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Hi there folks, here comes a new story of mine but this time it’s no fanfiction or writing commission, it’s set in the world of Death Valet, a short story I’m glad to be sharing with you now, depicting Alistair Garth as he goes about his profession of monster hunting, and kicks some ass. At the same time I’d like to help establish their world a little better here, I’m done so currently with background material in profiles and the like, but here I’d like to show it in action.
All the characters in here belong to me, any historical or mythical figures and celebrities referenced and mentioned in it don’t, but that’s a different matter altogether.
This story has been released today as earlier today I announced the official release of my Patreon, on which I'll be releasing more text stories just like this. Currently I'm working on one featuring Rod Garth.
~
His coffee was amazing, something a gator like him would want handy on a stakeout, make the waiting game far less tedious.
Alistair Garth had a couple muffins too, cinnamon and blueberry. But as enjoyable as it all was, there was something that even the greatest monster hunter in Hetelville couldn't stand.
This line.
With five people in front of him, he was hoping they wouldn’t be long. There was a schedule to keep. The café was fairly busy right now, admittedly he had some spare time but this gator wasn't gonna lose his bounty.
Ahead of him was an African sorcerer, eyeing a sack of coffee beans at the counter, a couple of zombies who he’d saw eating huge sandwiches earlier, someone he coulda sworn was Saint Drogo (not to be confused with the Khal) and at the front of the line, a lady nymph in a summer dress.
The line would take a while, so while he was waiting to cockblock a kaboom fetishist, he was checking some Facebook updates he’d glanced over earlier.
Chieko Masaki, Japanese girl Friday of his brother Rod, she’d posted up a link on her timeline concerning the developing remake of “The Clockwork Orange” and her opinion of the director chosen was aptly summed up by her commentary.
“Dear Hollywood, thank you for choosing Zach Snyder to try and remake this amazing film, somehow I just know you’ll create the deepest, grimmest quagmire of poorly directed, overpaid bullshit known to mankind. Thanks for giving Guinness fodder for the ‘Worst film ever made’ category.”
Alistair Garth didn’t pity Snyder. The guy wasn’t what you’d call a good filmmaker, it was generally the sort of thing you only enjoy when your brains was off. Not to mention Chieko was more interested in the films of people like the brothers Nolan and Cohen, and Kubrick himself. Plus, don’t get him started on her enjoyment of William Shakespeare’s ‘Monty’...though admittedly it took the bard a while to get used to film.
Of course, seeing as Stanley Kubrick was alive again as of 2009, plus many other historical figures and previously deceased celebrities. Snyder had something bigger to worry about.
For films, Alistair was more interested in Guy Ritchie’s Cannonball Run remake; he certainly liked the trailer…though Hollywood’s remake habit was grinding on him too.
Most revived celebrities took to the modern age pretty well, Rod Garth was looking forward to the Rat Pack's Oceans Eleven prequel…Chieko had to point out that it was more like a sequel to the first Oceans Eleven, as opposed to the Cloony remake…Rod being Rod, thought Frank Sinatra starred in Cloony’s Oceans Eleven.
As Alistair noticed Rod’s comment, which confused Zach Snyder for Rob Schneider, wondering if ‘that bowler hat guy with the weird eyelashes’ would turn into a talking milk carton, he felt inclined to put down his own response…and it was about then that he noticed he had to contend with just one more patron, the sorcerer who was indeed buying up bags of the caffeinated beans, and he paid it pretty quick.
“Well, snark can be had later” he muttered to himself.
The cashier was a werewolf, fur and all, in the regular barista attire, though her hat and glasses clearly broadcast her status as a hipster.
The cashier was a female werewolf, her lupine form in your average barista outfit, but with the hat and glasses denoting her status as a member of one of the least popular but not terribly offensive subcultures known to man. That of the hipster.
He wasn’t sure whether or not her Snoopy earrings were supposed to be ironic, but she didn’t slouch at her job, filling out that receipt faster than a racecar.
“Alright, now that’ll be $6.78” said the barista, Alistair Garth had plenty of cash handy, generally came in handy in his sort of business, considering that he often made more than enough dough from the bounties he kept hauling in.
“Here” he handed off the payment, and then returned to the streets of Hetelville again.
It was 11:23. In about half an hour, Guy O’Reilly was going to try and blow up a museum. Hopefully his informant got the time right.
This was a matter that various organizations could handle, police, FBI, or even the international intelligence organization DICK. However, monster hunters have generally been well suited to dealing with 'eccentric and highly dangerous' criminals. And Alistair's record spoke for itself, he could double for a SWAT team really.
All he needed now was a taxi.
~
“You know lads, I can’t help but notice, ye haven’t had any eggs.”
Tom the blemmyes and Chuck the dryad looked at each other, they knew they were desperate for cash, but for thugs like them, dropping out of one frying pan and right into another frying pan.
They’d been hired by the mastermind Bonfire Vanities to help in robbing a bunch of fireworks stores for the stock. Her attempt to make a ‘red Christmas’ had been predictably thwarted by her feline archenemy Lucy Katt, though the two were hoping to get paid before the brutal huntress kicked the gang’s ass. They were lucky just to escape since they needed to find work somewhere…unfortunately, the ad they answered in a prominent, underground newspaper was placed by another psychopath.
One who with a fixation on using gunpowder in lieu of salt.
“Uhhhh, we don’t really like eggs” Tom nervously said, Guy O’Reilly took up residence in this abandoned K-Mart near the aptly named Steamberry, looking for a place to rest up and hide while planning another of his bombing sprees. He was reasonably safe in hiding here; nobody had touched the place aside from some homeless ghosts and the one time the Pyramid department store chain considered putting a new store in this very spot.
But nothing came of those franchise plans, and the ghosts turned tail the second they saw Guy O’Reilly walk inside with an electric stove. It came without saying that with all the stuff he’d brought in here, the hiding place was secluded indeed…enough that if they displeased this paranoid, bomb obsessed leprechaun, nobody would hear the blast.
“Oh but ye gotta try these boyo!” He practically howled “Took me a couple ‘o larger shells to make! Heeheeheeheehee, go ahead lads. TRY THEM!”
Tom and Chuck looked back down at the eggs, Guy’s cooking was nothing if not absurdly suspicious, it had less to do with his skill and more with his personal obsession with seasoning everything with gunpowder. Maybe he loved the taste, but most people don’t want the risk of poisoning themselves with metallic powders in their food.
“No, really, we’re not even that hungry” Chuck interjected. Guy didn’t seem to buy it. Hell he didn’t even seem to understand the simple fact they just didn’t feel like eating.
“I have ‘ta confess” Guy reached underneath the table “Here I thought a good, hearty meal of eggs, seasoned with the king of spices, was exactly what we needed prior to today’s masterpiece of KABLOOEY!...But all I see are TWO FOOLS!” He slammed a large pineapple grenade on the table. “Who can’t tell what good cookin’ is!...Ye ain’t with the ATF are ye?”
Tom and Chuck made the only sane choice.
Which was to grab up the eggs with their bare hands and shovel them into their mouths, they admittedl could have used spoons, but a delay might have proven fatal.
The unstable leprechaun shifted back his gears from ‘pissed’ to ‘content’ “There we go. Now, what we’d really need now, would be the gunpowder smoked bacon, now that’d bring the real…hey, you fellas kosher?”
Tom and Chuck most certainly weren’t, fear or not. There was enough gunpowder in their stomachs to fuel the American Revolution, and the stomachs were apparently British.
Luckily the ‘French’ came to their aid…French being an empty bucket Guy had around, which in this case was definitely full now.
“Odd” the oblivious leprechaun pondered “I wonder if ‘tose fellas got th’ flu?” He wondered aloud, pausing his unhealthily long soak in the bath of madness.
But that was the least of his concerns. “Ack! Begoyrah! It’s eleven twenty-‘tree?! Shit in me granola! We’re late! We’re late! For a very important bomb! SO GET THE FUCK OUT!!!”
