Authors: Niccolo Grovinci
Instead, she let him put his arm around her, endured the stink of his rotten breath as he talked on and on about – what?
Toys, she thought.
What kind of grown man worked with toys?
The museum itself was a sad place; an old, empty place that everyone had long ago stopped going to.
It smelled like wet dog and old people.
It was stuffy and hot.
The docent, an ancient, stooped over man in a gray sweater, sat on a stool in the corner and eyed them like a predator, waiting to ensnare them with his encyclopedic knowledge of dead, trivial things should they be careless enough to wander too close.
They avoided him.
It was time to leave.
She took Silly Tie Man by the hand and led him out as he watched her in uncertain anticipation, like a dog hoping for a table scrap.
She hoped never to see him after tonight – he was an idiot.
But for now, she needed him.
She had sex with him that night in his tiny apartment.
It was brief, awkward, uncomfortable.
She waited impatiently, counting to twenty until his low, even breathing told her that he was asleep.
Then, quietly so as not to wake him, she rested her head against his ribs and placed her ear to his heart, listening.
She stayed awake through the night, savoring the warmth and the sound of another human object next to her.
She was gone in the morning when he awoke, and so, too, was his Ollie the Otter tie.
It didn’t matter.
He had lots.
****
When Albert awoke the next morning, the loser in an epic all-night battle not to fall asleep, he found no other sign of the previous night’s blood-bath than a hung-over and cranky chimp.
After a cold breakfast of dry cereal and bananas (the latter for Bobo), the companions resumed their journey.
As was his habit, the Doctor passed the time by spouting crude comments and ridiculous claims, in an effort to illicit any response at all from Albert.
“…and that’s why Bigfoot was responsible for the assassination of JFK.
It’s the only logical conclusion when you follow the paper trail, when you look at who really had the most to
gain
.
Hair-raising stuff, huh?
You know, the truth is always easy to spot, Zim, because it makes everyone so uncomfortable.
People shy away from it like that poor kid in gym class who never learned to use deodorant.”
“Couldn’t we talk about something else?”
“Sure.
Did I ever tell you how midgets are secretly in charge of Hollywood?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about anything at all.”
The Doctor looked exasperated.
“You know, Zim, you really need to relax that sphincter muscle.
I’m telling you this now as your doctor.
You’re gonna blow a gasket if you don’t chill out.
You gotta do something to shoot off some steam every once in awhile – pilates, coitus, cannabis, yoga, colonic irrigation, a good movie – something.
You gotta uncork your chi, gotta rearrange the Feng Shui of your subconscious mind.”
“I used to like going to the movies,” Albert said wistfully.
“I don’t think I ever did any of those other things, though.”
“Just as well,” snorted the Doctor.
“You can’t do any of them properly up here, anyway.”
“Aaaaaa, eeeeee, aaaa, aaaa, oooo!
Pbbbbbbbbb.”
The Amazing Bobo interjected himself into the conversation, pointing urgently to a small area of raised concrete in the distance.
He turned and made a beeline for it, his knuckles pounding heavily against the hard paved surface.
As they moved closer, Albert could see that it was a square metal vent, at least twenty feet across, covered in a mesh of thick metal cords.
The mesh had come loose in one of the corners where the metal had rusted away.
The foul, rotten egg odor of sewage blasted up into their faces.
Bobo inhaled with delight.
The Doctor grinned.
“Whew!
Smell that, Zim?
That’s a billion tons of the finest low-cost pre-packaged food products that Omega-Mart has to offer, excreted back into the universe from whence it came.
That’s the unmistakable smell of human consumption, my friend.”
Albert wrinkled his nose.
“It stinks.”
The Doctor held up an index finger.
“In point of fact, Zim, some very interesting psychological studies have been done to suggest the average individual actually
likes
the smell of raw sewage, though, when asked, he invariably denies the fact.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Further, the study suggests the degree to which he denies it is directly proportionate to how
much
he likes the smell.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Ooooo.
Ooooo.
Aaaaaa.
Aaaaa.
Eeeeee!
Eeeeee!”
Bobo interrupted their bickering, waving his hands frantically in the air as he ambled over to the loose corner of the mesh and lifted it up.
He turned to his companions and stared at them impatiently.
The Doctor turned to Albert and waved him by.
“After you,” he said.
Albert slowly approached the chimp and peered down into the abyss.
Just below his feet, beneath the rim of the shaft, a small concrete ledge jutted out in front of him, just big enough for a single man to stand on.
There was no railing.
