The Gritty City

It was late in the afternoon. I was sitting at my desk looking out of the window at the street below. There was a cold rain falling; the few pedestrians that were visible had umbrellas and were hurrying to get to their destinations and out of the winter weather. My secretary, Stella, who usually occupied the outer office, had gone home for the day. "Maybe I should do the same," I thought. Yeah. I lived alone in a cheap flat and my partner, Travis Austin, with whom I'd be drinking Scotch down at Louie's about now, had been bumped off a month or so ago. My chair creaked as I swung back toward the desk. I contemplated paying a few bills before leaving and pondered making one last pot of coffee. Just then there was a knock at my door.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Tackhammer? The sign on the outer door said Tackhammer and Austin Investigations. I hope I'm not interrupting."

I looked up. She was tall and lithe and moved like a professional dancer. Long, dark hair framed her oval face. I made a bet with myself that the clothes she was wearing had set somebody back ten grand. She was a knockout. "Come in," I replied, "and have a seat."

She slid into the chair in front of my desk, crossed her long, silky legs, put her purse in her lap and gave me an appraising look. "My name," she said, "is...
[maddog]
-----------
Cindy Stillwater and I need your help. I hear you and your partner are the best in the business."

"It is actually just myself now. My partner was offed last month by the mob but that is another story for another day. What is it that you think I can do for you?" said Tackhammer, or Tack as he was known to his friends.

"I think I am being followed. I haven't actually seen anyone but it's that feeling that causes the hair to stand up on the back of my neck that tells me someone is behind me."

"Ok, I can understand feelings. You gotta trust your gut on these things. So, let's start at the beginning. When did this start and do you have any idea why someone might be following you?"

"Well, it all started when ...
[margaret]
-------------
I was shopping with Clinton and Stacy in New York. You can see I took their advice. I'll show you the before pictures sometime," she laughed.

That laugh. That laugh grated on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. Or the dentist drilling too deep. Whatever I did, I had to keep this woman from laughing in my presence again.
[Susan]
-------------

She didn't look like the kind of clueless lump that usually winds up on What Not To Wear. If that snide pair of fashionistas were responsible for her looks they deserved a gold star. I was curious. "What did you look like before your makeover?" I asked.

"I'm an archeologist," she responded. "As you can imagine people in my line of work spend a lot of time in the field and in the back rooms of museums. My wardrobe mostly consisted of baggy field pants, olive drab t-shirts, hiking boots, pith helmets and a few pairs of jeans. I never wore makeup and usually kept my hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Not a pretty sight." She started to laugh.

"Dead babies!" I exclaimed. Her smile disappeared.

"What?" She looked taken aback.

"Nothing," I responded. I couldn't let her laugh again and that was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment to stop it.

We had gotten off track. So, changing the subject I said, "Let's get back to your feeling of being followed." There must be something more substantial than a mere feeling to make you want to hire a detective."

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I know this sounds odd, Mr. Tackhammer, but I think it has something to do with a discovery my associate, Dr. Wingnut, made at our last dig. We were in the jungles of Central America following up on rumors of an extremely advanced civilization. We had just begun to excavate a new site when Dr. Wingnut began to act very strangely. He was very secretive and uncommunicative. I suspect he brought something back with him... something he didn't share with the rest of us. It was when we arrived home that I began to sense that I was being watched."

"Is this Stillwater broad some kind of nut case?" I wondered to myself. "Or is there something to her story?" Nuts or not, I needed the work. My bar tab at Louie's was getting pretty high. "OK," I told her. "I'll look into this. In the meantime, here's what I want you to do..."
[Maddog]
____________

"Take the trolley down to China Town. Go to the Frying Dragon massage parlor and ask for Madam Hori. She'll know what to do with you..." I paused as Ms. Stillwater's body language began to show signs of hesitation. "She runs a safe house and will help you lay low for a while. I know that sounds really bad but trust me on this. I've been using her for years...".

This was no laughing matter (thank God!). But sensing an even greater uncertainty in my client, I quickly moved on. "I'll pay a visit to this Dr. Wingnut and shake him for some answers. Where did you say this dig of yours was?"
[Jeff]
____________

"You can find Dr. Wingnut in his lab. That's where he spends all his time unless he is on a dig. He is always searching for the key to a hidden treasure, an ancient city, solving some mystery to which no one before him has found the answer. He is a good looking man and a very eligible bachelor but he rather spend his time in the past instead of digging up interesting facts about a lovely, intelligent woman, ... like me," Cindy said.

"Ah, a love triangle. You, him and the artifacts. Just the artifacts, ma'am." I was doing my best Sergeant Joe Friday and forgot all about trying not to make her laugh. Fortunately, she was too young to get my joke, which I guess I could take as either good - she didn't laugh, or bad - I was starting to feel like her father and this was a kick in the pants. I've still got it, don't I? A question to ponder for later but clearly we weren't getting anywhere with this line of thinking.

"Ok, I will go pay Dr. Wingnut a visit," I said in my most manly voice. "In the meantime, if you think of anything unusual about the dig in Central America, or if you see anyone following you, give me a call. I'll send someone to protect you."

"As she gracefully exited my office, I realized we had yet to discuss a fee. "Good grief," I thought. "At this rate I won't be able to pay off my tab!"
[margaret]
_____________

The good doctor's lab was at the university. The campus was a sprawl of ivy-covered brick buildings. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to its layout. It was as if the buildings had been scattered across a forest glade willy-nilly. I figured the best way to start would be the administration building to find someone who could give me directions through this academic maze. I applied one of my most tried and true detective techniques, called wandering around, and soon found myself in an office at a desk that had a sign on it that said Information.

A gray-haired woman with no makeup and an disapproving expression looked up. "May I help you?" I guess I didn't look as if I belonged on a campus. My broken nose and the scar tissue above my eyes prety much rules me out as part of the college scene.

"Yeah, maybe you can," I answered. "I'm looking for Dr. Wingnut's lab. I have an appointment with him." A little white lie wouldn't hurt.

"I can tell you how to get to the science building if you like, but I will tell you that Professor Wingnut is not on campus right now." Then, in response to my probing she elaborated. "He hasn't been here for the last ten days. He missed his classes and failed to show up for a faculty meeting. We've been unable to reach him."

I knew she would be hesitant to give me any personal information about Wingnut, like his address, so I borrowed a phone book and looked him up. He lived at 2105 Laurel Avenue. I drove over and knocked at the door. No answer. I walked around to the back and looked in a window. The place looked as if it had been hit by a tornado so I tried the patio door. Sure enough, it was unlocked. I stepped inside. A closer inspection confirmed that the place had been ransacked. What had someone been looking for, and where was the professor?
[Maddog]
____________

As I briefly pondered the whereabouts of the doc, I realized I was famished. All that thinking had worked up a serious hunger for a plate of enchiladas, rice and beans and a cold Dos Equis. Starting my inquiry on the university campus had it's advantages for right around the corner was a Taco Cabana, it's pink stucco gleaming like a beacon for the ravenous on the cheap. Remember, I failed to secure a retainer from Cindy and was currently down to my last ten dollar bill.

Hunger and thirst soon pacified I was able to fully focus on the task at hand. I returned to my office, put my alligator skinned cowboy boot clad feet up on my less-than-sturdy pressboard desk and cogitated.
[Caroline]
___________________

A few moments of deep cogitating and the next thing I knew I was Indiana Jones searching for the Ark of the Covenant in order to prevent the Nazis from finding it first. I was avoiding spiders and big boulders and close to finding the Ark when the shot that grazed my ear snapped me out of my dream. As I wiped the drool from my cheek, I looked up to see a hulk of a man in a trenchcoat pointing a Walther P99 semiautomatic pistol at me.

"Hey, you just shot a hole in my wall and now I am not going to get my security deposit back," I exclaimed. "There really was no need to do that. Where are your manners? Couldn't we have just discussed your issue like gentleman?" I clearly thought I was being reasonable while trying not to show any concern. I was a tough guy with manners, what could I possibly have to fear and where was my gun anyway?

"Stay away from Dr. Wingnut if you want Cindy to stay alive," the hulk growled. "This is just a warning. Next time I won't be so mannerly." He turned and walked out of the door.

"Well, isn't this an interesting development," I thought. Now, I definitely need to work out the fee with Cindy. I don't mind getting shot at or risking my life but doing it for free really irked me."

Just then, my cellphone bleated at me. It wasn't a phone call but a text message and a cryptic one at that.
[margaret]
-----------------------

appl dy kps dr awy
T.A.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Hmmm... T.A. was my dead partner. But, he had used an iphone, not a BlackBerry. What was this all about?

[susan]
-------------------------
I was inclined to ignore the message. It couldn't have been from Travis... he was as dead as dirt. An apple a day keeps the doctor away? The doctor reference could have meant Dr. Wingnut, but I didn't want to keep him away. I wanted to find him. And an apple? A computer? Perhaps, but the computer in Wingnut's study was a Dell and the university used IBMs. A fruit? Not likely. I supposed that the message could have been in some kind of code but if so I would be wasting my time until I could find the key.