Fast as a bullet, Guy yanked his belt out of his pants, cracking it over his head like a whip, foam spurting from between his lips. In some stories, the moral of 'never piss off a trigger happy, explosion worshipping leprechaun' would be learned the hard way, but these two were saavy enough to avoid that. Rushing towards the door and grabbing their supplies on the way out.
Thus leaving Guy O’Reilly standing alone, surrounded by all the crap he’d dragged in over the past week, including the futon, lava lamp, karaoke machine and bombsmithing table.
“Huh...they were fast, weren’t they?” Guy was impressed, they must have really loved explosions.
“Begorra…I’m feelin’ a wee bit giddy now.” The four and a half foot tall psychopath leapt atop the table “Practice time! ‘Da prudey coppers gonna be impressed, oh yes they will!”
He began to sway his hips, his feet made a blur, and his hand shook a trench grenade like a maraca “I gots some time ‘ta kill! Dancing ahoy!”
His disco dancing tore up the entire table, scattering blueprints, schedules, plates, the rest of the eggs, nothing was safe!
“EEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE- AH!”
Guy slipped and back flipped upon the surface of the table. And thus the papers had their revenge.
“Ahhhh…oy, now ‘tat smarted. Thank ye lucky charms, at least the grenade’s pow’r saved…”
All he had in his hand was the pin.
And the grenade was right at his feet.
“…Whoops.”
With a wave of his left and right hands his magic made the anachronistic bomb quit ticking away, stopping just short of an actual detonation.
“Heh, constant explosion shieldin’ or no constant explosion shieldin’ I can’t blow up me base right now…ahright, enough ‘o the foreplay, time ta get to th’ main event…”
~
“...And if you look over here, we have a mural painted by the artist Marcel Tabia, depicting the founding of our fair city, if you’ll notice on the left, the Faerie refugees…”
As Alistair moved further into the Theodore Roosevelt Museum of natural history, the voice of the mummy tour guide faded out, along with the fifth graders she was expositing to.
Alistair had swapped out his hat and jacket for a pair of sunglasses and a tie-dye shirt, leaving only his shorts unchanged. His weapons hid inside a nearby broom closet, and aside from the tranquilizer gun he’d hid in his pocket he looked like just another face in the crowd.
He'd already warned the staff and the police about Guy O'Reilly's attack, and they were discreetly waiting nearby.
“Okay now” pulling out his phone, he checked the mugshots he'd gained earlier. His keen detective work helped discover the gunpowder scented boxcar Guy traveled back into town on. But unfortunately the maniac was being unusually subtle, leaving no trail to follow and a million possible hideouts in the sprawling city.
However, about two days back he’d been doing some more searching, and in light of a recent failed fireworks heist, he found his colleague Lucy Katt had failed to apprehend two of the nine felons involved. Upon finding their descriptions and learning that an unknown employer was looking for 'unlicensed explosives handlers', Alistair had a good idea of what to look for.
“Now let’s see if that guy was right” Tom and Chuck were roommates, literal partners in crime. They didn’t give half a damn about how they made their money, given what that demented setter Bonnie wanted with those fireworks. Their apartment however was much easier to find, and in rifling through their things, the time and place for this terrorist assault.
As his reptilian eyes surveyed the crowds entering, he saw the two cronies stride inside dressed as students with large backpack...conspicuously large ones.
It came without any shock whatsoever. He'd armed the guards with descriptions, and were going covertly start guarding the exits once the bombers were free of the lobby. Alistair however needed to figure out what Guy's plan was this time, was he going to announce it loudly or was he going to just try and blow the entire place up?
Alistair carefully watched as they walked off into the left wing, cautiously following behind them. Ignoring the exhibits, including the mounted animals, dinosaur skeletons, and the like, he remembered when he came there with his pseudo-adopted son Gagnesh when the young tiger was a little cub, showing him that big ‘ol t-rex skeleton (non-anthro T-rex, those and endangered, but anthro t-rexes are not), and pointing out not only it’s ferocious ferocity…but also where the weak spots are.
Tourists and vistors or not, Alistair could keep a good eye on them, even as Tom discreetly dropped his backpack over by the gigantopithecus skeleton, there was a secluded corner near the stegosaurus and Xerofonian blob monster exhibits, where people could go to calmly discuss things away from prying eyes (and some college students, the more daring ones anyways, can engage in the time honored tradition of public bone jumping), these two knew about it. But so did Alistair.
“You set it up, right?” Tom whispered to his woody partner.
“Yeah, dropped my pack right over by the…what the hell was that?”
“I think it was a prehistoric bigfoot...gigantoritchymous?”
“Yeah, that’s it. What about you? You got the rest of the bombs right? All ten?”
“No shit, you think I’d forget ONE of the motherfuckers? We’re working for a total nutball, I mean you think the gunpowder eggs was fucked up?! I came in before you one morning and found…”
It was then Alistair noticed that neither one of them was watching Chuck’s pack. He crouched around to behind him, hidden by a display case showing off the antlers of some prehistoric deer. Holding up one of his reptilian claws, he cut a small hole in the bottom.
Reaching in, he gently pulled out a C4 based explosive. It wasn’t especially big but knowing Guy, he probably packed in way more than it looked. However, he recognized some of the components fairly well.
What really sealed things for Guy was the fact that clearly didn’t fully trust his minions. he left them a detailed map on just where to set the charges so they would seal off any possible entrances.
“…And he said it was all-natural…that, natural…I couldn’t sleep for two nights after seeing that. It was like waking up on Christmas Day, only to see your parents got up before you, got into the eggnog and…” He gestured with his hands, no imagination required as to how. “We were better off with that crazy bitch!”
“Well don’t let Guy hear that. I don’t wanna know what he can do with those teeth…I mean who the hell flosses with grenade pins?”
Alistair Garth stood up. “I could name a few guys.”
He swiftly shot Tom with the dart gun, and he slumped to the floor near instantly. The dryad attempted to run, surely his wooden body would protect him from the dart.
Well, the dart that hit Tom, but the extra sharp needle on this one pulled a real Jack Dempsey on Chuck, knocked him flat on his ass.
“But you’ll meet them sooner anyways.”
~~~~~
Guy O’Reilly was certain nobody could see through his disguise, the latex George Clooney mask hid his face absolutely. of course he had to bring his own change of clothes, he just couldn’t blow up some large museum without his proper outfit, now could he?
Surely nobody would look suspiciously on his tacky Hawaiian shirt, or his slacks, and most definitely not the codpiece; that would lead the eye far away from the mask.
He had to check of course the other bombs. The backpack lay where his assistant left it, and it looked magnificent. Nobody would suspect the idly abandoned backpack to be highly explosive. He invented that trick! He’d know, he was there the first time it was used…couldn’t remember what was blown up though. Guy O’Reilly never forgot a bomb.
He slouched around through a crowd and took note of a restroom door, and he slipped inside when nobody was looking.
“Ahehhehheh. Oh, but I’m in it now” he cackled “In th’ belly of the beast! And the beast’s gotta boiler!”
His crazed laughter, at a very low volume right now, rang throughout the bathroom. Now out of sight, he turned invisible and walked back out.
With a two hundred pound bomb magically compacted into the satchel he carried, Guy merrily skipped around unseen as he made his way up the stairs. Passing by visitors and some familiar seeming alligator, he made his way to the administrative offices on the fourth floor.
“Ooooh boy now, I got here in time alright” Guy chuckled “Me contact never lies, exactly when these buggers take an early lunch. The bleedin’ fools, shiftless idiots…how can ye’ rest when there’s so much ‘splodin to do?!”
He opened up the satchel and faced it away from himself, the massive bomb he was using as the linchpin of his scheme flew right out onto the floor with a mighty clang.
“Ohhhhhhhhh yeah!....OHHHHHHH YEAH!” He moaned, stroking the bomb with both his hands “Yeah this’ll be orgasmic! I’m gonna have some fun tonight! BOMBMAKING WITH BONERS!!!”
