Part 30 (2/2)
”First I must tell you...” Glib couldn't bring itself to use the Fendercaster as a s.h.i.+eld and held the instrument out. Jason s.n.a.t.c.hed it and pa.s.sed it back to Freddie.
They blamed Glib for all Taltos: for the biom workers that made the companies rich without employees. For the Alliance War. Theirs was such a simplistic culture. Plastic People, the Eternal Frank would have called them; oh, what suffering He must have borne.
”I have no... t.i.tties to share but will buy beer.” Glib offered a gold label bottle never found this side of the port. The other tentacle reached for its own drink.
”Share this!” Jason's many fingers closed into a hard knot that swept forward, growing bigger in Glib's oculars until it filled all s.p.a.ce. Reality rolled and tumbled Glib out into the parking lot.
Gravel cut into its tentacles when it tried to stand. Another suit ruined, but worth the price. It, meaning Glib, meaning Glibaster Yol Tomago, had mastered the C major chord!
For one brief infinity, the notes had wailed, soared, and caressed the ears of the universe. All hail The Eternal Frank Zappa! By the Holy Apocrypha of Joe's Garage-You only get one chance!
Glib gazed at the red-lit bar. What a dump. Poor management, it decided. No wonder humans lost the war. Of course, if Crechepriest Bobbibrown had its way this place would change. Glib crumpled the cup, and tossed- Bardog sits up and whines. Glib always tastes so different, so deliciously needy, but in the end always the same old mindache.
Parking lot still dirty but Bardog scratches its ear with a hindped. Nothing good to eat out here. Lotsa time before nightblack. It ambles towards the back door. Might be something better inside. Toilets hold a lot of flavor.
It pads up the back concrete steps, stops to suck up a grease glob and think about the frustrations of life as a cook, then starts for the tiny biom entrance.
”Hold it right there, Mister.” Matecca smiles and waggles a finger before Bardog's eye. ”You aren't done out here yet. Go finish the curbs. Watch for traffic though. I can't afford another trip to Bernie's Surplus. Even a half price broken down biom like you strains the budget.” She shakes her head. ”Could have paid Gambo off it hadn't been for you.”
Bardog sighs, then tries one of the canine behaviors Bernie of the Tinkering Hands had inserted, slumping down on its torso.
”The lot first, then toilets.” Matecca smiles, bending to ruffle its head.
Bardog licks her wrist. Pure flavor! Yet the image it brings is unfamiliar. Why would Matecca want to paint Gambo's picture? What flavor were oil paints?
Happiness is a dirty parking lot on a plumeless sun-bright morning. Bardog scuttles over to the curb, lowers its snout, and sniffs the metal cartridges. Teargas, not much flavor. Port police never very tasty, just a sour meanness that puckers Bardog's maw.
Over by the front steps, it finds better pickings. A glove, oh so yummy. Bardog crouches and holds the black leather in its foremaw.
”-have a warrant?” Matecca asked, and tried her iciest glare.
”Port jurisdiction, lady.” Officer Wilc.o.x, according the tag on his black uniform, shrugged.
”No warrant needed,” his partner added.
”Gambo put you up to this?” Matecca c.o.c.ked her head, folded her arms. They looked at her chest and grinned.
”Who?” Wilc.o.x glanced at his partner. They laughed.
”An a.s.sault took place last night.” Wilc.o.x strained a thick neck to peer over Matecca through the brightly lit door. ”Right here.”
”You must be joking.” Her ears still rang from the band's newest song, ”Money Grubbin' Woman”; she hated that one.
”Not when it comes to the Taltos. The Treaty of Alliance now makes their safety imperative, sister,” Wilc.o.x said.
”A Talto here?” d.a.m.n that Jason, Matecca thought, but a good band was hard to find, especially on what she could pay. ”This look like a Hee-Haw hangout to you guys?”
”Looks like a biom pit,” the second officer laughed. ”Smells like one too.”