Whatever Wingnut was up to, it had attracted the interest of at least one unsavory character. My bet was that the thug who tried to scare me off was too dumb to be in business for himself. Someone had sent him. So far, all I had was a bunch of questions and no answers. My only option was to grill the Stillwater dame to see what additional info might come out. I had a feeling that she knew more than she was letting on. Also, if she was really being followed as she suspected, there had to be a reason for it. Instead of hiding her at the Frying Dragon Massage Parlor and Szchewan Restaurant I needed her to get back to her regular routine so I could spot whoever was watching and track him to his employer.

I drove to Chinatown and slipped into a space at the curb right behind a delivery van that was just pulling away. The smell of hot peanut oil blanketed the restaurant and the cacaphony of high pitched foreign voices coming out of the kitchen sounded like a flock of crows fighting over a dead squirrel. The back stairs to the apartment above the Frying Dragon were poorly lit and creaked with each step I took. I knocked at the door at the top of the stairs. "Miss Stillwater? It's Tackhammer! Hello?"
[Maddog]
____________
I pushed the door open. There was Stillwater, lying on a table, wearing only a little towel while a man with conspicuous muscles stood next to her. "Come on in," she said. "Lars was just finishing up my massage. He's as smart as a carrot but he's nice to look at. He told me that he decided to become a masseur when he first heard the song 'People who knead people are the luckiest people in the world.' By the way, I feel so much more relaxed. And the Chinese food isn't bad either. I suspect, though, that something else is going on around here. Lots of coming and going at odd hours of the day and night."

"We need to talk," I said. I slouched down into a overstuffed chair that had seen better days and waited for Lars to leave and Stillwater to get presentable.
[Maddog]
____________
When Cindy returned to the room, she was wearing a very attractive green dress with a V-neck, empire waist and a skirt that floated at the bottom all of which really accentuated her hour-glass figure. She completed the ensemble with black peekaboo pumps with a subtle leopard print on the heel. Her long, dark hair was gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

"You wanted to talk, Tack?" Cindy said as she plopped down onto the ottoman facing my chair.

I tried not to stare as i said, "This arrangement isn't going to work. I think we need to put you back into your normal routine so I can try to find out who has been following you." I hesitated to tell her that Dr. Wingnut's residence had been ransacked since I didn't want to scare her. "I will be following you and will have my buddy, Joe, providing additional cover."

Joe was currently watching over my two-bedroom cottage. Joe is Travis' beloved German Shepherd. When Travis died, I kind of adopted Joe and we have been a team ever since. "To detect and protect," that's our motto. Well, okay, not really but it sounds good.

"So, tell me more about the dig that you and Dr. Wingnut were working on," I said. "I also need to know about your daily routine."
[margaret]
_________________

As I said in the beginning, I live in a cheap flat. My two room cottage, as I like to call it, is a cabin in the woods, about an hour from the city. It has two rooms alright... the one in which I have my bunk, a table with a hotplate and an easy chair, and a "room" that is nothing more than a small storage closet. Joe keeps the occasional possum, armadillo or squirrel at bay.

I wondered why Stillwater called me Tack. That seemed pretty familiar for some dame I had only known for a couple of days. Was she trying to cosy up to me for some reason? I don't flatter myself that I'm a chick magnet. I decided to keep my antenna up and see what happened.

"Well," she responded, "we were working in Southeast Mexico, close to the Guatamalan border, in a heavily forested area. Our main concern was bandidos, tomb robbers who track archeologists in order to take advantage of their finds. It can be dangerous, in addition to being heavy, hot and dirty work. We had discovered a site that was both puzzling and exciting. It seemed to predate the Mayans, yet it was obviousy the remains of a vastly more sophisticated and advanced society. Our first concern was to try to identify the people who left those strange artifacts and to return to the ruins with additional professional help to continue the dig."

"Who, either inside or outside of the academic community, would be most interested in your work?" I asked.

"Just the usual people," Stillwater answered. "You know, the University, National Geographic, other archeologists. But you know, there is one person who seemed to take an inordinate interest. I don't know much about her; I saw her with Professor Wingnut several times, but whenever I got close to them they stopped talking and turned the other way."

"Do you know her name?"

"I overheard a cellphone call and I think she's the person the Professor was asking for. The name was Apple O'Day."

"Apple O'Day?" I thought. "That rings a bell. Wait a minute, the cryptic message on my cellphone! It said Appl dy! Could this be a clue?" Well, as the saying goes, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's gotta be a duck. So, by the same sophisticated logic, this had to be a clue!"
[Maddog]
_______________

Rather than keeping the doctor away, it seemed that this Apple person was keeping Dr. Wingnut close to her. But mabe she was hired to befriend the good doctor and lead him away from his work so that someone could sabotage it! Maybe these saboteurs were the same people who were after Cindy.

"I need to know more about your projects with Dr. Wingnut," I told Cindy. "It may be just the clue we need. You say you had stumbled upon an ancient advanced civilization in Central America."

"Yes," Cindy said, "the exact center of Central America: Lebanon, Kansas!"

I smacked my hand against my forehead. Had Apple and the bad guys kidnapped Wingnut and taken him to Honduras when in fact the object they were looking for would have been a 4-hour drive in a rented Kia away? And did this revelation lessen, or increase the danger Cindy was in?
[Gwen]
_______________

Before we took this investigation any further, I decided I had to bring up my fee schedule with Stillwater. With so many questions swirling about and not knowing whether or not Honduras or Kansas were in my future, I needed to at least get a handle on my financial situation. And then maybe I would move this conversation to my favorite hangout, Taco Cabana, TC's to those in the know.

"Okay, Ms. Stillwater, before we go any further, we need to discuss my fee. I've got bills to pay and Joe to feed," I said lightly.

Suddenly, Stillwater's lovely face crumpled. She began to cry. Not just cry but wail and moan and flail about. Hard to believe, the sound was worse than her laugh. I had to act quickly. I poured her a large cup of water and told her to drink it, all of it. A friend of mine who had taught kindergarten years ago shared this trick with me. She said that you can't cry and drink at the same time. Thankfully, it worked. By the time Stillwater had consumed the water, she had settled, hiccuping intermittently.

"Ms. Stillwater?" I queried. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry (hiccup), Tack," Stillwater murmured. "It's just that when you mentioned your fee, I became a little overwhelmed. You see, I have no money. I am just an underpaid archeologist with huge student loans that I can't even pay(hiccup). I was led to believe that you, and your former associate, occasionally took on pro bono cases. I hoped I could appeal to the Good Samaritan in you and get you to help me."

"Oh, boy," I thought. "I must have the word sucker stamped on my forehead!" Aloud, I said, "Excuse me for prying, but how is it that a poor archeologist can dress the way you do? Your wardrobe, at least what I have seen of it, must have set you back tens of thousands of dollars!"

Stillwater looked momentarily confused. Then, with a hint of a giggle (I braced myself, fearing the full on laugh), she replied, "Remember I told you that I was a contestant on What Not To Wear? Well, usually they give the poor slob $5,000 to shop with. Apparently, I was the worst case they had ever seen. The producers felt so sorry for me that they gave me a $50,000 budget. So, I walked away with a killer wardrobe and little else."

That explained a lot. So now, sucker that I am, I was going to agree to risk life and limb for a hot archeologist with no trust fund, no sugar daddy, no nothing in the moola department. Sheesh!

At this juncture I growled, "Why don't we take this conversation over to the pink taco hut around the corner. I need a beer and some enchiladas to help me think."
[Caroline]
_______________

Two entire meals for $6 was just what I needed, since Ms. Stillwater didn't offer to even buy my lunch. Why was I taking this case? She cried too much and wasn't even that cute--Nick and Carmindy can only do so much with hair and makeup, even if Cindy did have that $50,000 wardrobe. Maybe she could sell some of it to pay me! I eyed her faux-fox-fur jacket, wondering if it were actually real and how much I could get for it on consignment. My ex-wife was big on consignment--so much so that she sold all my stuff before she threw me out and I didn't see a dime. But anyway, back to Cindy, she was blabbering on about something...

"...can't get ahold of my lab assistant, Ricardo. He was an exchange student from Honduras who came to KU for it's world-famous archeology school. He was smart but he was always skipping lab hours, running off with his girlfriend. She had some weird name, like maybe a vegetable, or a fruit..."

"A fruit???" I thought. Could it be...
[Gwen]
________________
Another fruit? We had the masseur at the Frying Dragon, someone named Apple O'Day and now Ricardo's girlfriend, Peaches. The fact that Ricardo was from Honduras certainly put his geographic origin in the neighborhood of Wingnut and Stillwater's dig on the Guatemalan border but I was going to have to work on it's relevance. First Wingnut went missing, now the lab assistant Ricardo. Maybe Stillwater would vanish, too, and I could forget the whole, unprofitable case.