Chuckling and grunting, he sweated over the massive bomb. Taking perverse glee its assembly, the sheer glee inspiring leprechaun wood.
With the very familiar task of bomb assembly being complete, Guy lit up one of his homemade dynamite cigars in the afterglow.
“Ahhhhhh…nob’dy does it better than de best, an’ Guy O’Reilly is th’ best!” He took a long puff from the potentially fatal cigar, oblivious to how Alistair Garth was right outside the door, “But I can enjoy these fine cigaroots lat’r on. Sure th’ security cameras are here somewhere.”
Guy slunk out the room, not noticing the monster hunter hid behind the vase, in addition to the stun mine he’d stashed inside as a precaution. Guy slipped down the hall over to another room, unimaginatively labeled ‘Security’.
“Heeheehee, time fer the Guy Surpise!” He thought it was whispering, but if that was whispering I think he’s got a future in the opera.
Guy yanked out a trench grenade and leapt through the glass window, not a single fuck was given “Candygram fellas! Who’s ready to…die happy?”
It was completely empty.
“Huh…think they went to a better spot? Get a better vantage point fer th’ kaboom?
“Nah, this be a surprise party, they couldn’ta known” he stuffed the trench grenade into his pocket, and yanked a bundle right out of the satchel, his clothes.
Guy walked on over to the security cameras, flipping on the controls. “Let’s see, did me boys place ‘em where I wanted?”
Despite scouring the security feeds, Guy found none of his bombs anywhere on them.
“BRRRRRRRRILLIANT! THEY DID IT!” It went without saying that Guy usually placed the bombs himself.
Swiftly changing through his clothes at near light speeds, he didn’t hear the click of Alistair’s revolver as the gator moved into position. “Well, if’n the bombs’re ready, then it’s time fer a bit of the old ultra-splosion, better give everyone the blessed news.”
Guy sauntered over to the P.A. controls, took a deep breath and proceeded to squander his air in the loudest voice imaginable.
“HEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLOOOO! I’M GUY O’REILLY AND I’M HERE TO TELL YOU, THE PROMISED LAND IS COMING SOON! THIS WHOLE DEN’A MUSTY ‘OL STUFF IS WIRED TO BLOW!...NO NEED ‘TA THANK ME, YOUR APPLAUSE IS GOOD ENOUGH!!!! NOW IN FIFTEEN MINUTES, IT’LL ALL GO OFF! EVERYONE READY TO DIE IN THE ONLY WAY EVERYONE WANTS TO!
“ST-ST-STAAAAAAAAY TUNED FOLKS, YOU DON’T WANNA MISS THE SHOW!”
And with the sole exception of Alistair Garth and Guy O’Reilly. The entire museum completely emptied within six minutes.
“Huh…buncha prudes, ain’t they?” He spoke, all confused at this confusion and the simple fact he couldn’t understand why people don’t want to get blown up, completely disturbed by this revelation.
“Ah well, if nobody here’s got an open mind” he pulled out a detonator “I may as well blow meself. That blast oughta take me right to Nantucket.”
“Adios, musty ‘ol skeletons and shit.”
He pushed the button…but nothing happened.
“…My bomb needs Viagra.” He pushed again. And again “What the fuck?!”
The demented leprechaun swiftly kicked down the door, storming down the hall to the administrative offices.
Guy lit a stick of dynamite, and dropped it at the door. In a couple seconds, and one smoking doorway later, the threshold was open to him.
And a shocking sight awaited.
~
Alistair Garth had waited for Guy to leave the offices before slipping in with his magic bag of weapons, tools and everything a skilled monster hunter needs for defeating a diminutive psychopath who wants to play “Extreme Makeover: Museum Edition” in the name of his own demented amusement.
When you’ve disarmed more bombs than film critics, removing the components that’d actually let this thing blow up was as simple as pulling a trigger, and when he heard Guy howling in rage, he knew he’d done his job properly.
So there he stood, right in the middle of a dissected bomb as harmless as a mere kitten, components weren’t being strewn about though. He’d stuffed most of them in his bag where Guy couldn’t reach them.
And boy was Guy mad. “What in the name of Ted Kaczynski’re ye doing?! YOU GODDAMN HANDBAG!”
The alligator, who’d been called more insulting things throughout his life, narrowed his eyes at Guy. “Guy, nobody likes insults, and slurs even less. I mean do I have a handle sewed to my back?”
“You killed a beautiful thing, you bastard!”
“No Guy, no I didn’t. I just dismantled your engine of death, before you could level a place undeserving your idea of redecorating.”
“Wh-you-….AARRRRRRRRGH!!!” Guy stomped up and down and practically tore his clothes. “Ye cabbage headed, fish gobbling, fireman! Ye destroyed a work ‘o art! Explosions for EVERYONE! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY!”
“Oh trust me, I am.”
Guy’s mouth foam had sprouted now and there was no going back at this point. the leprechaun had lost any form of patience he pretended to have.
The leprechaun whipped out a grenade launcher from underneath his coat. “Embrace the bomb! Ya damned hippy!”
Alistair leapt hard to the right, avoiding the lethal shell with surprising ease. The desk he landed behind barely blocked the shrapnel.
“Grrrrragh!” Guy roared as he rapidly reloaded another shell, but as the launcher clicked shut, Alistair leaned around the corner and pulled out a revolver and blasted a shell right up the barrel of Guy’s launcher.
The blast vaporized a section of wall, throwing the explosion-invulnerable Guy backward, pinwheeling like a fleshy football.
A break room wall broke his fall as he smashed on through with dust and debris covering his jacket.
Alistair quickly turned to his bag, untouched by the explosion due to its magical durability. He rummaged through it quickly and pulled out an assault rifle now slung over his back, a gas gun in holster, a couple more concussion grenades, and a knife with a knuckle guard.
Guy flipped right off his back. “Ack…you motherfucker, so you gonna try ta snuff me bomb’s fuse again eh? Well Guy O’Reilly gots a few more tricks up his coat.”
His faerie magic infused his coat with something a bit similar to Alistair’s bag, albeit with just bombs and bomb accessories, the sporting thing for a psychotic bomber to wear these days.
He pulled out a disturbing contraption: it was simply a baseball bat, but with a bunch of nitroglycerin charges strapped to the top, along with this he held out a pipe bomb he’d crafted last week.
Alistair ran over to the break room door and rolled as the pipe bomb flew through the hole in the wall. he dodged the blast easily and kicked down the door, rifle pointing inward.
“Yyyyyaaagh!” Guy swung his exploding bat at the gator, lightning quick reflexes prevented Alistair from getting demoted to smear. The unsatisfactory result of that swing led Guy to try again.
Alistair had to duck and dodge this way and that, the wild eyed leprechaun baring a murderous grin as he attempted to lead him right down the hallway, towards a certain doom. “Aha! AHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!”
The gator quickly slung his rifle down and shot a few rounds at Guy’s feet, spooking the Irish accented maniac. “Back off!”
Alistair swiftly swung the rifle so it pointed right at the bat and fired off a single bullet, severing the wood right in two halves with the explody end right behind Guy.
The hunter’s confidence was up. “Now this is the part where-”
BOOM!
Guy O’Reilly’s bomb went off right behind him, spurred on by the explosion Guy sprung forward like a cannonball and smashed right into Alistair.
Thrown right back, the knife Alistair had kept around got knocked clean out of his hand. Alistair himself was hurled like some unlucky bastard who tried to play chicken without a truck. Only in this case he wasn’t dead.
“Aggh! Shit!” He picked himself right off the ground, only to look right up into Guy’s face as he smirked over at Alistair.
“Hey boyo, ye fergot yer party favor” He whipped out yet another grenade and plopped it at his feet.
Alistair sprung right up and backflipped right away from the fragmentation bomb, aiming with the assault rifle as Guy hurled yet another bomb at him. His bullets filled the air with more heat and fragmented metal, and yet another explosion propelled the leprechaun. But this time with a sizable hole in the floor, leading right down above the stairwell.
