Holy Rollers - Rogues Gallery

This year's novel

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 04:09:00 +0000

Hello there subscribers and followers. There's a new Holy Rollers novel brewing right now. You can read along over here: http://winkingatdeath.blogspot.com/

Chapter Twenty Nine

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 01:49:00 +0000

Robert Wheeler squinted into the bright light after hours in the dark of the Cadillac’s trunk. When his eyes could tolerate the light, he saw Hep, Scroat and Inktomi looking down at him. Inktomi looked mildly freaked out, while Hep and Scroat looked pissed off. Scroat more so than Hep.

Hep grabbed Robert and pulled him out of the trunk. Robert looked around, and realized he had no idea where they were. It looked like they were on the moon, or something. The ground was hard and dry mud, and went for miles without interruption in any direction. In the far distance were mountains, which served to make the place seem even more alien.

“Where are we?” Robert asked.

“Smack dab in the middle of the Black Rock Desert. It’s at least a one hundred mile walk in any direction, with nowhere to hide. So if you try to run, we’ll just follow you in the car until you fall over from exhaustion or thirst. Got it?” Hep said. He still had a firm hold on Robert’s arm.

“Yeah, I got it,” Robert said.

Hep let go of him, “Good. So, let’s talk about how it is that Scroat and I came home to find our house on fire, and our housesitter nowhere to be found.”

Robert said, “Well, it’s pretty simple, really. I was invited to a high stakes poker game, and this guy was one of the other players. He cheated, and cleaned me out. Seventy thousand dollars! So I paid him a little visit. I just wanted to have a nice little chat about how he was going to give my money back, or I’d see to it he never played poker in any of the big games again. Well, after he called me variety of rotten names and told me to go fuck myself, I got a little pissed off. He slammed the door in my face, and I left. I went back a couple days later, to try to get my money again. But I discovered he’d run off. And then I learned he’d been house sitting. And then, through some interesting coincidences, I learned whose house he was sitting. And I learned about how his houses have had an unusual tendency to burn down. And I thought, if this house burned down, you two would hunt him down, and all I’d have to do is follow you, and then I’d get my money back.

“Except then you got on a god damned boat, sailing for Alaska! Well, you weren’t going to find Inktomi on the ocean, so while you were drunk, I knocked a hole in Poseidon’s boat and trapped another drunk sailor in one of the lockers on the boat. I figured that would get you kicked off the boat. Then I just had to follow you.

“The Society of the Seven Seals in Minneapolis learned Inktomi was in Las Vegas when they were laying there half-conscious outside a bar. So I hustled out here and I found him, but he ran off again. But then you guys came along, and tracked him down for me.”

Hep and Scroat took a moment to absorb this information. Their house had been burned down by a guy who wanted to find Inktomi. Most of the experiences they’d had over the last month were because of some jackass who wanted them to find Inktomi for him.

“Do you have any idea,” Hep said, “how entirely insane your plan was?”

“Fucking insane,” Scroat said.

Robert didn’t say anything in response. He stared at the ground, expecting bad things to happen to him at any moment.

“Wow, guys, I’m sorry you had to put up with that kind of bullshit from some guy who was trying to find me,” Inktomi said. “I’ll help you rebuild your house.”

“Thank you,” Hep said. “I guess we can’t really blame you, though. Even if you should have, maybe, gotten in touch with us to let us know what was up.”

“Fuck that shit! I can blame him. I can blame both of them. It’s easy!” Scroat said. “I’ve got half a mind to kick both of your asses back and forth across the fucking playa.”

“Easy there, big fella,” Hep said. “Inktomi’s already offered to make good for the damage to our house, and I think I know how Robert here can make the rest right.”

He looked at Robert. “I hope you’re ready for a lot of rainy nights,” he said. Then he looked up at the sky and called “Poseidon! You’re needed here. I think you’ll be interested in what I have to show you.”

Poseidon appeared next to the three of them with a thunderclap to announce his arrival.

“Make this quick, I don’t like to leave the boat unattended for long,” Poseidon said.

“We found out who knocked the hole in your boat. This guy,” Hep said, and pointed at him. “He just admitted to it. We thought it might be just if he helped you out for a while, to repay his debt.”

Poseidon clapped Hep on the shoulder, and said, “I knew you wouldn’t knock a hole in my boat. Not on purpose anyhow.”

The sky darkened, and the wind picked up as his attention shifted to Robert Wheeler
“Now, as for you,” he said to Robert, “Fixing that hole cost me two thousand dollars and a week of sailing, which means I’ve missed the weather window for some of the northernmost parts of the trip I had planned. But I’ve been thinking about doing a circumnavigation anyway, and I need some crew to clean the bottom of the boat and take care of the rest of the maintenance I, frankly, don’t like doing. You’ll do.”

“What if I say no?” Robert said.

“Well, it doesn’t take much prompting to get Ares to kill someone. Usually we can’t even finish asking before he’s gone and killed the person. We could get him involved,” Hep said. “I’m nearly certain he’s got the time.”

“Looks like I’ll be going sailing then,” Robert said.

Poseidon grabbed his arm, and said “It sure does.”

The two of them vanished. The sky cleared up again, and Hep, Scroat and Inktomi were alone on the playa.

“So,” Hep said, “should we head back to Vegas?”

“Fuck yeah!” Scroat said.

Inktomi closed the Cadillac’s trunk, and the three of them got in. It was a long drive back to Pahrump to get their bikes, so they didn’t waste any time.

“Hey Hep,” Inktomi said, “How come all the rest of you Greek types can appear and disappear whenever they want, but you can’t?”

Hep laughed and rubbed at his temples. “I can, but for some reason I get the worst hangover in the world when I do it. So I try not to.”

“That’s a real drag. It seems like it would be a handy skill,” Inktomi said.

“I dunno. If you can appear whenever you want, people expect you to actually show up right away when they call you,” Hep said.

“Good point,” Inktomi said.

They arrived in Pahrump a few hours later, back at the casino where they’d left their bikes. Hep told Inktomi they would catch up with him on Fremont Street in Las Vegas.

Hep and Scroat started their bikes. Before they rolled out, Scroat said, “I don’t suppose we could go back to that brothel?”

“Probably not for a while, Scroat,” Hep said. “I suspect we freaked them out a bit earlier, what with the gun and the tying a guy up and stuffing him in the trunk.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Too bad. I think one of those girls was into me,” Scroat said.

“I think that’s wishful thinking,” Hep said.

“Whatever. You’re just jealous,” Scroat said.

They pulled back on to the main drag, and rode towards Las Vegas. An hour later, they’d parked their bikes and were searching for a cocktail and a good time.

They stayed two days, made and lost a great number of friends they couldn’t remember, and generally blew off the steam that had been gathering for the last month. On the third day, though, it was time to head home.

But first, they had to deal with a surplus of motorcycles. Hep and Scroat’s bikes were still in Ares’s care in Los Angeles. Hep hated to leave the bikes in L.A., and Scroat hated to leave the bikes with Ares. Between the two of them, they came up with a plan for what to do with the bikes they were on right now.

Sixteen hours later, they were in Brookings, Oregon once more. They parked their bikes outside the bar they’d visited and went inside. At the bar were a dirty blond and a brunette with curly hair, both in impossibly tall heels.

“Can we buy you ladies a drink or two?” Hep said to them.

Samantha and Cindi turned and their faces fell.

“Oh, shit, what the fuck do you guys want now? I thought we were rid of you,” Samantha said.

Cindi had crossed her arms.

“Well, we were in the neighborhood, and thought we’d stop by and give you each a small token of our esteem, for the blanket and the ride,” Hep said.

“It only seemed right,” Scroat said, grinning.

“Really?” Samantha said, skeptical.

“Really,” Hep said. He put the keys to the bikes they’d bought in Bend on the bar in front of them. “They’re parked outside. Titles are under the seats. We were in a tight spot and you helped us out, so, thanks.”

“Is this a scam?” Cindi asked.

“Nope. Now, can we buy you a couple of drinks?”

Samantha smiled. “Sure, but we’re not going back to any boats again.”

“A-fucking-men,” Scroat said.

Hep and Scroat bummed rides, hitchhiked and rode public transportation the rest of the way back to Los Angeles. Ares was happy to see them when he picked them up at the bus terminal.

“Hey, how was the trip?” he asked.

“Same old shit,” Scroat said. “Drunkenness, violence and kidnappings.”

“Man, sounds like I missed out on a good time,” Ares said.

“Not so much,” Hep said.

Their bikes were under a tarp in Ares’s garage. As expected, both of them started immediately, as if they’d just been running an hour ago.

“Thanks for taking care of our bikes, Ares,” Hep said. “We’ll see you around.”

“Aren’t you going to stay for dinner? I know a killer pizza place,” Ares said.

“Nope. It’s time to get back home and take care of things there,” Hep said.

“Well, you know, if you need something, or something needs killing, I’m usually around,” Ares said.

“Thanks again. See ya,” Hep said. He and Scroat pulled out of Ares’s garage, and started the long ride home.

They arrived back on their property about seven hours later. There wasn’t much left, but Hep was happy to see that his anvil and forge were still there and just fine, apart from being covered in soot.
And there was a new addition on their land. A thirty foot travel trailer. Neither Hep nor Scroat recognized it. Hep walked up and found a note on the front door. It was from his neighbors down the way.

Figured this would be better than a tent while you rebuild. The key is on top of the door frame. Stop by when you get back and say hello.

“Well, that was awfully nice of them,” Hep said. He found the key, and opened up the trailer. He and Scroat went inside to check it out. Apart from smelling like cigarettes and dogs, with carpet right out of the seventies, it was pretty nice.

It would do for now.

The End.

Nanowrimo 2010 Winner! Final word count: 50,019.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter Twenty Eight

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 03:58:00 +0000

The interior of the casino looked like any other, except for the people inside. Hollywood tells us that Las Vegas casinos are full of glamorous people celebrating their own glamor, reality tells us that it’s actually mostly retirees and ordinary people plugging their money into machines for thirty seconds, or less, of adrenaline. Hollywood doesn’t tell us, however, that outside of Las Vegas are the casinos where the people who aren’t fit for Last Vegas go. Cut rate casinos for cut rate people. This is where you’ll find small time hustlers, junkies, drop outs and the rest of the bottom of the barrel.

Scroat felt right at home.

The two of them wandered through the casino as they had in Las Vegas, looking for Inktomi. He would be easy to spot; he would be the one who wasn’t strung out, drunk, or retired.

They found him playing blackjack at a table with no one else. As he finished a hand, Hep and Scroat sat down on either side of him, and stared directly at him.

“Hey buddy, I think it’s time you took a break for a while,” Hep said to Inktomi. The dealer discreetly vanished, although ten cameras were trained on them, watching their every move. “What do you say we step outside?”

“Hep! Scroat! Man, you wouldn’t believe how relieved I am to see you two,” Inktomi said.

“You’re right, I probably wouldn’t. Would you mind telling me what happened to my house?” Hep said.

“Yeah, OK,” Inktomi said. “I think it would be better if we went outside though.” He then whispered, “They can hear every word we say in here, you know.”

“After you, then,” Hep said. The three of them got up and went through the casino to the front door. Outside there was a fresh batch of low-lifes leaning against the wall, smoking, talking on the phone, making deals and trying to hook up with whatever or whoever they needed.

“Why don’t we go for a ride?” Inktomi said, and gestured towards his car.

“Sweet. Let’s roll over to this brothel,” Scroat said, and waved the flier he’d gotten while talking to Coyote. “I’ve got enough cash I bet I can talk them into four for two!”

Hep rolled his eyes, but Inktomi said “Sure, why not.”

They got into his car and Inktomi started it up. The big V8 came to life, already drinking gasoline like it was water, and he hadn’t even put it in gear yet. He pulled out of the parking spot, and got back on to the main road through town. It felt like the car was floating on clouds. Great, tobacco and oil scented clouds.

Before long they had reached the end of a small road, and there they found the great, glittering brothels. Hep was again overcome by the surreality of a Disney-like building advertising pleasures of the flesh in the middle of the barren desert. But then, where would such a building seem normal?

Inktomi parked, and Scroat practically broke the door off in his rush to get out of the car and into the brothel. He rang the buzzer, and waited. Hep and Inktomi arrived just as the doorman said “Come in,” through a speaker, and buzzed the gate open.

They went inside, and there the unoccupied whores were lined up. The room was dark, and there was a blacklight on, which made it difficult to see anything besides a lot of welcoming skin. The madame greeted them, and asked what their pleasure would be.

Scroat held up his flier and said “I’d like this, twice, please.”

“And you gentlemen?” she said to Hep and Inktomi.

“I think we’ll just just avail ourselves of your bar, if you don’t mind, while he’s busy,” Hep said.

“Right over there, gentlemen,” the madame said.

Hep and Inktomi went to the bar and ordered a couple of drinks, then settled in to a couple of the easy chairs scattered about the room. The bar was brighter than the entryway, but only a little bit. There was a fireplace and, oddly enough, a small library. Hep wasn’t sure if any of the books on the bookshelves had ever been opened, but they definitely gave the bar a little extra class. The bookshelves, bar and tables were all made of dark wood, and the upholstery was all deep red fake leather. It did not escape Hep’s attention that such materials would be easy to wipe clean.

“So,” Hep said, “what happened to my house?”

“Man, I’m so sorry,” Inktomi said. “I was just hanging out, minding my own business, when this guy came to the door. I opened it before I recognized who it was. It was this guy I’d cleaned out playing Texas Hold ‘Em the week before.”

“You were cheating?” Hep said.

“Of course I was cheating, who do you think I am? But I wasn’t cheating all that much. Anyway, he was all bent out of shape, threatening all kinds of crap, so I decked him, and shut the door,” Inktomi said.

He took a sip of his drink, wiped his lips, and continued, “Well, I guess he didn’t take too kindly to that either. I heard him tear off in his car. About an hour later, he came back, and kicked in the door. He had a shotgun, and he demanded that I get out of the house. Well, I wasn’t going to argue with a crazy bastard waving a gun around, so I went outside and right away I could smell gasoline, or kerosene, or something nasty. He kept me at gunpoint, and said ‘this is what happens to people who rip me off,’ and then lit a zippo and threw it onto a puddle of fuel. Then he told me to run, and you’d better believe I didn’t wait for him to tell me twice.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hep said. “My house got burned down because of your gambling problem?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Inktomi said.

Scroat wandered into the bar then, wearing a white bathrobe, flip flops and a shit-eating grin.

“You just wouldn’t believe what a fantastic day I’m having all of a sudden,” Scroat said.

Hep looked at his watch. “Are you done already?”

“Fuck no! That was just round one. I gotta get my strength back, and then it’ll be round too. Excuse me, I need to get a drink,” Scroat said. He went over to the bar.

Hep was about to ask Inktomi another question, when he noticed someone standing in the entrance to the bar, watching them. He turned to see who it was.

It was Robert Wheeler, and he had a small pistol clenched at his waist in his right hand.

“Hello, Hep,” Robert said. “It’s good to see you, yet again. And Inktomi, what a pleasant surprise.”

Scroat was just coming back from the bar with a gin and tonic, when he spotted Robert.

“You! You motherfucker, what the fuck are you doing in my whorehouse? Get out of here before you scare all the girls into a life of purity and chastity,” Scroat said.

“Sorry to disturb you when you were, ahem, relaxing, Scroat, but this couldn’t wait.”

“What couldn’t wait?” Hep asked.

“Well, my meeting with Inktomi, of course. The one where he either gives me the money he owes me, or I kill him,” Robert said.

“How much did you con this guy for?” Hep asked Inktomi.

“Seventy thousand dollars. Isn’t that right, Inktomi?” Robert said.

“Something like that,” Inktomi said. He was staring at the floor next to Robert’s feet.

“Of course, with interest, that brings it up to an even one hundred thousand,” Robert said. “So, let’s talk business, shall we?”

He stepped closer to Inktomi, which gave Hep the advantage he needed to grab Robert and wrestle him to the floor. Robert dropped the gun, and Inktomi kicked it across the room. The bartender watched all of this with some amazement.

“Scroat, get over here,” Hep grunted as he held a struggling Robert Wheeler pinned to the floor.

“What?” Scroat said, still holding his gin and tonic.

“Give me your belt,” Hep said.

“Excuse me?” Scroat said.

Hep reached up with one hand and tore Scroat’s belt free. He used it to deftly tie Robert’s hands behind his back.

“HEY!” Scroat yelled, now clutching his drink in one hand, and keeping his robe closed with the other.

“Sorry,” Hep said. He hauled Robert Wheeler to his feet, and said to Inktomi, “I think we need to go out to your car, don’t you?”

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Inktomi said. “I’ll just, uh, grab that gun.”

He hustled over, picked up Robert’s gun, and stuck it in his pocket. The bartender watched closely, but didn’t say anything. He was ready to call the police if necessary, but only if it looked like blood was actually going to be spilled on the premises. Police reports were bad for business.

“Well, looks like you guys have things under control, so I’ll just stay here and see about my second special,” Scroat said.

“Sorry, Scroat, it’s going to have to be another day. Get dressed and meet us outside,” Hep said.

“Fuck! You fucking guys, always wrecking my good time. Robert, I’ve got half a mind to kick you so hard in the nuts everything you eat for the next year will taste like peanut butter and jelly.”

“Yeah, yeah, Scroat. Clothes! Outside!” Hep said. He pushed Robert outside, while Inktomi followed behind him.

“What are we going to do with him?” Inktomi asked.

“We’re going to put him into the trunk of your car and drive out into the desert and have a nice little chat with our friend Robert here. Maybe we’ll find out a bit about why he thought burning down the house of a couple of gods was a good idea. And maybe we’ll find out how come he kept showing up everywhere we’ve been on this trip,” Hep said.

Inktomi opened the trunk of the Cadillac. It was remarkably clean.

“Look at that, you’ll be riding in comfort, man. Now, you can get in there nicely, or I can cram you in there backwards,” Hep said to Robert.

Chapter Twenty Seven

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 01:26:00 +0000

Hep and Scroat parked their motorcycles in the Binion’s garage. Hep was worn out and hungry, but Scroat’s energy and enthusiasm had no apparent bounds. He was, in fact, dancing somewhat as they walked to the elevator that would take them down to the casino.

“We’re in Vegas! We’re in fucking Veeeegas!” he sang. “Good things come to those who wait!”

“Yes, we’re here. Try to remember we’re looking for Inktomi, not just a good time,” Hep said.

“Who said we can’t have a good time while we look for Inktomi. Besides, it sounds like we’re just going to have to cruise on over to the blackjack tables and grab him. And then it’ll be fucking party time.”

“We’ll see,” Hep said.

“Don’t be a downer, Hep. It’s against the law in Las Vegas,” Scroat said.

The elevator was uncomfortably small, and poorly lit. As soon as the door shut, Hep wished very strongly that he would have just taken the stairs instead. Scroat, apparently, hadn’t noticed.

The elevator reached their floor, and they walked out into a darkly paneled room. There was a stairway at one end of the room with a sign that directed them upstairs for the casino. They went up the stairs, and found themselves stepping back in time to old Las Vegas.

“Oh fuck yeah! Inktomi has fantastic taste,” Scroat said. “Let’s play some blackjack and then go find the hookers.”

“Let’s try to find Inktomi first, OK?” Hep said. The noise and crowd in the casino was a little much for him at the time. He hadn’t eaten or slept for twenty four hours. The wandered over to the blackjack tables, and walked past each table, looking for Inktomi. There was no sign of him. They checked the poker room, with no joy there either.

“Now what?” Scroat asked.

“Now we get some lunch, and hang out a bit, and see what happens,” Hep said.

There just so happened to be a lunch counter in the middle of the casino. Hep and Scroat grabbed a stool, and each ordered a couple of burgers. They had the counter to themselves for the time being, and the guy working the counter didn’t seem eager to converse, so they sat quietly, and watched the crowd. Hep was looking for Inktomi, and Scroat was just enjoying the seediness of it all.

Their food was delivered, and they both ate with great enthusiasm. When they were done, the two of them walked through the entire casino, looking for Inktomi. He wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“Maybe he’s in one of the other casinos,” Scroat said. “He might have gotten thrown out of this one, or just decided it didn’t have the right mojo today.”

“Well, it won’t hurt to go check, I suppose,” Hep said. They left Binion’s, and walked down Fremont Street, hoping for a clue, or even a hunch, that would lead them to where Inktomi was holed up.

As they were walking, Hep saw someone he recognized. They walked over to where he was standing, leaning against a wall and watching people walk by.

“Coyote?” Hep said.

“Hey! Hep and Scroat! How are you guys doing? Did you come to Vegas for a little action?”

“Not exactly. How about you?”

“Well, I’ve been running a simple con, until my partner ran off. I haven’t seen her for a couple of days now and I don’t think she’s coming back. No big loss, I guess. This is Vegas. The place is crawling with small time hustlers. But what do you mean you’re not exactly here for action. What are you here for then?”

“We’re looking for Inktomi, have you seen him?” Hep said.

Coyote looked around, as if to see if anyone was listening in.

“He split,” Coyote said.

“Fuck!” Scroat said. “We still get to hang out in Vegas for a while, right Hep? Huh? Don’t we deserve a little fun?”

“What do you mean, he split? Do you know where he went? And why?” Hep said.

“We were playing blackjack, and some guy came up to Inktomi and whispered in his ear. Inktomi looked like he saw a ghost and said he was leaving once we finished the hand,” Coyote said.

“Did he say where he was going?” Hep asked.

“Yeah, he said he was going to hole up in Pahrump, and not to tell anyone where he went. But I figure I can trust you guys,” Coyote said.

“Who was the guy who talked to him?” Hep said.

“I don’t know. Some guy. Looked kind of bookish. A little tubby maybe, and pale,” Coyote said.

“Robert fucking Wheeler. I told you that guy was up to something,” Scroat said.

“It’s not Robert Wheeler. There are tons of tubby, pale nerds in Las Vegas,” Hep said.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure the guy said his name was Robert Wheeler,” Coyote said. “Hey, have either of you got a smoke?”

“See? I told you that guy was up to no good!” Scroat said.

Hep ran his hand over his face. What the Hell was going on, he wondered. It was bad enough that Scroat might have been correct the whole time, but what did this guy they had never even heard of before bumping into him on a highway one night want with them?

“Sorry, no smokes. Are you sure the guy said his name was Robert Wheeler?” Hep said.

Coyote nodded. “Yep, he whispered something into Inktomi’s ear, and then stood up and said something lame like ‘or my name isn’t Robert Wheeler,’ which I figured was a pretty good indication that his name was Robert Wheeler. It’s possible I misheard though. Everyone else at the table was distracted, so I pocketed a bunch of chips the guy next to me wasn’t paying attention to.”

“Well that’s just fucking awesome,” Scroat said. “There’s some psycho who’s been stalking us around the country, and now he’s chasing the guy we’re trying to catch.”

“Did Inktomi say where he was going to hide out in Pahrump?” Hep asked Coyote.

“No, but there are only a couple of motels there, and there aren’t too many people who drive brown Cadillacs from the early eighties anymore. And I don’t think he knows anyone who has a house there, so he should be easy to find.”

“Well, I guess we’d better get to Pahrump, then,” Hep said.

“What? No! We just got to Vegas. Inktomi is holed up there, so we’ll have a day or two before we need to go to Pahrump. We need to stay here!”

Just then a man walked up and handed them each a flyer. “Have a great time in Vegas,” he said.

Hep looked down and saw the flyers were for a brothel in Pahrump. Printed over the photos of barely dressed women was a “2 for 1” offer. He rolled his eyes.

Almost on cue, Scroat said, “You know what? I guess we could go to Pahrump. Priorities, right?”

“Right. Let’s go,” Hep said. “See you later, Coyote.”

“Yeah, man. Good luck. Don’t get in to too much trouble,” Coyote said.

Hep and Scroat went back through Binion’s. Scroat asked if he was sure they couldn’t stay for just a couple hands of blackjack. Hep told him they could gamble after they’d found Inktomi. They rode back up the scary elevator, which had not gotten any more comforting in the last couple of hours, and went over to their bikes.

“So how long of a drive is it to Pahrump?” Scroat asked.

“About an hour,” Hep asked.

“Sweet. In an hour and a half, I’ll be taking advantage of one Hell of a two for one special,” Scroat said.

“If we find Inktomi in less than half an hour, sure.”

The ride to Pahrump took Hep and Scroat over a mountain, and then it turned in to a straight shot across the desert. They started seeing huge, garish billboards for casinos, divorce lawyers, brothels, brothels with art galleries, more casinos, fast food and strip clubs (with brothels attached for your convenience) when they were about twenty miles outside of Pahrump. The juxtaposition between the billboards and the stark, barren desert was jarring, almost surreal.

They passed an RV parked on the side of the highway, selling various kinds of jerky. Hep hoped they’d be done with Pahrump in time to come back this way and buy some.

The first thing they saw when they rolled into town was an enormous strip club, with photos of the dancers twenty feet tall on the outside of the building. Up next was a run down strip mall, and then, curiously, a sign directing them to the Pahrump Winery.

A little further down the road, they found the first motel in town. Like the rest of the town, it looked like it had seen better days. Curious, because it had been built just five years ago.

Hep and Scroat turned into the parking lot, and cruised slowly through, looking for a ratty old brown Cadillac. There didn’t seem to be one, so they got back on to the main drag through town, and rolled on to the next. Once again, there was no sign of Inktomi. They stopped at each motel along the road, with no luck at any of them.

Hep was starting to get a little frustrated, when they turned into the parking lot for Terrible’s Town Casino. The place looked like an old west town right out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon, all bright, garish colors, with just a hint of sleaze. And right there, parked as close as possible to the entrance was an early eighties, brown Cadillac.

“I think this might be the place,” Hep said. He and Scroat found a parking spot, not quite as close to the entrance as Inktomi’s. They shut down their bikes, and walked towards the entrance. Hep felt rather ridiculous heading towards a cartoon casino, though the scummy looking people hanging around outside kept him from letting his guard down to far.