Stillwater had said something about Lebanon, Kansas being the center of Central America. Clearly, using "advanced civilization" and Lebanon, Kansas in the same sentence was an oxymoron. Was she just making a joke or was she trying to tell me something? Was Lebanon, Kansas another clue or a red herring?

Meanwhile, heartburn was beginning to set in. This was the eighth meal I'd had at the Pepto Palace this week. If I didn't move upscale from Taco Cabana soon my Zantac expenses were going to go through the roof. In fact, even now, if I don't show up at the drugstore for a couple of days the pharmacist calls to see if I'm OK.

I decided to see if I could locate Peaches. If she was that tight with Ricardo maybe she could tell me where he was. And if I could find Ricardo maybe that would lead me to the missing professor. Peaches shouldn't be too hard to locate... a little bit of digging at the university should tell me who she was. One thing that was beginning to get under my skin, though, was what could be behind these disappearances. What had they found at that dig that was remarkable enough to set this mysterious chain of events in motion?
[Maddog]
_______________
Before I could put my plan into action, however, I was knocked to the ground by a sudden, searing pain. No, it wasn't the Dame Stillwater's laugh that got me this time. Or her cry. (Just in case, I looked at her, but her mouth was definitely occupied with chewing. Unfortunately, no one had taught her that chewing with her mouth open was impolite. And disgusting. I may very well have temporarily lost my appetite for TC's.)

What was happening to me? Besides the light-headedness I felt after watching Stillwater eat, I felt as though a thousand needles were stabbing me all over at once. It couldn't be my lunch - I'd consumed enough Pepto to calm an elephant's belly. Plus, the pain I was experiencing started on the outside of my body and then shot through every nerve I had, or so it seemed.

Just before my big head hit the table on my way down I thought, "By golly, I've been tasered!"

[Susan]
-----------------------
I slowly came to and as the cobwebs cleared I realized I was still lying on the floor in TCs. Cindy was still munching her bean and cheese burrito and looking completely unconcerned. As I slowly crawled to my knees, I saw the hulk, the same hulk that tried to shoot me in my office, and by way of introduction she said, "This is Tom. He's my brother and he is a little overprotective."

"A little overprotective? Jeepers, he tried to shoot me in my office and threatened my life!" I bellowed.

"Well," Cindy explained, "it turns out he was the one that was following me. He didn't know you were trying to help me and he took matters in his own hands. I keep telling him he watches too many of those crime dramas on TV but he doesn't listen."

"Good grief," I thought. What kind of family is this? But still, we had the issue of the missing Dr. Wingnut and I am not one to let a puzzle go unsolved. Just ask my ex-wife about my love of crosswords and my persistence in completing them. Needless to say, I am a veritable fount of trivial information.

"While you were sleeping," Cindy said, "I remembered something! Before we left for Honduras, Dr. Wingnut spent a lot of time doing research. Not only was he obsessed with this ancient yet advanced civilization, he believed that these people had discovered the world's largest diamond mine that was subsequently lost after a terrible earthquake. No one has been able to locate it since."

"Hmmm, now things are getting interesting," I thought. I needed to get to Dr. Wingnut's computer to view the history of the websites he had recently been viewing. Maybe the history would yield a clue. I was also curious if this Apple O'Day character was friend or foe to Dr. Wingnut. Did she think Dr. Wingnut was a diamond in the rough and was she interested in him for his mind and body or was she solely interested in him for the diamonds he might find? Afterall, diamonds are a girl's best friend, aren't they?
[margaret]
__________________

I looked at Stillwater's brother. "Nice to meet you," I said. "You look a lot like that professional wrestler, Hulk Hogan." I extended my hand. "No hard feelings." When Tom reached out to shake I gripped his right hand tightly and hit him in the jaw with a hard left. All those years I spent in the ring, it seemed like a shame to let those job skills go to waste. It sounded like someone striking a tree with an axe. Tom's expression didn't change. He just blinked once before his eyes lost their focus and he went down like a bag of sand.

By now the diners at the Taco Cabana were all moving to the other side of the restaurant. A pimple-faced young man in a wash and wear short sleeved dress shirt with a name tag that said Manager rushed up, careful not to get too close. He looked down at Tom, then at me and said, "You have to leave. I'm going to call the police. You're not welcome at Taco Cabana. Don't come back." The first thing that crossed my mind was that this was my chance to break my TC habit. But what's one Taco Cabana when there are others, lurking, waiting to add fuel to my heartburn...

As we helped a still woozy Tom into the back of my battered 1994 Crown Vic I turned to Stillwater and said, "One thing that I have to know... why do you keep referring to Honduras when you initially told me that the dig was somewhere near the border between Mexico and Guatemala?"
[Maddog]
________________

Stillwater stared back at me a little sheepishly. "I know you are probably wondering how a formally fashion impaired, seemingly geographically challenged woman like me also can be a successful, if poor, archeologist and work with a god like Dr. Wingnut. I am sorry that I keep changing the location of the dig. It's just that I needed to make sure that you are paying attention. I read a lot of dectective novels and I know how you guys operate. You see some knockout of a woman and think you can use your renaissance man-llike qualities and take her case and have her, too. Well, I will not be a participant in any macho investigator's bodice-ripping, dectective fantasies. But, now that I know where we stand, I will divulge the true location of our dig..."
[Caroline]
______________

Renaissance man? Let's see. I have broad interests. I can safely say that over the years I've been interested in many broads, none of whom were as weird as Stillwater. I am involved in the arts. Many of my friends are grafitti artists and I can safely say that I can name the tagger nine times out of ten when I see new work. And I am accomplished in the sciences. I am proud to have been a pioneer in the physics of splitting the stale bagel. How much more renaissance can you get? Renaissance man! Who'd a thought?

Stillwater was a looker, but she had some drawbacks. She had a laugh that could extract a confession from a comatose perp, she chewed her food with her mouth open, needed fashion triage to be presentable, and had a hulking brother who had fired a gun in my direction and tasered me when I was occupied at simultaneously subduing an enchilada dinner and Olympian heartburn. I had a feeling that the only way her bodice was going to get ripped was if it was caught in the machinery at the dry cleaner's.

At least she seemed to have overcome her distrust and was going to open up. At the moment the location of the Mexico/Guatemala/Honduras/Lebanon, Kansas dig wasn't at the top of my list. Finding Peaches and doing a little forensics on the Professor's computer came first. I was willing to bet that the artifact that Wingnut had found, and about which he had been so secretive, was the key to the location those precolumbian diamond mines. If so, it's no wonder he was attracting attention. In fact, that could be the reason that Stillwater was so anxious to find Herr Professor. Maybe her motives were less than pure.

"OK," I said, putting the car in gear. "Let's get the show on the road."
[Maddog}
_______________
As I was driving, I got another cryptic message on my cellphone. What's with all the texting, doesn't anyone call anymore? The message said:

fruits are a fish
T.A.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

The fruits are a fish? What could this mean? And it was signed TA again! Could it be my partner, contacting me from the great beyond via the wonderful world of cellular technology?

Ok, let's think about this. What fruit is like a fish? Something is fishy, that's for sure. All this misdirection...misdirection...red herring... Maybe, the fish is a red herring! If so, fruits are a red herring? Dr. Wingnut was supposedly searching for diamonds not fruits. Ah, but there were other fruits involved! Apple O'Day and Peaches! Now I was catching on and all this thinking about food was making me hungry again, too! Clearly the recent tasering didn't affect my appetite.

Maybe Cindy's motives really were less than pure. Who was the person throwing all this information at me? Cindy! Who did the hulk belong to? Cindy! Hmmm... maybe she using me to find Dr. Wingnut so she could steal the diamonds or steal recognition for the discovery of the missing diamond mine! Maybe she would pay me in diamonds? Clearly, something was not right here and I had to discern the truth before I could find Dr. Wingnut.
[margaret]
________________

My brain was churning. What did the new text message mean? Why couldn't the person who sent it just come out and use plain English? For Pete's sake, what would it hurt? Fish and fruit? I had orange roughy at Zsa Zsa's Seafood Shanty one night last week. But I settled for the idea that there was something fishy about one of the fruits in this case. I was already suspicious of Apple O'day, but Peaches? Was she more than a student with a crush on Stillwater's assistant? Had Peaches actually done something to make Ricardo disappear? Maybe Ricardo the lab rat was in this up to his butt and she'd decided that he was a weak link. Bang bang, bye bye!

Just as I pulled up to the curb in front of Wingnut's house it dawned on me. The TA of the text messages wasn't Travis Austin. Trav was pushing up daisies at the Campo Santo Cemetery and Amusement Park. Nor was it someone making a morbid joke. The TA stood for transactional analysis! Of course! After all, TA is a theory of personality that describes how people are glued together psychologically. It can be used to diagnose many types of psychological disorders, using the parent-adult-child ego states to do this. It's all about problem solving. Aha! I was saddled with a client who appeared to be more than a little strange and her "brother" who seemed to me to be a little unhinged, too. If I could untie the Gordian Knot of their behavior perhaps it would go a long way toward the solution of the puzzle. THAT'S what someone was trying to tell me!
[Maddog]
_____________
No... no... no... TA didn't stand for Transactional Analysis. That just couldn't be right.

