked up the gem again, and they became the best of friends, which is coincidental to the conclusion of this part.

PART LI - MY ESCARGOT is STUCK in the FAN BELT

Barreling down an abandoned highway, Bob, Neils, and Beepo could hear their stomachs growling over the lost muffler on their 1957 Nash Rambler. Beepo was glancing over a tourist map and mentioned that a French restaurant was up ahead.

"What's it called?" asked Bob.

"Chez Quickies - Le McDonald's du France."

"Sounds... fast," said Niels. "There it is. Let's check it out."

They pulled into the parking lot and spent five minutes trying to find a space that didn't have a Renault or a Citroen in it. Inside, the servers and cooks were wearing striped shirts and berets with little strings sticking out of the top; they all had penciled in moustaches, too. In the corner, a band with the name, `All Those Bozos' on its drum kit was playing `Feelings' on the accordion, harmonica, and mandolin with a monster-bass-drum-back-beat.

They got in line. Beepo said to the server, "I'll have the Coquil St. Jacques with fries to go."

"Anything to drink?"

"A can of the 1768 vintage Beaujolais."

"That'll be $27.36 please."

"Fast but steep... What are you guys having?"

Bob scanned over the menu. "I'll have the escargot au fromage du Kraft and... a stick of your french bread and... a Perrier."

"That'll be $12.92."

Neils approached the counter, "I'll get the filet mignon on a stick... a side order of frog legs... a bottle of espresso... and a tin of Neapolitan for desert."

"That'll be $17.30."

She packed up all the containers into a plastic picnic basket, periodically referring to the packing instructions stamped on the bottom. She also threw in the napkins, bibs, and plastic packages of imitation béarnaise sauce. After exchanging winks with the Bozoettes in the band, they left the restaurant and piled back into the Rambler to eat their lunch.

Beepo's wine exploded in his face. "Damn... is wine supposed to be carbonated?"

"Not in 1768," said Niels, biting into his filet on a stick and getting béarnaise sauce on his shirt.

Bob was chasing his lunch. "Man, for snails these things sure are quick."

"Must be getting lubrication from the cheese," said Beepo.

They finished the meal and were about to leave when a young lady in a short black dress with white frills came in and started cleaning the slops up.

"Uh, excuse me, but, who are you?" asked Beepo.

"The complementary French maid," said the girl. "Une moment."

"This place isn't bad," said Bob staring at the maid's mamories.

"Do you clean shirts?" asked Neils

"Only when people aren't in them.

All three instantly took their shirts off.

"Mon Dieu, you should all eat more."

Bob said, "What do you expect? We're Quantum Mechanics, not football players."

"Ah, science geeks." She cleaned the shirts and handed them back. "I have to get back inside now. Have a nice day."

"How can we," said Niels as she left. "All food and no lay..."

Bob put his shirt back on and started the Rambler.

Pulling out of the lot, they accidentally bumped a LeCar. Looking around, they screeched out of the parking lot and back to save the universe from quantum destruction.