A rusty metal ladder extended down from the ledge, disappearing into the cold metal chasm.
The Doctor leaned over Albert’s shoulder and spat into the void.
The foamy gob of sputum plummeted down, down, down, then vanished.
Bobo made a few quick signs to the Doctor, then bared his teeth and held his hands up to his ears, splaying his fingers out wide.
“What’s he saying?” Albert asked.
The Doctor furrowed his brow.
“Beware the Rhinocermoose.”
“What the heck is a Rhinocermoose?”
Zayus shrugged.
“Hell if I know, Zim.
But if you see anything that looks like one, be sure to stay out of its way.”
Albert sank slowly to the hard concrete, then scooted carefully to the rim of the pit and dangled his legs over the side.
With a silent prayer, he slid awkwardly under the mesh, the frayed strands of wire scratching his arms and neck as his feet searched desperately for the ledge.
He clutched the rim of the shaft until his knuckles turned white, letting go only when he was sure the ledge was solid.
The Doctor hung his head over the edge.
“Keep going, Zim.
Get onto the ladder.
Then we’ll follow you.”
Albert looked down.
He could see nothing through the darkness, but he knew the shaft must be very, very deep to take him all the way to the sewers below Omega-Mart.
If he fell, he’d have a long time to think about it before he hit the ground.
He vomited into the pit.
“Maybe he really doesn’t like the smell,” the Doctor whispered to the chimp above.
Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Albert steadied his legs and forced his feet to find the rungs of the ladder.
He inched his way down until his hand was grasping the top rung, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the wall in front of him.
“Alright,” he called shakily.
“Come on.”
There was a pregnant pause, then the Doctor’s voice.
“No, you first, Bobo.
I insist.”
Another pause.
“No, really.
After you.”
More silence.
“Well, how ‘bout if I just take my bananas and go home, then?”
Albert heard a frantic scrambling above him, followed by a rain of pebbly concrete chunks.
Bobo’s head suddenly appeared next to Albert’s face, hanging upside down over the ledge.
“Ooooo,” said the chimp, and his padded hand appeared clutching a red plastic flashlight.
Albert recognized the model – the ZipCo Deluxe Rechargeable LED Hand Torch with three different beam settings, a plasti-grip handle, and a built-in compass. Only $2.97.
It was a bargain and everybody ….
“Oooooop!”
The chimp rattled the light impatiently.
Albert took the flashlight and clicked it on.
The bulb flickered for a fraction of a second, then illuminated.
Albert directed the beam below him.
Just as he expected – more darkness.
Bobo stretched his rubbery lips against his teeth and pointed down.
Albert cautiously descended the ladder.
“Just keep your eyes in front of you,” the Doctor shouted from above.
“It’s only a ladder, like any other ladder, only it’s a thousand feet long.
Nothing to worry about.
If we watch our step and don’t get ahead of ourselves, we’ll be waist-deep in a river of shit by dinner time.”
Albert didn’t need any urging to be careful.
He gingerly made his way down, one rung at a time, encased in a bubble of light from the flashlight that dangled by a plastic strap from his wrist.
More than an hour passed with only the sound of their feet ringing against metal.
The sky became a small, round patch of blue above them, and then that, too, disappeared.
The smell of human feces grew more powerful, but Albert’s nose was gradually growing used to it – not that he liked it, or anything.
“So, tell the truth, Zim,” Doctor Zayus’ voice echoed down through the shaft.
“You made it with the gopher, didn’t you?”
Albert scowled upward.
“You’re supposed to be a professional.
I told you my story in confidence.”
“So?” said the Doctor.
“There’s nobody here but me and Bobo.
And Bobo’s not gonna tell anyone, arya Bobo?”
“Eeeep.”
“Now, tell us, Mr. Zim,” the Doctor said in his most intellectual baritone.
“What’s gopher pooty like?”
Albert’s face flushed.
“You’re disturbed.”
Zayus laughed.
“Says the man who thinks he spent the better part of a year on a planet populated by rodents.”
“Lots of people believe that there’s intelligent life on other planets,” Albert insisted angrily.
“Scientists even.”
“And to think,” said the Doctor.
“I’ve wasted all my time looking on this planet.”
“You’re a bitter old man,” grunted Albert.
“I’m entitled.”
“What makes you so special?”
“I’m not,” said the Doctor.
“You’re entitled, too.
You got shot into space – that makes you an honorary member of the OMFMC.”
“What’s that?”
“The Omega-Mart Fucked Me Club.”