This time, the hunter landed right on his feet, and he fired more hot lead right at Guy. Unfortunately his magically charged foe swiftly leapt and dodged the bullets like some kind of cocaine hopped ballet dancer.
Guy yanked out two grenades and hurled them simultaneously, double dealing fiery death like a pro.
The gator swiftly leapt back and fired out a salvo of slugs to intercept the bombs. one of the bullets hit its mark and the other just grazed it, enough to set it off early, but the force of the blast threw him again.
“Aheeheeheeheehee! Come on over to the fun fair boyo! I got you a killer tilt-a-whirl ‘o death!”
Alistair felt a bit sore now, from getting thrown around. This place was too compact to fight Guy toe-to-toe, not easily, but he wasn’t going to give up either. “You kidding me? This is a damn merry-go-round!”
He flipped up and over, narrowly dodging the bazooka shell Guy fired at him, the back of the hall perishing in the blast.
“Bullseye!” Alistair fired his gun at the next bazooka shell, right up the barrel of weapon. Yet another explosion knocked the gator clean to the side.
Alistair attempted to wing Guy with a shot, only to click empty. “Shit!” He swiftly whipped right down to his pocket and pulled out another clip, looking up, Guy was right in his face again.
He leaned down however, letting the lunging leprechaun sail clean over his head. “Ahhhhhh…firemen!” Guy cursed as he smacked against the floor, bouncing off it a couple times.
Alistair swiftly reloaded the gun again, but the floor gave way beneath him before he could fire.
“Whoa!” He leapt up right before the floor fell out onto the display case for a stuffed non-anthro hodag corpse. Guy’d gotten up by then and hurled a nail bomb at Alistair.
It became clear to both of them that this fight was getting nowhere fast, the hunter blasting the bomb halfway out of the air. Guy however had this cover for the large bundle of dynamite he’d placed behind himself, the second boom mildly surprising Alistair as the psychopath lunged forward with his hands aimed at his throat.
He collided and they tumbled downward; onto a stretch of floor that hadn’t yet given away. “Come on ye scaly bastard! Imma going to rip yer fucking throat out! You ruined my masterpiece!”
Guy punched Alistair in the face with more strength than you’d expect from a four foot tall man. He left a good bruise behind, the gator glared right back at him. “You want a masterpiece?”
The bomber’s reflexes were in play as he attempted to beat Alistair again, only to get flung right to his feet by the determined gator.
The two of them brawled like prizefighters. Of course Guy’s slightness of stature meant aiming for Alistair was kinda frustrating in a way. He was a skilled pugilist in his own right, trading much more powerful punches with the pint sized goon. Guy had agility and speed on his side.
Alistair dodged a potent right cross, already taken a few himself. A lot of minor hoods couldn’t last long against him in a fight, but as the speed and force of the blows told anyone, Guy was anything but minor. As the gator kicked him right in the side, he knew he had to think up something pretty quick to take him down.
Guy howled like a banshee, leaping right onto one of the walls and jumping at the hunter. His flying dropkick knocked Alistair right to the edge. The alligator looked like he was on the ropes, or so it appeared.
“Hey kiddo, think yer a bit bushed now ain’t ya?” The psycho reached into his coat. “I gotta skedaddle now, so you got anythin’ ye want me to pass on to the missus?”
“Actually, yes.” Alistair’s tail fished out the concussion grenade he had in his pocket “Catch!”
His clever tail hurled the grenade over his shoulders and right into Guy’s other hand, the gold-hoarding menace’s eyes widened at the sight of it. “Ohhhhh fu…” but then he saw something else altogether “Wait a minute…” He looked up at the gator “What’s the big ide-”
WHAM!
Alistair threw a mighty uppercut and Guy finally flew in a way he didn’t like “C’mon Guy, you think I’d throw a live bomb in YOUR hands?!”
The bomber picked himself up off the ground, lunging at him again. “That ain’t a real bomb you pus-”
A solid blow connected right in Guy’s face. “You must be mad!
“Oh wait” Alistair continued “You are!” Guy was on his last legs at this point, he’d been tricked to delaying his dynamite for a few seconds, and he was paying for it.
Alistair exchanged blows couple more times. But when Guy attempted his bouncing off the wall trick once again, the fight was through.
With reflexes like a leopard, Alistair jumped to the side and held out his tail. As Guy sailed by, he latched onto his leg and pulled up with all his might, tossing him right at the ceiling and smashing him right into it.
“Aaaaaggh!” As Guy’s sense of pain began to flush out, he looked down and noticed something even more worrying. “…You didn’t glue me here, did-”
“Nope.”
“Ah Christ!” Guy fell down from the ceiling, cartoon physics not exactly in play here. Guy wasn’t sleeping, but he wouldn’t be troubling anyone for a while. There’s a lot of other things you can’t do when you’re unconscious.
Alistair stood right next to his bounty and stared at him. He caught his breath at last and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, just in case Guy started moving again.
“And that’s it for the tour today,” he told himself. “We hope you enjoyed your run-in with a psychotic, dancing leprechaun, and hope the rest of your day doesn’t amount to getting punched in the face.”
~
“…And you kept damage to a minimum” The centaur police captain complimented, as he wrote out Alistair's sizable check, “That’s more than we could’ve expected from someone like Li-Wang.”
The police had swarmed into the museum after Alistair took out Guy, the citizens nearby had been flocking to the area around the cordon, looking for the cause of multiple explosions. The media had gotten there quick, naturally, and had assumed its battle positions.
“I wouldn’t say that” he commented “Maggie’s not a bad kid. Highly immature maybe, I mean, she’s thirty but she still acts like she’s in high school. And a meteor hammer isn’t the best of tools to deal with Guy, especially if you want to leave anything intact.”
“True” the captain tore the check out of the book “Either way, at least we don’t have to explain why there’s only half a museum. So thank you...lord knows nobody can negotiate with Guy.”
Alistair accepted the check “Well his whole religion is based entirely around explosions. You leave him a pristine building within plain sight, the first and only thing that’ll come to mind is Demolition: How To.”
“Yeah…we’ll take it from here, he probably didn’t leave anything else behind. You did set up fake charges, like you told us earlier, right?”
“Inaturally, if Guy found the bombs weren’t there, he’d have panicked and then we would be explaining why there USED to be a museum. Good thing what he gave them was easy enough to absolutely disarm. As long as they looked real, he'd buy them if I painted them neon green. You know, for the holidays.”
The captain shot a glance at the paddy wagon, unfazed by the loud, breathless stream of profanity flowing out “...I don't think he'd appreciate the gesture.”
“Eh, it's the thought that counts. Take care now, with any luck he won’t get out again” Alistair started walking off “Lord knows, the last thing 2013 needs is Guy trying to replace the Times Square ball with a nuke.”
“Sure…hey, Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas to you too!”
Alistair trotted through the crowd and over to the street, all in all he'd had a pretty good day.
As he stepped up to the curb and prepared to signal however, things took an unwanted turn...
No thanks to everyone else.
“TAXI”
“TAXI!TAXI!TAXI!”
“HEY! I NEED A RIDE!”
“BRAKE ALREADY YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!”
“GET OVER HERE YOU STREET RACER REJECT!”
“TAXI! MY BLADDER CAN’T TAKE IT!”
“HALT TAXI! HALT IN THE NAME OF ZEUS!”
Alistair pinched his temples. Why, why, WHY! Did this have to happen again. It was a herd of commuters this time, and once again the bank was probably gonna close long before his butt wound up getting a lift. Thanks to a large, inexplicably forming mob of people searching for rides.
“Oh good!...OKAY! That’s it, I’ve had it!”
Alistair was more familiar with this than he'd like. He never understood why, but for some reason he could never consistantly summon a taxi.. And Uber...don't get him started on Uber, why did every Uber driver he ever hire try to rip him off?