Hep opened the door, and they were hit by a blast of frigid air, and the constant racket of a casino. They walked inside.

Chapter Twenty Six

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 02:36:00 +0000

The ride to Minneapolis took about three and a half hours from Freyja’s house. Hep and Scroat stopped at a gas station to call the guy Freyja said might know where Inktomi was at.

“So who is this guy, anyway?” Scroat said.

“I don’t know. The note just says ‘James’ and has a phone number.” Hep said. “You were there for the whole conversation, so you know as much as I do.”

“Awesome. I bet it’s going to turn out to be that Robert Wheeler guy under a pseudonym.”

“Would you drop the Robert Wheeler thing?”

Hep found a quarter and went over to the payphone. It was on a post on the far end of the sidewalk, and looked like it had seen better days. It gave Hep a dial-tone, however, so he put in his quarter and dialed the number Freyja had given them. The phone rang six times before someone picked up. Hep heard the quarter drop down into the phone.

“Who’s this?” said the voice on the phone.

“This is Hep. Are you James?”

“Yeah. Who’s Hep? I don’t know anyone named Hep. Why are you calling me?”

“I’m a friend of Freyja. She gave me your number.”

“OK, Hep the friend of Freyja. What do you want?”

“Freyja said you might be able to help us find Inktomi.”

There was silence for several seconds. Hep was about to ask if James was still there when he heard him inhale.

“Meet me at Nye’s Polonaise Room in an hour.”

“Um, OK,” Hep said. “How will I know it’s you?”

“I’ll find you. Order a blueberry daiquiri. I’ll look for the guy with the girly drink. See you in an hour.”

The phone clicked.

“Rude,” Hep said. He put back the handset, and turned back to Scroat.

Scroat looked at him as though he was waiting for him to say something.

“So?” Scroat said. “Is he going to help us out, or what?”

“I think so,” Hep said. “We’re supposed to meet him at some place called Nye’s Polonaise Room.”

“And then?”

“And then I guess he’s going to help us out. Or kidnap us, torture us and murder us. He wasn’t very specific. I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

“Great. I love mysterious meetings with people we don’t know. They always turn out so well.” Scroat said.

Across the street, lined up outside the entrance to a bar having a smoke, were a group of young men dressed mostly in black, in black trenchcoats, with black sunglasses. They seemed to be watching them. Hep noticed them, and waved. The group across the street did not wave back.

“Friendly here, aren’t they? Minnesota nice my sweaty ass,” Scroat said.

Hep looked up the street a ways, and noticed another couple people in black trenchcoats looking at them. Only this bunch were on the same side of the street as him and Scroat. When he looked back the other way, there were more of them, looking at them.

“That can’t be good,” Hep said. “I think we should get out of here before we find out what they want.”

The two of them hustled back to their bikes, started them up, and sped away. Hep kept a close eye on his rear view mirrors, checking to see if anyone was following them. He rode erratically, which frustrated Scroat, making sudden turns, lane changes and u-turns. In the course of the evasive maneuvering, they passed Nye’s. Hep made a mental note of where Nye’s was located.

When he was satisfied, they weren’t being followed, he pulled over to the side of the road on an empty street.

“What was that all about?” Scroat asked. “Do you know how hard it is to keep up with you when you’re pulling that kind of shit?”

“Yes, that was the point. I wanted to make sure we weren’t being followed.”

Scroat looked over his shoulder, and saw only empty road.

“Yeah, well, I guess we either ditched them, or no one was following us, huh?” he said.

“So it seems. Let’s go to Nye’s I guess,” Hep said.

Stepping into Nye’s was like stepping back in time to 1964. It was dimly lit, but the lights that were there were very colorful indeed. There was an organ in the corner, with it’s own bar around it, and an older woman was playing the organ and singing. There were plenty of dark tables with red vinyl chairs. It was perfectly, almost comically, sleazy, as any proper bar should be.

Hep and Scroat got a table, and a surly waitress came over to take their order.

“What can I get you, gentlemen?” She said.

“A blueberry daiquiri, and two beers,” Hep said. Scroat looked at him like he was insane. “There’s a reason,” Hep said, as if that explained the purpose of the blueberry daiquiri perfectly.

“Uh, I’ll see what the bar can do on that daiquiri. What kind of beer do you want?”

“I don’t know. What’s local, and good?”

“Well, we’ve got Summit in bottles, and Grain Belt Premium on tap.”

“I guess we’ll have Grain Belt Premium, then,” Hep said.

“I’ll have those for you in a minute,” she said, and walked away, leaving Hep and Scroat to enjoy the oddity of the place.

“You’d think this place would be chock full of hipster douchebags,” Scroat said.

“Yeah. I guess they haven’t gotten word about it.” Hep said.

They’d already had three beers, and the blueberry daiquiri, which the waitress had dropped off with obvious disgust, was now mostly just blueberry juice and rum, with an umbrella in it, when a guy in blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a biker jacket came over to the table and sat down.

“So which one of you is Hep,” the guy said.

“I am. You must be James,” Hep said.

The waitress came over to their table then.

“You want something to drink?” she asked James.

“Rum and Coke,” he said.

The waitress went away, and James said to Hep and Scroat, “So, what do you want with Inktomi?”

“Why should we tell you anything? We don’t know shit about you, asshole,” Scroat said. “Just tell us how to find him and go away.”

“I make it my business to know things. Right now, I know where you might find Inktomi, but I don’t know anything about you guys, except that you’re friends with Freyja. So, what do you want with Inktomi?”

Hep said, “Our house burned down after he’d stayed in it. We want to know if he’s OK, and then we want to know if he had anything to do with it.”

James sat back, and said, “Oh, he stayed in your house in Arizona. I’d heard he was going to Arizona, but didn’t know where he was staying. Yeah, as of last week, he’s still alive and relatively healthy. Are you guys good friends? He doesn’t talk about you too often.”

Hep looked over at Scroat, who seemed a touch pissed off.

“We’re not good friends anymore. Just old friends. Scroat here offered the house to him while we were traveling. We got back to find our house in flames.”

“Well that’s a real bummer. I guess you’ve got a compelling reason to find him then,” James said. He paused, then said, “You’re not going to kill him are you?”

“Depends on how we’re feeling when we see the fucker,” Scroat said.

Hep elbowed him in the side, then said to James, “No, we’re not going to kill him. We just want to know what happened to our house.”

“All right then, I might be able to tell you how to find him,” James said. “Man, I need a smoke though. Do you guys want to go outside and chat for a minute?”

“Sure, whatever,” Hep said.

James held up his pack of smokes when the waitress started to protest about them leaving, and said “we’ll be right back.”
Daylight was nearly blinding when they stepped out of the dark bar. They walked a short distance away from the door.

James took out a lighter and a cigarette, and had just put the flame to the cigarette when a group of young men dressed in black came around the corner.

“Oh, fuck,” Scroat said. Hep and Scroat turned to walk in the other direction, and found their path blocked by another bunch of young men in black clothes.

“What? What the hell do you want?” Hep asked them.

“We have a score to settle,” one of the young men said.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We’ve never even seen you guys,” Scroat said.

“You’ve met our brothers in South Dakota, I believe,” the young man said.

“Well, if they wouldn’t have been such dicks, we probably wouldn’t have bothered them,” Scroat said. “Fuck you guys. Fuck off back to your mom’s basement to play World of Warcraft or whatever it is you losers spend all your time on.”

“I think we need to teach you some manners,” the young man said. The other young men advanced on Hep, Scroat and James (who was trying his best to hide behind Hep and Scroat).

“Good fucking luck with that, bitches,” Scroat said.

One of the young men reacted by throwing a punch at him. A mistake, he would learn, as his brothers in South Dakota had learned. Scroat dodge the punch easily, grabbed the young man’s head, and drove it into his knee.

“OK, bitches, who’s next?”

The Minneapolis chapter of the Society of the Seven Seals swarmed on Hep, Scroat and James, or at least attempted to. The fact is, a bunch of inexperienced kids just aren’t much of a match for two gods who have centuries worth of brawling experience.

“I kind of feel bad beating up people so young,” Hep said to Scroat.

“Yeah, but they’re all soft and rubbery and fun to punch. I just can’t help myself,” Scroat said.

James watched all of this, unable to escape, with a mix of awe and horror.

Eventually there was only one member of the Society of the Seven Seals still conscious and standing, staring down two pissed of deities. Showing wisdom far beyond that of his companions, he turned and ran.

“See?” Scroat said, “And people are worried about the kids of today. They have at least a little bit of sense.”

They turned around to look at James, who was busily digging in his pockets, looking for a fresh smoke. He produced a cigarette, and lit it with shaky hands.

“That,” he said, and took a drag, “was some crazy shit.”

“Yeah, I know. So, I believe you were going to tell us where Inktomi is,” Hep said.

James took a look at the Society of the Seven Seals, spread around on the sidewalk. Some of them were coming around, getting up, and running off without looking back.

“You’re not going to do this,” he gestured at the aftermath with his cigarette, “to him, are you?”

“Not unless he really, really deserves it,” Hep said.

“Good enough, I guess,” James said. He took another drag, and said, “He’s in Las Vegas, counting cards or some shit like that. You’ll probably find him at Binion’s Horseshoe. He likes the burgers there, and he doesn’t care too much for the strip.”

“Great, thanks,” Hep said. He turned and went back in to Nye’s to settle their tab. Scroat followed him in.

“See?” Scroat said. “I fucking told you we should have gone to Vegas.”

“Shut up, Scroat,” Hep said. He paid their tab, and the two of them went back outside, where James was finishing up his smoke.

“See you round, James” Hep said as he walked past.

“Yeah, later,” Scroat said.

“What the hell? You’re not even going to buy me a drink?” James said.

“Nope,” Hep said. He and Scrout got on their bikes, and pointed them towards Vegas. They had a twenty six hour ride ahead of them, and it was time to get moving.

Chapter Twenty Five

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sun, 28 Nov 2010 08:07:00 +0000

Hep and Scroat turned in for the night around midnight. Hep was extremely grateful for another comfortable bed. The sheets were soft and smelled clean, which was a very welcome change of pace. He quickly fell asleep.

Soon, he began to dream. At first, he was standing on a seashore. The sky was so dark it was nearly black. The seas were rough, and wave after wave crashed on the shore. There was a cold wind blowing, and it whistled in an eerie way, although in looking around Hep couldn’t identify anything for it to whistle through. The beach was endless in all directions, except for the ocean in front of him. The sand was perfectly smooth, and he could see the horizon anywhere he looked.

Apart from a strong feeling of foreboding, and a concern that he was about to get caught in a storm, there didn’t seem to be anything of interest going on.

There was a crunching sound behind him. Footsteps. He turned, and saw Scroat walking towards him.

“Hey Hep,” Scroat said.

“Hey. What are you doing in my dream?”

“What are you doing in my dream is what I want to know,” Scroat said. “There I was, enjoying the company of two ladies, one of whom was painted entirely blue, and now I’m stuck on some fucking beach lookng at your ugly mug. So, what do you want? Can I go back to my dream?”

“I didn’t bring you here. You can leave if you want to,” Hep said.

“I think I will. See ya,” Scroat said. He stood there a moment. Then a moment longer.

“Are you leaving?” Hep asked.

“Well, I thought I was. Seems like I’m stuck here in your dream,” Scroat said. He took a look around. “So... is this what you usually dream about? Kind of dull, isn’t it? A little depressing too. Maybe you should get some therapy.”

“This isn’t my usual dream, no. I dream about... nevermind what I dream about. Anyway, this isn’t a dream I’ve had before,” Hep said.

There was something in the distance on the water, barely visible at first, but getting bigger by the second. A ship. A great sailing vessel of old. In a matter of minutes it was just offshore, oddly still in tthe crashing waves.

“Fuck. Another fucking boat. You do realize I could be having freaky dream sex with a blue chick right now, don’t you?”

“I told you I didn’t bring you here,” Hep said.

“It’s still your fault,” Scroat said.

Hep closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them he discovered he and Scroat were standing on the deck of the ship. There were a lot of irritated looking sailors surrounding them.

“Hey fellas,” Scroat said. “Anyone seen a blue chick? She seems to have gone missing.”

“You are not welcome here, Hephaistos and Bama Pana,” said one of the sailors. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like a pirate. Peg leg, eye patch, bandanna and a red sash.

“Great! We’ll be leaving then. Have a nice sail,” Hep said.

“No jokes!” the pirate said. “You are not welcome near any great body of water. Get away, or we’ll come for you.”

Hep and Scroat looked at each other, then at the motley assortment of sailors on board. There were men dressed in clothes that went out of fashion three thousand years ago among men wearing recent Navy uniforms.

“And who are you, exactly?” Hep asked.

“Ghosts of those claimed by the sea. We are her servants now,” the pirate said.

“Oh, well fuck, I was worried you were someone who might actually be a threat,” Scroat said.

One of the other sailors, a man with an enormous moustache and dressed in the uniform of the yachting elite from eighty years prior, suddenly stepped forward and punched Scroat in the gut. The air whooshed out of him, and he gasped.

Hep was taken aback. He’d never seen a ghost actually attack a god before, and actually make contact. Then he remembered they were in a dream.

“Hey, let’s take it easy here,” Hep said. “We’ve been trying to stay away from the ocean, but most of the damned planet is water. We can’t avoid it all the time.”

The pirate stepped closer to him. “Stay away, you are not welcome here.”

The pirates breath reeked of decay. Hep pulled back a little bit, and closed his eyes. When he opened them once more, he discovered they were in the kitchen at Freyja’s house. Except the ceiling was missing, and the sky above was still nearly black and threatening rain.

“Where the fuck are we now?” Scroat said. “This has gone about far enough, I think. You guys pulled me away from two horny dream women to threaten me on a damn boat? I was already happy to stay away from the damned oceans. Fuck the oceans, I say!”

“What the Hell are you doing in my house?” Freyja said. She came in to the kitchen wearing a cloak of falcon feathers, and carrying a sword.

The sailors turned to look at her. “You were not called,” the pirate said. “This does not concern you.”

“It concerns me when it’s in my house,” Freyja said. “Leave now, or you will feel the sting of my sword. Away! Back to Poseidon with you!”

Rather than leave, the sailors attacked her. Hep and Scroat didn’t waste a moment in joining the fight against the sailors. Hep grabbed a sailor, dressed like a Navy officer from the early 1800’s, and threw him against the far wall. The ghost slumped to ground, apparently unconscious.

“I had no idea a ghost could get knocked out,” Hep said to Scroat, who was busy fighting a sailor of his own.

When he had a moment, Scroat said,”I didn’t either. You have some fucked up dreams, Hep.”

Freyja was making quick work of the other sailors, and soon the dream kitchen was littered with mangled ghosts and collateral kitchen wreckage from the brawl. Freyja picked up the pirate’s head, and said to it, “Do not return to my house. You are not welcome here.”

She dropped the head, and smiled at Hep and Scroat. “There, I think that’s taken care of. You can go back to your own dreams now.”

With that, she was gone, as was Scroat, and Hep slept a dreamless sleep for the rest of the night.

Hep was relieved the following morning, when he found the kitchen had not been destroyed in the real world. Freyja joined him in the kitchen shortly after he had poured himself a glass of water.

“That was some dream you had last night,” she said.

“Yeah, I guess,” Hep said. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

“No need to be sorry. I don’t tolerate bullies in my house, especially bullies that smell like a dead fish’s asshole. So, are you in the mood for some breakfast? I could whip up some pancakes, bacon and eggs.”

“That would be great,” Hep said.

Right around the time Freyja had finished making breakfast, Scroat wandered in to the kitchen, yawning and scratching the back of his head.

“Good morning,” Freyja said to him.

“Morning,” Scroat said. “Man, I had the craziest dream last night. I dreamt that somehow I wound up in your dream, and we had to deal with a bunch of ghost pirates or some shit like that. But then our host showed up and kicked their asses.”

Freyja and Hep both stared at him.

“What? It was just a dream, right?” Scroat said.

“Incredibly enough, we all had the same dream last night,” Hep said.

“Oh,” Scroat said. Then, “Shit, So I really did blame you for pulling me out of a dream involving a blue woman?”

“Yep,” Hep said.

“Fuck. That’s kind of embarassing,” Scroat said.

“It sure is,’ Hep said. “But, hey, we still like you.”

“More or less,” Freyja said.

“Awesome,” Scroat said. “So, what’s for breakfast? You wouldn’t happen to have any cheese curds, would you?”

“Cheese curds for breakfast?” Freyja said. “I can’t think of anything more stomach churning than that.”

“Whatever. You can’t tell me that cheese curds with bacon and a cup of coffee wouldn’t be, more or less, the greatest fucking breakfast ever,” Scroat said.

“If you say so,” Hep said. “Anyway, Freyja is making pancakes, bacon and eggs. Want some coffee?”

After they’d eaten, Freyja asked them what their plan was.

“Well,” Hep said. “I guess we’ll just had to ride on South, and see if anyone down there might know where Inktomi is. I think he spent some time in Saint Paul recently. Someone there must know, or at least have a decent theory, about what happened to him.”

“I suppose that’s all you can do,” Freyja said. She paused, then said. “Hang on, I’ve got an idea. I’ll be right back.”

She left the kitchen, and Hep and Scroat could hear her rummaging through something elsewhere in the house. She came back with an address book and a stack of yellow sticky notes.

“There’s a guy I know in the Twin Cities who might be able to help you. I’m not sure, but he’s pretty well connected, generally speaking. At the very least, he might be able to put you in touch with someone else who knows for sure where Inktomi is.”

“Wow, that would be great,” Hep said.

Freyja flipped through several pages in her address book, muttered “Ah ha!” and started copying out the phone number. When she was done, she handed the sticky note to Hep.

“Here you go. This guy should be able to help you out. You’ll be well on your way to finding Inktomi in no time.”

“Great, thanks a lot!” Hep said. “And thanks for your hospitality too. You’ve really been far too kind.”

“Well, like I said, I haven’t had any company in ages. It’s nice to have someone visit. You should feel welcome here any time,” Freyja said.

“I really appreciate that. We’ll definitely stop back some time,” Hep said. “Once we’ve got our house rebuilt, you’ll have to come visit us in the desert.”

“That would be nice,” Freyja said. “Now, enough chit-chat. You two need to get rolling if you’re going to make it to the Twin Cities and find Inktomi today.”

Chapter Twenty Four

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sun, 28 Nov 2010 02:34:00 +0000

Finding Freyja’s house took Hep and Scroat about twenty minutes. It was a charming little yellow house, with carefully tended landscaping. The driveway ran up next to the house, where there was a side entrance. When they parked, they were able to see a pen with a boar in Freyja’s back. The boar was laying along the side of it’s pen closest to the driveway, and watched Hep and Scroat with lazy interest.

“Hey there, Bacon,” Scroat said. “Are you going to be joining us for dinner tonight?”

Hep smacked him on the shoulder, and said, with some urgency, “That’s not a good boar to taunt.”

“Whatever. Just kidding, boar!” Scroat said.

The two of them went to the side door of Freyja’s house. The knocker was heavy iron, in the shape of Thor’s hammer. It struck the door with a deep THUMP when dropped.

“I like her knocker,” Hep said.

“Which one?” Scroat said.

“Funny,” Hep said. “Can you try to show a little class while we’re here?”

“I can try, but I have to admit, I’m not likely to succeed,” Scroat said.

They heard footsteps approaching the door, and then Freyja was there, standing in the open doorway. She had long, straw colored hair reaching most of the way down her back, pale, pale skin, and deep blue eyes that seemed to look right through Hep and Scroat. She was almost too beautiful to look at.

“Um, uh, hi, Freyja,” Hep said.

“Yeah, hi,” Scroat said.

“Hello Hep and Scroat. Come in, come in, the coffee has just finished brewing,” Freyja said. She stood aside so they could walk through the door, then shut it behind them. “Welcome to my home. Would you mind taking your boots off?”

“Oh, yeah, OK,” Hep said. He looked around at the room they were in. It seemed they were in her living room. There were a large number of decorations made of woven straw hanging from the walls, as well as painted wooden horses scattered about on shelves and end tables. Freyja had several candles burning, and the room smelled strongly of bread and cinnamon. The furniture looked like it was rarely used, but was spotlessly clean. Impressive, considering there was a large cat laying on the couch, and a similarly sized cat laying on the arm of a chair.

“Let’s go into the kitchen. It’s more comfortable for coffee,” Freyja said. “I’ve got some cookies I just made last night as well.”

She led them into the kitchen. Hep and Scroat followed behind, unable to keep their eyes off of her figure. Her dress was modest, but did not hide the fact that there was a warrior woman underneath.

The kitchen was also spotless. There was a small table with four chairs around it, made out of a light colored wood. The walls were papered with a yellow and white pattern. Her stove looked as though it had been made in the 1950’s. It was very light blue.

“Please, have a seat at the table, I’ll pour the coffee,” she said.

Hep and Scroat sat down, and watched as she poured the coffee, and brought the three mugs to the table on a small tray, along with cream, sugar cubes, and a small plate of ginger cookies. She sat down, and handed each of them a cup of coffee, then offered the cookies

“Thank you,” Hep said, and took one.

“So, you’re looking for Inktomi, huh?” Freyja said. “What on Earth would you want to see him for?”

“I gather you’re not a big fan of his?” Hep said. He took a bite of his cookie, then said, “this is fantastic!”

“No, I’m not a fan of his. I don’t have much time for tricksters, anymore,” she said, and looked pointedly at Scroat. “And bad news always seemed to follow Inktomi. One house after another burnt down. But never mind that. Why do you want to find him?”

“Well, he might have burnt our house down,” Hep said.

Freyja looked surprised, then concerned, and said, “Oh I’m sorry to hear that. I hope no one was hurt.”

“No one that we know of,” Hep said. “There didn’t seem to be anyone around when we got home to find the place burning. And our house is in the middle of nowhere, so it’s not likely anyone was close enough to get hurt anyhow.”

“Well, I suppose that’s good,” Freyja said. She took a sip of her coffee, and primly set her cup down. “So Inktomi just up and disappeared after your house caught on fire?”

“Yeah. He was housesitting while we were traveling, and we got home just in time to watch the last bits of our house burn away. I’m kind of torn between wanting to kick his butt, and wanting to just know he’s OK.”

Freyja gave a sardonic laugh, touched Hep’s hand, and said, “I know exactly how you feel. You haven’t, by any chance, seen Odr during your travels, have you? The son of a bitch disappeared again about two hundred years ago, and I keep hoping to see him again every day, although I’m not sure if I’ll kill him or tear his clothes off when I do see him.” She looked around, as if to see if anyone was listening, and then whispered, “But between you and me, I’ll probably tear his clothes off. I can always kill him later.”

By the time they’d finished their coffee, it was nearly six o’clock. Hep had noticed the clock a few minutes earlier, and was beginning to worry about where they were going to sleep that night. It would be an awfully long haul back to Brainerd, and he didn’t want to impose on Thor’s hospitality. They were no strangers to finding a quiet spot to park and sleeping under the stars, but Hep expected it was going to get pretty cold once the sun had gone down. He tried to recall if there had been a motel in town, or nearby, then figured there must be given all the outdoorsmen who would come up here for hunting season.

For his part, Scroat was just worried about where they would be getting their next meal. He figured they should get moving soon to be sure they could secure another order of fried cheese curds before they had to go to sleep.

Almost as if she could tell what they were thinking, Freyja looked up at the clock and said, “Oh, my, it’s getting late already! You two will have to stay for dinner. I can throw something together quick.”

“No, no, that’s OK,” Hep said. Scroat kicked him under the table.

“It’s no trouble. You must stay. I have some bratwurst and can fry some potatos in no time at all,” Freyja said.

“Well, if you’re sure, that would be great,” Hep said. “Do you need a hand with anything?”

“No,” Freyja said. “Why don’t you go hang out in the living room, and I’ll have dinner ready in no time at all.”
“Great, thanks!”

They went into Freyja’s living room. Hep took a seat on the couch, while Scroat sat on the other chair in the room, the one not occupied by a gigantic cat. The cat that had been laying on the couch got up and climbed onto Hep’s lap, then laid down again. The other cat just stared at Scroat distrustfully.

“Man, none of the pussies in this house have any love for me,” Scroat said.

“You seem to have that problem everywhere,” Hep said.

The smell of cooking onions and sausage had their mouths watering a few minutes later. Before long, Freyja came to the doorway and told them dinner was ready. Hep shooed the cat off his lap as gently as he could. The cat protested with a curt meow, but got up and found a new spot to lay on the couch.

“I see you’ve made another friend, Hep,” Freya said. She smiled slightly.

“I suppose so,” Hep said. “Wow, dinner smells terrific.”

“Well, I hope you’ll enjoy it,” Freyja said.

Along with the bratwurst and potatoes, Freyja poured each of them a large glass of beer.

“I love you fucking Vikings,” Scroat said.

“Well, thank you, I suppose,” Freyja said.

Hep finished a big mouthful of potatoes and sausage and said, “Yum. So, uh, Freyja. I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s with the Suzy Homemaker persona? Don’t you take half the dead from battle?”

Freyja coughed slightly, and took a drink of beer.

“Well, that’s a little forward of you, Hep,” Freyja said. He blushed slightly, but didn’t look away. “But I suppose it’s a fair question. You were probably expecting to find my house was more similar to Thor’s than Betty Crocker’s. And I think there’s a simple answer for that. After several thousand years of being a warrior babe, if you will, a little civility is comforting.”

“Fair enough,” Hep said.

Freyja winked seductively at him. “If you want, we could arm wrestle later.”

After they’d finished eating, and had consumed several more glasses of beer, Freyja asked where the two of them were planning to stay that night.

“I’m not exactly sure. I think we’ll probably just find a motel, or we can always just park and sleep next to the bikes. We’ve done it plenty of times.”

“Well, you won’t be doing any such thing tonight. I’ve got a guest room with two comfy beds in it and I haven’t had a guest in it for years. You two will stay here. It’s decided.”