I sure needed someone to bounce my theories of off. Maybe I should grab a case of Negro Modelo and head over to Campo Santo and have a little tête à tête with the original TA. What would he be thinking right now? (I don't mean right now... he's obviously not thinking now. I mean if he was still here.) What would he be thinking? I thought about Austin. About the things he liked. I thought about his favorite haunts... how he spent his free time. Of course! TA stood for the well-known (albiet crude) slang for certain anatomy belonging to the female gender!

How could I be so dense?!? Usually you see it abbreviated TnA, but with all the texting shortcuts these days, people are only using what's absolutely necessary.

So, I guess my invisible sidekick was a woman. Interesting... and frightening. After all, the last thing I needed right now was another woman involved in this case.

[Susan]
----------------------
On second thought, maybe that tasering (and all the years in the ring) had affected my thinking. My own reasoning was causing me to spin in circles. Although I don't believe in ghosts, I think Travis really was trying to tell me something. Ok, so I hadn't had a date in a long time which obviously led to the latest ruminations but I would have to get back on match.com once I solved this case!

If Travis were here, what would he do? He would look for the obvious which was so often staring one in the face. This all started with the missing Dr. Wingnut who was on the trail of an ancient lost diamond mine. Surely anyone who found the mine would become very rich. Was Dr. Wingnut interested in that puzzling and exciting site of an advanced and sophisticated society, a site that may have been the location of the world's largest diamond mine in order to gain a life of fame and fortune, babes and mansions, pedicures and fancy duds? More likely, he was interested in the discovery and what that would mean historically and for his reputation (and maybe a small percentage - who didn't want to drive a Ferrari?). But some of his ardent followers probably had less than scrupulous intentions. So, either Dr. Wingnut had found a clue to the location of the mine and went off on his own to pursue it or someone thought he had the location and perhaps had kidnapped him in addition to ransacking his apartment looking for information.

"So, who had the most to gain," I wondered? I kept coming back to Cindy. If Dr. Wingnut was missing but she was able ascertain the location of the mine, she could be credited all the sparkling glory for the mine's discovery. She would be come famous and no doubt have a rock or two in her currently less-than vogue jewelry collection (from what I have seen to-date, Stacy and Clinton were so focused on trying to right her fashion wrongs that they ran out of time to address accessories).

It was time to turn up the heat on Cindy and get some answers, but first I had to go by the house and feed my fearless sidekick, Joe.
[margaret]
---------------------------

Joe! The perfect excuse I needed to separate myself from Stillwater for a while and think! And I realized that having her with me would further impair what little cogitating I could still do given the tasering and heartburn I had suffered recently. I quickly turned the car around and headed for my little cabin in the woods. It would be a perfect place to stash the dame. Almost no one knew about it, except for Stella and Travis (and he wasn't going to tell anyone about it's location), and it was remote enough that Cindy's presence wouldn't raise any eyebrows nor would her overprotective oaf of a brother be able to find her. Add in that Cindy had fallen asleep the moment I put the car in gear, once stashed she wouldn't be able to facilitate her own potential escape.

As I neared the cabin, I shook Stillwater gently. "We're here," I said. That dame is one sound sleeper. She didn't even flinch. After much prodding, pushing and yelling (mainly to get beyond that horrendous snoring sound coming from within that delicate female form), Stillwater awoke.

"What are we doing?" she asked. "I thought we were going to discuss the case and talk about the dig."

"I have some things to do and I need you to stay put for a while. Joe will keep you company while I am gone," I said brusquely. "He is a sweet dog but he doesn't like any sudden or suspicious moves. He has been known to rip off arms. Just snuggle with him, feed him cookies and let him sit on the couch while you watch t.v. and all will be fine." I patted Joe, filled his food and water bowls and left before Stillwater could object.

As I drove away I realized that I needed flesh and blood, not a gravestone, with whom to discuss this case. I stopped by the store and picked up a 6-pack of Anchor Steam and then Papa Murphy's for a take-and-bake pizza. I took the supplies and drove to Stella's house.

Stella, my faithful secretary. I rescued her from a dead end job as a NASA cafeteria worker. Years ago, Travis and I needed some help in the outer office and she was the one who responded to our newspaper ad. When she told us about her most recent position, I asked her how that made her a viable candidate to work in our office. She explained that she had worked as an administative assistant for an uppity up at NASA for years. The cafeteria stint was a demotion based on rumor that she thought herself the co-pilot and chief science officer on a secret space mission. Desperate to escape the spinach she was forced to serve, she answered our ad.

When I reached Stella's door I rang the bell. No answer. I hollered, "Stelllllaaaa!" (I couldn't resist.) She opened the door and rolled her eyes. "Original," she said. She held the door and I wandered in, beer and pizza in hand.

After a little chitchat we popped open a couple of beers, baked the pizza and dug in. As we ate I gave her a summary of our firm's latest case. When I got to the part about the text messages and the mysterious signature, Stella looked thoughtful. "Well, we both know your partner is pushing up daisies so it can't be him." After a few more bites she said, "I think I know what T.A. means. It's not a name but a description. You said that Cindy is an archeologist working with this university professor. Professors often have assistants. Teaching assistants! You also mentioned that Ricardo, the unreliable lab assistant to the nutty Stillwater woman, is missing. Is it possible that Ricardo is sending you the messages and signing them T.A. instead of L.A. (lab assistant) so that Cindy wouldn't be suspicious in case you told her of the messages? And is it possible that he and Dr. Wingnut have staged their own disappearance to escape the clutches of Cindy Stillwater? Given what you have told me of her brother, her sketchy information and her nutty behavior it sounds as if she wants you to locate Dr. Wingnut for her personal benefit...fame, fortune, fashion!"

"Egads!" I thought. Stella was onto something!
[Caroline]
_________________________

The detective agency was lucky to have someone like Stella working for it. She was a dead ringer for Christina Aguilera, which always got the attention our male clients, and had a PHD in astrophysics. When it came to problem analysis and deductive reasoning she was at the top of the list. Ah, bella Stella. I should have brought her in on this earlier.

Suddenly something occurred to me. "Well, rats!" I thought. I had dropped Cindy Stillwater off at the cabin but I forgot all about her "brother" Tom, who, when I last looked, was still sitting woosily in the back of my car, right where I had deposited him when we left the Taco Cabana.

"I'll be right back!" I told Stella, and rushed out of the door to the car. Sure enough, there was the hulking Tom, eyes crossed, drool at the corner of his mouth. I must have given him quite a concussion. What could I do with him? I didn't want to attract attention. Then it occurred to me. I jumped into the car and drove as fast as I could without running afoul of the traffic cops, back to the Taco Cabana. I hauled him out of the car, no mean feat considering that he probably weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, and, with an arm around his waist, walked him into the restaurant and deposited him at a table. To give him a little cover I bought an enchilada dinner and a couple of Dos Equis and put them on the table in front of him. Lucky for me, I didn't see the store manager.

Back at Stella's I explained the reason for my sudden departure. "Did you try to get any information from Tom before you left him?" she asked. I responded that, given his low IQ and concussion, getting info from him would be a case of ab asino lanam. Stella's eyebrows went up. "Funny," I said. "Ever since Cindy called me a renaissance man I've had this urge to speak Latin."

There was a pregnant pause, then Stella looked at me with lowered eyelids and flared nostrils, one eyebrow slightly raised. "I love it when you speak Latin," she purred. Then she gathered herself and said, "I think it's time you put some serious heat on this Stillwater person. Clearly she's the key to the whole thing."
[Maddog]
____________

I went to Wingnut's house. One way or another the trail would lead through him. It was a large bungalow half-hidden in the trees well back from a wooded lane north of town. I cut the engine and let the car drift to a stop a little down the lane from the house so I could observe for a while and think. Stella had hit a nerve. Why had Cindy come to me, of all the P.I.'s and idle lawyers in this town? I had my credits but there were plenty of other good ones holding down barstools these days.

It was almost evening. Lights were going on in house far up the street but not in Wingnut's bungalow. There was an asphalt drive in poor repair with an empty carport in view and to the side of it an old Range Rover up on blocks. I got out and took in the air, the last of the sunset through the heavy clouds--the street was dry but the air smelled like rain. No one was out in the neighborhood so I started up the drive, stopping to check the mailbox; it was jammed full; I'd scoop it out when I left but for now I continued empty handed toward the house trying not to pop too many twigs underfoot--though I doubted anyone was home--as I went around the side looking for a patio door to jiggle open. I also doubted I would find a Wingnut's laptop here, but who knew. I might not get far in the laptop itself--that's one reason I had hired Stell away from the NASA cafeteria, she was the techie I needed for laptops, blackberries, whatever ...