His fists clenched in rage, he made a solumn decision right then and there, and he didn't care if he was heard.
“I'm gonna do it this time, right after New Years!...No, right after Christmas, I'm putting those ads out.
“I'm finally getting that valet!”
~
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All the characters in here belong to me, any historical or mythical figures and celebrities referenced and mentioned in it don’t, but that’s a different matter altogether.
This story has been released today as earlier today I announced the official release of my Patreon, on which I'll be releasing more text stories just like this. Currently I'm working on one featuring Rod Garth.
~
His coffee was amazing, something a gator like him would want handy on a stakeout, make the waiting game far less tedious.
Alistair Garth had a couple muffins too, cinnamon and blueberry. But as enjoyable as it all was, there was something that even the greatest monster hunter in Hetelville couldn't stand.
This line.
With five people in front of him, he was hoping they wouldn’t be long. There was a schedule to keep. The café was fairly busy right now, admittedly he had some spare time but this gator wasn't gonna lose his bounty.
Ahead of him was an African sorcerer, eyeing a sack of coffee beans at the counter, a couple of zombies who he’d saw eating huge sandwiches earlier, someone he coulda sworn was Saint Drogo (not to be confused with the Khal) and at the front of the line, a lady nymph in a summer dress.
The line would take a while, so while he was waiting to cockblock a kaboom fetishist, he was checking some Facebook updates he’d glanced over earlier.
Chieko Masaki, Japanese girl Friday of his brother Rod, she’d posted up a link on her timeline concerning the developing remake of “The Clockwork Orange” and her opinion of the director chosen was aptly summed up by her commentary.
“Dear Hollywood, thank you for choosing Zach Snyder to try and remake this amazing film, somehow I just know you’ll create the deepest, grimmest quagmire of poorly directed, overpaid bullshit known to mankind. Thanks for giving Guinness fodder for the ‘Worst film ever made’ category.”
Alistair Garth didn’t pity Snyder. The guy wasn’t what you’d call a good filmmaker, it was generally the sort of thing you only enjoy when your brains was off. Not to mention Chieko was more interested in the films of people like the brothers Nolan and Cohen, and Kubrick himself. Plus, don’t get him started on her enjoyment of William Shakespeare’s ‘Monty’...though admittedly it took the bard a while to get used to film.
Of course, seeing as Stanley Kubrick was alive again as of 2009, plus many other historical figures and previously deceased celebrities. Snyder had something bigger to worry about.
For films, Alistair was more interested in Guy Ritchie’s Cannonball Run remake; he certainly liked the trailer…though Hollywood’s remake habit was grinding on him too.
Most revived celebrities took to the modern age pretty well, Rod Garth was looking forward to the Rat Pack's Oceans Eleven prequel…Chieko had to point out that it was more like a sequel to the first Oceans Eleven, as opposed to the Cloony remake…Rod being Rod, thought Frank Sinatra starred in Cloony’s Oceans Eleven.
As Alistair noticed Rod’s comment, which confused Zach Snyder for Rob Schneider, wondering if ‘that bowler hat guy with the weird eyelashes’ would turn into a talking milk carton, he felt inclined to put down his own response…and it was about then that he noticed he had to contend with just one more patron, the sorcerer who was indeed buying up bags of the caffeinated beans, and he paid it pretty quick.
“Well, snark can be had later” he muttered to himself.
The cashier was a werewolf, fur and all, in the regular barista attire, though her hat and glasses clearly broadcast her status as a hipster.
The cashier was a female werewolf, her lupine form in your average barista outfit, but with the hat and glasses denoting her status as a member of one of the least popular but not terribly offensive subcultures known to man. That of the hipster.
He wasn’t sure whether or not her Snoopy earrings were supposed to be ironic, but she didn’t slouch at her job, filling out that receipt faster than a racecar.
“Alright, now that’ll be $6.78” said the barista, Alistair Garth had plenty of cash handy, generally came in handy in his sort of business, considering that he often made more than enough dough from the bounties he kept hauling in.
“Here” he handed off the payment, and then returned to the streets of Hetelville again.
It was 11:23. In about half an hour, Guy O’Reilly was going to try and blow up a museum. Hopefully his informant got the time right.
This was a matter that various organizations could handle, police, FBI, or even the international intelligence organization DICK. However, monster hunters have generally been well suited to dealing with 'eccentric and highly dangerous' criminals. And Alistair's record spoke for itself, he could double for a SWAT team really.
All he needed now was a taxi.
~
“You know lads, I can’t help but notice, ye haven’t had any eggs.”
Tom the blemmyes and Chuck the dryad looked at each other, they knew they were desperate for cash, but for thugs like them, dropping out of one frying pan and right into another frying pan.
They’d been hired by the mastermind Bonfire Vanities to help in robbing a bunch of fireworks stores for the stock. Her attempt to make a ‘red Christmas’ had been predictably thwarted by her feline archenemy Lucy Katt, though the two were hoping to get paid before the brutal huntress kicked the gang’s ass. They were lucky just to escape since they needed to find work somewhere…unfortunately, the ad they answered in a prominent, underground newspaper was placed by another psychopath.
One who with a fixation on using gunpowder in lieu of salt.
“Uhhhh, we don’t really like eggs” Tom nervously said, Guy O’Reilly took up residence in this abandoned K-Mart near the aptly named Steamberry, looking for a place to rest up and hide while planning another of his bombing sprees. He was reasonably safe in hiding here; nobody had touched the place aside from some homeless ghosts and the one time the Pyramid department store chain considered putting a new store in this very spot.
But nothing came of those franchise plans, and the ghosts turned tail the second they saw Guy O’Reilly walk inside with an electric stove. It came without saying that with all the stuff he’d brought in here, the hiding place was secluded indeed…enough that if they displeased this paranoid, bomb obsessed leprechaun, nobody would hear the blast.
“Oh but ye gotta try these boyo!” He practically howled “Took me a couple ‘o larger shells to make! Heeheeheeheehee, go ahead lads. TRY THEM!”
Tom and Chuck looked back down at the eggs, Guy’s cooking was nothing if not absurdly suspicious, it had less to do with his skill and more with his personal obsession with seasoning everything with gunpowder. Maybe he loved the taste, but most people don’t want the risk of poisoning themselves with metallic powders in their food.
“No, really, we’re not even that hungry” Chuck interjected. Guy didn’t seem to buy it. Hell he didn’t even seem to understand the simple fact they just didn’t feel like eating.
“I have ‘ta confess” Guy reached underneath the table “Here I thought a good, hearty meal of eggs, seasoned with the king of spices, was exactly what we needed prior to today’s masterpiece of KABLOOEY!...But all I see are TWO FOOLS!” He slammed a large pineapple grenade on the table. “Who can’t tell what good cookin’ is!...Ye ain’t with the ATF are ye?”
Tom and Chuck made the only sane choice.
Which was to grab up the eggs with their bare hands and shovel them into their mouths, they admittedl could have used spoons, but a delay might have proven fatal.
The unstable leprechaun shifted back his gears from ‘pissed’ to ‘content’ “There we go. Now, what we’d really need now, would be the gunpowder smoked bacon, now that’d bring the real…hey, you fellas kosher?”
Tom and Chuck most certainly weren’t, fear or not. There was enough gunpowder in their stomachs to fuel the American Revolution, and the stomachs were apparently British.
Luckily the ‘French’ came to their aid…French being an empty bucket Guy had around, which in this case was definitely full now.
“Odd” the oblivious leprechaun pondered “I wonder if ‘tose fellas got th’ flu?” He wondered aloud, pausing his unhealthily long soak in the bath of madness.
But that was the least of his concerns. “Ack! Begoyrah! It’s eleven twenty-‘tree?! Shit in me granola! We’re late! We’re late! For a very important bomb! SO GET THE FUCK OUT!!!”
Fast as a bullet, Guy yanked his belt out of his pants, cracking it over his head like a whip, foam spurting from between his lips. In some stories, the moral of 'never piss off a trigger happy, explosion worshipping leprechaun' would be learned the hard way, but these two were saavy enough to avoid that. Rushing towards the door and grabbing their supplies on the way out.