Hep and Scroat looked at each other. Scroat shrugged.

“Well, OK, that sounds great!” Hep said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Freyja said. “Come on, I’ll show you the room.”

She led them out of the kitchen and down a short hallway to a cozy room. The walls were paneled with dark wood, and there were two single beds, one alone the wall on either side of the room.

“You can bring your things in here, and then we’ll play cards,” she said.

Chapter Twenty Three

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 07:02:00 +0000

Hep woke up to the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. He opened his eyes, and saw Thor in the kitchen making breakfast. Thor was wearing an apron with a coffee cup pattern, and fuzzy orange slippers. He noticed Hep was awake.

“Good morning Hep!” Thor said, enthusiastic as always. “I hope you slept well.”

“Yeah, thanks. It was the best sleep I’ve had in weeks,” Hep said. It was the truth, too.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Thor said. “Well, I’m sure you can find the bathroom on your own. Go ahead and get cleaned up. Breakfast will be ready in half an hour or so.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Thor,” Hep said.

There was only one closed room in the cabin, so Hep assumed that was where the bathroom was. He was correct. Inside was just enough room for a clawfoot tub, a small sink, and the commode. Hep decided there wasn’t likely to be another opportunity for a proper bath for some time, so he started filling the tub. He saw that Thor had left out towels and wash cloths for them. There was also a pink bottle of Mr. Bubble bubblebath soap on a small shelf above the tub. Hep grinned, and poured a good dollop into the tub as it ran.

After nearly a month of either skipping self-grooming altogether, or using the austere facilities on Poseidon’s boat and at the monastery, combined with terrible sleeping conditions, taking a bubblebath in a cabin was as close to heaven as he could imagine. He felt muscles he hadn’t realized were knotted relax, and sank deeper in to the tub.

Twenty minutes later, he climbed out of the bath a new man. He toweled himself off, brushed his teeth, dressed, and went to see if Thor needed any help getting breakfast ready.

Scroat was still sleeping, despite Thor banging around in the kitchen.

“Hey, do you need a hand with anything?” Hep asked Thor.

“No, thanks. It’s totally under control and going to be ready in a minute. Why don’t you wake Scroat up?”

Hep woke Scroat up, and pointed him to the bathroom. Then he went back over to the kitchen.

“There’s gotta be something I can do,” Hep said.

“Well, I guess the goats need some fresh water. You want to go out back and take care of that for me?”

“Sure,” Hep said. He put his boots on and went outside. Behind the cabin was a pen which held two goats. He found a hose, turned on the water, and went over to the pen to fill their water trough. The goats watched him suspiciously for a moment, then ignored him completely.

He went back inside, and found breakfast ready and waiting. There was ham, sausage, bacon, potatoes, eggs, toast, pancakes and plenty of coffee.

“You’re really too good to us,” Hep said to Thor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is what I have for breakfast every day. Of course, I’ll be sharing with you today, so I suppose I’m going to need a big lunch,” Thor said.

About ten minutes later, Scroat joined them. “Man, I feel fantastic,” he said.

“So you slept well then? I told you I was saving that beer for a special occasion. There’s no sense in drinking it when you already feel fantastic. It’s best to keep it for when you’re low and tired.” 
“Well, thanks. Man, this looks fucking amazing,” Scroat said as he eyed breakfast. He took himself a heaping plate of everything, and sat down to eat.

When they were done with breakfast, and sitting drinking coffee, Thor asked, “So what’s your plan for today? Are you planning to stay here again tonight? Because, you know, you’re welcome for as long as you need.”

“Thanks Thor. I guess we haven’t figured out our plan yet, but I was thinking we’d ride up to Two Harbors and see what we can learn there,” Hep said. “I guess we’ll have to play the rest by ear.”

“Well, like I said, if you need a place to stay, you’re welcome here any time,” Thor said.

“I appreciate that,” Hep said. He finished his coffee and said, “Well, what do you think, Scroat? Should we get rolling?”

“Yeah, I guess so. The sooner we get this shit done with, the sooner we can head home.”

Scroat put his boots on, and they went outside. Thor followed them to their bikes. He pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Hep.

“Here’s Freyja’s phone number. I don’t know if she knows where Inktomi is, but she might have an idea of where you can start looking. Or she’ll at least give you some coffee,” Thor said.

“Awesome. I’ll give her a call if I get a chance,” Hep said. He stuffed the slip of paper in to his pocket, then climbed onto his bike. “I’ll give you a call if we need a place to stay tonight. Thanks again, Thor.”

Hep shook Thor’s hand, and fired up his bike.

“See you later,” Scroat said. He started his bike as well, and the two of them rode away from Thor’s cabin towards the nearest highway. It would be about two and a half hours to get to Two Harbors, and it was already ten thirty in the morning.

The ride to Two Harbors was mostly through dense woods on either side of the road, with an occasional farm thrown in, until they got to Duluth. From there, the road followed the coast of Lake Superior. The sky was grey and cloudy, and they noticed it was quite a bit cooler than it had been in Brainerd. Their first order of business in Two Harbors was to find a place to have some lunch.

They found a hole in the wall cafe that didn’t look too bad. Their menu was entirely uninspired, but they did have a lot of cheese-based dishes.

“What the hell are deep-fried cheese curds?” Scroat said as they looked over the menu.

“Well, probably exactly what it says right there. Cheese curds. Fried,” Hep said.

“Well, what the fuck is a cheese curd?” Scroat said.

“I dunno, let’s order them and find out,” Hep said.

The waitress came over and took their order. They’d decided on two bacon cheeseburgers, and an order of cheese curds.

“Anything to drink?” the waitress asked.

“Coffee,” Hep and Scroat said at the same time.

A few minutes later, to their great surprise, they learned that deep fried cheese curds were their new favorite food. The gooey, golden brown pieces of salty heaven were so good they asked for another order when the waitress came with their cheeseburgers.

When they finally finished lunch, their second order of business was to go and find a generous supply of drinking water. Fried, salty fat in large quantities will make a biker god powerfully thirsty. Luckily, there was a gas station with a convenience store nearby. They each bought a couple gallons of water to bring with them.

“Maybe the second order wasn’t such a good idea,” Hep said.

“The second order was a fucking brilliant idea. I say we drink up, and go back tomorrow to get some more,” Scroat said.

“You are a crazy, crazy man. And that sounds like a damn good idea,” Hep said.

With lunch and post-lunch recovery drinking water secured, it was time to try and find Inktomi. Hep and Scroat spent the next couple of hours cruising up and down each road they found in Two Harbors, looking for the wreckage of a burned house, or some other clue to let them know Inktomi had been there. And on each street, they found nothing. Not so much as a stray piece of charcoal.

Eventually, Hep decided it might be best to just call Freyja and see if she knew where Inktomi was at. They found a payphone, and Hep dialed the number Thor had given him.

The phone rang a few times, and a woman answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Freyja? This is Hep, Thor gave me your number.”

“Hep? I’m sorry, I don’t recall a Hep.”

“Hephaistos, God of Fire and such?” 
“Oh, Hephaistos, hello! I remember you now. Thor thinks the world of you.”

“Well, Thor’s a good guy,” Hep said. “I don’t mean to be too abrupt, but I’m here in Two Harbors, and I’m looking for Inktomi. Do you know where he lives?”

“Inktomi? Wow. I haven’t seen him for two years, probably. Last I heard he’d gone further South because he was tired of the winter weather this far North.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to get ahold of him, would you?”

“No, we were hardly friends. We would say hello to one another if we happened to be at the post office at the same time, but otherwise we didn’t even talk on a regular basis.”

“Oh,” Hep said. Although he wasn’t surprised, he was somewhat disappointed. It would have been nice to just find Inktomi and be done with it.

“Oh, but you must come over for coffee,” Freyja said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had any visitors that weren’t family.”

“Well that sounds wonderful. I have my roommate, Scroat, with me. Do you mind if he comes along as well?”

“Oh, yes, Scroat. Do you think he can behave himself in a civilized manner long enough for coffee?” Freyja said.

“Well, no, to be honest, but he’s kind of fun to have around all the same,” Hep said.

Scroat looked at him, having overheard the last bit of conversation. “What the fuck are you telling her about me?” he stage whispered to Hep. Hep shook his head, and mouthed “Not now.”

“Well, he is of course welcome as well. Let me give you my address. Will you need directions?”

“No,” Hep said. “I think we’ll be able to figure out how to get there.”

He got her address, and said “We’ll see you soon.”

“What was that?” Scroat asked.

“I guess we’re going to have coffee with Freyja,” Hep said.

Chapter Twenty Two

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 21:18:00 +0000

They had stopped in Fargo to call ahead and make sure Thor was home before they rode the rest of the way to Brainerd. Thor said he would be around, and that they were welcome to show up any time.

Hep and Scroat actually arrived at his house, a cabin, really, around nine o’clock p.m.

They had just shut down their bikes when an enormous, cheerful Viking came out of the cabin to greet them. He strode over to Hep and Scroat and gave them both a bone-crushing handshake. He wore a flannel shirt and had long blonde hair spilling out from under his stocking cap.

“Hey Hep! Hey Scroat! It’s wonderful to see you. It’s been too long. You must be exhausted. Come inside, I’ve got some roast beef in the oven and a fresh pot of coffee going,” Thor said.

“Hi Thor, it’s great to see you too,” Hep said.

They walked in to his cabin. There was really only one room, with a ladder leading up to a loft. There was a sitting area, and a kitchen area. The decorating scheme was rustic. There were animal heads mounted on the walls, and the furniture looked as though it had all been hand made by a guy with an axe and a lot of enthusiasm. There was a fire going in a stone fireplace, and animal skins spread out on the floor.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Hep said.

“Thanks! It’s simple, but it’s home,” Thor said. “You can drop your stuff where ever. You’ll be sleeping in here. I sleep up in the loft. I’ve got some more blankets we can throw down on the floor, so you should be pretty comfy.”

“Great, thanks. I really appreciate you helping us out like this,” Hep said.

“It’s the least I can do. Come on, let’s have some meat and coffee, and later I’ve got some beer I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” Thor said.

He led them over to a massive oak table that dominated the kitchen.

“Some table, huh? This is where I do pretty much everything. Have a seat, I’ll fix you up some plates.”

Hep and Scroat sat down at the table, and shortly after that Thor brought over a couple of plates piled high with roast beef and potatoes. He also brought over a coffee pot and a couple of brown ceramic mugs.
“I fucking love you, man,” Scroat said as he looked at the huge pile of meat Thor had given him. “You wouldn’t believe the garbage I’ve had to eat for the last several weeks. It’s amazing I have turned into a fucking hippie, from the crap I’ve been fed.”

“Well, you won’t find any hippie food here,” Thor said, and laughed.

Hep and Scroat ate with great enthusiasm. Afterwards, the three of them moved from the table to the sitting area to drink beer and talk.

“So what are you doing in my neck of the woods?” Thor asked. “Just out for a ride?”

“Well, no, it’s kind of a long story,” Hep said.

“A long, painful, fucking retarded, story,” Scroat said. “You see, our house fucking burned down right when we got back from a trip. We arrived to watch the last of the wreckage burn.”

“Oh no!” Thor said.

“Yeah, and we kind of think Inktomi might know something about it, since Scroat invited him to house sit,” Hep said. “So we’ve come up here to try and find him and see what he can tell us.”

“When did this happen?” Thor said.

“What do you think? Three weeks ago? Four?” Hep said to Scroat.

“Yeah, something like that,” Scroat said.

“What took you so long to get here? It can’t be more than a three day ride from Arizona,” Thor said.

“Well, funny thing,” Hep said. “Ares showed up and offered us a place to stay. Then he hooked us up to crew for Poseidon who was sailing up to Alaska. That didn’t quite work out when Scroat, or one of his lady companions, punched a hole in the side of Poseidon’s boat.”

“I did not! I’m telling you, I don’t know where that fucking hole came from,” Scroat said.

“Whatever. So that left us stranded in Brookings, Oregon. We caught a lift to Bend, found a couple of motorcycles, and started riding East when we met a monk who said he’d been ordered to offer us assistance. So, we went to the monastery, rescued a couple of kidnapped people, and now we’re here,” Hep said.

“You forgot about Robert Wheeler showing up fucking everywhere we go,” Scroat said.

“Oh, yeah. And Scroat thinks this guy Robert is out to get us because we’ve bumped into him three times,” Hep said.

“Man, that is a long story,” Thor said. “Why didn’t you stay and rebuild your house? Or just come up here to find Inktomi?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for this whole trip, man,” Hep said.

“I’ve been telling him we should just bail on all this crap and go to Vegas,” Scroat said. “But he won’t listen to me. He says we need to keep moving East to avoid Poseidon, who’s just been a real bitch about the hole in his boat. I told him we’d fix it, so I don’t know what his problem is.”

“Well, you knocked a hole in his boat. Boats are kind of his thing, you know,” Thor said. “So, do you know where Inktomi is?”

“Nope,” Hep said. “We were hoping you might have an idea.”

“Last I heard he was up in Two Harbors, but that was late last year. You know how much he moves around.”

Hep slumped down on the couch a little further and took a big drink from his mug of beer.

“Yeah, he’s not very good about settling down for long. Of course, if he didn’t somehow burn down every house he lived in, he might be able to stick around a while longer,” Hep said. “Still, it probably wouldn’t hurt to cruise up to Two Harbors and see if he’s around somewhere. Maybe someone up there will know where he is.”

“Could be,” Thor said. “I think Freyja is living near there. You might visit her and see what she knows.”

“Yeah, maybe we will,” Hep said. “I hate to bother her, though. We can probably just roll through town looking for burned down houses and ask the neighbors what they know.”

“Well, it’s your call. I’m sure Freyja wouldn’t mind some company though,” Thor said. He looked up at the clock. “Oh, wow, you guys must be wiped out and here I’m keeping you awake. Let’s continue our conversation in the morning. Skol!” He raised his mug of beer and finished it off. Hep and Scroat did likewise. “I’ll grab you a couple of blankets.”

Thor climbed up into the loft, and started rummaging around. Hep and Scroat, meanwhile, got to work arranging the lamb skin rugs into a more comfortable sleeping configuration. Thor came back down a few minutes later with a stack of wool blankets.

“Do you need me to throw some more wood in the stove? Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Thanks, Thor,” Hep said.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Not a thing. Good night, Thor.”

“OK, good night!”

Hep and Scroat each grabbed a couple of blankets, and laid down. Hep was surprised how comfortable a sheep skin was to lie on. It was, in fact, more comfortable than the bed at the monastery had been. He was cozy and warm under the blankets, and was soon quite drowsy. Naturally, Scroat started talking and woke him up again.

“Do you think we’re actually going to find Inktomi in Two Harbors?” Scroat asked Hep. Hep started slightly, and took a deep breath before answering.

“I think it’s pretty unlikely that he’s still there. But maybe someone will know where he went next. We’ll be able to track him down eventually.”

“I’m starting to wonder if it’s going to be worth all the fucking effort. I mean, really, what are we going to to? Rough him up a bit? Demand that he help us rebuild? Would we even want him to help us rebuild? You know he doesn’t have any money, the fucker is always broke.”

“That’s true. I guess I just want to know if he was responsible, or if someone else is fucking with us.”

“You know who’s fucking with us? That Robert Wheeler guy. He’s involved somehow, I just know it.”

“I think you’re paranoid,” Hep said. “He’s just a guy who’s having a run of bad luck at the same time we are.”

“In the same places we are? Come on, man.”

From up in his loft, Thor said, “Hey, uh, don’t forget the open floor plan in here, guys. I’d like to get to sleep, if you don’t mind.”

“Sorry,” Hep said. To Scroat he said, “We’ll figure this all out in the morning. Good night.”

“G’night,” Scroat said. A few minutes later, he was snoring.

Hep, however, was wide awake again. He tried to relax and get back to sleep, but his mind kept running in different directions. Where the hell was Inktomi? Where would he have gone after staying at their house and, possibly, setting it on fire? And what was up, after all, with this Robert Wheeler fellow? It did seem like the guy was showing up an awful lot. He didn’t know if Robert was the one causing their problems, or if the person (persons?) messing with them were also messing with Robert.

Hep suspected someone was also messing with Robert, because if he were going to stalk someone, he probably wouldn’t do it by being stranded in a lifeboat, and then getting kidnapped and locked in a closet with a monk. And it wouldn’t make sense for someone who was out to get them to keep sticking himself in their faces. Unless there was something seriously wrong with him.

He decided it would all become obvious in time. Eventually, Hep slept as well.

Chapter Twenty One

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 06:58:00 +0000

They arrived back the monastery late the next morning. Brother Larry came out to greet them as soon as they arrived.

“See? We were back within forty eight hours. No sweat!” Hep said.

“I’m very relieved to see you all. Hello Brother Stuart, hello Robert, I’m glad to see you are both unharmed,” Brother Larry said.

“Hey, what about us?” Scroat said.

“I kind of figured you’d come back unscathed,” Brother Larry said.

“Well, a little politeness never fucking hurt anyone,” Scroat said. “We did save them from a bunch of surly twenty year olds, after all.”

Brother Larry ignored him. He noticed the scratches on the van. “What happened there?”

“The Society of the Seven Seals keyed your van, sorry to say,” Hep said.

“I hope our insurance will cover that.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll buff right out,” Scroat said.

“Really?” Brother Larry said.

“No.”

“Well, come inside, we’ll fix you up with something to eat, and I imagine you’ll all need to rest for a while.”

He led them inside, and took the four of them directly to the kitchen. He pointed out the breadbox and the toaster, and retrieved a institutional sized jar of peanut butter from a cupboard, and strawberry jelly from the refrigerator.

“This should hold you over for a while.”

“We risk our necks to save these two assholes, and our reward is fucking peanut butter toast?” Scroat said. “That’s just bullshit.”

“We’re a monastery. I’m sorry to tell you we’re hardly rolling in money for rewards and fancy food.”

“Fine, fine,” Scroat said.

After they had eaten, Brother Larry led them back to the room they had been staying in, and opened the room next door for Robert and Brother Stuart.

“Sleep well,” Brother Larry said. “I imagine you’ll need it.”

“Thanks,” Hep said. “Goodnight, you two,” he said to Robert and Brother Larry. He and Scroat went into their room and collapsed on to their beds.

“I’ve had it with this monk shit, Hep. We need to get the fuck out of here before I loose my fucking mind,” Scroat said.

“Yeah, it’s time to move on, I think,” Hep said. “Let’s see if they can get any information about where Inktomi is currently hanging out, and go track him down.”

“Groovy,” Scroat said. They stopped talking then, and a few minutes were deeply asleep.

It seemed like they had only been asleep for a few minutes, but the monk who’d come to wake them for dinner said it was six o’clock. They went to the dining hall with Robert and Brother Stuart. There were seats reserved for all of them at the table with Brother Larry.

“You’re in luck,” Brother Larry said. “Tonight is spaghetti night. Brother Philip makes a mean garlic toast.”

“Great, I’m starving,” Hep said. Scroat seemed less impressed.

They ate, and it turned out that Brother Philip really did make a hell of a good garlic toast. The spaghetti was less spectacular, however. The sauce tasted like it came from a can, and Hep assumed that it actually did. He was incorrect, however. Brother Philip just hadn’t figured out how to make marinara sauce yet.

“So, I was wondering if you might be able to do us a favor,” Hep said to Brother Larry.

“Well, I guess it depends on the favor,” Brother Larry said.

“Do you think your guys might be able to give us a clue as to where Inktomi is currently living?” Hep said.

“Inktomi? The god? I don’t know how they’d be able to find that,” Brother Larry said.

“Well, you guys were able to find us without much trouble,” Hep said.

Brother Larry sighed, and said, “Yes, but we more or less knew where you were. There are only so many ways you can go East from Bend. On of our brothers there spotted you, and let Brother Aloysius know you were probably going to drive right past him. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have had a clue as to how to find you.”

“OK. But they could try, couldn’t they? Just for me?” Hep said.

Brother Larry thought for a minute, then said “I don’t see what it could hurt. I’ll have one of the start working on it.”

“I bet I could help,” Robert Wheeler said. “I won’t even charge you anything for this one.”

“Oh no, fuck that!” Scroat said. “We’re not relying on information from you. No way.”

“Lighten up, Scroat,” Hep said. “He’s not out to get us.”

“You’re being willfully naive, if you ask me,” Scroat said.

“Well, I’ll see what I can find. You can use the information, or not,” Robert said. He stood up and stepped away from the table. “Excuse me, I’m going to get started right now.”

Scroat sat, fuming. He didn’t eat the rest of his dinner.

Later, back in their room, Hep spread out several maps and tried to find the best route to Minnesota, assuming Inktomi would be back there, someplace. He realized pretty quickly that their route depended entirely on whether Inktomi was in the northern part of the state, or further south. He figured it would be best to go through North Dakota if they didn’t know where Inktomi was, in order to be sure they avoided the Society of the Seven Seals.

“Well, I guess now is as good of a time as any to turn in for the night,” Hep said. “Good night.”

“G’night,” Scroat said. He laid awake for quite a while, torn between excitement over finally being able to leave the monastery, and worry about the trap he was certain Robert was setting for them. Frankly, he just wanted to get home, maybe with a quick visit to Las Vegas. But, of course, he had to find out what had happened to their house, and if Inktomi had been involved. If he was, it wasn’t like Scroat could let that slide.

For his part, Hep was worried about getting to Minnesota without having another scrap with the Society of the Seven Seals, or a run in with Poseidon who, apparently, was still awfully upset.

Eventually, they both slept.

The following morning, they woke up at five o’clock, as usual. At breakfast, one of the monks came over to Hep.

He said, “As best we can figure, Inktomi is probably somewhere in Minnesota.”

Hep resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Some crack researchers. “Thanks,” is what he said though. No need to be rude.

He and Scroat ate their oatmeal, and both were relieved it was the last time for the foreseeable future that they would have to eat the lumpy grey muck. They made idle conversation with Brother Larry about where they planned to go next.

“Well,” Hep said, “I’ve got some friends in Minnesota who will probably be able to help us track down Inktomi. After that, I suppose we’ll just head back to the desert and try to rebuild, or figure something else out.”

“It sounds like quite an adventure,” Brother Larry said. “I’m jealous of how much of the country you two have managed to see.”

Robert Wheeler was conspicuous in his absence at breakfast.

After breakfast they went back to their room to gather what few possessions they had to bring with. They were heading for the front door when Robert Wheeler appeared.

“Hey, good morning, gentlemen,” he said.

“Hey, Robert,” Hep said.

“What the fuck do you want?” Scroat said.

“Well, I don’t mean to keep you long, just wanted to let you know I tried awfully hard to track Inktomi down, and I just couldn’t find a darn thing. I guess he keeps a pretty low profile,” Robert said.

“Well, thanks for trying,” Hep said. He was, honestly, a little disappointed. It meant they were going to have to ride through North Dakota, and then try to track Inktomi down in a big state full of places to hide without anyone noticing you.

Scroat, on the other hand, was entirely relieved. It meant they wouldn’t be trusting Robert to not lead them into a trap of some kind.

“Well, sorry, anyway, and I hope you have a smooth trip.” Robert said. “See you around.”

He turned around and went back down the hallway he’d come from.

“Better not,” Scroat mumbled.

Hep and Scroat walked outside, and got to work strapping the items they didn’t care to carry in their pockets to their bikes. The motors started right up, as usual, and minutes later the two of them were headed as directly East as they could manage. Neither of them really felt like puttering around on small side roads, so they were planning to shoot straight to Interstate 94, which would take them all the way to Minneapolis (and beyond, if they were so inclined). It would be a straight, high speed blast across North Dakota. Assuming everything went smoothly, the would be in Minneapolis by ten o’clock p.m., at the latest.

Of course, the last Hep had heard, Thor was living near Brainerd, and it would probably pay off to visit him. At the very least he’d probably let them crash on his floor, and it was likely he would know where Inktomi could be found, or know someone who might know.

It had been quite a while since he’d seen Thor, and Hep looked forward to seeing his old friend.

It took about two hours for them to reach Interstate 94. The ride, so far, had been pretty but dull. Which was good, in it’s way. The 94 would, of course, be dull as only an interstate can be. Straight and smooth, through the least interesting parts of any state, which is pretty uninteresting when it comes to North Dakota. It wouldn’t be a fun ride, but at least it would be fast.

Hep and Scroat opened their throttles wide, and passed fast moving truck after fast moving truck as though they were standing still. With luck, it would be four straight, boring hours to Fargo, and then a few more hours to Brainerd.

Chapter Twenty

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Thu, 25 Nov 2010 05:20:00 +0000

Hep, Scroat, Robert Wheeler and Brother Stuart stopped to eat near Rapid City, South Dakota. The restaurant was called Harold’s Burgers and Beer. There were probably twenty motorcycles parked out front. Inside, the place had cheap tables, cheap chairs and cheap staff, but a good selection of beers, and the burgers the other patrons were eating looked fantastic.

They ordered, and tried to make awkward conversation while they waited for their food.

“So, uh, did they treat you reasonably well while they had you locked up?” Hep asked.

“Yeah, they weren’t too bad. It seemed like they didn’t really have a plan or know what they were doing,” Robert said.

“That’s good, I guess,” Hep said.

Scroat sat and stared at the table. After a few minutes of complete silence, Hep excused himself to the restroom, leaving Robert and Brother Stuart with Scroat.

“So,” Scroat said to Robert, “what are you up to, anyway?”

“I beg your pardon?” Robert said.

“You keep showing up at the most unlikely times. What are you up to? What do you want from us?” Scroat said. He leaned forward and stared at Robert. Brother Stuart looked confused and very uncomfortable.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Every time I’ve run in to you guys has been a complete coincidence,” Robert said.

“Well, that’s a pretty good story, but I don’t fucking believe you,” Scroat said. “I think you’re trying to pull something, some kind of con.”

“I’m not.” Robert said.

“I’m not either,” Brother Stuart said.