Then it hit me, standing in the backyard, just as I saw a light come on in the kitchen and a storm of birds started chirping. Where had Stella been lately? She was in and out of the office in no time if I was there, saying she had to see someone or run an errand. And last week when I came in she was at her desk doing something in her lap, looked up and quickly put something in her bag--a blackberry?

Music came from the kitchen, laughter, and the pop of what might have been a champagne cork. I moved through the ligustrum hedge trying to get a view through the sheer curtains of the kitchen window. Whoever had put Cindy onto me in this case already knew me, and maybe they knew Stella, too. Maybe it was someone involved in an old case of mine.

Dancing close to the window, with one arm around herself and drinking from the champagne glass in her other hand, leaning against the sink and laughing, talking to someone out of my view, was the only woman who could ever make my heart sing and step on it at the same time--my ex-wife, Carla.
[Robbie]
_________
I crept closer to the window. Just as I peered in the window, Carla was gathered into the arms of a distinguished looking man, dressed in the latest archeological fashion. Dr. Wingnut! I couldn't help myself and barged through the door. "Unhand her!" I bellowed.

"Tack!" Carla exclaimed.

"What is going on here?" I demanded.

"We are celebrating, that's what! Dr. Wingnut just declared the location of the ancient diamond mine to the archeological society. In addition to recognition for the discovery he was also awarded a small fortune. We just got married!" Carla crowed.

Married? When had all this transpired? Once again, I felt my heart being stepped on even though I knew I wasn't the man for her. I couldn't give her what she wanted... love, security and Ethan Allen furniture. Maybe it was my pride taking a hit at the ultimate and final rejection. But as I was pondering my emotions, the light bulb finally clicked on.

"You are Apple O'Day! These secret conversations and phone calls were because Dr. Wingnut wanted to keep his relationship with you private! Cindy was jealous since she has the hots for Dr. Wingnut and she could see those diamonds slipping away. When she couldn't locate Dr. Wingnut, she became suspicious of what was going on and came to me for assistance." I conjectured.

"You've got it, Tack!" Carla agreed.

"But who then is TA?" I questioned.

"TA is Stella, or "Tackhammer's Assistant". You may not recall but Stella and I went to college together and have remained good friends. She knew about my relationship with Dr. Wingnut and she was trying to let you know that Cindy was not what she seemed."

That Stella. Not only was she a good secretary but she had my back and she is hot. I think she might even like me. And better, she appreciated my renaissance quirks. If I hurried (after I sent Cindy on her way from my cabin and let Joe out for his daily constitutional), maybe Stella would still be awake. I could tell her "specialis est ostendo sum" and just maybe she would purr again.
[margaret]

THE END

Dimension X

Captain Buzz "Iceman" Impact closed his eyes and let the heavy volume of printed material drop onto the console next to his right hand. He could hear the faint hiss of oxygen as it was injected into the starship's command center. A brief shadow of concern passed through his thoughts as he remembered that the life support system had only twenty-four hours ago shown signs of a hidden problem. "God!" he thought. "Will I never make it through that volume?" He was five light years from home and he still hadn't finished it. What possessed him to bring the latest issue of Vogue Magazine with him? he wondered. It weighed a ton, and as far as he could tell only about four or five pages contained actual articles. The other four hundred and eighty-five pages were covered with what appeared to be photographs of oddly dressed... or undressed... aliens. It was lucky that his mission had begun from orbit over Mars' southern pole, he conceded. If it had been a ground-based launch the magazine's additional weight would have jeopardized the take-off. Buzz opened his eyes again at the sound of a voice on the intercom. "Buzz," the voice of his co-pilot and chief science officer, Stella Doro, said in a throaty whisper.

---------
"It's your wife calling. She's pissed you took her Vogue. Now she has no idea what to wear to the party tomorrow. All of her friends are going as aliens and she'll look dumb if she shows up in just her scales."

"Tell her I'll have to get back to her later. I've got to work on the life support system," answered Buzz. "Oh, and knock it off with that sexy whisper thing. She hates it when we're on a mission together anyway."

Just then the Iceman heard a loud rattling noise. Was it just head again, or was it...
-----------
the satellite dish coming loose again. You would think you wouldn't need a dish when you were zipping out among the stars and satellites, but alas, it was still required.

"Of course, way out in Mars orbit, cable is just not an option," Buzz thought. Buzz already felt like he was on a short leash with his wife, Ripley, so he certainly didn't need to be tethered by cable. But he would have to get out the old space suit so he could reattach the dish. He certainly didn't want to miss the next Cowboy game and didn't want to miss the next episode of What Not to Wear either. Maybe he could call his wife with some tips. She thought she wanted to keep up with the aliens but he hated to tell her that she really needed a fashion makeover. Her look was so 80s. Of course, he was smart enough to know that he would be sleeping in the doghouse if he really made such a suggestion.
-----------
Buzz hoisted himself out of the captain's chair and started for the locker. He found the idea of donning a spacesuit for an extra-vehicular repair somewhat chilling. For some reason, NASA scientists had decided that the space crew's diet should be high in fiber. As a result everyone on board was locked in a Homeric struggle against runaway flatulence. "Spacesuit, indeed!" thought Buzz.

"Wait!" squeeked Lieutenant Doro, bursting into the command center. "The problem isn't in the satellite dish! It's the life support system. There's no oxygen!"

"No oxygen?" responded the Iceman, with clenched teeth and a steely gaze. "What are we breathing?"

"When I realized what was happening, and thinking quickly, I opened all the party balloons we brought along for ensign Barcode's birthday celebration. It should give us just enough time to find and fix the problem."

"Stella, you idiot! Those baloons were filled with helium! There's no oxygen in helium! All you've done is give us infuriating chipmonk voices! We only have a few minutes to find the source of the problem and fix it. You're the science officer! Do something! Fast!"

"Well, you don't have to snap at me!" Stella pouted. "Maybe if we opened a window..."

"No jokes!" Impact barked. "Make it better! Now!"
-----------
"Okay, okay. Seriously. We'll just make an oxygenator. It should only take a few minutes. We've got enough oxygen left to get us through the process. Then we'll be set."

"An oxygenator?" said Iceman. "What in tarnation is that and how do we make one?"

"Clearly you didn't get through the Vogue yet," Doro responded. "It's on page 419. There's even a diagram. We have everything we need right here. Thankfully, this was Vogue's Space Fashion Issue. The oxygenator is part of the new spacewear fashion line."
--------
Iceman thumbed through Vouge to page 419. There it was, the diagram and the instructions to make the oxyengenerator. Full color and very simple to follow. It even came with a free DVD of hot looking alien chicks showing off the product and how to steps. There was also the 1-800 number for techinal support and customer service. With excitement, Iceman told Doro to get him a case of beer and a fifth of Jack Daniels. He then looked at Stella and to her to go get the tools. For this will take a while Iceman thought.....
-------
Doro began the task of putting the oxygenator together by herself without the aid of Impact. As she worked sweat began to pour down her face. She did not expect to be working on the oxygenator alone. As a just in case factor, she told one of the crewmembers to have a bloody mary on standby for when Impact wakes up. For he will need something for his 100 light year hang-over. Progress was being made as the oxygenator was being put together and the beer being consumed. When the oxygenator was was complete Doro had noticed that she had parts left over. She thought to herself this is bad, if it was a stereo cabinet it would be one thing, but the this was a vital piece of equipment to the ship. What would Impact do she thought and what are they going to do. Impact continued to sleep away and Doro continue to go through the instruction manuel to figure out where she went wrong.........
--------
Moments later, Lieutenant Doro entered the bridge with a large tool kit, a box containing the oxygenator parts, the beer and the booze. "We'd better start with the booze," Impact grated through clenched teeth, a look of steely determination on his rugged face. "Pour us three fingers each. We need to make sure it hasn't deteriorated due to our long voyage and the artificial atmosphere in the cargo hold." Doro expertly twisted the cap off of the bottle and with a keen eye poured a heavy dose into the two Welch's grape jelly glasses she'd dug out of the gally just a few moments earlier. She and the Iceman knocked the amber liquid back in quick swallows. He held out is glass for a refill. "One can't be too careful," he commented in his rich baritone. Any one of a dozen chemical changes, peculiar to space flight, might have taken place during the last couple of light years." Again, Stella poured, sloshing only a little bit over the rim of the glasses. With a look of blue-eyed resolve, the Iceman downed the whiskey in a glup, wiping his mouth on his gold braided cuff. Doro did likewise.

"Now, hand me those distractions," the captain ordered.

"The directions?" Doro asked in a choked voice. "Here y'are. Page 419. I had to tear the page out. The magazine was so heavy I couldn't move it."

Impact stared at the page, brow furrowed. "Boy!" he said. "The print sure is tiny. Hand me the flanged framilator, spatulate end to the starboard side and a pair of friars. I mean pliers."

Doro rummaged in the kit for a minute and giggled. "Is this a frammilator?" she asked.