”We know it happened here. The Talto wouldn't file a report but its crechepriest did.” Wilc.o.x fingered a stunclub. ”Now move. We're looking for your band.”
Matecca sighed, slumped her shoulders, and stepped aside. The officers started into the bar. She didn't follow. She could still see Wilc.o.x's hefty backside when a bottle zipped past his head.
Matecca ran for the back door. Just past the comer, something wrapped around her. Her black-gloved fist lashed back, connected. A tight grip twisted her wrist. Going for her bra knife, Matecca slipped out of the glove- Bardog howls. The glove dissolves before Bardog can taste anymore. It looks up from the steps, along the wall. It sniffs the air. A cigarette, not half done, lies by the corner. Good flavor there, maybe familiar? Bardog plops off the stairs to find out.
Aaahhh, the flavor thickens. Bardog noses the cigarette then sucks the stub into its foremaw. But the parking lot isn't done yet and the bar is filthy. Whole lotta guilt going on.
-Jason sucked in a mouthful of smoke hoping it would kill the aftertaste of teargas that still clogged his sinuses. He glanced at his watch, almost five. The riot had been over since two and still no sign of Matecca. He pressed deeper into the shadows.
It wasn't like her to leave the bar, especially not with so much trouble. The place was her life, her heart, and her soul.
”Now I'm wis.h.i.+ng I was a d.a.m.n bar.” He scowled at the building. ”I'd buy the place if I had the cash.”
A launch plume flared. Jason scratched his scarred cheek and marveled as the mighty Los Frisco towers mirrored the launch. Once he'd ridden the launchers, a flashy way to a life of wealth.
He could jam on a Fendercaster, but not a launcher. He'd been good, just not good enough to calculate escape trajectories on the fly when a boostpak failed. His scars itched. Now disfigured and broke, he was lucky to be alive.
Where was Matecca? She was the best of everything. Man, he would ride her like a launcher; play her like a Fendercaster, and the music they'd make as they soared, better than Blues...
A black limousine pulled into the parking lot. Gravel popped beneath its tires. He inched around the building, hugging the shadows. No back up on this gig. Dirtman was home, nursing a broken rib. Freddie got slammed and wouldn't be out until his old lady made bail.
The limo stopped. A side door opened; light flashed, filtered through tinted windows. m.u.f.fled laughter, all too human in its meanness, floated over the lot. A dark bundle hit the ground, flopped once, and lay still. The bright dot of a cigarette arced past, bounced on the tarmac.
The limo peeled into the night, a launch plume highlighting its chrome fenders. Jason stared at the bundle, only a dark blob on the glittering tarmac.
Matecca?” He dropped his cigarette and ran- Bardog rises unable to help itself. Plenty to eat right here, but it pads across the parking lot on the memory of Jason's heels.
More than just eating. Flavors! Rich Flavors of memory, zesty Flavors of doing things besides eating. Its snout lengthens and snuffles over the spa.r.s.e gravel.
There, a smudge, gooey, brightly Flavored, right where Jason saw the bundle. Bardog's Little Tongue flicks out.
”-Please Miss Lady, please just listen.” Glib held on, hoping Matecca would stop struggling. Its dorsal nostrils still smarted where she'd smacked it; a thick dollop of sap oozed and bubbled with every breath.
Glib held her in the shadows, moved softly away from the spotlights and sirens. Voices shouted from the bar. A chair flew through the window, showering gla.s.s down on them. Glib pulled its tentacle from her mouth.
”You!” Matecca shrieked. Her foot sank into Glib's torso; pain throbbed up its nerve bundles.
”We can escape,” Glib managed. ”Then I must tell you of Bobbibrown's...”
The female's fingers raked his skin nearly catching an ocular. Three loud pops echoed over the parking lot. Fragrantly scented clouds enveloped them. The female burst into tears, shuddering in its tentacles.
Glib hurried towards its battered Triduece Coupe. Just as it reached the door, Matecca delivered a splendidly vicious kick to its nostrils. Her high heel slammed into the car with enough force to rock the vehicle.
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