“Did I ask you?” Scroat said to Brother Stuart. To Robert, he said, “I still don’t believe you. How is it that you keep popping into our lives if you aren’t doing it on purpose?” 
“I told you, it’s a weird coincidence. Back off, will you?” Robert said.

“Don’t get testy with me, dickhead. How is it that an ‘information broker’ as you call yourself, gets around so much. Shouldn’t you be in a library somewhere, researching things?” Scroat said.

“Yes, that’s exactly where I should be. Like I told you, it’s a coincidence. I got shanghaied, apparently, and then I was kidnapped by a bunch of bored farm kids. Which, by the way, totally sucked both times. The fact that I’ve kept bumping into you guys is just chance.”

“What the fuck ever, buddy, I...” Scroat began, but fell silent when Hep returned.

“Hey, did I miss anything?” Hep asked. Then he looked at the three of them. Brother Stuart looked like he desperately wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else. Robert looked frustrated and a touch angry. Scroat, meanwhile, looked like he was about ready to burst from anger.

“I guess I did,” Hep said. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Scroat here thinks I’m following you for nefarious reasons, and setting up situations where we’ll encounter one another,” Robert said.

“Scroat, he’s not up to anything,” Hep said. “You really need to lose the paranoia.”

“Whatever. He’s up to something, it’s just a matter of time until we find out what,” Scroat said.

The waitress brought their burgers then, so the conversation ended.

“About how much longer of a drive is it from here to the monastery?” Brother Stuart said.

Hep said, “Eight hours, though it’ll be more like seven the way we drive.”

“Great,” Brother Stuart said. He seemed less than enthusiastic about another eight hours in a van with all the tension between Scroat and Robert.

Outside they heard several vehicles with loud exhaust pull up and park. They sounded too big to be motorcycles, so Hep and Scroat didn’t bother to look and see what they were on. Hep was about to try making some more conversation when he noticed that Brother Stuart suddenly looked freaked out. He was looking at the entrance to the restaurant, so Hep turned to look.

Looking through the restaurant, presumably trying to find them, were the kids they’d just encountered at the Society of the Seven Seals’s barn. Along with twenty or so of their meanest-looking friends.

“Well that’s probably not good,” Hep said.

“What’s not good?” Scroat asked. Hep pointed. The gang had spotted them, and were coming over to their table now.

“Please tell me you guys are armed,” Robert said.

“Nope,” Hep said.

Their table was surrounded by the Society members.

“Hey fellas, what’s happening?” Hep said in a cheerful voice. “Have you tried the burgers here? They’re amazing!”

One of the kids, presumably the leader of the group, said, “We were thinking about it, and we realized we really couldn’t just let you have these two back. So I think we’re going to take all four of you back to our compound and let you chill for a while. Now, do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

“Do people actually say that?” Scroat said to Hep. “I thought it was just an overused line in Hollywood.”

“Go easy on them, these are simple, salt of the earth folks,” Hep said. “Yeah, I don’t think we’re going to go the easy way.”

Brother Stuart’s eyes looked as though they were going to pop out of his head and make a break for it. Robert also seemed a bit worried about their predicament.

Hep and Scroat, however, were not intimidated by a group of youths wearing black t-shirts and too much Old Spice.

Several of the Society members grinned, and they reached to grab the four of them.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Hep said. He swung a fist up from under the table and connected solidly with the underside of the closest kid’s jaw. The kid fell over backwards into a couple of the other Society members. The entire group’s eyes went wide.

“What are you so surprised about?” Hep asked.

The group surged forward. Scroat and Hep grinned, and stood up. The Society of the Seven Seals didn’t stand a chance.

Almost at the same time, Hep and Scroat threw punches at the closest Society members. Things devolved into chaos very quickly.

One of the bikers saw the fight start, and yelled, “Brawl!” He and the twenty or so other bikers got up from their tables and went to get in on the action.

One of them tapped a Society member on the back. When he turned around, the biker said, “We don’t like people coming in to our favorite place and starting fights.”

“Fuck off,” the society member said. That was, as you might suspect, the wrong answer. It’s hard to say who swung first after this, but either way there was suddenly a forty man brawl in progress in Harold’s Burgers and Beer.

The Society of the Seven Seals were now fighting Hep and Scroat on one side, and twenty enthusiastic bikers on the other side. It would be fair to say they were caught between the hammer and the anvil.

Scroat grabbed one of them and said, “this is for making me have to deal with that fucking Robert guy again,” and cold-cocked him.

Brother Stuart and Robert Wheeler had absolutely no idea what to do. There was no where to run, as they were surrounded by fighting men on all sides. On the upside, any time it looked like someone was about to direct some hostility towards either of them, Hep or Scroat would, apparently without even breaking pace, intervene and make the aggressor very sorry for his mistake.

At one point, one of the smaller Society members, who couldn’t have been more than five foot five and one hundred and twenty pounds, found himself face to face with Hephaistos. He looked up and saw six and a half feet of muscular, ugly and angry blacksmith looking back at him. He wet his pants a little bit.

Hep gave the kid a tight, hard smile, and said “Take a hike.” The kid nodded once, and bolted.

Between the bikers, and Hep and Scroat, the fight was over in a couple of minutes. The Society members who were still conscious dragged their unconscious brethren outside, got into their trucks, and drove like Hell away from there.

“Stupid fucking kids,” Scroat said. “What did they think was going to happen?”

“Probably that we’d just give these two up,” Hep said. He went over to the bikers and told them he owed them all a beer. He turned around to go back and found Brother Stuart and Robert right behind him.

“Hey, guys,” Hep said.

“Uh, sorry. Just thought we’d stick close,” Brother Stuart said.

“No sweat,” Hep said. He took a look at the destruction in the restaurant. It wasn’t as bad as some brawls he’d been in before, but it was definitely going to take a while to clean up.

“We should probably scoot on out of here,” Hep said.

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Robert said.

The four of them went out to the van, and found it had been keyed. There were several deep, ragged scratches running all the way down both sides.

“Well, they sure showed us,” Hep said.

The four of them got into the van, and continued driving West towards Winnett, Montana. It started to get dark outside, and soon Brother Stuart and Robert were sleeping, each of them stretched out across a seat in the van.

“Kind of a weird day, huh?” Hep said to Scroat.

“It’s been kind of a fucked up day every day lately,” Scroat said. “I’m thinking we should drop these guys off, find Inktomi and ask what the hell happened, and then get our asses home to find a trailer or something we can live in until we get the house rebuilt. I could really go for a couple months of routine, if you can dig it.”

“Yeah, I can dig it,” Hep said. The idea of just being at home sounded very good. They could spend a couple of weeks building a new house, relax for a while, and then maybe go on a couple of rides that were just for fun, not running away from someone, or looking for someone else.

Chapter Nineteen

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 04:20:00 +0000

Once past the Badlands, the drive to Yankton, South Dakota is the polar opposite of exciting. It’s flat. It’s straight. There are only farms and barns to look at. As such, Hep and Scroat got a little loopy during the drive.

“So, do you think that everything is in a barn in South Dakota? Like, the Barn is the state building? I bet you have to get a special permit if you want to build something that isn’t a barn,” Scroat said.

“No, but I heard the capital of South Dakota is in a barn. You can tell it’s the capital because it’s got a flag on it.” Hep said.

A few hours, a sign told them they were approaching the Missouri River. The road ahead seemed hazy, but Hep and Scroat didn’t pay it any mind. The roads were so straight and boring, it was hard to even notice the haze, since it didn’t look all that much different from the horizon, it was just a little closer.

“Hey, do you think they keep the Missouri River in a barn at night?” Scroat said.

“Yeah, I bet they... Whoa!” Hep said. He pulled the van over to the right side of the road and slammed on the brakes.

They were about half a mile away from the Missouri River, and could see a thick fog enveloping the bridge ahead. It was like a passing cloud had decided the bridge would be a lovely place to stop and have a nap before continuing its travels.

“Well that’s not right,” Hep said. He started rolling the van forward, until they were only a few hundred feet away from the bridge.

It was obvious now that the fog was, in fact, raging water, swirling around and over the bridge. Hep stopped the van and got out. He could hear the water roaring, and thought it was strange that all that water wasn’t doing any damage to the bridge.

A face appeared in the water. It looked kind of a like a skinny, watery Santa Claus.

“This path is closed to you, assholes,” Poseidon said.

Hep blinked, and thought to himself, of course we’d run into Poseidon in South Dakota. Where else would he be hanging out waiting for us?

“Look, Poseidon, we’re en route to try and help out some friends we didn’t know we had. I’m sorry about what happened to your boat, and I promise we won’t do that again. Now can we get past please?”

“Oh, well, of course you can pass if you have friends that are in trouble,” Poseidon said. The intensity of the raging water increased sevenfold, “go right ahead and cross. Unless you’re chicken, or something.”

Poseidon laughed. Frankly, being laughed at by a watery, skinny Santa Claus was more than Hep could take.

“Chicken, huh? OK,” he said. He climbed back in the van.

“What the fuck is going on, Hep?” Scroat asked.

“Poseidon thinks he’s funny,” Hep said. He put the van in reverse and started backing down the road until they were a solid half mile away again.

“So are we going to go around? Fuck, how many hours is that going to add to the trip? I can’t take much more of this van.”

“We’re not going around,” Hep said. He stopped the van and rolled up his window. “Have you got your seatbelt on?”

“What? Oh, fuck, are you going to try to drive through that?” Scroat said. He started rolling up his window. “You know, this isn’t our van. Aren’t you supposed to be the ethical one?”

“Yep,” Hep said. He stomped on the gas pedal. The van accelerated as quickly as it could, which is to say, not very quickly. A quarter of a mile later, they’d reached ninety miles per hour.

“I think I might be a bad influence on you,” Scroat said. Hep laughed, and the van hurtled forward to the surging waters.

“If this doesn’t work, you realize it’ll probably kill us?”

“It’ll work,” Hep said. The raging torrent where the bridge should have been seemed to turn black, and a bit of spray was hitting the windshield. Hep turned on the windshield wipers. The wall of water rose above them until it seemed it was towering hundreds of feet above the road.

“Oh fuck,” Scroat said, and the van ran full force into the water. Scroat covered his eyes, and kept them covered for several seconds expecting a face full of cold dirty water and a miserable, suffocating death.

Instead, Hep said “It’s OK, you can uncover your eyes,”

They were driving, rather quickly, on a completely dry bridge. Scroat turned to look out the back window, and just saw open road behind them.

“What the fuck, Hep?” Scroat said.

“It seemed a little weird that the water wasn’t doing any damage to the bridge, and he said something about being chicken. So I figured it wasn’t real. Looks like I was right!” Hep said. He shut off the windshield wipers and opened his window again.

“You’re a crazy motherfucker,” Scroat said.

A few miles outside of Yankton, Hep and Scroat were pretty sure they’d found the barn they were looking for. A small sign outside informed anyone passing by that this was the headquarters of the Society of the Seven Seals, who worked for “Charity, Peace and Expediting the Second Coming of God.”

The barn looked as though it had been white a very, very long time ago, but was now grey with spots where the paint had worn away that were an even darker grey. There was an old Ford tractor with a flat tire abandoned in some tall grass to one side of the barn, and four pickup trucks in varying condition parked in front of the big door.

Hep drove the van right up to the barn, next to the pickup trucks, and parked.

“All right, let’s see about rescuing some monks,” Hep said to Scroat.

“Sure thing. So, you really think these guys are just idiots? I mean, you’re sure?” Scroat said.

“Yep. Nothing to worry about,” Hep said. “We’ll be in and out of there in half an hour.”

He got out of the van and waited in front of it for Scroat to get out.

“You know we could have just gone to Vegas and avoided this whole mess,” Scroat said as he climbed out of the van.

“That wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun,” Hep said.

“Fun?! This hasn’t been fun for several weeks now,” Scroat said.

“Well, this should be fun, anyway. Let’s go,” Hep said. He walked to the person-sized door and started pounding on it.

“Hey! Open up in there, scumbags!” Hep shouted, then he stood back and waited to see what would happen.

Hep and Scroat could hear voices behind the door, trying to decide what to do. Should they open the door? Run? Just pretend no one was home? Hep pounded on the door again.

“Come on, I haven’t got all day!”

The voices inside seemed to come to an agreement, and they heard the latch click. Hep and Scroat both got ready to move fast if someone came out shooting. Instead, a kid about nineteen years old poked his head out, and said, “Uh, can I help you?”

Hep grabbed the kid by his hair and dragged him out the door, while Scroat pulled the door open the rest of the way.

Hep lifted the kid up until he was face to face with him, and used his best menacing voice to say “Where are the brothers you kidnapped?”

“They’re inside! I’ll show you! Don’t hurt me!” the kid said. He struggled a bit against Hep’s grip, but was no match for him.

Hep dropped him, and said “All right, show us where they are.”

“OK! This way,” the kid said, and went back in to the barn.

Hep peeked around the corner of the door before he stepped inside. In the barn were a bunch more young men, none of them could have been over twenty five. All of them looked absolutely terrified.

“This way, come on,” the first kid said. He led them to the back of the barn. He opened a door to a small room. Inside sat Robert Wheeler and another man they didn’t recognize.

“Hey, Hep and Scroat! Man am I glad to see you guys!” Robert said.

“What the fuck?” Scroat said. “What the? What the fuck is he doing here? This fucking guy shows up fucking everywhere we fucking go.”

He grabbed Robert by the front of his shirt and dragged him up, “Why the fuck are you following us? What’s in it for you? Because I’m fucking sick of seeing you everywhere you creepy little shit!”
“Calm down, Scroat,” Hep said.

“Calm down? I’ll show you calm. I’ll show you calm when I’m not going out of my mind expecting Robert ‘I am a wiggy little stalker’ Wheeler to pop out from around a corner every time I’ve got my guard down.”

The Society of the Seven Seals were watching all of this with a mixture of fear and confusion.

“Wait, you don’t like this guy, but you came to get him?” one of them said.

Scroat turned on him and got in his face. “Well, I didn’t fucking know it was Robert Mother Fucking Wheeler here, did I? I thought it was just a bunch of monks I’d never seen before. If I’d known it was Robert Wheeler, I probably would have stayed home and knit a god damned sweater instead. But no, you little fucks had to go and kidnap the one asshole I really, really didn’t want to see, and not tell us about it. I’m going back to the fucking van.”

He stormed back out of the barn, and a few seconds later, they heard the door of the van slam shut.

“Uh, so, good to see your OK, Robert,” Hep said. He turned to leave with Robert and the other monk.

The Society of the Seven Seals stood, dumbfounded, as Hep led them towards the door.

“Hey, shouldn’t we try to stop them, or something?” one of the Society members said.

“I don’t know, that one guy seems like he’s ready to go off on anyone that gets in his way,” someone else said. “I think I’ll just maybe crack open a beer.”

Outside, Scroat was sitting in the van, scowling, and looking pointedly away from Robert. Robert and the other monk got in to the back of the van, each taking their own seat.

“Hi, I’m Brother Stuart,” the monk said to Scroat.

“Hi Brother Stuart. I’m fucking pissed off right now and don’t really give a fuck who you are,” Scroat said.

“Say, Scroat, uh, you might want to lighten up a bit,” Hep said as he got in to the van. “I think the whole reason we got out of there without any fight at all is because you traumatized those kids with your rant. They’re probably going to need therapy.”

“Whatever. I’m fucking hungry. Have they got a restaurant in this town? I need some red meat. And some corn. They grow corn here right? In the corn barn?” Scroat said.

“I guess we’ll find out. It’s just a few minutes to town,” Hep said. He started the van, and the drove at a leisurely pace away from the barn headquarters of the fearsome Society of the Seven Seals.

In Yankton, they found the world’s least authentic Mexican restaurant. Scroat asked for some Tabasco, and they heard uproarious laughter from the kitchen when the waitress went back to find out if they even had any.

Chapter Eighteen

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 02:52:00 +0000

Hep and Scroat woke that morning at five o’clock, along with the rest of the monks. They gathered their few possessions and went to the dining hall for a last breakfast with the brothers before they continued their journey East in search of Inktomi and a good spot to hang out until Poseidon had cooled off.

There was a strange energy in the dining hall that morning, however. The monks seemed on edge, far more than their usual ‘end is nigh’ tension. There was an unusual number of tapping feet, and robe collars that needed adusting, as well as a great deal more whispering than usual.

“What did we miss? Is something going on? Is the world going to end today?” Hep asked Brother Larry.

“Well, yes, but that’s not the source of our anxiety. It seems some of our brothers who are out in the field, so to speak, have been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped? Who would kidnap monks?”

Brother Larry looked very uncomfortable. He was sweating a little bit. He said, in a very low voice, “There are other Orders who, for reasons I can’t understand, seek to bring about the end of the world as soon as possible. Something about bringing God’s kingdom to Earth. We’ve left them alone, but they seem to have taken an interest in stopping our work. Right now, in fact, they’re subjecting our brothers to motivational videos and Disney movies, in an attempt to make them look forward to the future.”

Scroat slammed his hand down on the table and said, “Those bastards!”

Hep and Brother Larry looked at him, shocked by the intensity of his outburst.

“What are you looking at me like that for? That’s fucking torture what they’re doing. It’s inhumane. It’s sheer cruelty.”

“Well, yes,” Brother Larry said. “Although I think our mutual distaste is for different reasons.”

“So do you know where they’re keeping them? What do they want?” Hep asked.

“I don’t know where they are, and it seems they don’t want anything, except to disrupt our work.”

“I can’t believe they’re making them watch Disney movies. How are they going to keep them from killing themselves?” Scroat said.

Hep elbowed him in the ribs. 
“Oh, and uh, it’s wrong that they kidnapped them too. They must be shitting holy bricks.” Scroat said.

“So do you know which of these other Orders kidnapped your brothers,” Hep asked.

Brother Larry sighed, and said “Yes. They’re a splinter group called The Society of the Seven Seals.”

Scroat snickered. Hep had to contain a giggle himself.

“What’s so funny?” Brother Larry asked.

“It’s kind of a clichéd name, isn’t it?” Scroat said. “Why not call themselves The Four Horsemen?”

Brother Larry stared at him, with his mouth slightly open.

“It would be funny if you’d been around as long as we have, trust me,” Hep said.

“I’ll just take your word for it on that, I suppose,” Brother Larry said. “Um. I hate to impose, but, do you think you could help us recover our kidnapped brothers?”

Hep and Scroat stared at him.

“How, exactly, do you propose we do that? This is the first we’ve heard of it, and we don’t know where they are,” Hep said.

“But you’re...” Brother Larry looked around to see if any one was listening, and then whispered, “gods.”

“So do you think we can just produce them out of thin air?” Hep asked.

Brother Larry looked hopeful for a minute, then less so when he realized they would not, in fact, be producing the missing brothers right then.

“Well, you must have some knowledge, or ability to get knowledge, unavailable to us.”

“It would mean calling in some big favors,” Hep said. “Look, we can try to help you out, but we’re going to need a lot more information from you than the name of some treehouse club and the knowledge that ‘some’ of your brothers are missing.”

Brother Larry looked flustered, “well, we don’t know exactly which brothers are missing, or how many.”

Hep sat back. “So you don’t know who or how many are missing? How do you know any are missing at all?”

“Well, we got a letter from the Society of the Seven Seals telling us. Boasting about it, really.”

“Do you have this letter?”

“Not with me, one moment,” Brother Larry said. He called over one of the other monks, and asked him to go get the letter. The monk hustled away, and Hep, Scroat and Brother Larry waited quietly for him to return. A few minutes later, the monk returned and handed an envelope to Brother Larry. He then handed it over to Hep.

Hep took the envelope, removed the letter, read it briefly, then looked at the envelope. He blinked and looked again. Then he looked up at Brother Larry.

“So, uh, did you guys notice there’s a return address on this envelope?”

Brother Larry looked shocked, then deeply embarassed. “I guess it escaped our attention.”

“Well, that happens sometimes, I guess. Um, why don’t you have one of your guys check this address out and see if it’s real.”

The monk who brought the letter to them said, “I’ll go look it up right away. May I have the envelope back?”

Hep handed it to him. “Let us know what you find.”

“I can’t believe no one noticed the return address,” Brother Larry said.

“Yeah, for a bunch of researchers, you guys are fucking stupid,” Scroat said.

Within five minutes the monk returned with a map, directions to the address, arial photos, a phone number and print outs from the Society of the Seven Seals web site.

“They have a web site? Some secret order. You guys don’t have a web site do you?” Hep asked.

“No, that would kind of defeat the purpose of being a secret society, don’t you think?” Brother Larry said.

The address was in South Dakota, and from the aerial photos, it looked like their secret hideaway was a barn.

“Do you think it’s a trick?” Brother Larry asked.

“It could be, but probably not. I’ve found most people are incredibly stupid, especially when they think they’re being clever and sneaky. We can roll on out there, and we’ll probably find your guys guarded by a couple of chumps with nunchucks they don’t know how to use. Hell, we’ll have them out on the street warning about the apocalypse within forty eight hours.”

“Really? That would be incredible,” Brother Larry said.

“Yeah. Unless it’s a trap and they kill us. In which case, your guys will be fucked for a while,” Scroat said. “Australia is a long way away.”

“What does Australia have to do with this?” Brother Larry asked. His eyes were twitching back and forth, and he looked like he just couldn’t handle even a tiny bit more information.

“Never mind about that,” Hep said. “So, look, have you got a van, or something? Because it’ll be hard to bring these guys back here on our bikes.”

“Well, yes, we do. Is there anything else you’ll need?” Brother Larry asked.

“Have you got an armory?” Scroat asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Brother Larry said. “What would we do with an armory?”

“I dunno. You’re in fucking Montana. I figured you’d have a bunch of guns,” Scroat said.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Brother Larry said.

“I think you’d better lead us to your van,” Hep said. “Time’s a-wasting.”

They got up, and Brother Larry led them through another winding series of hallways. Hep and Scroat trailed a short distance behind him.

“Have you got an armory? Did you really ask if a monk had an armory?” Hep said to Scroat in a low voice.

“Nothing ventured nothing gained. And they’re a secret order, for fuck’s sake. Secret orders always have a hoard of weapons. It’s one of the rules you have to follow when you want to start a secret order, I thought.”

“Yeah, but they’re Christian monks, not some sect of martial artists. They don’t even seem especially militant, just nerdy and freaked out.”

“Freaked out nerds have the best weapons,” Scroat said.

Hep couldn’t argue.

The three of them emerged in a garage. There were an assortment of landscaping tools, chainsaws, and a pair of riding lawnmowers, along with a beat up, bright red, extended passenger van.

“Holy personnel carrier! How many monks can you fit in that fucking thing?” Scroat said.

“Sixteen, most days,” Brother Larry said. “Fourteen on Thanksgiving.”

They walked over to the Van. Hep opened the driver’s side door and climbed in. The interior was worn, but clean. There were three bench seats, all covered in red and black plaid cloth, behind the two captain’s chairs in front.

“Cool, a CB radio! I haven’t seen one of these in years. Does it work?” Hep said.

“Yes, though there aren’t many other people who still use them on the road,” Brother Larry said. “If you have an emergency, you might want to use your cell phone.”

“Don’t have one, but I’ve never had trouble finding a pay phone,” Hep said. “Where are the keys?”

“In the ashtray,” Brother Larry said.

Hep pulled the ashtray open - it was immaculately clean - and grabbed the keys. He put them in the ignition, and tried to start the van. The engine fired up without complaint. Hep looked at the gas gauge and saw the tank was full.

“Well, I’m ready to go. Have you got those directions?” he asked Brother Larry.

“Yes, here you go,” Brother Larry handed him the directions.

“Thanks,” Hep said. He closed the door, and rolled down the window. Scroat went around to the passenger side of the van and climbed in.

“Do we really have to take this thing?” Scroat asked.

“Yes, unless you want to start practicing some crazy circus moves on your motorcycle,” Hep said. He turned to Brother Larry and said, “We’ll be back in practically no time.”

“Good luck,” Brother Larry said. “and please be safe.”

“You got it,” Hep said. He put the van in reverse, and backed out of the garage, stopped briefly and consulted the directions, then shifted to Drive and was out of Brother Larry’s sight within a few seconds.

Chapter Seventeen

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Mon, 22 Nov 2010 03:44:00 +0000

The first week at the monastery passed slowly. Hep and Scroat began to get into the pattern of daily life, not without some protest. Although Hep had no trouble waking up at five o’clock in the morning each day, Scroat complained at great length about it every morning. There was oatmeal for breakfast every morning, some variety of rice and beans for lunch every afternoon, and a simple dinner each evening.

Since Hep and Scroat weren’t really researchers, and weren’t really able to fervently believe the world was going to end today, they mostly just hung around and tried to stay out of the way of the monks who were busy researching and fervently believing. There were a few simple tasks they were able to do for the monks, but cleaning and running errands are not to most engaging activities for a pair of gods. Once again, they found they were hopelessly bored. Hep wished for a book of knots and a couple lengths of rope. Scroat wished for a bar and a stash of porn.

On the morning of the 8th day of their stay, after breakfast, Hep said to Scroat, “Maybe we should go for a ride today.”

“That’s the best fucking idea I’ve heard in a week,” Scroat said. “Let’s go right now.”

Hep left a message for Brother Larry, just saying that they’d probably be back late, and not to wait up for them.

The bikes were exactly where they’d left them, but were now covered with a fine layer of dust. Hep felt somewhat ashamed at this, but Scroat barely noticed. Dusty or not, the bikes both started immediately, and the two of them were on the highway in a matter of minutes. They decided they might as well ride East, since they’d already seen what laid West of there.

It was a sunny day, and the temperature was perfect. The roads were in good shape, so Hep and Scroat didn’t spare the throttle as they rode. Winnett was rather run down, they discovered. They stopped in front of a house that had apparently fallen sideways into it’s foundation. “Free” was spraypainted on the front of the house.

“You want a free house?” Hep asked Scroat.

“It’s probably better than what we’ve got right now,“ Scroat said.

“Yeah, probably,” Hep said.