"Get a grip," Impact answered. "That's a framistat. We'd better slow down and test the alcohol again." It's imperative that we don't make any mistakes."

"By the way," commented Doro as they swallowed a few more ounces of whiskey, "which side of the craft is shtarboard, anyway? I've never mastered the starboard and port thing."

Impact burped. "Doesn't matter. Now hand me the wooly grommet and a hammer." Doro smiled in a lopsided way and began to sing to herself. "Is it getting a little close in here?" she wondered out loud.

It ocurred to the captain that he didn't feel too well. Perhaps a cold beer would help. He reached past the tool kit, slipped a Shiner Bock out of it's paper carton, and struck the neck of the bottle on the guidance panel. As the liquid foamed out of the bottle he poured half of it over his head and swallowed the rest. Seeing his example, Lieutenant Doro struck a bottle of beer over his head and swallowed what was left. The Iceman slumped to the floor, inert. Doro poked at the still form in front of her, looked at her watch, wrinkeld her nose, and said, "Thish doesn't look as if it's going to turn out very well."
---------
Suddenly, Iceman shot to his feet. Hallucinating that he was a finalist on American Idol, he began to sing (or howl, in Doro's opinion). The words sounded a bit like Rocket Man , although Doro had to look up the lyrics on her trusty iPhone to be sure. He sang...

She packed my bags last night pre-flight
Zero hour nine a.m.
And i'm gonna be high as a kite by then
I miss the earth so much i miss my wife
It's lonely out in space
On such a timeless flight

And i think it's gonna be a long long time
Till touch down brings me round again to find
I'm not the man they think i am at home
Oh no no no i'm a rocket man
Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone

Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids
In fact it's cold as hell
And there's no one there to raise them if you did
And all this science i don't understand
It's just my job five days a week
A rocket man, a rocket man

And i think it's gonna be a long long time...

And then Iceman started cry... he blubbered how much he missed his wife and kids... and then passed out again, confirming to Doro that things were definitely not going to turn out well.

Although momentarily moved by Iceman's passionate, although painful, rendition of the Elton John classic, Doro mentally noted that she should call Simon Cowell upon their return to earth and warn him in case Iceman tried to enter himself in the next Idol competition. Tickled by that thought Doro giggled, but then was hit in the face with the sobering reality that she was going to have to carry on solo. Through her alcohol-induced fog, she proceeded to discern the details of the directions alone.

"Oh boy," she said allowed to herself, "I sure hope I get this right or I'm gonna have a lot of 'splainin' to do."

She picked up the sprinkle flinger, mistaking it for the frammilator, perhaps because she didn't really know what a frammilator was. Fortunately, the sprinkle flinger was the right tool. She was able to...
--------
...just barely make it to the bathroom in time. Boy, does that whiskey and beer go through a person quickly! As she sat there relieving herself, she read the ads on the back of the bathroom stall door. Well, what do you know! Right there, it said,

In case of oxygen depletion emergencies, call 867-5309.

"Weird," she thought. "That number sure seems familiar. I can't imagine why, though, as I've never been on a mission in which we've experienced this type of emergency."

She started to dial when it hit her...
----------
There are no local numbers in outer space! But she suddenly realizes that they are in the Shatner quadrant and only a few thousand miles from a habitable planet known as Zeta Chi. She could easily plot a course in the pilot computer and resolve their emergency. However there are many rumors that surround the planet and its founder Chevy Tutone...

Chevy Tutone was the descendant of the musician Tommy Tutone (who made his mark in 1980s with his hit song 'Jenny/867-5309'). Tommy had invested a small portion of his fortune in a company that made framillators. At the time the tool was absolutely useless since pre-fab oxygen was considered 'a waste of time' and 'not cool'. However, several hundred years later the fram (as the device is popularly labeled now) became essential to every deep space toolbox. Chevy, who owned the rights to his ancestor's invention, made billions.

Unfortunately the patent expired rather quickly and competitors jumped in, fiercely focused on delivering a reliable pre-fab oxygenator for the wealthy and poor alike. Chevy was in his 6th year of undergraduate studies at the time working on his underwater basket weaving degree. He quickly realized he had to come up with a plan to keep his oxygenator design in the forerunning or he may not be able to stay in college and get his degree (since higher education costs raise by several billions per year). So on a worldwide broadcast he announced that he would prove his fram was the best. He would fly to a remote, uninhabitable planet and turn it into a habitable one by using only one of his machines.

With a crew consisting solely of fraternity brothers armed with several kegs of beer, a couple of goats and a vision, Chevy did manage to pilot his space craft all the way to the Shatner quadrant and settle a planet. But after his initial transmission telling the earth that he had safely landed and successfully started oxygenating the planet, little more was heard.

A few curious souls had sought out Tutone and crew. Only one ever returned. His account told of unspeakable horrors; his encounters illustrated nothing save a baccanalian abandon ripe with drunkeness, confusing chants, ridiculous hazing rituals and something very odd about goats.
People eventually lost interest in the demise of Chevy Tutone and the 'survivor' of Zeta Chi (as he was named several times in the media) eventually moved to the southside of Mars. It's been said that he changed his name and took up the job of deep space pilot to escape any further harassment from news personnel, authors and speculators...

"What do I do?" Stella says absently. "If I call the interplanetary operator for a stellar area code I could be put on hold for centuries! And that planet kinda frightens me...but Buzz needs my help! I need another dram of Jack! Aaargh!!!!" Suddenly an alarm on the pilot computer sounds off. Stella hears it from the bathroom stalls. She runs down several corridors to the cockpit just in time to see that their ship has been caught by a tractor beam eminating from the a mysterious looking nearby planet--a planet known only as...

Zeta Chi!!!!
--------
Also known as the Planet of Darkness,Zeta Chi had been discovered some years before by Iceman Impact during an exploratory mission. He had chosen the name because the planet appeared to be shrouded in darkness. He had overlooked the fact that he had approached from the side facing away from the planet's sun.

The tractor beam pulled Impact's ship, the Asteroid Dodger, inexorably toward the surface. As the crew struggled to locate the source of the beam and devise a strategy for escaping it's clutches (a job made harder by the effect of oxygen starvation), on the surface of POD (Planet of Darkness) a sinister figure sat looking into a viewing crystal and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. The robed figure turned toward his assistant and spoke in a hiss. "Igor! Turn the beam up to full strength. Whip up the saturated fat! Prepare the high cholesterol, lard-laden carbohydrates! Bwa hah hah hah!"
--------
Just hold your horses, Mister Dark and Evil. I've got to feed the baby and then clean up the kitchen. You know I can't work in a messy kitchen. And quit calling me "Igor." Once Frank is old enough to understand you he's going to think you're nuts or something. Can you imagine him telling his preschool teacher that his mother's name is "Igor"?
--------
Fortunately (or not depending on your perspective), while Igor and Nefario were bickering, the power on the Asteroid Dodger suddenly died. Stella then remembered she was supposed to call the electrician! Where was that sticky note, anyway? She was always losing them and the ship just wasn't that big! The circuit overload occurred just as she plugged in the finally located sprinkle flinger which sprinkles a store of oxygen molecules providing temporary, life-saving air to the Dodger crew.

"That egocentric, good-for-nothing, Brad Pitt look-alike in accounting must be blow-drying his hair again! He uses more mousse than a moose!" Stella thought.

It was a good thing that Stella remembered to install that 9-volt battery backup in the sprinkle flinger for just such an occasion! As the oxygen slowly permeated Stella's brain and the alcohol fog abated, Stella realized because the ship was no longer lit, the tractor beam could not continue to track the ship and its grasp had been released. The Asteroid Dodger, suddenly liberated, was sent spinning free into space. Round and round and round she goes, where she stops, no one knows.

Somewhere in the back of the ship, Impact began to awaken.

"Is the ship really spinning or is it just this drunken stupor?" he wondered as he slowly opened his eyes. "And why can't I see? I know I'm blind drunk but something is not right."

Then the light bulb of his mind flickered dimly. "Stella!" he shouted. "Did you forget to call the electrician again? What do I pay you for, woman?"

Meanwhile...
--------
Back on POD the mysterious, robed figure turned toward Igor. His basilisk stare struck Igor like the beam of one of those laser pointer thingies college instructors buy at Sharper Image and use to point at things on the screen above the podium in the hopes that it will make their presentations more comprehensible to a bunch on uninterested students who are more concerned with the video games on their laptops than the presentation and who would rather be out drinking beer anyway.

"Uh, dear, you make it very difficult to be sinister. I feel your pain, but c'mon. Don't I change little whosis once in awhile? Don't I do the dishes occasionally? It isn't easy being the evil ruler of this backwater planet. Most of my former classmates, who I might add, have wives who adore and support them, are by now dominating big, important planets. But where am I? Out here on a miserable hunk of rock with a silly Greek name. Cut me some slack, Sugar Bun. Get on board. Whip up those artery-cogging lipids so I can do unspeakable things to those puny yahoos in the space ship. Which, I might add, is now spinning out of control and I'm going to have to bust my butt to get back."