Thus leaving Guy O’Reilly standing alone, surrounded by all the crap he’d dragged in over the past week, including the futon, lava lamp, karaoke machine and bombsmithing table.
“Huh...they were fast, weren’t they?” Guy was impressed, they must have really loved explosions.
“Begorra…I’m feelin’ a wee bit giddy now.” The four and a half foot tall psychopath leapt atop the table “Practice time! ‘Da prudey coppers gonna be impressed, oh yes they will!”
He began to sway his hips, his feet made a blur, and his hand shook a trench grenade like a maraca “I gots some time ‘ta kill! Dancing ahoy!”
His disco dancing tore up the entire table, scattering blueprints, schedules, plates, the rest of the eggs, nothing was safe!
“EEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE- AH!”
Guy slipped and back flipped upon the surface of the table. And thus the papers had their revenge.
“Ahhhh…oy, now ‘tat smarted. Thank ye lucky charms, at least the grenade’s pow’r saved…”
All he had in his hand was the pin.
And the grenade was right at his feet.
“…Whoops.”
With a wave of his left and right hands his magic made the anachronistic bomb quit ticking away, stopping just short of an actual detonation.
“Heh, constant explosion shieldin’ or no constant explosion shieldin’ I can’t blow up me base right now…ahright, enough ‘o the foreplay, time ta get to th’ main event…”
~
“...And if you look over here, we have a mural painted by the artist Marcel Tabia, depicting the founding of our fair city, if you’ll notice on the left, the Faerie refugees…”
As Alistair moved further into the Theodore Roosevelt Museum of natural history, the voice of the mummy tour guide faded out, along with the fifth graders she was expositing to.
Alistair had swapped out his hat and jacket for a pair of sunglasses and a tie-dye shirt, leaving only his shorts unchanged. His weapons hid inside a nearby broom closet, and aside from the tranquilizer gun he’d hid in his pocket he looked like just another face in the crowd.
He'd already warned the staff and the police about Guy O'Reilly's attack, and they were discreetly waiting nearby.
“Okay now” pulling out his phone, he checked the mugshots he'd gained earlier. His keen detective work helped discover the gunpowder scented boxcar Guy traveled back into town on. But unfortunately the maniac was being unusually subtle, leaving no trail to follow and a million possible hideouts in the sprawling city.
However, about two days back he’d been doing some more searching, and in light of a recent failed fireworks heist, he found his colleague Lucy Katt had failed to apprehend two of the nine felons involved. Upon finding their descriptions and learning that an unknown employer was looking for 'unlicensed explosives handlers', Alistair had a good idea of what to look for.
“Now let’s see if that guy was right” Tom and Chuck were roommates, literal partners in crime. They didn’t give half a damn about how they made their money, given what that demented setter Bonnie wanted with those fireworks. Their apartment however was much easier to find, and in rifling through their things, the time and place for this terrorist assault.
As his reptilian eyes surveyed the crowds entering, he saw the two cronies stride inside dressed as students with large backpack...conspicuously large ones.
It came without any shock whatsoever. He'd armed the guards with descriptions, and were going covertly start guarding the exits once the bombers were free of the lobby. Alistair however needed to figure out what Guy's plan was this time, was he going to announce it loudly or was he going to just try and blow the entire place up?
Alistair carefully watched as they walked off into the left wing, cautiously following behind them. Ignoring the exhibits, including the mounted animals, dinosaur skeletons, and the like, he remembered when he came there with his pseudo-adopted son Gagnesh when the young tiger was a little cub, showing him that big ‘ol t-rex skeleton (non-anthro T-rex, those and endangered, but anthro t-rexes are not), and pointing out not only it’s ferocious ferocity…but also where the weak spots are.
Tourists and vistors or not, Alistair could keep a good eye on them, even as Tom discreetly dropped his backpack over by the gigantopithecus skeleton, there was a secluded corner near the stegosaurus and Xerofonian blob monster exhibits, where people could go to calmly discuss things away from prying eyes (and some college students, the more daring ones anyways, can engage in the time honored tradition of public bone jumping), these two knew about it. But so did Alistair.
“You set it up, right?” Tom whispered to his woody partner.
“Yeah, dropped my pack right over by the…what the hell was that?”
“I think it was a prehistoric bigfoot...gigantoritchymous?”
“Yeah, that’s it. What about you? You got the rest of the bombs right? All ten?”
“No shit, you think I’d forget ONE of the motherfuckers? We’re working for a total nutball, I mean you think the gunpowder eggs was fucked up?! I came in before you one morning and found…”
It was then Alistair noticed that neither one of them was watching Chuck’s pack. He crouched around to behind him, hidden by a display case showing off the antlers of some prehistoric deer. Holding up one of his reptilian claws, he cut a small hole in the bottom.
Reaching in, he gently pulled out a C4 based explosive. It wasn’t especially big but knowing Guy, he probably packed in way more than it looked. However, he recognized some of the components fairly well.
What really sealed things for Guy was the fact that clearly didn’t fully trust his minions. he left them a detailed map on just where to set the charges so they would seal off any possible entrances.
“…And he said it was all-natural…that, natural…I couldn’t sleep for two nights after seeing that. It was like waking up on Christmas Day, only to see your parents got up before you, got into the eggnog and…” He gestured with his hands, no imagination required as to how. “We were better off with that crazy bitch!”
“Well don’t let Guy hear that. I don’t wanna know what he can do with those teeth…I mean who the hell flosses with grenade pins?”
Alistair Garth stood up. “I could name a few guys.”
He swiftly shot Tom with the dart gun, and he slumped to the floor near instantly. The dryad attempted to run, surely his wooden body would protect him from the dart.
Well, the dart that hit Tom, but the extra sharp needle on this one pulled a real Jack Dempsey on Chuck, knocked him flat on his ass.
“But you’ll meet them sooner anyways.”
~~~~~
Guy O’Reilly was certain nobody could see through his disguise, the latex George Clooney mask hid his face absolutely. of course he had to bring his own change of clothes, he just couldn’t blow up some large museum without his proper outfit, now could he?
Surely nobody would look suspiciously on his tacky Hawaiian shirt, or his slacks, and most definitely not the codpiece; that would lead the eye far away from the mask.
He had to check of course the other bombs. The backpack lay where his assistant left it, and it looked magnificent. Nobody would suspect the idly abandoned backpack to be highly explosive. He invented that trick! He’d know, he was there the first time it was used…couldn’t remember what was blown up though. Guy O’Reilly never forgot a bomb.
He slouched around through a crowd and took note of a restroom door, and he slipped inside when nobody was looking.
“Ahehhehheh. Oh, but I’m in it now” he cackled “In th’ belly of the beast! And the beast’s gotta boiler!”
His crazed laughter, at a very low volume right now, rang throughout the bathroom. Now out of sight, he turned invisible and walked back out.
With a two hundred pound bomb magically compacted into the satchel he carried, Guy merrily skipped around unseen as he made his way up the stairs. Passing by visitors and some familiar seeming alligator, he made his way to the administrative offices on the fourth floor.
“Ooooh boy now, I got here in time alright” Guy chuckled “Me contact never lies, exactly when these buggers take an early lunch. The bleedin’ fools, shiftless idiots…how can ye’ rest when there’s so much ‘splodin to do?!”
He opened up the satchel and faced it away from himself, the massive bomb he was using as the linchpin of his scheme flew right out onto the floor with a mighty clang.
“Ohhhhhhhhh yeah!....OHHHHHHH YEAH!” He moaned, stroking the bomb with both his hands “Yeah this’ll be orgasmic! I’m gonna have some fun tonight! BOMBMAKING WITH BONERS!!!”
Chuckling and grunting, he sweated over the massive bomb. Taking perverse glee its assembly, the sheer glee inspiring leprechaun wood.