“So what the Hell are we doing here in Montana, anyway?” Scroat said.

Hep thought about it for a minute. Really, they’d been unusually passive ever since they found their house burning down. It was someone else’s idea that they sail with Poseidon. It was someone else’s idea that they head to Montana and hang out with a bunch of secretive monks with one of the stranger philosophies he’d heard. Who the hell was driving their lives right now, anyway?

It was easy to excuse his own passivity when Ares showed up while their house burned down, After all, finding the house engulfed in flames was a bit of a shock. And there really wasn’t much they could do once they were on the boat in the middle of the ocean unless swimming seemed like a better option, but now? Now there was nothing stopping them from going where ever they wanted, or from doing whatever they wanted. So why hang out with a bunch of monks?

“I don’t know. Recovering, maybe? Maybe we needed a week of quiet. But I think we should probably get out of here. Tomorrow. We’ll pack our things up tonight, have a last bowl of oatmeal with our hosts, and go someplace else.”

“Vegas?”

“No! Let’s track down Inktomi and find out what he knows. Maybe stay in his house and eat all his food for a couple of weeks before we drag him back to the desert and make him help us rebuild.”

“Now you’re talking,” Scroat said. “though I have to admit, blowing off some steam somewhere between Inktomi’s house and rebuilding ours might be a good thing.”

“We’ll talk about it when we get to that point, OK?”

“OK.”

They heard footsteps to their left, and turned to see who was approaching. It was a man who looked to be about sixty years old, wearing a green plaid shirt, worn jeans, and work boots.

“How are you guys doing?” he asked them.

“Just fine, thanks,” Hep said. “Just stopped to take a look at this house. It’s not something you see every day.”

“No, it sure isn’t. It’s kind of funny, and kind of tragic. They moved that house here from some other place, and screwed up when they set it on the new foundation. It fell in crooked like that, and they couldn’t figure out how to get it out again. Sort of a waste.”

“Yeah, seems like it. What happened to the people who moved the house here?”

“Well, they moved somewhere else,” the man said.

“Someplace here in town?”

“No. I figure they took a look around here, and figured that if their house went in crooked like that, well, maybe this town wasn’t where they were meant to be. Of course, there aren’t too many people who figure this town is where they’re meant to be. There’s just a few of us left.”

“What happened here?”

“Aw, they found oil here back in the forties, then it dried up. Then the farmers left and now there’s just a few of us that liked it so much we thought we’d stay here.”

This guy seemed like he was content to just stay there and talk all afternoon.

“Now we pretty much just cater to a few hunters that wander through, and travellers like you guys who just happen to end up here.”

“Sounds like it sucks,” Scroat said.

“Nah, it’s pretty nice. There’s plenty of good hunting around here, and we’ve got a nice laid back lifestyle.”

“Cool. So have you got a bar?” Scroat said.

“As a matter of fact we do. Just down the road here you’ll find the Kozy Korner. They’ve got beer and wine, though between you and me, I’d stick to the beer. They’ve got good food, too, if you’re hungry. I’ll probably head over there myself, later on.”

“That sounds pretty good. I think we’ll go check it out,” Hep said.

“Tell them Jim Halver sent you. They won’t do anything special for you, but they’re going to ask you sooner or later. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“All right. You have a good day,” Hep said.

He and Scroat started their bikes and rolled away from the curb. About two blocks away, they found the Kozy Korner Bar & Cafe. They parked next to a couple of pickup trucks that looked like they had survived several wars, and had the scars to prove it.

“We could have just walked,” Hep said.

“Yeah, but what fun would that be?”

The walked into the Kozy Korner Bar & Cafe, and took a look around. They immediately spotted the bar, and walked up to it. It was worn, but clean. There were a couple of men sitting at the far end of the bar who looked up with some interest at Hep and Scroat. Hep nodded to them.

After a few minutes, the bartender came out of the back. He saw Hep and Scroat, and eventually made it over to where they were standing.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“I’d like your largest, coldest beer, please. And if the kitchen is open, a bacon cheeseburger, medium rare, with fries,” Hep said.

“OK. We’ve got Budweiser and Bud Light, what’s your pleasure?”

“Budweiser will do just fine.”

“All right. How about you there, partner?”

“What he’s having,” Scroat said.

“Sounds good. I’ll get your order in to the kitchen right away, it’ll be just a few minutes.”

The bartender vanished again for several minutes. When he came back, he started pouring their beers.

“So what brings you guys to town? And how did you find us?”

“Jim Halver told us we should stop in here. As for us, we were just out for a ride and thought a beer and a burger sounded pretty good,” Hep said.

“Yeah, Jim’s in here almost every day. So far as I can tell, that guy doesn’t ever go home until he can’t avoid it, and I can’t say I blame him. His wife’s kind of overbearing. Luckily, she doesn’t come in here too much.”

The two guys at the end of the bar chuckled to themselves.

“That’s too bad,” Hep said. “He seems like a decent fellow.”

“Yeah, Jim’s all right. So, are you guys on your way anywhere, or just cruising around under the big sky?”
“We were staying with some friends a little ways away. We’re heading East again in the morning.”

“Are these friends of yours anyone I might know?” the bartender asked.

“I kind of doubt it. They’re a bunch of monks.”

The bartender had been cleaning glasses, but he stopped and looked up at them. “The Order of Patmos guys? I don’t know them, but of course, I know of them. There aren’t a whole lot of people out here, after all. Are you religious folks?”

“Not as such,” Hep said.

A bell rang somewhere. The bartender set down the glass he was drying.

“That’ll be your burgers. I’ll have them right up,” he said. He disappeared once more. When he came back, he had two plates overflowing with french fries and a couple of beautiful cheeseburgers.

“Do you need ketchup or anything?” he asked.

“No, this will be fine,” Hep said.

“How about a couple more beers?”

“Hell yeah!” Scroat said.

Hep and Scroat ate their burgers with the kind of enthusiasm you only see in a man who has been eating monk’s rations for a week. The burgers were charred, and juicy and greasy and perfect. The bartender brought a couple more beers, which vanished quickly.

Before long, Hep and Scroat were friends with the guys at the end of the bar, and kept making new friends as more and more of the locals wandered in.

While Scroat was hitting on a blonde woman, Hep was engrossed in conversation with a farmer about the best way to get a gummed up tractor running again. They were debating the merits of just dumping a bottle of Seafoam in the fuel versus pulling apart the carburetor and giving it a thorough soak in solvent when Hep heard voices raised in anger. He noticed the bartender was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

“What do you think you’re doing with my wife, little man?” an angry man with a brown mustache and a red trucker’s cap said. He was standing directly in front of Scroat, and his nose was about an inch away from Scroat’s.
“Who are you calling little man, Pinnochio? Anyway, I’m not doing anything with your wife, yet, since you had to go and interrupt me before I could give her the best night of her life.”

“What did you say?” the angry man said. His face was now bright red, and he was shaking with rage.

“Oh, crap,” Hep said.

“I said if you hadn’t shown up I was going to bend her over my motorcycle and fuck her until she sang Ava Maria, and then I was going to fuck her some more until all she could do was make crazy monkey noises. Nice going, cockblocker.”

Scroat looked away and finished off the rest of his beer. He set down his much and said, “And then I was going to ask her if she has a sister.”

Her husband swung a wild fist at Scroat, who ducked it and punched him in the gut. The man doubled over as the air whooshed out of him.

“Come on,” Scroat said, “we don’t have to be like this. Let me buy you a beer.” He looked around for the bartender. “Hey! Bartender! Where did you go? We need a couple of brewskies out here!”

He turned back in time to see the man lunging at him. They knocked over a couple of bar stools on the way to the ground. There was some confusion as several people tried to get away from the fight, while others gathered around to watch.

Scroat boxed the guy’s left ear, which distracted him enough for Scroat to get both hands free. He pushed the man off of him and stood up, then kicked his attacker in the side. “Are we done?” he asked.

The man groaned and stayed where he was.

“Dammit anyway. Here I was just trying to have a good time and some fuckhead has to go and start a fight.” Scroat dug out his wallet and left a couple of twenties on the bar. “Let’s go, Hep.”

Hep looked around at the crowd, who looked like they were about to get violent any minute.

“Yeah, OK,” He said.

They went outside, and had just gotten their bikes started when the crowd spilled out and came towards them.

“You can’t come to our town and cause shit like that!” one of the locals said.

Hep put his bike in gear, said, “Yeah, sorry about that. He’s been kinda cooped up,” then grabbed a big handful of throttle and hauled ass away from the Kozy Korner. Scroat followed close behind him.

They got back to the monastery shortly afterwards. Hep glared at Scroat.

“Oops,” Scroat said.

“Yeah, we just gave our hosts a bad name in that place.”

“That’s OK. Sounds like they probably don’t go there too often,” Scroat said.

Chapter Sixteen

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 01:57:00 +0000

The ride through Montana was, in comparison to the previous several days, uneventful. Scroat relented and allowed Brother Aloysius to ride on the back of his bike. They arrived at the Order of Patmos around two o’clock in the morning. As they rode to the well-lit front entrance, Hep looked at the buildings that made up the compound in amazement. The main building was a log cabin, only huge. Scattered around it were smaller log cabins.

Brother Aloysius got off the back of Scroat’s motorcycle and groaned in pain.

“Are you OK there?” Hep asked him.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never been this sore in my life,” Brother Aloysius said.

“Aw, don’t be a wussy,” Scroat said. “I bet your ass could hurt a whole lot worse.”

“You’ll feel fine in the morning, don’t worry, “ Hep said.

Another man in a brown robe came out of the main building to greet them. He was tall and broad, with no hair and green eyes.

“Welcome, Hep and Scroat, to our humble retreat. I am Brother Larry. Hello Brother Aloysius. Did the trip go smoothly?”

“Well, Brother Larry, except for his fucking car getting squashed, and this not looking anything like Vegas, sure, the trip was fine,” Scroat said.

“What happened to your car?” Brother Larry asked Aloysius.

“As he said, it was squashed. By a cement truck. Thankfully, none of us were in it at the time.”

“Well, I’m glad you are all OK. Cars can be repaired and replaced. People can not,” Brother Larry said. “Now, please, come in, and I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight.”

He opened the door for them, and followed them in to the building. There were only a few lights on inside, but Hep could see it was sparsely decorated. Plain, functional furniture, and religious paintings were precisely placed along the walls. He suspected few people ever used the furniture, or looked at the paintings, in here.

Brother Larry led them down a dark hallway, past closed door after closed door.

“Excuse me, Larry, but could you tell us what’s going on, and why your order would be concerned with us?” Hep asked.

“We can discuss that in the morning. For now, let me just say that we have a mutual friend who was concerned for your well-being.”

“Who is that?”

“We’ll discuss it, in the morning,” Brother Larry said. He stopped, fished a set of keys out of his robe, and unlocked the door to his right. He opened the door, reached in to the room and turned on the light.

“You two will be staying here tonight. Sleep well,” Brother Larry said to Hep and Scroat. “Brother Aloysius, you’ll be staying with the rest of the brothers this evening. Come with me.”

“Good night,” Brother Aloysius said to Hep and Scroat. He followed Brother Larry further down the hall.

Hep and Scroat went into the room. There were two beds with what looked like army surplus wool blankets, a small nightstand next to each bed, and a cross hanging on the wall. That was it.

“You know what would have been better than this? A fucking hotel in Vegas,” Scroat said.

“Hey, do you think there are Gideon’s bibles in the nightstands?” Hep asked.

“Good night, Hep,” Scroat said. He laid down on one of the beds, facing away from Hep.

“Night,” Hep said.

Hep woke up the next morning when there was a polite knock at the door. He ran a hand over his face and sat up on the bed. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all.

Hep got up from the bed and made his way to the door. Outside was a monk he hadn’t met yet.

“Good morning. Breakfast will be ready in five minutes.”

“Oh, hey, thanks but I think I need to sleep some more,” Hep said. He looked at his watch, wondered why he’d gone to sleep with it on, and then noticed the time. It was six o’clock. They’d been sleeping for three and a half hours, tops.

“You are both expected at breakfast this morning. Please get ready, and I’ll lead you to the dining hall.”

“But it’s only six in the morning. We didn’t get here until two in the morning. That’s hardly any sleep at all.”

The monk smiled gently, and said, “Everyone here rises at five o’clock. We thought we’d let you sleep in a bit.”

Hep sighed. “OK, OK, hang on.”

He shut the door and turned on the light. “Hey, time to wake up Scroat.”

Scroat groaned and covered his eyes.

“What the fuck is up with all the light. Can’t a guy get some sleep?”

“Apparently not. Time to get up, according to our hosts.”

Scroat gave Hep a very dirty look. “If we were in Vegas, we wouldn’t have to wake up until it was dark outside again, if we were so inclined.”

“Yeah, bummer about that. Come on, up and at them, already.”

Scroat got out of bed, and the two of them went out into the hall, where the monk was waiting for them.

“Who the fuck is this guy now?” Scroat asked.

“I am Brother Steve,” the monk said. “Breakfast begins in just a moment, I suggest we hurry.”

Hep and Scroat followed him through a maze of hallways, until they emerged in the dining hall. There were four very long tables, with bench seats. There were easily two hundred monks in the dining hall.

“We have a couple seats reserved for you, right over here,” Brother Steve said. He led them to the far end of the room, where they found Brothers Larry and Aloysius waiting for them. There were two bowls and two spoons placed neatly at an opening between monks. Hep and Scroat sat down. Brother Steve excused himself, and went to his own seat in another part of the room.

Scroat took a look at the bowl, and muttered, “Fuck. More oatmeal.”

“Be gracious,” Hep said.

“Get bent,” Scroat said.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Brother Larry said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Hard to say, it was only for five fucking minutes,” Scroat said.

“We’re a little tired, but grateful for the hospitality,” Hep said.

“Well, never fear, we go to bed early here, so you’ll get caught up on your sleep tonight,” Brother Larry said.

“Gee, great,” Scroat mumbled.

Hep took his spoon, and tried some of the oatmeal. It was, so far as he could tell, entirely plain. No sugar, no cinnamon, probably not even any milk. He had no idea what the day might have in store for them, however, so he ate.

“So,” Hep said, “I don’t supposed you’d mind telling me now why exactly we’re here. So far I’ve gone just taken a leap of faith and assumed you guys are actually trying to help us, but I have to admit I can only leap so far. And I don’t land on my feet very often, as you can imagine.”

“Yes, your legs,” Brother Larry said. He looked uncomfortable. “Well, I can assure you a soft landing is what you’ll find here. As I said last night, a mutual friend of ours told me you might need some assistance. He was quite concerned about you. And, since you’d saved his life, he felt it was only right to help you as much as possible.”

“Who are we talking about here,” Hep asked.

“Robert Wheeler, of course,” Brother Larry said.

“See? See? I told you that guy was up to some kind of weird shit!” Scroat said to Hep. “Now he’s got us trapped in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of reclusive psychos who wake up to early and force feed us oatmeal. I told you Vegas was the better option.”

“Shut up,” Hep said. “OK, what does Robert Wheeler have to do with a bunch of monks. He said he was a researcher of some kind.”

“Yes, he does research for us. He’s really quite talented. We have our own research staff here, of course, but sometimes we need to dig deeper into a subject and, well, it’s nice to have someone who can easily access all the libraries in the world on short notice without drawing too much attention to himself. He blends in, and he’s very good at finding the information we need. Most of our researchers don’t blend in well. The brothers who do blend in, of course, have other things to do besides research.”

“That all sounds very black ops, to me,” Hep said. “What exactly is your order’s mission?”

“Come with me, I’ll show you,” Brother Larry said. He stood up, and led Hep and Scroat out of the dining hall. Another monk gathered their bowls and whisked them back to the kitchen the moment they’d moved away from the table.

“Is Hep, by any chance, short for Hephaistos?” Brother Larry asked.

“Yeah, why?” Hep said.

“I couldn’t help but notice you bear a striking resemblance to a certain mythological figure.”

“You don’t say?” Hep said. What the hell is going on, he wondered.

“Scroat is a nickname, I assume?”

“What’s it to you?” Scroat said.

“Well, if I’m going to trust you with our secret, I would hope you would trust me with yours. But, frankly, I don’t think you two are mortal.”

“What makes you say that?” Hep said. He had yet to meet anyone that perceptive. At least, anyone that perceptive who would openly admit to it.

Brother Larry stopped before a pair of double doors, and turned around to face them.

“You were kicked off the boat of a man named Poseidon, you somehow managed to scrounge up a pair of customized motorcycles and reach Burns, Oregon, forty eight hours later, and you can ride those motorcycles for sixteen hours or more at a stretch without apparent fatigue. You’re either gods or the most extraordinarily resourceful and resilient men I’ve ever met.”

“See? I told you we should have gone to Vegas,” Scroat said. “They don’t go out of their way to freak you out at a bunny ranch.”

“Shut. Up.” Hep said.

“Now, I can assure you your secret will never leave these walls either way. Before I let you in here, will you confirm or deny my theory.”

Hep stood up as straight as he could, and pulled his shoulders back. Despite his bad legs, he was an imposing sight. “I am, indeed, Hephaistos, God of Fire and the Forge.”

Scroat puffed himself up too. “I am Bamapana, God of Fucking Your Mom.”

Brother Larry looked unimpressed. “I’m sorry, Scroat, what pantheon are you a part of?”

“The pantheon of knocking you the fuck out,” Scroat said.

“OK, I’ll figure it out on my own,” Brother Larry said. “Now then, on with the tour.”

He unlocked the double doors, and opened them wide. The room they were in now was lined with whiteboards with dates and events scribbled on them, with arrows and quickly drawn diagrams, as well as corkboards with news clippings and other paper detritus pinned up. There were at least four laser printers, two photocopiers, and a maze of desks with computers, and work tables spread throughout.

“We are here to predict the end of the world, to ensure the world does not end,” Brother Larry said.

“Oh, fuck. Hep, you got us wrapped up with some looney tunes crazy motherfuckers,” Scroat said. Hep considered this for a minute, and had to concede that they did indeed seem to be looney tunes crazy motherfuckers. In monk’s robes.

“Sorry,” Hep said. “How, exactly, do you keep the world from ending?”

“Are you familiar with Matthew 24:42?” Brother Larry said.

“Not as such,” Hep said.

“Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come,” Brother Larry said. He looked at Hep as though this would clear everything up right away.

“Uh huh. So, you’re watching for him, so you can fight him off? Just so I’m clear, which team are you guys on?”

“Gods team, of course,” Brother Larry said. “Look, Jesus said we won’t know the day the Lord will come. So, our mission is to have a reason to be certain, every day, that the Lord will come today.”

Hep and Scroat stared at him without saying a word.

“Let me get this straight,” Hep said. “You believe the world is going to end today, so it won’t?”
“Exactly. If someone knows the day the world will end, then it can’t end on that day because then Jesus, and by extension, God himself, would be wrong.”

“So you’re going to prevent the end of the world by rule lawyering?”

“It’s worked so far,” Brother Larry said.

“Just so we’re crystal clear, you guys stay here, and research ways the world is going to end in the near future, in order to believe that the world is going to end on a particular day, in the hopes that the world will not, in fact, end.”

“Right.”

“And so those guys you see on the street corner with the signs and the shouting about the nighness of the end?”

“Are a part of our order, whether they are aware of it or not, yes,” Brother Larry said.

Hep shrugged. “OK. I’ve heard crazier things.

Chapter Fifteen

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 21:49:00 +0000

Hep, Scroat and Brother Aloysius stopped in Idaho Falls to eat and stretch their legs a bit. The restaurant was a typical, brightly lit, somewhat dingy, family restaurant. Looking around, of course, there wasn’t a family to be seen. There were a good number of truckers and a few couples. Everyone looked sort of sick under the flourescent lights.

The waitress was pretty, but looked worn out and more than a little cranky. She gave them a perfunctory smile and asked what they wanted to drink.

“Coffee,” Hep said.

“Coffee,” Scroat said.

“Just water,” Brother Aloysius said.

“Easy enough. I’ll have those right out. Can I get something deep fried and bad for you going right away?”

“No, thanks,” Hep said.

“Be right back,” she said.

They looked at their menus in silence. Nearby one of the truckers was telling a story to another trucker about the stupid newbie who’d had to hit every single runaway truck ramp on the way from Flagstaff to Phoenix.

“Every time I got to sleep, I’d wake up to a sudden stop and realize we’d hit the gravel again. We didn’t make a dime on that run because of the fees for getting pulled back on the road, but he was in good with the owner, so he still got paid. I wanted to kick his ass from here to Maine.”

The waitress came back a few minutes later with their drinks. “Are you ready to order,” she asked.

They ordered, and then fell silent again. Scroat kept looking around like he was certain someone they knew was going to pop out of somewhere and give them a hard time. Hep took a sip of his coffee.

“Damn, this is better than I expected,” He said in an attempt to break the silence. It didn’t work.

“So what did you say your order’s mission is?” Hep asked Brother Aloysius.

“I didn’t, and I’m not going to explain it here, sorry. There will be time for that when we get to Montana.”

“Well, help me out here, Brother,” Hep said. “Did any of your local sports teams do anything remarkable in the last year or so?”

“I don’t watch sports, sorry.”

“Well there has to be something we can talk about. I mean,” Hep was interrupted then by a horrendous BANG outside, followed by the sounds of screeching and clattering metal, as well as the sound of tires skidding.

Scroat, of course, peeked out the window to see who had come to visit.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Scroat said.

“What’s not good?” Hep said.

“Looks like Brother Aloysius’s car just got smashed all to Hell by a cement truck.”

“What?” Brother Aloysius said. He turned to look. “Are you serious?”

“Totally serious,” Scroat said.

Outside, they could see the cement truck, and the driver climbing out of the cab. About ten feet away was a lump of jagged metal that used to be a white Ford Escort.

“Man, did you see that guy come screaming into the lot? Hey, Jason, I think that newbie you were talking about got a job driving a cement truck!” one of the truckers said. “Good thing that car was there to keep him from causing any damage to the other trucks.”

“Oh no,” Brother Aloysius said, and hurried outside.

Hep and Scroat could see him getting more and more worked up as the drunkeness of the cement truck driver became apparent.

“I hope he’s got insurance,” Hep said.

“Probably not on that shitty car,” Scroat said. “This cup of coffee is probably worth more than that thing was.”

Scroat picked up his coffee and took a sip. “Say, this is good coffee.”

Hep looked out the window then. “Well, there might be a problem if he doesn’t have any insurance, because the guy just got back in his truck and drove away.”

“No shit? Well, I guess we’ll have to just head down to Vegas then, since he can’t lead us to Montana.”

Hep started rubbing his temples. “We’re not going to Vegas, for the last time. He’s just going to have to ride on the back of your bike.”

“Fuck that shit! Home slice out there can get his own wheels figured out. Or he can ride on the back of your bike.”

“I don’t have a pillion seat. He’s riding on your bike.”

“This trip has totally sucked,” Scroat said. “I say that this is a sign we shouldn’t continue with this guy. We’ve had weird people popping up for the whole damn trip, and it’s because you’re not listening to me. I say we get our asses to some place where we can blend in, lay low, and figure out what to do from there.”

“We can’t leave this guy stranded here. At the very least, we can give him a lift to his order.”

“Not on my bike,” Scroat said.

Brother Aloysius came back in. “He drove away! He didn’t give me any of his information, much less his insurance information, and he drove off!”

“Don’t worry, pal, I got his license plate and the name of the company off his truck, and the police are on their way,” one of the truckers said.

“Fuck. Are we really going to hang out while he files a police report?” Scroat said. “We can’t be more than 8 hours from Vegas if we leave right now.”

“Yes, we’re going to hang out. We’re not going to Vegas, and we don’t have anything better to do.”

“Whatever,” Scroat said.

The waitress brought their order. “Rough luck, man. Here’s your food, at least. You can have a bite while you wait for the police to show up. They’re kind of slow around here.”

“See? The police are slow around here. It’s a sign we should bail,” Scroat said.

“Eat your burger, Scroat,” Hep said.

A police officer arrived about half an hour later. He took a look at the mashed up Ford Escort, then walked into the restaurant.

“Who owns the Ford Escort out in the lot?” he asked.

Brother Aloysius stood up and walked over to the cop. “It’s mine,” he said.

“Well, Brother Aloysius, what brings you to this part of Idaho? I thought you were working in Oregon now. How are you doing?”

Brother Aloysius smiled a bit, and said, “Well, I’ve been better, Officer Tarbox. My car’s been totaled by a cement truck, and I’m a long ways from home.”

“I guess that’s fair. What are you doing here, though?”

“I’m going to Montana with these two,” he said. The officer looked over at Hep and Scroat who waved briefly, and went back to their coffee.

“Well, let’s go outside and take a report, shall we?” Officer Tarbox said.

He and Brother Aloysius went outside and stood looking at the wreckage of the Ford Escort.

“Why does he know a cop in Idaho?” Scroat asked Hep. “We’re, like, 8 hours away from where we started. Kind of a broad area to make friends in, don’t you think?”

“We can bump in to friends anywhere in the world, it’s not that surprising,” Hep said.

“Bullshit. We’ve had hundreds of years to make friends all over the world. He looks like he’s had all of thirty. Something is up, I’m telling you.”

“Nothing is up, settle down. It’s a coincidence,” Hep said. “A weird coincidence, but not really that amazing. People have friends. Sometimes people move to difference states. Sometimes friends bump into each other when they’re traveling.”

Officer Tarbox and Brother Aloysius came back in to the restaurant and sat down at the table with Hep and Scroat. Tarbox looked like he was probably in his late thirties. He had very short brown hair, and brown eyes.

“So, gentlemen, can you tell me what you saw?”

“Not much. We heard squealing tires and a big crash. Then I looked outside and saw the driver get into his truck and drive away.”

“Did you get a license plate?”

“No, but one of the truck drivers over there did,” Hep said.

The truck drivers were all busy pretending they weren’t listening to the conversation.

“OK, I’ll have to talk to them later,” Tarbox said. He turned to Scroat, “How about you? Anything to add?”

