Free Ticket to Nowhere: Chapter 19
A Stark Mystery
“You really are a master of bad first impressions, aren’t you?” said Helen of Oslo — her current flight stopover — as she rolled down the right sleeve of her nightgown.
Fortunately for me, the freezing cold had compelled her to wear pajamas instead of going au natural as she had back in Chicago. With me.
As I looked up and admired her form — and not just how well she delivered a right cross — I rubbed the new shiner forming under my left eye, smiled and started to sing:
It’s a little bit funny this feeling inside I’m not one of those who can easily hide, I Don’t have much money but boy if I did I’d buy a big house where we both could live
Helen melted, but since this was Norway and not Kansas, she reduced me to a blubbering pool as she kissed me passionately and I babbled on about “how wonderful life is while you’re in my world.”
“Take it to a hotel room, you two” growled Rambo Lion.
“We are in a hotel room, you shyster lawyer,” chirped Fred.
“I simply must get the name of your nightgown manufacturer,” said Gwen.
The reverie of love broken, I opened my eyes to find the entire gang from the convention stuffed into our hotel room, spilling out through the doorway, down the hallway, and out the front lobby.
A message had been passed hand to hand and thrust in front of my face: “we’re freezing our asses off in the parking lot. Please send us back to Kansas!”
“Baby, I‘m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of five little people, one extremely little person..”
“Screw you, Snark,” said Fred.
“…And a crowd of freezing people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.” I continued, “I’ve got to go back and fix some big problems with this story, but if I make it out alive, I will follow you to the ends of the earth to be with you.”
“Unless you would like help in getting a restraining order. Here’s my card,” Rambo Lion added with a toothy grin.
Helen rolled up her right sleeve again, drew her fist into a ball and said, “counselor, I suggest you leave the scene of the crime before it happens.”
Rambo had a blank look on his soon-to-be-laid-out face, and I clicked my heels before she could land the uppercut, saying “so long, sugar lips, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The good thing about magic gumshoes is the incredible soft landings, but this time I hit something hard and metallic.
“Owwww!” came a voice from below me.
Standing above the crowd, I saw we had landed in front of an old farmhouse near a barn, and a construction site for a luxury housing development in the distance, marked by a billboard that read “future home of Emerald City Estates.”
I looked down, below my feet and said, “It appears the tables have turned, Tin Man. Where’s the gold, and where’s Dorothy?”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ flat foot. Get’im, boys and girls!” yelled the Tin Man.
Out of a small barn doing its best impression of a circus clown car there assembled a massive army of mismatched munchkins, poop-flinging flying monkeys, assorted farm animals wearing skirts and shirts and hats and mustaches, and a six-foot-tall Jack Rabbit wearing a cardigan sweater as he smoked a pipe.
“Jack!” cried Krystal.
She broke free of Rambo’s grasp and ran toward the advancing hostile army.
Our group was outnumbered and couldn’t have defended itself properly, considering how many of our people were trying to regain the feeling in their fingers and toes.
A famous man once said, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” but since everything in this crazy place was broken, I raised my head, filled my lungs and hoped that I could hit the high notes:
Somewhere over the rainbow Way up high And the dreams that you dream of Once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow Bluebirds fly And the dreams that you dream of Dreams really do come true
Once again, the spell had been lifted.
The munchkins were now dressed in matching khaki pants and polo shirts.
The monkeys were again people frantically wiping their hands on the ground, running toward a hose to wash themselves off, or vomiting at the disgusting sight of holding their own feces.
The farm animals had transformed into farmers and housewives, with the hats, mustaches, shirts, and skirts distributed appropriately, based on the gender determination of each person.
But Jack was still a six-foot-tall rabbit, now tenderly kissing Krystal.
I looked at the manuscript and the title then turned my attention to the women who had started this entire adventure.
“Ms. De Toit,” I said, “In the hand-written letter you wrote to me, you specifically said your book was ‘inspired by true events.’ I see six feet of evidence in the form of a real Jack Rabbit in love with a sexy female who could also be a scientist. Did you obtain written authorization from Jack and Krystal to use their likenesses or characters in the book? If not, I’m afraid you’re going to have a major intellectual property lawsuit headed your way, compounded by criminal charges of fraud, conspiracy and making people fling their own poo. Should the warrant for your arrest be made in the name of Gwen… or Dorothy?”
[cue suspense music]
De Toit looked at me and curled her lip, ready to fire off another high society insult.
Instead, she ran toward the old farmhouse.
“After her!” I yelled to my followers.
“Don’t let that witch get away!” mumbled the two lip-locked lovers, who never budged from their now horizontally-oriented location.
“There’s gold in them thar hills!” yelled Rambo Lion.
“We’re in Kansas, you idiot,” grumbled Fred.
As we ran toward the farmhouse, the case seemed like it was just about wrapped up, but one troubling thought surfaced among the flotsam and jetsam of my time-traveled, jet-lagged, undernourished and alcohol-deprived brain…
Where is the Wizard and what’s his part in this caper?
Continues in Chapter 20…
Check out all the previous chapters:
Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 • Chapter 17 • Chapter 18