The dark figure turned toward the viewing crystal, put a long, bony finger on a softly glowing button and sighed. "Cheez!" he said. Then, taking a deep breath, he recalled where he had been when his evil scheme had been interrupted. "Oh, yeah. Bwa ha ha ha!"
-----------
When Nefario, the dark figure, pushed the button, it illuminated space like the flash on a camera. The tractor beam eminating from Zeta Chi was once again able to lock onto it's prey, the Asteroid Dodger. Slowly but surely, the ship was pulled toward the surface of the POD.

"Oh no," cried Stella. "We are locked in the clutches of what is surely an evil force. How ever will we escape?"

"We will give it the ol' college try, that's how," said Impact, now fully awake and back in charge if not in control of the ship.

"Good grief," said Stella. "Not the ol' college try line again. How about if we get out the big guns and just shoot our way out of this?"
------------
Iceman Inpact drew himself up to his full height, stomach in, chest out, shoulders back and head high. Clearly his commanding presence indicated that the old Iceman was back. Gone was the alcoholic haze of the last few hours. Gone was the confusion. Jaw set, eyes clear, a look of determination on his chisled features, Impact snapped, "Stop!" He made the time out sign with his hands. "You! Doro! Stand up straight! We'll get through this little complication! Get that Italian opera singer down in the engine room up here. What's his name?" He snapped his fingers. "I remember! It's Barista Aromasolo. Well, get him in here."

Moments later, a crew member in stained overalls with an oil can in his hand entered the bridge. "Yes sir! Machinists mate Aromasolo reporting as ordered, sir!"

Iceman fixed him with a steely gaze, his blue eyes glowing with resolve. "Do you remember the glass panel on level three, the one behind the door to the galley, the one labeled "In case of emergency, break glass?" Aromasolo nodded. "Well," the Iceman continued, "inside that panel is a roll of oven-sized Reynolds Wrap. Retrieve that and report to the airlock to prepare for a spacewalk."

In a flash, Aromasolo was in the airlock with the Reynolds Wrap, shuffling into a spacesuit. "Here's what I want you to do," Impact directed in a commanding growl. "I want you to spread aluminum foil over the entire nose of the spacecraft. The tractor beam that's pulling us toward the surface of that mysterious planet will be reflected off the shiny foil and will lose it's falcon-like grip on us. We'll be free! Free do you hear? Free! Free at last!" Sensing that his composure was slipping a bit, the Iceman clenched his teeth and gritted, "Get on with it, Aromasolo. Don't forget the Scotch tape."

Soon the nose of the ship was glistening with an aluminum radience. The tractor beam lost its grip on the hapless vessel and the ship began to pull away. "Thank goodness! We're out of the clutches of whatever it was that we were in the clutches of!" exclaimed Stella Doro. "Good work, Captain. Aromasolo deserves an A for effort, too!"

Suddenly there was a shudder and then utter silence as the ship coasted to a stop. Was there no end to the Asteroid Dodgers' problems?

"Is there no end to our problems?" Impact asked rhetorically. "My guess is that we're out of gas. Drat! We're falling toward the surface of the planet!" Soon, after a controlled crash only the intrepid Iceman could have managed with superior flying skills, the Asteroid Dodger came to rest at the edge of a dark forest of huge trees and black pools of still water. Somewhere in the bowels of the forest there was a deep, foreboding sound.

"I don't like the looks of this," Impact said. Everyone stay put until we do a reconnaisance and see what we're up against. I'd like to go myself but I'm needed here. Doro, pick three crewmembers and go take a look."
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"Impact, that weenie," Stella thought. "He's more interested in feeding his guilty pleasure, reading about the latest season of spacesuits for men in Vogue, than leading his team. Well, good for me - it's my opportunity to shine like a supernova and take a crack at the glass ceiling that is currently keeping women in space from shooting for the stars."

Little did Stella Doro know that this couldn't be farther from the truth. Although Impact did like to indulge in his Vogue reading (afterall he regularly snuck off with his wife's monthly subscription when he needed some time alone in the spacejohn), he wasn't a weenie.

"I just can't let them know of my youthful misadventure while a young space scout and my failed attempt to win my forestry badge which prevents me from leading my team. All those years of therapy," Impact thought, "and I still can't walk into a forest. Maybe I should call Dr. Phil."

While Impact was musing, Stella selected three fine officers to accompany her on her mission. Brad, George and Matt, the sexiest spacemen alive as named by SpacePeople Magazine in 2092, were eager to search out this new planet. Just as they exited the ship, though, the forest quaked ominously and reminded our four intrepid explorers of the rolling boulder that aimed to crush their role model, Indiana Jones, in The Raiders of the Lost Ark.

"Holy Bouncing Boulders, Batman!" exclaimed Brad, George and Matt in unison.
-----------
"You called?" Just then a strange figure dressed like a bat stepped out from behind a tree. "What brings you to Evil Forest?" It gave a dismissive wave to Stella and focused on the three male crew members. "My, my," it went on before they could answer. "What a trio of hotties, delivered right to my doorstep. Mmm, mmm. Scrumptious!" My name is ...
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"Freddy," Stella shouted. "What are you doing here and why are you dressed in that silly costume?"

"Oh, Stella, please don't tell anyone you found me. I'm big here on Zeta Chi. Although the Universe thinks that Freddy Mercury died and that Chevy Tutone met his demise here, in truth we are both alive and well and have formed a new band. We are doing country rap versions of my Queen hits. We even taught the goats to dance."

"Ahhhh, the unspeakable horrors and something odd with goats that the "sole" survivor of Zeta Chi originally reported. And here we thought this planet was inhabited with a monster or something," Stella said.

"There is a monster," Freddy exclaimed, "but we keep him at bay with the music. that's why we are so popular."
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"I'm wondering, however, how your little hotties could be so popular with what they're wearing. What's wrong with the atmosphere back there? Have things changed so terribly or are these boys just clueless?" Asked Freddy.

"Well, between you and me, I think they believe they're so hot they can dress like that and go without bathing even," replied Stella.

"Ooooooooh! Tommy's going to be excited about this! Come on my precious little men. Tommy and I relish a challenge and it's been a while. Let's have some Queer Eye for the Straight Guys. Of course, by the time we're finished with you, you might be too delicious for us to let you leave. One thing at a time, though. Follow me. Oh, and watch your step. Monster crap is harder than you'd think to get off your boots."

"Hold up a minute. I've got to report back to my boss," Stella told Freddy.

"That's fine," Freddy told her. "I'll take these boys with me and you go report back. When you come back, just follow that path there. You'll find us easily enough."
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"Stellllllllaaaaaaaaa!" hollered Impact in his own Marlon Brando-ish way (even though Impact was more of a teddy bear than Stanley Kowalski). Impact was fretting having sent his crew into the foreboding sound filled forest without him.

Stella, irked, responded rather brusquely, "What? I am busy here! While you continue to cower behind the pages of your magazine, I am doing my best not to step in the heaping piles of monster crap while simultaneously sending the three hotties, oh, uh, I mean the crew off to get makeovers. Upon entering the forest we found the supposedly demised Chevy Tutone and Freddy Mercury. Not only have they pioneered a new form of music, country rap, also known as c-rap to the natives, they have a side business developing the metro-sexual in all the male spacemen that wander their way."

As Stella wrapped up her update she heard that annoying yet foreboding sound once again. Her heart pounding a little harder (despite the fact that she was the tough glass ceiling breaking kind of spacewoman), Stella turned to follow the path that would lead her to her hotties, Freddy and Chevy. If only she had sidestepped the sticky, stinking pile of monster crap...
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"Stella," Iceman said. "Let me help." He screwed a garden hose onto a faucet protruding from the side of the spaceship and turned the handle. As he directed the stream of water at her patent leather high heeled faux endangered species Manolo Blanik slingback pumps, he went on. "Something strange is going on here. Doesn't it seem unusual that we are drawn to this place only to find Freddy Mercury dressed in a bat suit, living with that one-hit wonder and inventor of the oxygenator Tommy Tutone? I can't quite put my finger on it but something isn't right."

"Ya know, it is kinda odd," responded Lt. Doro. "It all has sort of a sinister feel to it, doesn't it?"

The Iceman flashed a dazzling smile, his blue eyes glowing with the light of inner resolve, and said in a firm baritone voice, "Did you know that the word sinister means left in Latin and how it came to mean evil or threatening? Because most people were right-handed an open right hand was a symbol of peace. When the right hand was offered or held up in a salute it showed that there was no weapon in it. On the other hand, a left-handed person could hold up his right hand yet be concealing a dagger in the hand with which he had the most dexterity. Which is an odd way to say that, inasmuch as the Latin word for right is dexter and that's where we get the word dexterity. Hmm... is it possible for a lefty to be dexterous? A conundrum of no small..."