“Not a damn thing,” Scroat said.

“OK,” Tarbox said. “Well, I’m going to need to get your contact information, gentlemen. How about you, sir? What’s your name?”

“Hep.”

“Your full name, please.”

“Hephaistos,” Hep said, then spelled it when Officer Tarbox looked worried.

“Last name?”

Hep thought quickly, and said “Smith.”

Tarbox looked up at him and said, “That’s an unusual name. Hephaistos isn’t a name I’d associate with someone called Smith.”

“Really? I wouldn’t associate the name ‘John’ with ‘Smith,’ personally. Doesn’t sound like smith to me at all.”

“OK then,” Tarbox said. He looked at Scroat. “How about you, sir.”

“Scroat.”

“What did you call me?”

“That’s his nickname,” Hep said.

“Can I have your proper name, please?”

“Bamapana,” Scroat said.

“Is that your first and last name?”

“Sure, why not?”

“OK.” Tarbox said. He wanted to ask more questions, but Hep and Scroat were smiling at him in a way that make him think it might be a bad idea. The kind of thing that would result in looking even more foolish at his next annual review. He wrote a bit more in his notepad, then said, “Thank you, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I”m going to go and talk to those truckers and see if they know anything more.”

“Good luck!” Hep said.

The three of them sat, drinking coffee, and waiting for Officer Tarbox to finish talking to everyone present in the restaurant who had something to add. A lot of the truckers hadn’t actually seen any of it, but wanted to add their opinion to the pile.

“I’m telling you, he was drunk as a Lord. I’m amazed he didn’t fall out of the truck before he got here,” they overheard one of the truckers telling the cop.

After a long while, Tarbox came back to the table Brother Aloysius, Hep and Scroat were at. He scratched his head, and then spoke.

“Well, I’ve got all the info, and I’ve put a call in to dispatch to have the officers and highway patrol keep an eye out for a banged up cement truck. The tow truck should be here to haul your car away in a little bit. Brother Aloysius, it’s always good to see though, though the circumstances were unfortunate this time. I hope the rest of your trip to Montana goes smoother. Have a good day, gentlemen.”

Officer Tarbox left. The waitress came over to see if they wanted more coffee, and maybe some pie.

“Yeah, we’re going to be here a while,” Hep said. “May as well have some pie.”

Scroat groaned. “Can we please just leave?”

“Nope. We’ll get this wrapped up, and then head on to Montana,” Hep said.

Scroat put his head on the table. “This is just no fun at all.”

Chapter Fourteen

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 03:41:00 +0000

Hep and Scroat made it as far East as Burns, Oregon, before they decided it might be a good idea to actually figure out where the hell they were actually going. After all, away from the coast would only take them so far before they would be heading toward another coast.

Burns is not especially big town, and a pair of funny looking bikers, one of whom was riding a gorgeous custom trike, are the kind of thing that attracts everyone’s attention. As such, as Hep and Scroat rode through town, everybody stopped what they were doing to look.

They stopped at a gas station, and Hep went inside to buy some maps. He bought maps for Oregon, Idaho, Nevada and Washington.

“That’s a real nice looking motorcycle you’ve got out there,” the cashier said when Hep went to pay for the maps.

“Thanks. I built it myself.”

“Well good job, buddy. So where are you two headed? 
“East,” Hep said.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Not yet, that’s what the maps are for,” Hep said.

“Wow, that’s freedom,” the cashier said. “I wish I could just up and do something like that.”

“Yeah,” Hep said. He did his best to contain his sarcasm. “It’s great. Coming from nowhere, with nowhere to go.”

“Well, when you say it like that, maybe it’s just better in concept.

“Could be,” Hep said.

“Are you guys in some kind of trouble?”

Hep smiled at the clerk.

“Always,” he said.

“Well, I’ll tell you what, there’s no trouble that God can’t help you with,” the clerk said.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” Hep said. “You have a good day, now.”

“You too. Ride safe.”

Hep went outside, and found a crowd had gathered around Hep’s bike and, to a lesser extent, around Scroat.

“Look, ya fuckin’ hicks, I already told you I don’t know how he did it. Ask him, he’s right over there.”

Hep didn’t like the sound of that.

The crowd around Hep’s bike opened up a bit as they turned to look at him.

“Hey, man, where’d you get the frame for this bike done?” asked a guy in a Miller High Life baseball cap.

“Who made these fenders?” someone else asked.

“Is that a Honda motor in there? Why didn’t you use a Harley motor?”

“Sorry, gentlemen, no time to talk,” Hep said. He swung a leg over his trike and started it, then put the bike in gear.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said to the crowd standing in front of him. They made room for him, and Hep pulled out of the gas station, with Scroat following right behind him.

“Fucking small towns,” Scroat said to Hep at the next stop sign. “Can’t ever get through without talking to fucking everyone and courting their daughters.”

“Whatever, you love the attention, and when have you ever ‘courted’ anyone,” Hep said. They rode on.

A few miles down the road, they found a lonesome church. It was a white, a-frame building with a raw-looking wooden cross out front. The parking lot was empty, and the grounds around the church looked as though no one had been there for a long time. It was, in other words, a good spot to pull in and look at maps without being disturbed.

Hep and Scroat rode to the middle of the parking lot, and shut down their bikes. They sat down and started spreading out the maps. If they’d been paying attention, they might have noticed someone watching them from the other side of the church’s dirty windows.

“I say we go to Vegas,” Scroat said.

“You always say we should go to Vegas,” Hep said. “Right now might not be the best time for Vegas, considering the luck we’ve been having over the last couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, but our luck has to turn around sometime. Let’s go to Vegas! What better place for a dramatic come back? At the very least, we’ll be able to find a couple of whores.”

“Another time. I think we should head into Idaho.”

Scroat’s complete disgust was immediately apparent.

“Idaho?” Scroat said. “What the fuck is in Idaho?”

“Not a damn thing,” Hep said. “But it’s East of here, and I had a thought: maybe we should go pay Inktomi a visit. Where is he living now, anyway?”

“Last I heard, he was somewhere in Minnesota. But that was the last I heard. You know, from back before our house burned down,” Scroat said. He brightened then, and said, “He might be in Vegas now. We should go check to be sure.”

“We’re not going to Vegas. And even if we don’t go all the way to Minnesota, Idaho would be a good place to lay low for a while.”

“But it’s a total shit hole! Can’t we lay low somewhere fun?”

“No. You’re not very good at keeping a low profile in fun places.”

Scroat was the first to notice the man standing next to them. He jumped a little bit.

“Who the fuck are you?” Scroat said.

The man wore sandals and a rough brown robe, tied around his waist with a length of rope.

“I am Brother Aloysius. I was told I should be on the lookout for a pair of unusual motorcyclists, because they might need assistance, and to offer whatever help I could, should I find you.”

“Who told you to be on the lookout for us?” Hep asked.

“The head of my order,” Brother Aloysius said. “He told all of the brothers that we should offer assistance, should we meet a pair of unlikely travelers on motorcycles, and you would most likely be passing through the northwest.”

“How the fuck did he know that?” Scroat asked

“Well, frankly, you’re hardly keeping a low profile looking the way you look, riding those motorcycles through small towns in the middle of nowhere. But an associate of ours hinted that you’d be in the area as well.”

“Who’s this associate? And who are you, I mean, what is your order?”

“I couldn’t say who the associate is, but we are the Order of Patmos,”

“Never heard of you,” Scroat said.

“That is as it should be,” Brother Aloysius said.

“Patmos? You’re Greek?” Hep said.

“Only in a metaphorical sense. Now, are you in need of assistance?”

Hep and Scroat looked at each other, unsure if they needed assistance or not.

“We keep running into the weirdest fucking people,” Scroat said to Hep.

“We sure do,” Hep said. Then he said to Brother Aloysius, “We’re traveling East, and trying to decide where to go next.”

“How far do you plan to go?”

“Well, really, we just want to get away from the oceans,” Hep said.

Brother Aloysius raised an eyebrow. “Is there something to fear in the ocean?”

“Yeah, one royally pissed off sailor. We’re trying to avoid him for a while,” Scroat said.

Brother Aloysius’s eyebrow dropped. “You need protection? I could take you to the headquarters of my order. We have a monastery in Montana.”

“Fuck, that’s even worse than Idaho,” Scroat grumbled. “I’m telling you Hep, we should head to Vegas. We cause a scene even when no one is around. No one will even notice us in Vegas.”

“We’re not going to Vegas!” Hep said. “Let me think for a minute.”

Hep thought, What would a secretive order of monks named after a Greek island want with us. Why would they want to help us? And if they ultimately wanted to screw with us, why go to the trouble of making us think they’re going to help us? Why would they even have an opinion about us, either way?

He couldn’t think of a good reason for the monks to want to harm them, so he said, “OK, I guess Montana could be a good start. How do we get there?”

“Wait just a moment, I’ll get my car,” Brother Aloysius said. He walked back to the church, and slipped quietly through the front door. It suddenly seemed as though he’d never been there at all.

“Man, this is just weird,” Scroat said. “I don’t trust this fucker any more than I trust Robert Wheeler. Why would you agree to go to a remote compound in fucking Montana? There’s nothing like luring someone out into the middle of nowhere when you don’t want any witnesses to notice the terrible things you’re going to do. And what car? Do you see a car? This place doesn’t look like a car has been here in ten years.”

“I think your paranoia is getting to you again, Scroat,” Hep said. “How dangerous can a guy in flip flops and a scratchy robe be, anyway?”

“Depends on what he comes out of that building with, doesn’t it. If he comes out of there with a fucking rocket launcher, I’d say he could be pretty dangerous.”

“Well, OK, if he comes out with a rocket launcher, I’ll agree with you that he could be pretty dangerous. But I think he’s probably just a guy who wants to help us.”

“Help us become ritual sacrifices, I bet,” Scroat said. “I hope you’re ready to get roasted on a spit. Let’s go to Vegas. There’s still time to get away from him, and we’ll blend right in there.”

They heard a small engine start somewhere behind the building, then the squeal of a loose fan belt as the driver stepped on the gas. A battered, white Ford Escort came around the side of the decrepit church, and drove over to them. Brother Aloysius rolled down the window.

“The closest city to our compound is Winnett. It’s about fifteen hours from here. You can ride in here with me, or just follow me.”

Hep looked at Scroat and said, “I don’t really want to leave our bikes fifteen hours away again, do you?”

“Nope. It’s a pain in the ass trying to track down new wheels.”

“I think we’ll just follow you,” Hep said to Brother Aloysius.

“OK, I’ll do my best not to ditch you,” Brother Aloysius said.

“Don’t worry,” Hep said, “We’ll be able to keep up.”

A special treat for my readers: This comic was brought to my attention. I think you might enjoy it.

Chapter Thirteen

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 04:04:00 +0000

Bend seemed like an OK town. Samantha and Cindi dropped Hep and Scroat off at the public library, which was smack in the middle of downtown.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out what to do from here,” Samantha said.

“Sure thing,” Hep said. “Thanks for the ride.”

“I don’t suppose I could get your phone number?” Scroat asked Cindi.

“No, you can’t. Good luck on the rest of your trip,” she said.

Scroat scowled and got out of the car. He slammed the door and walked away without another word.

“OK, well, bye,” Hep said. He got out of the car as well, and watched as Samantha and Cindi drove away.

“You took that little rough, didn’t you?” Hep asked Scroat.

“Hey, they got us kicked off of that damn boat - not that getting kicked off the boat was a bad think, in my opinion - and then I spent a whole day in the fucking car with them. We’re practically old friends. You’d think she’d be willing to talk on the damn phone once in a while.”

“Yeah, crazy, I know,” Hep said. “But are you sure it was their fault we got kicked off the boat?”

Hep didn’t have much trouble finding a pair of likely motorcycles for sale in Bend. On an announcements board in the library was an ad for a Honda and a Suzuki from the seventies. Both were around 600cc, and the price was tough to argue with: $1200 for both. He found a pay phone and called right away.

The seller agreed to come and pick them up at the library, since Hep promised payment in cash if the bikes were running. He and Scroat had been waiting for about twenty minutes when an old Ford pickup squeaked and rattled to a stop in front of them. Hep wasn’t sure if the truck had always been that particular shade of brown, or if the years had just not been kind to the truck. The driver rolled down the passenger side window.

“Howdy. Are you Hep?”

The driver looked like he was about sixty years old. His hair was dark grey under a tan cowboy hat, and he had an awe-inspiring handlebar moustache.

“Yep, that’s me. This is Scroat,” Hep said.

“Well, one of you hop in the back of the truck, and we’ll get going.”

Scroat climbed in to the back of the truck, where he had a variety of tools and scraps of steel to keep him company. Hep rode in the cab.

“So, how is it that two fellas that don’t look like they’re from around here wound up at the Bend library, calling me about buying my motorcycles.”

“It’s kind of a long story. In a nutshell, our other plans fell through, and now we’re in need of cheap transportation.”

“Well, I’ve starred in my share of long stories, I guess. These bikes will definitely qualify as cheap transportation. I hope you’re pretty good with mechanical stuff, though. They run well enough, but they’re kind of cranky before you get them started.”

“We know a fair bit about motorcycles, I think we’ll be OK,” Hep said.

“Good deal. So are you fellas staying here in Bend a while?”

“No, just long enough to arrange some transportation.”

“Where are you heading next?”

“East,” Hep said. He didn’t really care to explain more than that.

“What’s East?”

“Some friends, I hope.”

“Fair enough. If you don’t want to talk about it, then I probably don’t want to hear about it. My wife always said I asked people too many questions.”

Hep didn’t say anything, just looked out the window at the people on the sidewalk. He saw a man carrying a sign that said “The END is NIGH.”

“That’s weird. We just saw a guy earlier today carrying a sign warning the end times were approaching.”

“Well, don’t you worry about this one. That’s John Fisher over there. He’ll get going about the end of the world at the drop of a hat, if you let him, but otherwise he’s a decent fellow. We used to bowl on Tuesday nights, before he lost his marbles.”

John Fisher looked over at the truck and waved as they passed by.

They arrived at the seller’s garage about five minutes later. Hep and Scroat waited outside while he opened the garage. Inside were a pair of seventies era universal Japanese motorcycles. The Honda was red, and the Suzuki was blue. There were also bits and pieces of probably ten other motorcycles laying about, and what looked like a very complete set of tools, including some welding equipment.

The bikes already had their keys in the ignition, so Hep and Scroat rolled them outside and tried to start them. To the seller’s amazement, they both fired up almost instantly.

“Hell! I couldn’t get them to start that well when they were new! How did you do that?”

“Just luck, I guess,” Hep said.

“If you say so,” the old cowboy said. “So, are you going to buy them?”

“Well, they seem OK. I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you $1200 for both if you’ll let me scavenge through your junk pile and use your tools to rig this bike up so I can ride it comfortably.”

“Are you kidding? I’m not letting a couple of guys I don’t know take over my garage for a couple weeks modifying a pair of bikes I just want to get rid of.”

“We won’t be a couple of weeks. We’ll be out of your garage before breakfast tomorrow.”

The old cowboy looked hard at Hep and Scroat. They looked rough, and the bigger one was probably the ugliest son of a bitch he’d ever seen, but they also looked honest. He hoped he was right.

“All right, you can use my garage for the night, but you’ve got to be out of here first thing in the morning.”

“You’ve got it,” Hep said, and reached to shake his hand.

The cowboy shook Hep’s hand, and then Scroat’s.

“Now, will you fellas be paying cold cash, or hard cash?”

Hep pulled his wallet out of his pocket, and said, “A little of each.”

He gave the cowboy a stack of one hundred dollar bills. The cowboy counted the money, folded it, and stuffed it in his pocked. “Thanks. I’ve got the titles right over here.”

He took a manila folder off a shelf littered with motorcycle bits, and handed it to Hep. Inside were the registration cards and titles for both bikes.

“Now, if you fellas will excuse me, I’ve got some other things to do. Put the tools you use back where they belong, if you don’t mind,” he said. He went to his truck again, got in and started it, then waved to Hep and Scroat as he drove off.

“Are you going to need my help?” Scroat asked.

“Nope,” Hep said.

“Cool. I’m going to go find a bar. See you later,” Scroat said.

“Later,” Hep said. He was already coming up with a plan for how to turn the Honda into a trike using the parts laying around the garage.

Scroat got on the Suzuki, started it, and rode away.

With the garage to himself, Hep got started by taking inventory. There were a few wheels, a couple of frames, and some bits of steel plate that could be useful. It would be enough. He put the little Honda up on it’s center stand and got to work tearing it apart.

He barely noticed when the old cowboy pulled his truck in to the driveway and went into the house. He didn’t notice the sun set as he welded together bits of frame. He didn’t notice the neighborhood cats lined up across the street, watching him work as he hammered steel plate into the shape he needed.

Scroat arrived back around four in the morning, looking extra disheveled and reeking of liquor. Hep acknowledge him with a grunt, and continued working.

The old cowboy came out to the garage around seven thirty in the morning, and couldn’t believe what he saw. Hep was airing up the last tire on an immaculate trike. The seat was low, and the rear fenders were polished to a high shine.

“What do you think?” Hep said.

“I.. can’t believe it,” the old cowboy said. “Who are you?”

“Just me,” Hep said. He rolled the bike out of the garage, and went over to the corner where Scroat was sleeping. He gave Scroat’s shoulder a good hard shake, and said “Wake up!”

“What?” Scroat said. He sat up and scratched his head. “Man, I just fell asleep.”

“It’s time to go,” Hep said. He walked over to the old cowboy, who was still staring at Hep’s new trike. “Thank you very much for your hospitality. I really appreciate it.”

“Sure,” the old cowboy said.

Hep and Scroat got on to their bikes, started them up, and rode off towards downtown Bend. Hep gave the old cowboy a big wave as he rode away.

The old cowboy turned to inpect his garage. It was spotless. All the tools were back in their proper places, and he could swear they were cleaner than they had been the last time he’d used them. The biggest shock, however, was looking over the parts pile. There were a lot fewer parts laying around, but in their place was a motorcycle that hadn’t been there before. He looked at it carefully, and noticed keys in the ignition. He turned the bike on, and thumbed the starter, not expecting anything to happen. He was quite surprised when the motor leapt to life and settled into an easy idle.

“Who the hell were those guys?” he said to himself. He shut the bike down again, and went back in to his house to have some coffee. This was just too much weird stuff for a man his age to deal with before he’d had his coffee.

Chapter Twelve

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 06:05:00 +0000

The four of them stopped near Idlewild, California, for breakfast. Hep was relieved they were finally moving away from the ocean. The problem with getting thrown off-ship in a small coastal town is that there aren’t always a lot of roads leading directly away from the ocean. In this case, they had to go South before they could start moving East.

The restaurant smelled like ancient grease, and the top of the table was sticky. On the upside, the coffee was fantastic.

“So,” Samantha said, “how far East, exactly, do you need to go?”

“As far as you’ll take us. Then I guess we’ll try to scrounge up some motorcycles and keep moving on our own,” Hep said.

“I thought you guys were sailors.”

“Nope. Bikers.”

“How did you end up sailing in to Brookings, then?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Hep said. He didn’t really want to explain the whole thing. As it was, he wasn’t exactly sure why they’d agreed to get on the boat in the first place. He decided it must have just been a poor decision caused by the shock of the massive upheaval they came home to.

Scroat’s hangover had kicked into high gear, and he wished they’d just shut up and drink their coffee.

Cindi said, “Well, we’re on a road trip for the time being. We have time for a long story.”

“Fuck,” Scroat muttered.

“OK, well, I guess it isn’t that long of a story, it’s mostly just dumb,” Hep said. “We were out riding around in Texas for a couple months, and Scroat here let a friend housesit for us. We got home in time to watch our house burn down. We went to stay with a relative in Los Angeles, who hooked us up with another relative that needed crew to sail to Alaska.”

“You’re right,” Samantha said, “That is a stupid story. Why didn’t you stay home and try to rebuild?”

“Because we’re not very good at staying still for long, I guess,” Hep said.

“That and to give the guy I let stay in our house a decent head start,” Scroat said.

“You think he burned your house down on purpose?” Cindi said.

“Who cares? It burned down on his watch,” Scroat said.

“Unless he wasn’t there. There was no trace of him when we got home,” Hep said.

“So, let me make sure I understand what you’re saying. You’re chasing a friend of yours who might not have even been around when your house caught fire?” Samantha said.

“Are we chasing him?” Hep asked Scroat.

“I don’t know. Seems like as good of a reason for being out here running around as any.”

“So, I guess we just want to find him and make sure he’s OK,” Hep said.

“And then kick his ass,” Scroat said.

“Unless we don’t need to,” Hep said.

“Great, we picked up a couple of psychos,” Samantha said to Cindi.

“Yeah, but they’re paying for breakfast, and we were planning to go to Bend anyway,” Cindi said.

Hep started to object (they were not psychos. Overwhelmed and confused, but otherwise sane), but then the part about going to Bend sunk in. Bend was high desert. And there would probably be a motorcycle or two there to be bought on the cheap. Perfect.

“Did you say you’re going to Bend?” Hep said.

Samantha sighed, and elbowed Cindi. “Way to tell them everything they needed to know.”

“Whatever.”

“Yes,” Samantha said, “We can take you as far as Bend, provided you can behave for that long. If not, we’ll kick you the hell out of the car so fast you’ll wonder if you were ever actually in the car.”

“Cool,” Hep said.

They’d been back on the road for maybe fifteen minutes, and Scroat and Cindi were already sleeping in the backseat. Hep had offered to sit in the back as well, but Cindi insisted he sit up front since he had bad legs.

Samantha’s car was an early 90’s Buick Century. It was an odd shade of maroon, and smelled like pine tree air fresheners and cigarettes. The interior was a little worse for wear, but Hep was impressed at how comfortable the ride was. For a car.

Hep and Samantha rode in silence for maybe twenty minutes before Samantha spoke.

“So could you explain why you’re so eager to get away from the water? I mean, it’s not like the guy whose boat you just wrecked can cover the entire coast all the time. The chances of bumping in to him are pretty slim. Especially if he’s going to Alaska. Why not just head South and enjoy the beaches along the way?”

Hep wasn’t sure how she’d take it if he explained they were all gods, and the god whose boat they’d been on was Poseidon and that, yes, he could in fact cover the entire coast, because every creature in the ocean could report back to him. Hell, the waves could report back to him. And it wasn’t just the ocean, but they’d be wise to avoid any body of water that lead to the ocean. And maybe lakes, he wasn’t exactly sure.

He was pretty sure, however, that the honest explanation would get them kicked out of the car in the middle of nowhere, Oregon. So he just said, “He’s got friends up and down the coast, and someone would be bound to notice the two of us. It’ll be best if we just wait a while, and let him cool off a bit.”

“How long do you think that will take?”

“Probably a while. Did you see the size of the hole in his boat?”

A while later, as they passed through Gold Hill, Samantha noticed a guy walking down the sidewalk wearing a sandwich board. He looked sober and serious. The sign read: The END is NIGH. REPENT, for the WORLD shall END on August, 19, 2016.

“Wow, that’s an oddly specific sign,” she said.

Hep turned to look. “Yeah it is. What’s he going to do on August 17, 2016 after the world didn’t end?”

The man carrying the sign looked directly at Hep. Hep waved. The sign-bearer paused a moment, then waved back.

“Seems friendly enough, at least,” Hep said. Soon after that, Hep fell asleep as well.

Hep woke up when he felt the car slowing down, and heard gravel crunching underneath the wheels. He opened his eyes and looked around.

“Why are we pulling over? What’s wrong?” Hep asked.

“The temperature light came on,” Samantha said.

Scroat woke up then, as well. “Hey, where the fuck are we?”

“On the side of the road, the car overheated,” Hep said.

Scroat opened his door and hopped out. He looked up and down the road intently, then leaned against the side of the car, looking behind them.

“What the hell is he doing?” Samantha asked Hep.

“No idea. Would you pop the hood? Have you got any coolant or water in your trunk?”

Samantha pulled the handle to open the hood, and opened the trunk as well. “Yeah, I always carry some extra coolant with me.”

Hep got out of the car, and lifted the hood. A wave of heat from the engine blasted him. There didn’t seem to be any obvious coolant leaks. He wandered around to the trunk and took a look inside.

Among a variety of tools he wouldn’t have expected to find, and other potentially useful odds and ends, were two bottles of pre-mixed coolant, and a funnel. He grabbed a bottle of coolant and the funnel, then walked around to the front of the car.

“Hey, Scroat, you want to give me a hand here?”

“Nope, you can handle it,” Scroat said.

“What are you doing back there that’s so important?”

“Looking for Robert Wheeler. That fucker is around here somewhere, I just know it.” 
“You are crazy and paranoid. I told you it was all just a coincidence. Could you come up here and hold the funnel for me?”

“Nope. Any second that guy’s going to come around the corner in his car, or walk up to us or land in a hot air balloon, or something. I just know it.”

“Hot air balloon, right. Well, I’ll tell you what, if he thinks you’re on to him, he’s probably going to stay hidden, so would you give me a hand already?”

“Nope,” Scroat said.

“Dick,” Hep muttered.

He topped up the coolant in the overflow tank, and asked Samantha to start the car once more. The temperature light went off, so Hep closed the hood, and put the rest of the coolant back in the trunk.

“Any sign of Robert?”

“No, but that guy’s just being tricky,” Scroat said.

“OK. Whatever,” Hep said. “Let’s go.”

He got back into Samantha’s car. Scroat took another good look around, and got in.

“What were you looking for out there?” Cindi asked him.

“Just this fucking guy who keeps turning up everywhere we go,” Scroat said.

“Did you see him?”

“Not this time, but I bet he was out there,” Scroat said.

“You know that’s crazy, right?”

“So be it. I’ve been called worse things. That fucker is out there, and I’m going to figure out what it is he’s up to.”

“He’s not up to anything. He’s not out there,” Hep said. “He’s on his way home to his wife, and he’s presumably trying to reach his clients right now to scrounge up some more business.”