With the very familiar task of bomb assembly being complete, Guy lit up one of his homemade dynamite cigars in the afterglow.
“Ahhhhhh…nob’dy does it better than de best, an’ Guy O’Reilly is th’ best!” He took a long puff from the potentially fatal cigar, oblivious to how Alistair Garth was right outside the door, “But I can enjoy these fine cigaroots lat’r on. Sure th’ security cameras are here somewhere.”
Guy slunk out the room, not noticing the monster hunter hid behind the vase, in addition to the stun mine he’d stashed inside as a precaution. Guy slipped down the hall over to another room, unimaginatively labeled ‘Security’.
“Heeheehee, time fer the Guy Surpise!” He thought it was whispering, but if that was whispering I think he’s got a future in the opera.
Guy yanked out a trench grenade and leapt through the glass window, not a single fuck was given “Candygram fellas! Who’s ready to…die happy?”
It was completely empty.
“Huh…think they went to a better spot? Get a better vantage point fer th’ kaboom?
“Nah, this be a surprise party, they couldn’ta known” he stuffed the trench grenade into his pocket, and yanked a bundle right out of the satchel, his clothes.
Guy walked on over to the security cameras, flipping on the controls. “Let’s see, did me boys place ‘em where I wanted?”
Despite scouring the security feeds, Guy found none of his bombs anywhere on them.
“BRRRRRRRRILLIANT! THEY DID IT!” It went without saying that Guy usually placed the bombs himself.
Swiftly changing through his clothes at near light speeds, he didn’t hear the click of Alistair’s revolver as the gator moved into position. “Well, if’n the bombs’re ready, then it’s time fer a bit of the old ultra-splosion, better give everyone the blessed news.”
Guy sauntered over to the P.A. controls, took a deep breath and proceeded to squander his air in the loudest voice imaginable.
“HEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLOOOO! I’M GUY O’REILLY AND I’M HERE TO TELL YOU, THE PROMISED LAND IS COMING SOON! THIS WHOLE DEN’A MUSTY ‘OL STUFF IS WIRED TO BLOW!...NO NEED ‘TA THANK ME, YOUR APPLAUSE IS GOOD ENOUGH!!!! NOW IN FIFTEEN MINUTES, IT’LL ALL GO OFF! EVERYONE READY TO DIE IN THE ONLY WAY EVERYONE WANTS TO!
“ST-ST-STAAAAAAAAY TUNED FOLKS, YOU DON’T WANNA MISS THE SHOW!”
And with the sole exception of Alistair Garth and Guy O’Reilly. The entire museum completely emptied within six minutes.
“Huh…buncha prudes, ain’t they?” He spoke, all confused at this confusion and the simple fact he couldn’t understand why people don’t want to get blown up, completely disturbed by this revelation.
“Ah well, if nobody here’s got an open mind” he pulled out a detonator “I may as well blow meself. That blast oughta take me right to Nantucket.”
“Adios, musty ‘ol skeletons and shit.”
He pushed the button…but nothing happened.
“…My bomb needs Viagra.” He pushed again. And again “What the fuck?!”
The demented leprechaun swiftly kicked down the door, storming down the hall to the administrative offices.
Guy lit a stick of dynamite, and dropped it at the door. In a couple seconds, and one smoking doorway later, the threshold was open to him.
And a shocking sight awaited.
~
Alistair Garth had waited for Guy to leave the offices before slipping in with his magic bag of weapons, tools and everything a skilled monster hunter needs for defeating a diminutive psychopath who wants to play “Extreme Makeover: Museum Edition” in the name of his own demented amusement.
When you’ve disarmed more bombs than film critics, removing the components that’d actually let this thing blow up was as simple as pulling a trigger, and when he heard Guy howling in rage, he knew he’d done his job properly.
So there he stood, right in the middle of a dissected bomb as harmless as a mere kitten, components weren’t being strewn about though. He’d stuffed most of them in his bag where Guy couldn’t reach them.
And boy was Guy mad. “What in the name of Ted Kaczynski’re ye doing?! YOU GODDAMN HANDBAG!”
The alligator, who’d been called more insulting things throughout his life, narrowed his eyes at Guy. “Guy, nobody likes insults, and slurs even less. I mean do I have a handle sewed to my back?”
“You killed a beautiful thing, you bastard!”
“No Guy, no I didn’t. I just dismantled your engine of death, before you could level a place undeserving your idea of redecorating.”
“Wh-you-….AARRRRRRRRGH!!!” Guy stomped up and down and practically tore his clothes. “Ye cabbage headed, fish gobbling, fireman! Ye destroyed a work ‘o art! Explosions for EVERYONE! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY!”
“Oh trust me, I am.”
Guy’s mouth foam had sprouted now and there was no going back at this point. the leprechaun had lost any form of patience he pretended to have.
The leprechaun whipped out a grenade launcher from underneath his coat. “Embrace the bomb! Ya damned hippy!”
Alistair leapt hard to the right, avoiding the lethal shell with surprising ease. The desk he landed behind barely blocked the shrapnel.
“Grrrrragh!” Guy roared as he rapidly reloaded another shell, but as the launcher clicked shut, Alistair leaned around the corner and pulled out a revolver and blasted a shell right up the barrel of Guy’s launcher.
The blast vaporized a section of wall, throwing the explosion-invulnerable Guy backward, pinwheeling like a fleshy football.
A break room wall broke his fall as he smashed on through with dust and debris covering his jacket.
Alistair quickly turned to his bag, untouched by the explosion due to its magical durability. He rummaged through it quickly and pulled out an assault rifle now slung over his back, a gas gun in holster, a couple more concussion grenades, and a knife with a knuckle guard.
Guy flipped right off his back. “Ack…you motherfucker, so you gonna try ta snuff me bomb’s fuse again eh? Well Guy O’Reilly gots a few more tricks up his coat.”
His faerie magic infused his coat with something a bit similar to Alistair’s bag, albeit with just bombs and bomb accessories, the sporting thing for a psychotic bomber to wear these days.
He pulled out a disturbing contraption: it was simply a baseball bat, but with a bunch of nitroglycerin charges strapped to the top, along with this he held out a pipe bomb he’d crafted last week.
Alistair ran over to the break room door and rolled as the pipe bomb flew through the hole in the wall. he dodged the blast easily and kicked down the door, rifle pointing inward.
“Yyyyyaaagh!” Guy swung his exploding bat at the gator, lightning quick reflexes prevented Alistair from getting demoted to smear. The unsatisfactory result of that swing led Guy to try again.
Alistair had to duck and dodge this way and that, the wild eyed leprechaun baring a murderous grin as he attempted to lead him right down the hallway, towards a certain doom. “Aha! AHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!”
The gator quickly slung his rifle down and shot a few rounds at Guy’s feet, spooking the Irish accented maniac. “Back off!”
Alistair swiftly swung the rifle so it pointed right at the bat and fired off a single bullet, severing the wood right in two halves with the explody end right behind Guy.
The hunter’s confidence was up. “Now this is the part where-”
BOOM!
Guy O’Reilly’s bomb went off right behind him, spurred on by the explosion Guy sprung forward like a cannonball and smashed right into Alistair.
Thrown right back, the knife Alistair had kept around got knocked clean out of his hand. Alistair himself was hurled like some unlucky bastard who tried to play chicken without a truck. Only in this case he wasn’t dead.
“Aggh! Shit!” He picked himself right off the ground, only to look right up into Guy’s face as he smirked over at Alistair.
“Hey boyo, ye fergot yer party favor” He whipped out yet another grenade and plopped it at his feet.
Alistair sprung right up and backflipped right away from the fragmentation bomb, aiming with the assault rifle as Guy hurled yet another bomb at him. His bullets filled the air with more heat and fragmented metal, and yet another explosion propelled the leprechaun. But this time with a sizable hole in the floor, leading right down above the stairwell.
This time, the hunter landed right on his feet, and he fired more hot lead right at Guy. Unfortunately his magically charged foe swiftly leapt and dodged the bullets like some kind of cocaine hopped ballet dancer.
