Part 45 (1/2)
”I told you! I can do it myself!” Kenny grabbed the case from my hand. The top flap came loose. Papers spilled out onto the pavement.
Eyes. Sketch after sketch of eyes.
Tiara's eyes.
Tiara's face.
Tiara period.
Picture after picture of Tiara Fordham stared up at me. Tiara in a baseball cap. Tiara in a Stetson. Laughing Tiara. Crying Tiara. Angry, pouting...sleeping?...Tiara. Creepee!
Kenny looked at me. I looked at him.
And before I could say, ”Surrender, Klingon!” the amazing intergalactic race was on.
”Stop! Kenny! Stop! Don't run!”
He kept running.
I took off after him. Two strides and my Yeoman Rand 'do' didn't. I felt a whoosh and a sudden weight disappeared from my head.
”Kenny! Hold on! Stop! We can fix this!” I yelled.
”Stop that Klingon!” I heard Keelie yell from behind me.
For being weighed down with Klingon garb, Kenny could book. It was all I could do not to lose sight of him among the throngs of fellow Klingon warriors.
”Stop!” I yelled. ”Hold up!”
”Get a load of baldie there. I wonder what character she is. Yeoman Chrome Dome?” I heard, hoofing it past a group of Romulans.
”Vulcan wannabes,” I wheezed.
”Catch that Klingon!” Keelie called out again.
”Fanatics! Some people take this role-playing way too seriously.”
Yet another editorial comment. I would've responded, but I needed all my air to stay in the foot race.
We entered the carnival area. To the left was the rock-o-plane. To the right, the flying saucer ride. And straight ahead? A yellow and red enclosure surrounded on all four sides by big blue rocket s.h.i.+ps, U.S.A. in big white letters on each rocket. The inflatable rocket bounce!
He wouldn't.
He couldn't.
He did.
With a gargantuan leap, Kenny the Klingon planted both feet on the red and blue air-filled rocket bounce welcome mat, propelling himself through the s.p.a.ce and time continuum, and into the out-of-this-world carnival attraction.
I plodded after him, surveying the air-filled launch pad with some misgivings.
Do I?
Or don't I?
Oh, h.e.l.l, yeah.
I hit the canvas cus.h.i.+on of air off balance and dove towards the opening, face-first, succeeding in executing an ugly belly flop that got me only half way through the entrance. Face down, I bounced half a dozen times before I came to rest and was able to pull the rest of Yeoman Rand inside. It took me several more attempts to push myself to a standing position, my boots sinking into the springy canvas like they did in a muddy barnyard.
Across from me, the Klingon warrior wheezed.
”Kenny. Bud. Listen,” I said, doing some heavy breathing of my own. ”You gotta give up man.”
”Why?”
I blinked.
”What?”
”Why do I have to give up?”
I blinked again.
”Because it's the right thing to do. The only thing to do. You're trapped.”
”Am I?” he said and bounced to his left.
Bounce. Bounce.
”What are you doing, Kenny?” I asked and counter-bounced, thinking boots might be made for walking and riding. But bouncing? Not so much.
Bounce. Bounce.
”Bouncing,” he said and bounced to his right.
Bounce. Bounce.
”Not a good move,” I said, and meeting his bounce and raising it.
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce!
”Maybe this should be my next move then,” Kenny said, and pulled out a pencil.
”On the count of three we draw?” I said, confused.
”On the count of three I start poking holes,” he said.
”In...me?” Gulp.
”In the inflatable,” he said.