“Who on Earth is this guy,” Samantha asked.

“Just some guy we’ve bumped into a couple times.”

“Bullshit!” Scroat said. “He showed up when we were broken down in the middle of the night in the middle of fucking nowhere, which was weird. Then he showed up in the middle of the motherfucking ocean. That’s not bumping into someone. That’s getting stalked.”

“Scroat thinks he’s up to something. I don’t,’ Hep said to Samantha.

“I gathered,” she said.

Chapter Eleven

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 06:10:00 +0000

Hep woke up because the sun was shining in his face. Which was not right. He opened his eyes, and realized he was laying on the sidewalk. Which was not right. And he was covered with a scratchy wool blanket he’d never seen before.

Which was not right.

He sat up and looked around. About one hundred feet away was the ramp down to the docks. He took a look at his watch, and saw it was about eight thirty in the morning. He ached the way a person who has spent the night passed out on a sidewalk aches, which is to say, quite a lot. The best thing to do, he decided, was to stand up. After he stood up, everything would be obvious.

Hep stood up, and stretched. He looked around again, and didn’t see anything that jumped his memory. He looked at the blanket he’d slept under. It was brown, with a blocky pattern on it, and it smelled vaguely of perfume and cigarettes. He folded it up, looked around to see if he could figure out where the blanket might live when it wasn’t covering him on the sidewalk, but didn’t see anything, so he set it down on the sidewalk where he’d been. Perhaps the owner, or someone who needed it more than him, would find it.

In his pocket, he found a scrap of paper and a pen. He wrote “Thank you!” on the paper, and left it on top of the blanket, with a rock holding it in place.

He decided he’d better get down to the boat and get ready to leave. When Hep reached the boat, he saw a single red high heeled shoe laying on the deck. Which was not right.

He climbed aboard, and saw an inflatable alligator sticking out of the companionway. Not right. He pulled the alligator out of the hatch and tossed it aside.

On the one hand, he knew that he was going to regret going into the cabin. On the other hand, he knew he more or less had to get down there and find out what damage might have been caused over the last twelve hours. Hep took a deep breath, and climbed down into the cabin.

It was worse than he imagined it might be.

So far as he could tell, every loose item in the cabin had been thrown in to some other part of the cabin. Books, spare parts, cutlery, dishes, towels, cushions, pillows, everything was some place it shouldn’t have been. There was a bra hanging off the chimney of a kerosene lantern, and the red high heel to match the one Hep had found on deck was in the sink in the head. The kitchen sink was filled with what Hep hoped was just baked beans. He noticed the lengths of rope he used to practice knots with were missing.

He kind of pushed the mess to one side as he walked, looking down to make sure he didn’t step in anything foul.

“Scroat?” Hep said as he approached the stateroom they’d been sleeping in for the last leg of their voyage.

Just then, Hep heard a frantic pounding from somewhere, and a muffled, masculine, voice saying “Let me out!”

He found the source of the noise under a pile of cushions and women’s undergarments. He opened the locker and was surprised to see a man he’d never met staring wild eyed out at him.

“Who are you?” Hep asked the man in the locker.

“Who the fuck are you?” said the main in the locker, as he climbed out. “This has gone too far for me. Fuck you guys, I’m going back to my own boat.”

The stranger stomped up the ladder, and Hep heard him take three steps across the deck, and the smack of shoes landing on the dock.

“That wasn’t right,” Hep said. He started walking forward to their stateroom again. “Scroat? What the hell, man?”

He heard someone, Scroat, moaning in discomfort. He sounded extremely hung over. When he reached their stateroom, he saw Scroat hanging head first off the top bunk. Naked. His feet were tied to a couple of wooden posts that were intended to hold up a shelf for a sailor’s personal effects.

On the bunk Hep normally slept on, were two naked women tangled together, their makeup smeared and hair in complete disarray. Hep recognized them from the bar. Which was kind of strange. Strange that he could see them well enough to recognize them, not strange that he did recognize them.

Hep then noticed their stateroom seemed unusually bright. It was normally very dim, even during the brightest hours of the day. That was when he noticed the hole knocked in the side of the boat. It was easily a foot and a half in diameter. He could see the neighboring boat through the hole.

“Oh, that’s really not right.”

Scroat rubbed his eyes, and blinked up at Hep.

“How the fuck are you standing on the ceiling?” Scroat said.

“I’m not, you’re hanging upside down.”

“Oh.”
Scroat seemed as though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do next.

“You don’t have any coffee do you?”

“No,” Hep said. “What did you do to the boat, man? Poseidon is going to be back here in no time.”

He checked his watch. It said it was eight forty-five.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes to make this place halfway presentable, and you’re going to be in charge of explaining the hole in the boat there.”

Scroat looked over at the hole. “Never saw that before. Hey, how about giving me a hand up?”

Hep rolled his eyes, grabbed Scroat’s shoulders and lifted him back up on to his bed.

“Thanks,” Scroat said. He sat up and started untying his ankles. One of the women stirred, but did not wake up.

“So, uh, who was the guy you had locked up under a pile of cushions?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t remember any one here except for me and two women. We came back here after you passed out on the sidewalk.”

“So that blanket belonged to one of them?”

“What blanket? And what guy? Quit changing topics on me here, I think I’ve been hanging upside down for a long time. I came back here with the two women from the bar, and we fooled around a little bit. What’s the problem?”

“Look at this mess, Scroat! It’s a problem. It’s a big problem. It’s a problem that you had some guy locked up who, apparently, didn’t really want to be locked up. Poseidon, you know, our host, is going to be back any minute, and then there’s really going to be a problem.”

“Hey, I don’t remember any guy, and I don’t know what mess you’re talking about,” Scroat hopped down from the bunk, and saw the two women on the lower bunk.

“What the fuck are they doing here still?”

“You tell me.”

Scroat wandered, still naked, past Hep and looked at the mess. It looked as though they’d been burglarized by a tornado.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered. “I don’t think I made that mess.”

Scroat looked down at himself then, and saw all the new cuts and bruises he had in strange places.

“But maybe I did.” He found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and quickly got dressed.

One of the women tapped Hep on the shoulder.

“Um. Are my clothes out there?” she asked.

“Maybe, I’m not sure. Have a look,” Hep said.

She squeezed past him and Scroat, and saw the wreckage.

“Wow, some night we had,” she said. “Oh! That’s mine,” she said, and grabbed a pair of panties. She put them on, then resumed hunting for her clothes. She moved a cushion and a folding bicycle to one side, and picked up a skirt. She found a bra and a shirt twisted together.

“These must be Cindi’s,” she said, and set them on a shelf that was free of clutter.

Hep and Scroat watched her in disbelief as she found the rest of her clothes, and “Cindi’s.”

“Um. Do you remember what happened last night?” Hep asked.

She looked slightly embarassed, and said, “Well, you passed out when we were all on the way back to the boat, so I went back to my car and brought you a blanket so you wouldn’t freeze. Scroat and Cindi waited, and we came down to the boat and partied.”

“Who was the guy in the locker?” Hep asked.

“What guy?”

“OK. So, did you guys make this mess?”

“Oh, yeah. Scroat’s a wild man, and I guess we got kind of carried away.”

“I guess,” Hep said.

Cindi said, from behind Hep, “Where are my clothes?”

“They’re out here,” the other woman said in response.

“Sorry, what’s your name?” Hep said. The woman looked extremely offended.

“Samantha,” she said.

“Awesome, well, Samantha and Cindi, I don’t suppose you two could help us get this mess somewhat straightened up? Our friend who owns the boat is due back any minute.”

“You don’t own this boat?” Cindi asked Scroat. She sounded shocked.

“Uh, no. Did I say I owned it?”

“Well, that’s kind of the impression a girl gets when some guy says ‘hey, let’s take this party back to my boat.’ Isn’t that the impression you would get?”

“Yeah, I guess so. What the fuck were we drinking last night?”

“Well, I don’t know what you had before we showed up, but we lost count of how many Jaegerbombs you guys each had.”

“Oh.” That might explain the amnesia.

Hep looked at his watch. “Look, I hate to be a jerk, but we gotta get this cleaned up, like, now. Poseidon is going to be pissed when...”

A voice came from the companionway then, “When he gets back to his boat and discovered the two morons he trusted with it have turned it into some kind of squalid love nest in less than twenty four hours?”

“Yeah, that,” Hep said. “Uh, for what it’s worth, I was passed out on the sidewalk. I just found this.”

Poseidon’s jaw was working, and he had a twitch in his forehead.

“Dude, he looks a little stressed out,” Scroat mumbled to Hep.

“Do ya think?”

“I,” Poseidon said, “am going to go and have a bloody mary and pretend I did not come back to find a sink full of baked beans. When I get back to the boat, I expect it to be ship-shape and ready to set sail. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Yeah,” Hep said. “Um, except there’s this thing.”

“What,” Poseidon said, “thing?”

“Well, you might want to come up here and take a look.”

“What do I want to take a look at?”

“You’d better just come up here,” Hep said.

Scroat made discreet waving motions to Samantha and Cindi.

“I think you might want to get the fuck away from here,” he whispered.

Samantha and Cindi both gave Scroat a withering look, climbed out of the cabin, and soon they could hear two sets of high heels clicking away on the dock.

“Show me whatever it is, Hep,” Poseidon said. He grimaced as he walked through the cabin.

“It’s in here,” Hep said, and pointed into their stateroom. Poseidon walked in and saw the hole.

It was suddenly very, very quiet in the boat. The seagulls outside had stopped their racket. It seemed even the waves had stopped slapping the hull.

“There is a hole in my boat,” Poseidon said.

“Yeah, I don’t know how the fuck that...” Scroat began.

“There is a hole in my boat that was not here when I left the boat yesterday. You two are the only ones who have been on the boat since then.”

“Well, actually, Hep didn’t get here until this morning, and he found the hole,” Scroat said.

“There is a hole,” Poseidon said, “in my boat.”

“Sorry?” Scroat said.

Hep started to back away towards the companionway. “Psst,” he said to Scroat, and gave him a pointed look.

“Uh, look, Poseidon, I can see that you’re really upset. Look, I’ll go to the chandlery and find some fiberglass and epoxy and we’ll fix up your boat good as new. Hep is a damn fine craftsman, you know. It’ll probably be better than new, when he’s done with it,” Scroat said as he backed away as well.

Poseidon scratched his beard in a twitchy sort of way.

“Hep, you are family, and I know you wouldn’t deliberately punch a hole in my boat,” he said.

“Well, thanks,” Hep started to say.

“Which,” Poseidon said, interrupting Hep, ”is why I’m going to give you a running head start before I rip both of you limb from limb and use you as bait for my crab pots. I suggest you stay the hell out of my way from here on out. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” Hep said. “Uh, bye.”

“What, is he fucking joking?” Scroat asked Hep, half laughing.

“Run!” Hep said. He was already on deck, and turned to get off the boat.

“Thanks for the hospitality,” Scroat said, and gave a small wave. “Bye.”

He joined Hep on the dock and they hustled away.

“Where are we going?” Scroat asked.

“Away from water, I can tell you,” Hep said. “Just keep walking away from the ocean, we’ll figure something out along the way.”

At the top of the dock ramp, they bumped into Samantha and Cindi.

“Hey,” Hep said to them. “Look, I know you’re probably kind of sore at us and I don’t blame you, but, I don’t suppose you could give us a lift East? Like, now? We can buy gas.”

Samantha smirked, and said, “Sure, if you buy us breakfast too. Come on, my car’s over here.”

Chapter Ten

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 05:42:00 +0000

Poseidon expected they would arrive in Brookings around three o’clock in the afternoon. Scroat was in such high spirits he was nearly intolerable. He planned on kissing the ground the second he was on dry land. Then, with luck, he was going to arrange a stash of liquor and porn for the next leg of the journey. He was also thrilled that they’d be rid of Robert Wheeler.

Hep was also looking forward to getting to port. He planned to get at least one more book of knots, and maybe try to find a few other small projects to work on.

Robert Wheeler had mostly been asleep for the last twenty four hours, but when he was awake he tried to be helpful. He’d made dinner the night before, and breakfast that morning, and was currently cleaning, in a general sort of way, the cabin.

Hep and Scroat were sitting on deck, chatting.

“I’m going to get the biggest fucking hamburger in town, along with their biggest, coldest beer,” Scroat said.

“That sounds pretty good,” Hep said.

“Yeah, right? Enough of this healthy eating high fiber bullshit. I swear my colon has never been this clean in my entire life. I need red meat and grease before my personality is forever changed and I end up a patchouli stinking hippie, living in a park somewhere, trying to score some weed and yapping endlessly about how love is going to solve all the worlds problems.”

“I don’t think that would happen,” Hep said. “You’re way too much of a dick.”

“You think there aren’t asshole hippies out there?”

“Well, OK, you’ve got a point.”

They spotted land about an hour earlier. It was now, ever so slightly, closer than it had been. They were currently sailing more East than North. Scroat had been standing on the bowsprit, watching, ever since Hep said he thought he could see land in the distance.

“Fuck. Somehow I forgot how fucking slow this fucking boat is. Can’t we fire up the motor and just get there?” Scroat said.

“This is as fast as the boat goes, motor or not, “ Hep said. “Maybe you should find something to occupy your time for the next couple of hours.”

“Maybe you should go find a goat and suck its dick,” Scroat said. “I just want my fucking hamburger and some porn.”

“Whatever you say. Have fun trying to make the boat go faster.”

Hep went down in to the cabin, and found Robert Wheeler reading a book about solo circumnavigation. He sat down on the settee across from Robert.

“That was a good book,” Hep said. “I’m not sure it’s something I would want to do, but it’s a pretty epic undertaking, all the same. You’ve gotta respect that.”

“Yeah, what a dream life that would be,” Robert said. “Of course, I suppose you know better than me about sailing.”

Hep laughed. “Yeah, I’ve got a whole week and a half worth of experience at sea.”

“So, if you aren’t a regular sailor, what got you on to this boat?”

“It’s a really long story,” Hep said. “Let’s just say the opportunity presented itself, so we jumped on it.”

“Huh. So is this what you guys were riding through the desert in the middle of the night for?”

“Nope. So what were you doing, driving through the desert in the middle of the night, by the way?” Hep said.

“I was on my way to Los Angeles for a meeting with some clients.”

“Are you a salesman?”

“No, more of a consultant.”

“What do you consult about?”

“I provide well researched facts, for a fee. You might call me an information broker.”

Hep sat back, as well as he could, on the settee. “Sounds like you probably blackmail people, to me. Or you’re a sleazy private detective.”

“No,” Robert said. “It’s nothing so glamorous. I mostly go through newspapers, and pore over facts and figures in the library, then give reports to my clients summarizing everything I’ve found. So, if you weren’t going to Los Angeles to sail North, why did you go?”

“To visit my brother,” Hep said.

“Any special reason?”

“Well, my house burned down, and I needed a place to stay.”

Robert sat forward a bit. “You don’t say. That’s horrible. What are you doing on a boat now?”

Hep laughed and said, “Like I said, the opportunity presented itself. The house burned down, there wasn’t much to salvage, and we needed some time to figure out our next move.”

“Why not start with figuring out a way to rebuild your home?”

“Well, that probably would have been the logical thing to do, but we were just back from a long road trip and, well, I guess maybe we were a bit more tired than we realized. Going to Los Angeles seemed like the best plan, at the time.”

“So,” Hep continued, “You do research, huh? What kind of information do you gather?”

“Whatever needs to be gathered. I’m very good at finding things out. But lately I’ve been gathering news about strange happenings, and looking for unusual things that happened in the past.”

“Are you working for a magazine or something?”

“No, it’s just what my clients are interested in.” Robert looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat a bit.

“I see. Did they tell you why they’re interested in this stuff?”

Robert looked extremely uncomfortable. “I’m not really at liberty to say exactly why they want it. Let’s just say they’re trying to make some predictions based on things that happened in the past.”

“Oh. Day trading. Gotcha,” Hep said. “I hope you personally aren’t trying to beat the market. Can’t be done, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

An hour later, land was ever so slightly closer. Scroat was now sitting on the bow of the boat, apparently trying to stare down the coast until it gave in and started to come towards them at a reasonable speed. Thus far, he was not winning the staring contest.

“You know,” Poseidon called to Scroat, “you could go sleep somewhere. It might make the time pass faster.” And get your grumpy ass off my deck where it is currently spoiling my mood, he thought.

“Yep, I could do that, but I’m not fucking sleepy. So I’ll just stay up here if it’s all the same to you.”

“Suit yourself,” Poseidon said. He started to dread having Scroat as part of his crew all the way to Alaska.

At approximately three o’clock, they reached the jetties that marked the entrance to the Brookings harbor. Poseidon radioed ahead to the dockmaster to find out where he could tie up. Very shortly after that (but not nearly quickly enough for Scroat’s taste), they reached the marina. Poseidon sailed the boat into their assigned slip as though it were as easy as tying his shoes.

“Scroat, hop down there and tie us up, please.”

“My pleasure, cap’n,” Scroat said. He practically leapt from the boat to the dock, and whistled a happy tune as he tied the boat up.

Once the boat was secured, Hep, Robert and Poseidon joined Scroat on the dock. The four of them walked to the top of the ramp.

When they got there, Poseidon said, “Well, I’m going to find a hotel for the night. I need some private time, as I’m sure you do. You two are welcome to stay on the boat, of course.”

He turned to Robert and said, “as for you, do you need any further assistance?”

“Well, if you’ve got a handful of change for a payphone, that’d be great. My wife is probably a little worried about me by now.”

Poseidon dug in his pocked for a moment, and came up with a handful of quarters.

“I think they’ve got a payphone at the marina office, I’ll walk over there with you. As for you, Hep and Scroat, all the action in this town is that way,” Poseidon said, and pointed. “I think you’ll find plenty to keep you occupied for the night, and you should be able to buy whatever you need to make the rest of the trip more comfortable. I’ll be back on the boat and ready to leave by nine tomorrow morning, so if you don’t sleep on the boat, get back here by then.”

“Sounds good, see you tomorrow,” Hep said. “So long, Robert. I hope the rest of your trip goes smoothly.”

“Yeah, try not to cause too much trouble on your way home,” Scroat said.

He and Hep started walking towards town, in search of whatever trouble they could scrounge up. They found a bookstore, where Hep was able to get his books on traditional seafaring crafts, and Scroat was able to stock up on porn.

With these critical provisions in hand, they set off in search of greasy red meat and strong drink. They managed to find a dive where all the professional fishermen and other salty types went to cause a ruckus while they were on dry land.

The bar was dark, smoky, and smelled like a boat’s bilge. There were boat fenders, anchor buoys and other worn nautical detritus covering the walls as decorations. The bartender had an eye patch, and Hep was almost certain that it was not just a bit of costumery.

Hep and Scroat went straight to the bar, and ordered beers. They also asked about the menu.

The bartender gave them each a piece of grease-stained paper, then leaned on an elbow and looked around as if to see if anyone was listening.

“I’ll tell you what, our cook can do up a decent enough burger, but if I was you, what I would get is the fish and chips. They’re so good, if your mom reached across to grab some from you, you’d slap her hand.”

“Bacon Cheeseburger, medium rare, and fries,” Scroat said.

“I’ll try the fish and chips, what the hell?” Hep said. He’d never had fish so good he’d slap his mom. That was the kind of thing that could get your ass barbecued by a couple of well-placed lightning bolts.

“Good choice,” the bartender said. “That’ll be up in a minute.”

Hep took a long drink from his beer. When he set it down, he saw they’d been joined by a pair of women who looked like they’d never met a drink they didn’t like. One was a dirty blond, actually, dirty, greasy blond, and the other had curly brown hair. They both had too much eye makeup and heels so tall they bordered on parody.

“Hey sailors, buy us a couple drinks?”

Chapter Nine

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Wed, 10 Nov 2010 04:16:00 +0000

It was close to the end of Hep’s watch, and the sun was just beginning to climb over the horizon. It had been another quiet night, the weather was calm, and he was looking forward to sleeping for a few hours.

He saw a bright flash out of the corner of his eye, but couldn’t see anything when he turned to look. A few seconds later, he saw it again, a bright light flashed. It was attached to something round and orange. He picked up the binoculars and took another look.

It took a minute for Hep to realize what he was looking at. About half a mile away, bobbing up and down in the waves, was a life raft. He couldn’t tell if anyone was in it or not. For a moment, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Then he realized there was only one thing they could do, go and try to help.

Hep called down to Poseidon, who got out of his bed up on deck in almost no time at all.

“I think there’s a life raft over there,” Hep said, and pointed.

Poseidon took the binoculars from Hep and had a look.

“Yep, that’s a life raft,” Poseidon said. He took an air horn out of a locker and gave it a blast. Seconds later, there was a response - three short whistles.

“There’s someone in there too. We’d better get over there and render aid. I’ll take over the helm, if you don’t mind,” Poseidon said.

Hep stood aside, and Poseidon turned the boat until they were headed for the life raft. They heard another three whistles from the life raft.

Scroat came up on deck. He looked tired and irritable.

“What’s all the fucking noise about?” he asked Hep.

“There’s a life raft. We’re going to help whoever is in it.’

“I hope for their sake they didn’t rename it.”

“I don’t think life rafts usually get names.”

“Well, then I hope that they haven’t offended our gracious host in some other general sort of way. Unless that life raft has another, smaller life raft, and so on.”

“Point taken,” Hep said.

They were getting closer to the life raft, and could now see there was a person peeking out of a door, waving at them. There where another three blasts of the whistle.

“Are they going to keep blowing that fucking whistle after we’ve got them on board?” Scroat said.

“In a survival situation, you keep making a racket until you are one hundred percent rescued,” Poseidon said. “In case your rescuers lose sight of you.”

“How would we miss a big fucking orange pool toy looking thing in the middle of the ocean?”

“Oh, it’s pretty easy.”

“You’re the boss.”

They were now close enough to see that whoever was in the boat was wearing a black jacket, a white shirt, and a black tie. There were three more blasts from the whistle.

“Let’s get these sails down and motor over to them,” Poseidon said.

Hep and Scroat wrestled down the mainsail and furled the jib, while Poseidon got the engine running.

“Tie a line to one of the cleats and get ready to throw it over to him,” Poseidon said.

Scroat got the line ready, and waited to get close enough to throw it to the raft. In what seemed like no time at all, they were there, and he heaved the line over to the guy in the life raft.

The man in the raft caught the line, and tied it to the raft.

“OK, let’s reel him in,” Poseidon said. The three of them grabbed the line, and started hauling the raft to the boat. It seemed extremely heavy for its size, but in a matter of seconds the raft was right up next to them, and it’s sole occupant was grabbing on to the lifelines of Poseidon’s boat.

“Oh, hello, Hep and Scroat. Funny running in to you guys out here. I mean, I’m glad to see you, but I wouldn’t expect it,” the man in the life raft said. “So, how should I get up onto your boat?”

Poseidon reached out and said, “Give me your arm. Grab my wrist.”

Moments later, the man was onboard. He looked slightly rumpled, and a little green, but otherwise uninjured and healthy.

“Sorry, how do we know you?” Hep asked.

“Robert Wheeler. We recently met on the road in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s some fucking coincidence,” Scroat said.

“I agree. I didn’t expect to see you fellas again.”

He turned to Poseidon, and held out his hand.

“Thank you for rescuing me. Robert Wheeler is my name.”

Poseidon shook his hand, and said “Poseidon. It was my pleasure to help a fellow sailor.”

“Oh, I’m not a sailor. To be honest, I’m not exactly sure how I got out here. One second I was driving to Los Angeles, and then I woke up on a boat with a bunch of guys in ski masks. Then I guess I got knocked out again, because the next thing I remember is wondering why the bed was all clammy, and waking up to realize I was in the middle of the ocean. Poseidon. There’s a name you don’t hear too often these days.”

Scroat turned away from Robert, and faced Hep.

“Kind of a weird fucking coincidence, him showing up conveniently where we’re sailing, isn’t it? A little suspicious, don’t you think?”

“I guess. Stranger things have happened.”

“I still don’t trust this guy.”

“OK. You don’t have to.”

Hep stepped to one side, and started paying attention to the conversation between Robert and Poseidon.

“Well, Robert, we’re about a day and a half from Brookings, Oregon. In the meantime, I hope you’re hungry, because we haven’t had breakfast yet. Excuse me a moment, and then we’ll get to cooking up something to eat.”

Poseidon took a folding knife from his belt, opened it, and leaned out over to the raft. He untied the line holding it to his boat, and stabbed a hole into each of the air chambers, then spun it a bit, and stabbed it again. The air rapidly hissed out of the raft, and in a matter of minutes it sank beneath the waves.

“Wouldn’t want any one to try and rescue an empty raft,” he said to Hep and Scroat, who were looking at him as though he’d lost his mind.

“Scroat, you’ve got the helm. I’m going to make some breakfast,” Poseidon said. “Robert, come on down. We’ll get you fed and then, I suspect, you’ll want to sleep for a while.”

Scroat and Hep were left alone on the deck. Hep wanted very much to just go and sleep. After finishing his watch, and rescuing a castaway apparent good samaritan, he was kind of worn out.

Scroat had other ideas, however.

“I’m telling you, Hep, this son of a bitch is up to something. It’s one thing for some weird guy to pull over and offer to help on a road in the middle of nowhere. It’s another thing entirely if the same guy then shows up in the middle of the fucking ocean when you just happen to be sailing by,” Scroat said. “I mean, how many boats have we seen altogether on this trip once we got away from land? Six? Maybe?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird, but I doubt it’s anything.”

“It definitely is something. This creep is following us, I just know it.”

“I think that’s kind of a stretch,” Hep said.

Poseidon peeked out of the companionway then. “Do you guys want to power oats?”

Hep and Scroat both said they did, and took the bowls Poseidon was offering.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it to Brookings,” Scroat said.

“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen. If he kills you, you’re just going to pop back into existence in Australia. Yeah, it’s kind of an inconvenience, but I don’t think it’s really worth stressing out about it.”