"Holy Mary Mother of God!" Stella shrieked. Put a sock in it! Here we are, stuck in this who knows where backwater facing who knows what fate and you go on about some insignificant etymological bulls--t!" She was hopping up and down in agitation. "Focus! Focus! Focus!"

"Sorry." Impact looked crestfallen. "It has occurred to me that it may well be that Freddy Mercury may not be what or who he says he is. He could be some loathsome alien ectoplasmic horror playing mind games with us. And I wonder who or what was behind the tractor beam that was trying to draw us to the surface of the Planet of Darkness? The only thing we know for sure is that there is something large lurking in the forest that is responsible for inordinate amounts of fecal matter, as the attested to by your shoes." He thought for a minute. "And what about the natives this "Mercury" referred to? Is it possible that there are aborigines on this planet, and are they a threat? So many questions to be answered and so little time." He shook his head.

"May I suggest that job one may be to retrieve the three crew members who waltzed off down the forest path with Freddy Mercury a little while ago? They may have already met some unspeakable doom. I shudder to think!" Stella shuddered.

"OK," responded the indefatigable captain of the Asteroid Dodger. "Round up Machinists Mate Aromasolo, who is not only a good man with an oil can and an aria, but is also an expert tracker and crack shot. Then check out the heavy weaponry and let's go!"
-------
While Stella went off to collect Barista Aromasolo, Impact hesitated then made a quick call to Dr. Phil. The thought of plunging recklessly into the forest made his insides quiver. Dr. Phil assured Impact, however, that with big guns, a beautiful woman and an opera singing machinist at his side he would overcome his fear of the forest and triumph once again.

Having found closure with that little piece of unwanted baggage, Impact, Stella and Aromasolo linked arms and skipped through the forest singing, "Lions and tigers and bears, oh, my..."
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The intrepid trio hadn't gone far when the dark forest closed in on them. Their happy song about lions and tigers and bears trailed off in the gloom. Soon the enormity of their situation began to weigh on them. Shipwrecked on an alien planet, out of the reach of rescue, lost in a hostile environment, mortal danger lurking in every shadow, their skips turned to a reluctant slog.

After half an hour, Aromasolo held up his hand, cautioning the small group to halt. "Did you hear that?" he whispered? "Over there, to the left. It sounds as if someone's coming! Didn't you say, Stella, that Freddy Mercury (or whatever he is) alluded to a native popuation?" Moments later a figure appeared. As it approached them out of the gloom, they could discern that it was humanoid, a female figure dressed in a white tennis outfit, armed with a tennis racket. When it came within a few yards, they could read a name embroidered across the front of the costume. It said, "Yvonne Goolagong." "Look!" Aromasolo exclaimed. "There's an aborigine now!" He paused as a thought came to him. "Holy .... Is it possible that we took a wrong turn somewhere and we're not on the far edge of the galaxy but are actually in Australia?"

"Did you know, Aromasolo, that the word aborigine is not exclusive to Australia?" Iceman Impact interjected. "It comes from the Latin. It means 'from' (ab) 'the beginning' (origin). Because the natives of Australia have been there since long before recorded time they are referred to as aborigines. But that doesn't mean there can't be aborigines elsewhere in other contexts."

Just then there was a loud explosion as Stella Doro fired her weapon at the Iceman. "I told you that I can't stand any more of that kind of didactic crap!" she bellowed. "Do that again and the next round will go right between your irritatingly blue, sincere and, I might add, slightly beady, blue eyes!" Impact, unhurt but stunned, stood there, jaw slack, slightly crouched, with sphincter tightly clenched. After a short pause, he said, "Urk!"

"Hold it! Hol Dit!" barked Aromasolo. I may be a mere machinists mate third class, but it seems to me that we've fallen down the rabbit hole. That can't possibly be Yvonne Goolagong, any more than there can be a Freddy Mercury or a Johhny Onenote... I mean Tommy Tutone... on an alien planet thousands of light years from Earth. Well, Tommy Tutone, maybe, because of his voluntary exile to prove his oxygenator chops, but not all that other stuff. I think we'd better stop here and noodle this stuff out or we're going to be in real trouble. What do you think is going on?" He looked at Doro and Impact with a puzzled, questioning and somewhat addled gaze.
---------
Cue background music...

Just sit right back & you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip
That started from Mars' southern pole aboard this rocket ship.
The mate was a mighty astro man,
The skipper brave & sure.
Three sexy men blast off that day for a three hour tour,
A three hour tour

The tractor beam zeroed in on them, the tiny ship was caught,
If not for the courage of the fearless crew
The Dodger would be naught,
The Dodger would be naught.

The ship's a-ground on the shore of this uncharted Zeta Chi
With Bossman Ice,
The Doro too,
The hotties and their spice...
------------
Bossman Ice continued to daydream about leading this fateful trip, humming somewhat loudly and slightly off-key, when a thundering sound shook him from his reverie. At first, he thought Stella had shot off either her mouth or her weapon again. Then, he stopped dead in his tracks with Stella and Aromasolo piling up behind him like some highway accident. Impact, Doro and Aromosolo stood, mouths agape, staring at the sight before them. Did this thing hold the key to the bewildering events that had led them to this place and time?
--------
Unwittingly, the team had just stumbled upon Nefario's lair (recall the sinister dude managing the tractor beam) which looked oddly like the Louvre Pyramid.

"Is it possible that the answers we have been seeking could be found here?" Stella wondered allowed. "In The Da Vinci Code Robert Langdon found answers at the Louvre Pyramid, maybe we will, too!"

Unfortunately, Iceman only read Vogue so he had no clue what Stella was talking about and Aramosolo was mostly concerned about whether or not there might be food inside. He thought a hot dog sure sounded good about now.

Stella got close to the pyramid (which was made of glass) and peered inside, leaving tellatale fingerprints. Unfortunately, it was dark and she couldn't see a thing.

Meanwhile, the sinister one had his security camera trained on the witless, uh, unwitting, trio. "Bwah, hah, hah..." he said to no one imparticular. "Finally you are in my reach."

Just then, the pyramid lit up and a door opened.
---------
As Stella cautiously placed one foot across the threshold of the opened door, she heard a faint "click."

"BOOBY TRAP!" She screamed to her crew.

"Just kidding."
----------
The intrepid trio stepped into the darkness and moved forward down a dim corridor. At the end there was a door with a button which was marked "Push." Stella pressed the button and the door slid open. They stepped through it into a small room. Before they could react the door whispered shut behind them.

"We're trapped!" Doro said, beginning to feel claustrophobic.

"Wait!" the Iceman and Barista Aromasolo responded in unison. "Something is happening!"

As they huddled together in the small space they became aware that the room was moving. They felt as if they were falling. 'We're in an elevator!' cried Doro. "We're plunging downward!"

"Of course we're plunging downward," rejoined Impact. "Have you ever heard of plunging upward?" Then he said, "But I think... yes, we're stopping. What's on the other side of the door?" They pointed their weapons at the elevator door and waited. But after what seemed an eternity the door slid open to reveal.... nothing, but another corridor.

The three groped their way along the corridor until they reached the end, which was marked by a large steel door. It made no sense to retreat as there was no button near the elevator that would enable them to recall it. And it appeared that there was no way to get through the steel door that blocked their progress. "Well, crum." said Stella Doro. But before they could formulate a plan a dim, red light began to glow and seconds later the giant steel door moved aside to reveal a brightly lit office. A gum-chewing receptionist with a beehive hair-do looked up and waived them inside.

Like Dorothy and her friends entering the Wizard's chamber they stepped hesitantly into the office. The receptionist pointed at an open door and said, "Go on in. The Admiral will see you now. Anyone want coffee?"

Impact, Doro and Aromasolo were stunned to see a silver-haired man in a uniform adorned with campaign ribbons and yards of gold braid. "Admiral Rockbottom!" gasped Impact. "What are you doing here on Zeta Chi, aka The Planet of Darkness? This is incredible! Why aren't you at headquarters?"

Admiral Rockbottom rocked back in his chair. "Space Exploration Headquarters is wherever I am, and I'm here. Clearly you are wondering what's going on. Well, your mission has been a test of your fitness for future secret space exploratory adventures. All you've seen and experienced has been an elaborate simulation. I'm happy to say that you have failed the course. The fact that you survived at all is a miracle. A Vogue magazine on the bridge? Helium filled party balloons? Drunkeness in the face of an oxygen depletion crisis? Allowing your best looking crew members to waltz off into a dark forest with some fruit of unknown provenance? I shudder to think what might have happened if you had somehow managed to skate through the test and were sent on a mission of galactic importance. I should sack you all, but because it's still the Christmas season, I've found you other jobs. Doro, you will report to the NASA cafeteria on Monday. You'll be serving spinach. Aromasolo, you will be loaned out to Disneyland where you will sing in it's World of Tomorrow pavilion's production of The Sound of Music. And, you, Impact, will shine shoes in the Space Center men's room, beginning next week. See Miss Hemalober on the way out. She'll give you the details.
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THE END