America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 23 - Bandits (14 page)

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     “World famous science fiction author Walter Knight is just pushing the envelopes again,” explained Patricia Morrison, editor of Penumbra Publishing.  “It's what he does.”

     “Those Mexican reindeer are so racist,” argued Natasha Larry, assistant editor.  “He's going to get us sued.”

     “They're Mexican monitor dragons,” corrected Grayson Little, assistant to the assistant editor, wanting to be helpful.  “It's not racist if Santa-Claws is Hispanic.  We don't know.  He could be.”

     “Santa-Claws is an alien,” frowned Patricia Morrison, noting the inconsistency.  “Not an illegal alien, but a space alien.  It's not racist if he's a space alien, unless he's a Mexican space alien.”

     “They're undocumented aliens from space,” said Grayson Little.  “We need to be politically correct.”

     “I should have incorporated,” groused Donna Wolke, owner of Penumbra Publishing, listening to the editors strategy meeting.  “Do you really think we'll get sued?”

     “There's no 'we' to it,” answered Patricia Morrison.  “You're the one with deep pockets.”

     “Penumbra will also probably get picketed,” lamented Grayson Little.  “Undocumented space alien lives matter.”

     “How come I am only an assistant editor after all this time?” asked Natasha Larry, still upset about slurs to aliens, but seeing an opening for contract negotiations.  “I'm almost tenured at a major university.”

     “Fine,” exclaimed Patricia Morrison.  “It's agreed that we'll all be equal editors, except me of course, who retains my titles as author liaison, acquisition editor, and supreme commander of editors.”

     “Agreed,” they all chorused grudgingly. 

                                                                          Chapter 23

     Cactus-Claw was quickly captured by Arthropodan marines and held for extradition to the United States Galactic Federation.  He wasn't worried.  Everyone knows the Empire does not extradite spiders to America because of mistrust of our erratic criminal justice system.  The downside was that the Empire was much harsher on its criminals.

     Cactus-Claw sat chained by an ankle to a post on the main boulevard of North New Gobi City.  Little-Claw commiserated with him from the next post.  A disheveled Santa-Claws lay chained to yet another post along with the rest of the gang.  The Empire had no need for large prisons.  In orderly societies criminals are executed, tortured, or chained for all to see.  No decision on Cactus-Claw had been made.  Penelope was supposed to be posting a bribe, but was overdue.  Cactus-Claw suspected she was shopping at Walmart's half-off-after-day-Christmas sale on all electronics in the store.

     Reduced to begging for scraps of food from passersby, they were getting hungry.  It grated on Cactus-Claw that there was a McDonald's Fine Food Restaurant just across the street.  The ever-reaching tentacles of the evil human pestilence McDonald's Corporation and its declaration of delicious wormed its way everywhere, even to the Empire.  The delicious aroma of grilled Big-Macs and greasy fries was maddening.  But could McDonald's spare a Happy Meal for poor desperate prisoners?  No!  Wasted food was thrown into a dipsty dumpster, chained and padlocked shut.  Inspiration struck.  Cactus Claw called McDonald's on his communications pad.

     “Good morning, this is McDonald's Fine Foods, home of the Happy Meal.  How may I help you this fine day?”

     “I want to speak to the manager,” demanded Cactus-Claw.

     “Manager requested, manager speaking.”

     “This is the city fire chief.  We are conducting a test of all business fire suppression systems.  You are required to activate your fire alarm system at this time.”

     “Yes, sir,” replied the McDonald's manager, pulling the fire alarm.

     Lights flashed, alarms sounded, and halon oxygen displacement gasses discharged.  Employees ran out of the restrooms forgetting to wash their claws.  The manager made a note of that!

     “Stay calm,” advised Cactus-Claw sternly.  “I will talk you through the fire drill.  If this was a real fire, you would all take off your clothes to prevent catching fire.  Do it now.”

     “Really?”

     “That's an order!”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Are your clothes off yet?”

     “Almost.  Some customers are resisting.”

     “The fire extinguishing chemicals are deadly,” warned Cactus-Claw.  “Smash out all windows to allow for proper life-saving ventilation.”

     “Yes, sir,” complied the manager, handing out spatulas to the hamburger flippers for smashing windows.  Soon all the plate glass windows were shattered.

     “As you evacuate, grab a dozen Happy Meals for the poor prisoners chained across the street.  We want extra cheese and fries with those Happy Meals.  Send the bill to the local marine commander.”

     “We?”

     “All of us at the fire station.  Make sure the coffee is hot!”

     “Yes, sir.”

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     The spider commander paced, contemplating the fate of the five outlaws.  He knew Cactus-Claw and Little-Claw.  He suspected that Santa-Claws was a minor lieutenant, and their get-away driver.  The other two were spider trash of no consequence.  The spider commander shot them both.

     “Now that I have your full undivided attention,” started the spider commander, “”I intend to send a message to other petty criminals that terrorist phone pranks will not be tolerated.  I sentence you to hard labor at McDonald's for fifteen credits an hour until the damage you caused is paid off.”

     “I'll starve on fifteen credits an hour,” complained Cactus-Claw.  “Does this mean my disability stipend is canceled?”

     “We can eat Quarter-Pounders,” commented Little-Claw agreeably.  “This will be my first real job.  I feel almost rehabilitated already.”

     “Exactly,” exclaimed the spider commander triumphantly.  “You all will learn the reward of an honest living, flipping burgers.  Be grateful for the Emperor's new kinder and gentler criminal justice system.”

     The spider commander paused in front of Santa-Claws, waiting impatiently for the jolly spider to say something.  The fool wore a fake white human pestilence beard covering his mandibles.  His disheveled clothes smelled of chimney soot.