Guy yanked out two grenades and hurled them simultaneously, double dealing fiery death like a pro.
The gator swiftly leapt back and fired out a salvo of slugs to intercept the bombs. one of the bullets hit its mark and the other just grazed it, enough to set it off early, but the force of the blast threw him again.
“Aheeheeheeheehee! Come on over to the fun fair boyo! I got you a killer tilt-a-whirl ‘o death!”
Alistair felt a bit sore now, from getting thrown around. This place was too compact to fight Guy toe-to-toe, not easily, but he wasn’t going to give up either. “You kidding me? This is a damn merry-go-round!”
He flipped up and over, narrowly dodging the bazooka shell Guy fired at him, the back of the hall perishing in the blast.
“Bullseye!” Alistair fired his gun at the next bazooka shell, right up the barrel of weapon. Yet another explosion knocked the gator clean to the side.
Alistair attempted to wing Guy with a shot, only to click empty. “Shit!” He swiftly whipped right down to his pocket and pulled out another clip, looking up, Guy was right in his face again.
He leaned down however, letting the lunging leprechaun sail clean over his head. “Ahhhhhh…firemen!” Guy cursed as he smacked against the floor, bouncing off it a couple times.
Alistair swiftly reloaded the gun again, but the floor gave way beneath him before he could fire.
“Whoa!” He leapt up right before the floor fell out onto the display case for a stuffed non-anthro hodag corpse. Guy’d gotten up by then and hurled a nail bomb at Alistair.
It became clear to both of them that this fight was getting nowhere fast, the hunter blasting the bomb halfway out of the air. Guy however had this cover for the large bundle of dynamite he’d placed behind himself, the second boom mildly surprising Alistair as the psychopath lunged forward with his hands aimed at his throat.
He collided and they tumbled downward; onto a stretch of floor that hadn’t yet given away. “Come on ye scaly bastard! Imma going to rip yer fucking throat out! You ruined my masterpiece!”
Guy punched Alistair in the face with more strength than you’d expect from a four foot tall man. He left a good bruise behind, the gator glared right back at him. “You want a masterpiece?”
The bomber’s reflexes were in play as he attempted to beat Alistair again, only to get flung right to his feet by the determined gator.
The two of them brawled like prizefighters. Of course Guy’s slightness of stature meant aiming for Alistair was kinda frustrating in a way. He was a skilled pugilist in his own right, trading much more powerful punches with the pint sized goon. Guy had agility and speed on his side.
Alistair dodged a potent right cross, already taken a few himself. A lot of minor hoods couldn’t last long against him in a fight, but as the speed and force of the blows told anyone, Guy was anything but minor. As the gator kicked him right in the side, he knew he had to think up something pretty quick to take him down.
Guy howled like a banshee, leaping right onto one of the walls and jumping at the hunter. His flying dropkick knocked Alistair right to the edge. The alligator looked like he was on the ropes, or so it appeared.
“Hey kiddo, think yer a bit bushed now ain’t ya?” The psycho reached into his coat. “I gotta skedaddle now, so you got anythin’ ye want me to pass on to the missus?”
“Actually, yes.” Alistair’s tail fished out the concussion grenade he had in his pocket “Catch!”
His clever tail hurled the grenade over his shoulders and right into Guy’s other hand, the gold-hoarding menace’s eyes widened at the sight of it. “Ohhhhh fu…” but then he saw something else altogether “Wait a minute…” He looked up at the gator “What’s the big ide-”
WHAM!
Alistair threw a mighty uppercut and Guy finally flew in a way he didn’t like “C’mon Guy, you think I’d throw a live bomb in YOUR hands?!”
The bomber picked himself up off the ground, lunging at him again. “That ain’t a real bomb you pus-”
A solid blow connected right in Guy’s face. “You must be mad!
“Oh wait” Alistair continued “You are!” Guy was on his last legs at this point, he’d been tricked to delaying his dynamite for a few seconds, and he was paying for it.
Alistair exchanged blows couple more times. But when Guy attempted his bouncing off the wall trick once again, the fight was through.
With reflexes like a leopard, Alistair jumped to the side and held out his tail. As Guy sailed by, he latched onto his leg and pulled up with all his might, tossing him right at the ceiling and smashing him right into it.
“Aaaaaggh!” As Guy’s sense of pain began to flush out, he looked down and noticed something even more worrying. “…You didn’t glue me here, did-”
“Nope.”
“Ah Christ!” Guy fell down from the ceiling, cartoon physics not exactly in play here. Guy wasn’t sleeping, but he wouldn’t be troubling anyone for a while. There’s a lot of other things you can’t do when you’re unconscious.
Alistair stood right next to his bounty and stared at him. He caught his breath at last and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, just in case Guy started moving again.
“And that’s it for the tour today,” he told himself. “We hope you enjoyed your run-in with a psychotic, dancing leprechaun, and hope the rest of your day doesn’t amount to getting punched in the face.”
~
“…And you kept damage to a minimum” The centaur police captain complimented, as he wrote out Alistair's sizable check, “That’s more than we could’ve expected from someone like Li-Wang.”
The police had swarmed into the museum after Alistair took out Guy, the citizens nearby had been flocking to the area around the cordon, looking for the cause of multiple explosions. The media had gotten there quick, naturally, and had assumed its battle positions.
“I wouldn’t say that” he commented “Maggie’s not a bad kid. Highly immature maybe, I mean, she’s thirty but she still acts like she’s in high school. And a meteor hammer isn’t the best of tools to deal with Guy, especially if you want to leave anything intact.”
“True” the captain tore the check out of the book “Either way, at least we don’t have to explain why there’s only half a museum. So thank you...lord knows nobody can negotiate with Guy.”
Alistair accepted the check “Well his whole religion is based entirely around explosions. You leave him a pristine building within plain sight, the first and only thing that’ll come to mind is Demolition: How To.”
“Yeah…we’ll take it from here, he probably didn’t leave anything else behind. You did set up fake charges, like you told us earlier, right?”
“Inaturally, if Guy found the bombs weren’t there, he’d have panicked and then we would be explaining why there USED to be a museum. Good thing what he gave them was easy enough to absolutely disarm. As long as they looked real, he'd buy them if I painted them neon green. You know, for the holidays.”
The captain shot a glance at the paddy wagon, unfazed by the loud, breathless stream of profanity flowing out “...I don't think he'd appreciate the gesture.”
“Eh, it's the thought that counts. Take care now, with any luck he won’t get out again” Alistair started walking off “Lord knows, the last thing 2013 needs is Guy trying to replace the Times Square ball with a nuke.”
“Sure…hey, Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas to you too!”
Alistair trotted through the crowd and over to the street, all in all he'd had a pretty good day.
As he stepped up to the curb and prepared to signal however, things took an unwanted turn...
No thanks to everyone else.
“TAXI”
“TAXI!TAXI!TAXI!”
“HEY! I NEED A RIDE!”
“BRAKE ALREADY YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!”
“GET OVER HERE YOU STREET RACER REJECT!”
“TAXI! MY BLADDER CAN’T TAKE IT!”
“HALT TAXI! HALT IN THE NAME OF ZEUS!”
Alistair pinched his temples. Why, why, WHY! Did this have to happen again. It was a herd of commuters this time, and once again the bank was probably gonna close long before his butt wound up getting a lift. Thanks to a large, inexplicably forming mob of people searching for rides.
“Oh good!...OKAY! That’s it, I’ve had it!”
Alistair was more familiar with this than he'd like. He never understood why, but for some reason he could never consistantly summon a taxi.. And Uber...don't get him started on Uber, why did every Uber driver he ever hire try to rip him off?
His fists clenched in rage, he made a solumn decision right then and there, and he didn't care if he was heard.
“I'm gonna do it this time, right after New Years!...No, right after Christmas, I'm putting those ads out.
“I'm finally getting that valet!”
~
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