“Have you ever popped back into existence in the middle of the Australian bush? It’s hardly a marble palace in the sky, Hep,” Scroat said.

“I just don’t see what you’re so freaked out about. At worst this guy is little more than an inconvenience.”
“Yeah? Well, did it occur to you that maybe this little inconvenience is the one who torched your workshop?”

Hep fell silent. It had not, in fact, occurred to him.

“I’m just saying, I’m going to keep an eye on him at all times. Two eyes, when I can,” Scroat said. “This is too fucking weird.”

“I think you’re nuts,” Hep said, but without much conviction.

“I guess we’ll see when you wake up in Olympus and everyone is sitting around laughing at your dumb ass for getting killed again,” Scroat said.

“I guess so,” Hep said.

After breakfast, Poseidon came back on deck.

“OK, gentlemen, I’ll take over the helm again. Why don’t you go rest up? It’s been an exciting morning,” he said.

Hep and Scroat went down into the cabin. On their way forward to their berths, they passed Robert Wheeler. He’d taken off his jacket and tie and was sleeping on one of the settees, snoring gently.

“Yep, he sure looks like he’s out to get us. That right there is one cold blooded god killer,” Hep said.

“Can you think of a better disguise than a good natured, bumbling idiot?” Scroat asked.

“I think you worry too much,” Hep said. He climbed into his berth. “Pleasant dreams.”

“Yeah, good night. Here’s hoping you wake up on a boat and not somewhere in the air over Greece,” Scroat said.

Seconds later, they were both out cold.

Chapter Eight

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 04:08:00 +0000

Hep climbed up out of the cabin and found Poseidon in his usual place, behind the wheel. At the moment, however, he was looking intently through his binoculars at something off the port site of the boat. His jaw was set, and there was a vein pulsing in his forehead. Hep turned to look, and could just see a sailboat on the horizon.

“Is everything OK, Poseidon?” Hep asked. So far on this trip he had never seen Poseidon in any mood other than relaxed with an occasional foray into “annoyed with Scroat in a very chill manner.” Poseidon’s sudden intensity made Hep anxious.

“I don’t recognize that boat.”

Hep looked again. It just looked like a boat. White, with sails. He wasn’t sure what the problem was.

“There are lots of boats I don’t recognize,” he said. “What’s the big deal?”

“I know every boat from the moment it’s named. And I don’t recognize that boat.”

Hep considered this for a minute.

“So... what does that mean?”

“It means they’re trespassing.”

“Trespassing on... the ocean?” 
Poseidon put down his binoculars and looked at Hep. “Yes, trespassing on my ocean. I don’t ask much. A little champagne, the verbal equivalent of a high five.”

“So, you’re mad because they didn’t name the boat?”

“I knew that boat as Easy Breezy, once. A stupid name, but I can’t blame the boat for that. But it has some new name now. One I don’t know.”

Hep stood quietly, looking at the boat that was pissing off Poseidon. So it had a different name. What’s the big deal? It’s just a boat, after all. The boat was close enough now that Hep could see a couple of women in bathing suits lounging on the deck. One was perched on the bowsprit, waving to them. Hep waved back.

He went to the companionway and hollered for Scroat. “Hey, you might want to come see this!”

“What is it? Frolicking stupid sea lions? Let me sleep.”

“Nope. Bikini chicks.”

Scroat was on deck in a matter of seconds. He waved at the boat, which was even closer now. All the passengers waved back to him.

He was about to say, “Hey, let’s call them over here for a drink,” when Poseidon pointed at the offending boat. The sky darkened.

“Let the mast fall. Let the waters in,” he said in a low growl.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Scroat said.

The wind picked up, and there was a loud THUMP from the other boat. The forestay had snapped, and the mast was now swaying about in a disconcerting way. They heard someone scream. There was another THUMP, followed quickly by two more, and the mast tore itself loose, toppling over into the water.

There was suddenly a lot more screaming coming from the boat.

They saw it turn to start heading East, towards the nearest shore. The screaming had calmed down after the skipper started the engine and the passengers realized they weren’t in an immediate peril.

Then they heard someone yell “Holy shit! Start pumping the bilge!”

Hep looked at Poseidon and said, “That’s a bit harsh for changing the name of the boat, isn’t it?”

“My turf, my rules.”

“OK. So we’re going to help them, right?”

“What, and endanger our vessel in heavy weather?”

“What heavy fucking weather?” Scroat said. “It’s just cloudy because you’re having a tantrum. You can’t leave them out here to sink.”

Poseidon pointed, and said, “That heavy weather.”

Hep and Scroat looked, and saw a huge wave coming towards them, and the other boat. Visibility quickly reduced to almost nothing as a furious rainstorm came towards them.

“Better reduce the sails. It’s likely some wind is coming too,” Poseidon said.

Hep and Scroat hurried forward and started working to reduce the sails.

“This son of a bitch is crazy,” Scroat said to Hep as they hustled to furl the jib.

“Yeah. Family. What are you going to do?” Hep said.

“What’s he so upset about? I mean, what could they have done to get him in such a state of high piss off?”

“As far as I can tell, they changed the name of the boat and didn’t tell him.”

Scroat stopped what he was doing for a minute. “So he’s going to kill them? Seems kind of disproportionate, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does.”

“Oh fuck. Man, we’re on a boat on the ocean with a murderous maniac.” 
“Yeah, I think we’d better do what he says until we get to port.”

“I think that’s the best damn idea I’ve heard in a few days.”

Hep saw one of the big waves about to hit the boat, and grabbed on to a handhold before the boat started rocking. He had a hard enough time standing up right when the seas were calm.

He looked over to the other boat, and saw several people with buckets furiously bailing water before a wave blocked his view of them.

“Looks like they’re still moving, at least.”

The rain hit then, and with it came strong winds. The boat heeled over quite a bit, and Hep and Scroat had to hang on tightly to keep from falling. At this angle, they’d slide right off the boat into the ocean.

Poseidon called “Ease the mainsheet!” and Scroat scrambled over to loosen the line and let the sail out. The boat righted itself.

“That’s enough, thank you!” Poseidon said.
The rain came down harder, and they could no longer see the other boat, just sheets of grey, and huge, blue waves.

Poseidon had a huge smile, and whooped as the boat came over the top of a huge wave, and he steered the boat down the wave at an angle, almost surfing.

“This is living!” he said to Hep and Scroat.

“The very fucking second we get to land again, I’m gonna run,” Scroat said, quietly, to Hep.

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “On the other hand, I’m going to have to excuse myself from crewing as politely as I can. Family, you know. I’d like to avoid as much trailer park drama as I can.”

“You’re worried about drama? The fucker just left a boat full of innocent people to die on the ocean because he had a little hissy fit.”

“Ares kills people all the time for less than that, but you don’t seem to mind.”

“Well, when he does it, it’s kind of funny.”

Hep looked at Scroat, aghast.

“What? It is kind of funny. They’re just people.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re a trickster and I get shocked.”

“I prefer the term ‘well hung asshole,’ if you don’t mind,” Scroat said.

“I think that’s a little too flattering, frankly. I’m going down in to the cabin to get out of the rain,” Hep said.

“I’m coming with you,” Scroat said.

Hep found a towel and dried himself off as well as he could, while Scroat just flopped on to a settee and groaned, “Fuck.”

The lanters and fruit hammocks swung dramatically as the boat heaved up and over each wave. Hep’s stomach lurched a little bit every time the boat moved in a new direction.

“How much longer have we got until we reach Brookings?” Scroat asked.

“Three or four days, I think,” Hep said.
“How long do you think it will be until the crazy fucker up there decides he’s had enough fun pretending he’s a mighty adventurer in stormy weather?”

“I couldn’t say, but I hope it’s not too much longer.”

They heard a wave slam into the boat above them, and water squirted in to the cabin from the portholes.

“He’s going to want to seal those better,” Hep said.

Scroat, who was now wet all over again, groaned and said, “He sure is.”

Hep went to the companionway and opened it up. He looked at Poseidon, who was hanging tightly to the wheel, and said, “Are you OK out there?”

“Never better! Are you holding up down there?”

“Yeah. It got a bit wet down here after that wave hit us, though.”

“Well, there’s no such thing as a dry boat, Hep,” Poseidon said.

“If you say so.”

“Hey, why don’t you guys get some grub cooking? I’m getting hungry out here. And you’re less likely to get seasick if you’re not hungry.”

“Um, OK, I’ll see what I can do.”

Hep went into the galley and dug around a bit, trying to find something that wouldn’t be too difficult to cook in a boat that was rocking and rolling. He decided on ramen noodles. He found an electric kettle that ran on twelve volt power, so he filled it with water and plugged it in. Three minutes later he had the first bowl of Ramen done. He brought it to the companionway, held the bowl out and said, “Dinner!”

“Great! Thanks,” Poseidon said. He left the helm and came to get the bowl from Hep. The rain had let up, and the wind began to die down.

Hep was relieved when the boat stopped rocking as much. He started the next bowl of ramen, gave it to Scroat when it was ready, and then made some for himself. When he was done, he grabbed a couple of oranges out of a net that was hanging in the galley and tossed one to Scroat.

“Gotta fend off scurvy, after all,” Hep said.

“Got any gin to go with this?”

“I’m not sure getting liquored up is the best idea.”

“Probably not,” Scroat said. “So, what do we do for the next several days, anyway?”

“Well, I’m going to do my best to make sure he doesn’t notice any more boats and get pissed off for some random reason. And I’d say the best thing for you to do would be to keep a low profile and try not to fuck anything up too bad.”

“I’d be offended, but that sounds like pretty good advice,” Scroat said. He ate a couple of slices of orange, and slouched down on the settee, trying to get comfortable. “Remind me that I need to kick Ares’s ass the next time I see him for getting us in to this.”

“Not if I get to him first,” Hep said.

Chapter Seven

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sun, 07 Nov 2010 05:34:00 +0000

Hephaistos slept well, though he was woken up part way through the night when a sopping wet Scroat stumbled in to the stateroom muttering about fucking bastard weather only raining when he was on deck and what he was going to do to the next weather god he came across.

The next morning brought more power oats and coffee. And, once more, Scroat immediately went back into the cabin to sleep again after eating.

Poseidon happily took his place at the wheel again. Hep grabbed the book of knots, a knife, and some of the scrap line Poseidon had lying about the boat. Poseidon had indeed had a golf ball stashed away, and gave it to Hep. He used to to tie a monkey’s fist, which the book explained was useful for throwing a line to another boat.

“What that book won’t tell you, Hep, is that if you put a one inch steel ball bearing in there instead of something light, you’ve got a formidable weapon. I’ve seen some real damage done with a monkey’s fist,” Poseidon said.

“Cool,” Hep said.

“What it also won’t tell you is that if you throw a line with a monkey’s fist to a dockhand, they’ll cut it off. They’ll also probably say bad things about your mother. Most people don’t like having rope-covered rocks thrown at them.”

“Good to know,” Hep said. He picked up the knot book again and flipped through it a bit. He decided he’d try making some boat fenders next.

He had been tying knot after knot for an hour an a half when Scroat came up out of the cabin with a panicked look on his face.

“What’s up, Scroat?” Hep asked.

“Something’s gone horribly wrong down there,” Scroat said.

“What, exactly, went wrong?” Poseidon asked. He turned on the autopilot and stepped out from behind the wheel. “What, exactly, has happened to my boat?”

That’s when they noticed the stench of raw sewage coming out of the cabin.

“It’s fucking horrible,” Scroat said.

Poseidon pushed Scroat to one side and hustled down into the cabin. He discovered the problem immediately - one of the hoses leading from the head to the holding tank had broken free and spread, well, the contents of the hose all over.

“Damn it,” Poseidon said. He went back up on deck. Scroat had gone forward to the bow, and was taking deep breaths. Poseidon went up to the bow as well.

“So, you know, the person who broke the shitter is the person in charge of repairing the shitter,” he said.

Scroat started to protest, but decided against it when he realized there was no way Hep or Poseidon were about to step in and take care of the problem.

“If I were you,” Poseidon said, ”I’d take off all my clothes before I did the repair. It’ll be a lot easier to wash the shit off of you than it would be to wash it out of your clothes, and believe me, you are going to be covered in shit. You’ll find the repair kit in the locker under the sink. By the way, there’s a tub of Vick’s Vapor Rub in there. Wipe a bit of it under your nose. Believe me, the smell is going to get worse, otherwise. There are some old rags down there you can use to clean up the head afterwards. When you’re done, come back up and we’ll stop the boat so you can go for a swim.”

Scroat nodded, went down into the cabin and stripped off his clothes. He found the tool kit, smeared a generous amount of vapor rub under his nose, and got to work.

“Your friend has some kind of bad luck,” Poseidon said, and laughed a bit. “Most people get to sail for quite a while before they have to much around with the head.”

“Well, I’m sure he can handle it,” Hep said. He took the rope he was working with forward a bit to get away from the smell coming from the open hatch. A couple hours later, he had finished a fender.

Scroat called out from the cabin, “Hey, what should I do with these rags?”

Poseidon answered, “There’s a ratty mesh bag in the same locker, stuff ‘em in there and bring them up.”

Scroat found the bag, stuffed the dirty rags into it, and went up on deck, still naked. He was covered with smears of unspeakable substances. “OK, now what?”

“Tie a line to the bag, secure it to the boat and throw it overboard,” Poseidon said. “Hey, Hep, help me bring the sails down, looks like Scroat needs a swim.”

While Scroat was tossing the dirty rags overboard, Poseidon opened a locker in the cockpit, and pulled out an old bottle of dish soap and a bucket with a rope attached to the handle.

“Here, start lathering up,” he said.

“Thanks,” Scroat said. He dropped the bucket overboard, then hauled it up again. He dumped it over himself, then gathered more water and set the bucket on the deck. It sloshed a bit as the boat moved. Scroat opened the bottle of dish soap, squirted a huge amount into his hand, and began furiously scrubbing himself.

Meanwhile, Hep furled the jib, and helped Poseidon wrestle down the mainsail. When the boat had come to a stop, Poseidon dropped a ladder over the stern.

He turned to Hep and said, “You don’t mind staying on the boat while I go for a swim, do you?”

Hep wasn’t much of a swimmer, so he said, “Not at all.”

“Great!”

Poseidon started stripping off his clothes, and noticed Scroat was just standing there on the deck, covered in soap suds.

“Well?” he said as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Jump in and swim around a bit.”

Scroat shrugged, climbed over the lifelines and leapt away from the boat and into the ocean.

Scroat burst up from underwater, flailing at the ocean. “Holy fuck this is the coldest water I’ve ever been in!”

“Suck it up, princess,” Poseidon said, and dove in as well. “It’s not bad at all in here, I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Of course not. You’re the fucking god of the fucking ocean. I’m sure this is all sunshine and motherfucking kisses to you even when it should be ice. On the other hand, I am from the fucking desert. I think my dick has just turned from an outtie into an innie.”

“It was an outtie once?”

“Fuck. You.” Scroat said, he climbed up the ladder on to the boat and stomped towards the companionway.

“Hey,” Poseidon called, “You’re going to want to rinse yourself off with some fresh water.”

“Yeah, right,” Scroat said, and went down into the cabin. A few moments later Hep could hear him turn on the shower and start sloshing water around.

Poseidon swam around the boat a few times, and finally climbed back up the ladder.

“He’s not being a very good sport about this at all,” he said to Hep.

“Well, I agree, but I’m going to cut him some slack this time since he did just spend a couple hours crawling around in shit.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” Poseidon said. He went to the companionway and called in “Hey, I was just teasing you, Scroat. No hard feelings?”

“Oh, no. No hard feelings. Though you’re a cock-biter and I suspect you are also a shit eater. But no hard feelings.”

“Well, as long as we’re square.”

Poseidon toweled himself off, and sat down behind the wheel with no shirt on. “Man, it’s a glorious day today. Just beautiful out here.”

“I guess it is,” Hep said. “So, should we get the sails back up?”

“Yep. Hey, Scroat! Get back up here and help hoist the mainsail.”

“You got it, Captain Dickface.”

Scroat came back up on deck and worked with Hep to raise the sail. It caught the wind with a THUMP, and they unfurled the jib, trimmed the sails, and settled in to watch the ocean as they sailed.

“See, it’s not all that bad, is it?” Poseidon said.

“No, it’s just peachy keen until I spend three hours getting rained on, and then two hours fending off rogue turds.”

“Well, when we get to Brookings we’ll make some time for you to go find some stuff to keep occupied while we’re sailing.”

“Great. I can’t wait,” Scroat said. “Fuck I’m tired. I’m going to go sleep for a while. Wake me when it’s time to eat.”

“Sure thing,” Hep said.
He was a little tired of tying knots for the day, and went below to see what other books Poseidon had in his library. Every single book had to do with sailing. There was a book on weather tactics, navigation, boat maintenance, marine engine repair, sea stories, and a guide to sailing Alaska.

Hep took a look at the book on navigation, decided it was too much math to deal with , and settled on the marine engine repair guide. He was soon entirely absorbed in the technical details, and didn’t take his head out of the book until Poseidon asked him to fire up the stove.

Chapter Six

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sun, 07 Nov 2010 03:52:00 +0000

Poseidon woke up Hep and Scroat around six o’clock in the morning as he was wrapping up his watch for the night.

“Get yourselves up on deck and watch the sun rise. I’ll make some breakfast,” he said.

Hep and Scroat stumbled out of bed and past Poseidon, who was lighting the stove, up on to the deck.

The sky was mostly clear, already light, but the sun wasn’t visible yet. The water was calm. It was extremely peaceful.

“Yep, this was sure worth getting out of bed for,” Scroat said. “I’m still not dry from the fucking storm last night.”

“There was really a storm? I didn’t notice.”

“Lucky you. I thought I was going to get fried by lightning and swept out to sea.”

“Wow. Seems nice now, at least.”

Scroat sat down and crossed his arms. “So our options are mind-numbing boredom or butt-puckering terror. This is going to be awesome.”

“Maybe you just need to accept the experience as it is instead of resisting it?”

Scroat looked at Hep as though he didn’t know him. Just accept the experience?

“Have you become a filthy hippy Buddhist in the last twenty four hours? That’s just what I need, to be stuck on a boat with a Buddhist and some guy who looks like a skinny SoCal Santa Claus.”

Hep laughed. “He does look like a skinny Santa, doesn’t he? No, I’m not a Buddhist, I’m just thinking that it’s a long swim from here to shore, and that our choices are enjoy the trip, or have a miserable time.”

“Well, I’m planning to stay in the latter group, but don’t let me get you down. Hippy.”

Poseidon stuck his head out the companionway. “Come and get it!” he said.

Hep and Scroat walked over, and Poseidon handed up a couple of plastic bowls. Whatever was inside was grey and lumpy, with bits of fruit here and there.

“What the fuck is this shit? Where’s the bacon?” Scroat said. “After a night like that, I think I deserve some fucking bacon.”

“They’re power oats. Oatmeal, flaxseed, raisins, apples and, you know, cinnamon and sugar. Easy to make in one pot, and they’ll keep your insides clean. Hang on, there’s coffee, too.”

Scroat glared at Hep. “Two hippies. I’m stuck on a small boat with two granola-eating, Buddist-evangelist fucking sea hippies. I’m not even going to give Inktomi a headstart when I see him next, I’m just going to shoot him when he’s not looking.”

Hep had ignored him and started eating his oatmeal.

“Believe it or not, this is pretty good,” he said. “I like the raisins.”

Poseidon was back in the companionway, with a couple of mugs.

“Coffee!”

Hep and Scroat took their mugs and sat down. Scroat poked at his oatmeal a bit, and finally gave in and tried it.

“What do you think?” Hep asked.

“I’ve had worse.” Scroat said.

Poseidon came up on deck then, carrying his own bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee. He took a deep breath and smiled at the sun rising over the ocean. “That never gets old,” he said

“Did you know you look like a skinny Santa Claus?” Scroat asked him.

“Whatever, Santa looks like a fat me. I’ve been wearing this look since before Saint Nicholas was a monk. You look like the Krampus, only stupid.”

Scroat looked insulted, but leaned over to Hep and whispered, “Who was the Krampus?”

“Sort of an anti-Santa.”

“Oh. I can live with that, I guess.”

“He was hideous.”

“Related to you guys, then, huh?”

“Man, you’re in some mood this morning. Finish your oatmeal and go sleep, would you?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Scroat said. He ate the rest of his oatmeal as quickly as he could, handed his, still full, coffee up to Hep and got up.

Poseidon handed him a mesh bag with a drawstring. “Put your bowl and spoon in there. We’ll tow the dishes behind the boat for a while so washing them won’t require much fresh water or effort.”

“Now there’s something I can like about boats. Easy dishwashing.”

“Later you’re going to have to scrub the deck.”

“Damn it anyway. I’m going to sleep now.” Scroat went below, muttering curses under his breath.

“Well, he’s got the muttering part down. Seems to me his already half-way to being a seasoned sailor!” Poseidon said. “Remind me to buy him some cans of spinach when we stop in Brookings.”

“How long will that be?”

“Oh, about eight more days, maybe less if we have some good wind and don’t have to fight the seas too much.”

“Cool.”

Hep sat back and looked out at the ocean for a few minutes. He looked around a bit and saw more ocean in the other direction. Apart from lumpy blue water, there really wasn’t a whole lot to look at.

“So, uh, what do we do for the next eight days?”

Poseidon looked at him as though he had just asked what a kid in a toy store should do on “all the free toys you want” day.

“Well,” Poseidon said, “we’ll sail. And we can fish, of course. We can also play chess or checkers, and I’ve got a few books stashed away below if you want to read.”

Hep was not accustomed to doing, more or less, nothing for days in a row. Sailing was nice, but most of the time so far had been made of up sitting on the boat, with an occasional foray in to pulling ropes every so often. With the autopilot, they didn’t even need to steer. He felt a strange claustrophobia. He was stuck on a little boat, without anything to do with his hands.

The prospect of sitting, bored, for eight days was nearly enough to convince him that leaping overboard and swimming east was a really, really good idea. Accepting the situation instead of resisting it did seem rather foolish.

“I’ve got a book of knots and a couple short lengths of line if those other options aren’t appealing. You can find them on the shelf over the port settee.”

“Sorry?”

“They’re over the couch on the left side of the boat.”

“Oh, cool. I’m going to check that out.”

“Start by learning the bowline. It’ll make you more useful right away. Then learn the clove hitch.”

“Got it.” He went below and found a book called The Marlinspike Sailor, and a couple lengths of rope about two feet long. He took these items and went back up on deck.

Poseidon was standing behind the wheel, steering by hand.

“Don’t you want to let the autopilot steer?” Hep asked.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fair enough.”

Hep opened the book, skimmed over the introduction about the tradition and historical importantance of knotwork and dove straight into the instructions on how to tie a knot. Within twenty minutes he could tie a bowline (he made a mental note to pronounce it boh-lin) with his eyes closed. He got the hang of the clove hitch within minutes, and by the end of the day knew more knots than most sailors ever would.

Poseidon told him there was a stash of old line in the engine room he could use to try making some of the more advanced ropework.

“I think I’ve even got a golf ball down there somewhere, if you want to try making a monkey’s fist. Otherwise I can always use some more fenders. That should keep you busy, too.”

Dinner that night was spaghetti, and they each had a gimlet (“to fend off scurvy,” Poseidon explained) for sundowners. As the sun set, there was a brief green flash just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

“That was a special treat for you guys, if you didn’t know it. A sailor doesn’t get to see a whole lot of green flashes.”

“Groovy,” Scroat said. He looked at his watch, and polished off his gimlet.

“I think it’s pretty cool,” Hep said.

“So who’s got the first watch tonight?” Scroat asked.

“I guess I’ll take it,” Hep said.

“Awesome. Good night!” Scroat scrambled down in to the cabin so quickly it seemed like he’d vanished.

“I don’t think Scroat cares much for sailing,” Poseidon said. “That’s too bad.”

“He’d probably like it better if there were a few girls in bikinis on board. Or maybe a stash of mermaid porn.”

“Jeez, and here I am, fresh out of bikini models and nautical porn. Maybe we can stock up on both of those in Brookings. Well, probably not the bikini girls. It starts getting cold by the time we’re up there.”

“Cold and bikini girls don’t really go together too well,” Hep said.

“Not so much. It shouldn’t be too hard for him to find some porn, though. Well, I supposed I’d better get some shut eye. Good night!”

“Good night,” Hep said.

He set a heading on the autopilot, put Poseidon’s binoculars around his neck, and settled in for three hours of sailing in the dark.

The stars were brilliant, even better than they’d been at his house in the middle of the desert. Every so often he’d look around the boat to make sure they weren’t on a collision course with an oil tanker, but otherwise he looked up at the stars for most of his watch. He wondered if maybe he could convince Poseidon to teach him celestial navigation to pass the time. It could be a handy thing to know.

Soon enough, it was time for Scroat’s watch. Hep was not surprised when Scroat did not come up on deck on time. He took a quick look around for dangers to the boat, made sure they were still on the right heading, and went below to wake Scroat up.

The cabin was lit with a kerosene lantern, and Poseidon was sleeping on the settee underneath it. Hep snuck past him as quietly as he could manage, but still woke him up.

“Is there a problem of some sort?”

“No, I just need to wake Scroat up. It’s his watch.”

“Oh, OK,” Poseidon said. He fell back asleep almost instantly.

Hep reached Scroat’s berth, and shook his shoulder to wake him up.

“Hey, it’s your watch,” Hep said.

“Huh?” Scroat groaned. “Oh, fuck, already?”

“Yep. Here are the binoculars. Have a good time up there.”

“Right, a good time. Pleasant fucking dreams, asshole.”

Scroat did not attempt to sneak quietly through the cabin but, despite the commotion, Poseidon did not wake up. He climbed up into the cockpit, and shut the hatch.

The second the hatch was shut, the wind picked up and rain began to pour down.

“Awesome. Just fucking awesome,” Scroat muttered.