     “What exactly is your major malfunction?” pressed the spider commander.  “I'm told you're an arms dealer?”

     “Ho, ho, ho,” replied Santa-Claws.  “Want some magic dust?”

     “You're a drug dealer to boot,” said the spider commander, pointing his pistol menacingly.  “Colonel Czerinski of the Legion asked specifically about you.  What makes you so special?”

     “You have never heard of the legend of Santa-Claws, ho, ho, ho?”

     “No.  Obviously you're a legend in your own mind.”

     “How sad your childhood must have been not believing in Santa-Claws.”

     “You are human pestilence contamination of our culture at its worst,” accused the spider commander.  “Perhaps hard labor flipping burgers will mend your ways.”

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     General Kalipetsis authorized a black-op to arrest Cactus-Claw and Little-Claw, dead or alive.  Special attention was to be given to the apprehension of the spider outlaw get-away driver Santa-Claws, and the recovery of top secret rocket propulsion fuel known only as 'magic dust.'  The Legion enlisted the patriotic cooperation of American corporation Burger King, located across the street from McDonald's where the three bandits were hiding in plain sight, working for minimum wage.  Spider legionnaires Lieutenant George 'Rambo' Washington and Corporal John 'Iwo Jima' Wayne were clandestinely employed at Burger King to coordinate operations.

     “Welcome to Burger King, home of the whopper,” said Corporal Wayne in a monotone voice.  “May I take your order?”

     “All I want is a cup of ice water,” replied a juvenile spider wearing headphones and Nike droopy drawers.  “Make that a large cup.  Water is free, right?”

     “Get out, you little grunge,” ordered corporal Wayne, producing a large jagged Legion combat knife from under his apron.  “I'll cut and bleed you.”

     “You can't talk to me like that,” argued Droopy Drawers.  “I want to talk to your boss.”

     A slash of bright cold steel sliced off the juvenile's left antenna.  Corporal Wayne stuck the antenna into the cap of the water, sliding the cup across the counter.  The juvenile staggered outside, cup in claw.  Corporal Wayne threw the cup cap after him.

     “You cannot treat customers like that,” admonished the spider Burger King manager.  “We are very service orientated here at Burger King.”

     “He was a bit extreme,” agreed Lieutenant Washington, always cautions of the volatile Wayne.  “Our orders are to keep a low profile while we surveil McDonald's.”

     “Fine,” relented Corporal Wayne, sulking as he wiped yellow blood off his knife with his apron.  “I'll try to be more stealth.”

     “This is a robbery!” shouted two spiders bursting through the front door wielding shotguns.  “Fill our bags with cash and burgers!”

     “Oh, hell no,” grumbled Corporal Wayne, grabbing his assault rifle from under the counter.  He shot both robbers in the head, splattering them across the floor and windows.  “Make my day, punks!”

     “That mess needs to be mopped up,” ordered the Burger King manager, holding out a mop.  Corporal Wayne gave him a hard stare.  “But, since you're new, I'll take care of it myself, this time.”

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     Crazy-Sting applied generous amounts of Bactine and duct tape to his sucking chest wound.  He limped a bit, but felt good as new.  This scorpion takes a licking, keeps on ticking.  Cactus-Claw would pay dearly for his treachery, he fumed watching the McDonald's across the street.  I will kill them all!

     Crazy-Sting aimed his RPG and fired, squarely hitting the front plate glass window of McDonald's.  The Kid's Play Place obstacle course caught fire, sending flaming hatchlings scurrying in all directions.  Damn collateral damage.  Crazy-Sting fired another RPG, destroying the illuminated menu.  Cactus-Claw returned automatic rifle fire, spraying Burger King.  Lieutenant Washington and Corporal Wayne shot back, and radioed for air support.  A Legion helicopter gunship appeared over the horizon.  Missiles targeted the golden arches, Destroying McDonald's, but the bandits got away.

     The epic battle of burger flippers went viral.  Fighting between Burger King and McDonald's quickly spread across New Colorado, forcing Pepsi and Coke to take sides, and drawing in Taco Bell.  McDonald's won because of sheer numbers, and Teamsters Union support.  Finally, all of fast food on New Colorado was a closed shop, guaranteeing fifteen credits or dollars an hour.

                                                                       Chapter 24

     Little-Claw was deeply depressed about losing his first real job due to the terrorist bombing of McDonald's.  Determined to commit suicide by cop, he stole a Toyota pick-up truck and raced toward the North New Gobi City border crossing.  Arthropodan marines stood at the ready as Little-Claw approached the checkpoint. 

     Suddenly Little-Claw gunned the engine, smashing through the black and yellow-striped weighted lift gate.  He flinched, expecting to be riddled with bullets that never came.  Another gate ahead marked tthe Legion checkpoint.  Little-Claw smashed that gate, too.  Still no bullets.  Welcome to America.

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     Private Randal Telk manned the Legion border crossing.  It was easy duty, being the border was closed due to an accidental Legion bombing of McDonald's on the spider side.  Private Telk had been lazily reading the newspaper and daydreaming, his feet up on his desk, when the Toyota crashed through the gate.  Spider guards across the border were already duct taping the lift gate arm back together.  Ha!  Another use for duct tape!

     “Hey Randal!” shouted one of the spider marines.  “Want to barrow some duct tape?”

     “What the hell?” asked Private Telk.  “Who taught you spiders how to drive?”

     “You spiders?”

     “I might have to write an accident report.”

     “Tell me about it,” commiserated the spider guard.  “Watch out!  He's coming back!”

     Sure enough, the Toyota was speeding directly at Telk's guard shack.  Telk dove for cover, hiding under his desk.  Too late.  So much for easy duty.