TheDarkEagle.com

Author’s note: If you haven’t read “Of Panties and Pirates”, you can do so here. It’s not necessary, but you’ll get more of the jokes. Hope you enjoy.

#

The damn woman is as stubborn as she is sexy. And her refusal to look at me is especially infuriating. It’s a hell of a view though.

“Look, all I’m saying is you should get at least one or two weapons installed on this ship of yours.”

“I heard you the first thousand times,” she says. Finally she swivels her chair around and stands to face me. “I’m a trader, not a pirate. I have standards.”

“I’m not suggesting you become a pirate. I’m suggesting you protect yourself better. You have a reputation now.”

“Thanks to you and your little…” she glances down at my crotch. “Trigger finger. The answer is no.”

She pushes past me and exits the bridge.

I follow her out the hatch and into the kitchen. I pour us some coffee and we sit down at the table. The silence hangs there for a while as we sip our drinks and act nonchalant. I decide to press a little further.

“If I walked up to a woman on the street and told her I was thirsty and wanted some milk, she’d probably slap me in the face. But if that same woman happened to be standing next to a cow, she’d bend over and squeeze the cow’s tit for me.”

She looks at me like I have Tribbles crawling out of my pants.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that everything has its own context. Pirates pick the weakest ships. If they see you are armed they’ll leave you alone.”

“Oh yeah? Try to guess what context this is,” she says and flips me the bird.

For a second I forget what were talking about because all I can see is her long, slender finger and its glossy, deep red nail. My god, the places that thing’s been.

She rolls her eyes and slams her cup on the table.

“If other traders see I’m armed, they won’t trade with me. And if the cops see I’m armed, I’ll be forever handing over my manifest and sitting in queue waiting to dock at every port while being scanned for contraband. And if pirates see I’m armed they’ll think I’m some piss-ant space jockey trying to horn in on their racket and they’ll blast me anyway. Yeah, you really thought this through didn’t you.”

“I’m just concerned about you Jess, that’s all.”

The proximity alarm cuts us off. We race back to the cockpit. Jessie throws herself into her chair and tells me to take the pilot’s seat.

“But I’m not the pilot.”

“Well they don’t know that do they? Sit down!”

I sit and she turns on the com.

“Trader vessel, you are targeted. Prepare to be boarded or we will fire on you.”

“What did I tell you? If you had-”

“You finish that thought Devon, and I’ll gouge your eye out with my thumb. If I had guns we’d already be dead. That’s an Archer Heavy Raider. Basically a space going weapons platform. What we need is a good pilot. But you saw to that didn’t you?”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Maybe, but you shouldn’t have shot at him like that.”

“No I mean, son of a bitch. Sit down and strap in.”

I guess the look on my face was serious enough for her not to ask why. She sits down and I start flicking switches.

“What the hell are you doing? We’re not fast enough to out run them.”

“Don’t need to out run them, just out fly them. Archer Raiders have a blind spot.”

“Are you high?”

By now the pirates must know were running so I don’t have time to answer. I hit the thrusters as if we are making a break for it then shut them off again as soon as they begin pursuit. They fly right past me. What most people don’t know is the Archer’s triangular thruster configuration leaves a nice pocket directly behind the ship just big enough for a small vessel like ours to hide indefinitely.

“Let’s see your old pilot do that.”

I’m smiling like an idiot and Jessie looks pissed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you can fly?”

“Because I don’t want to be part of your crew. I like what we have. I didn’t want it to feel weird when we do those nasty things in your bunk.”

“If we get out of this I’m going to kill you.”

“With what? I have all your panties.”

“Just get us out of here,” she says and folds her arms across her chest.

Man she’s sexy when she pouts.

“Only if you promise to hire another pilot.”

“Now’s not the time for demands.”

“Yeah it is. It’s the perfect time for demands.”

Before I can say another word Jessie’s arm shoots out and grabs me by my collar. She pulls me in close and kisses me. A deep, rough, lustful kiss. It ends with my bottom lip pinched in her teeth. She shoves me back into my chair and cuffs me in the head.

“You’re an ass.”

I’m making good time; flying down route nine like the hounds of hell are chasing me. It’s been miles since I’ve seen a house or store or anything but trees when the engine starts rebelling. A terrible metal on metal symphony tells me the engine is dead. I’m still about a hundred miles from the airport. If I’m late my girl friend flies to Paris and out of my life, probably for good. Why did I have to be such an ass. I should have known better than to Facebook an apology. The six pack of Guinness must have clouded my judgment. She took my post as a slam and said goodbye.

There’s 100 miles stopping me from telling her how sorry I am and asking her to marry me. An act of desperation I can live with. Assuming I can get there in the next four hours. It would have been plenty of time if not for the damn car. The engagement ring in my pocket sticks into my leg like an annoying little brother, poking at me, reminding me I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere. I put the car in neutral and start pushing. A small town comes into view as I round a corner. It’s slightly uphill but love has a way of giving you a little extra strength when you need it. The tires crunch gravel as I roll into the garage. A young man ambles over. He pulls a toothpick from his lips and flashes a friendly smile.

“Out of gas?” he asks.

“No, the engine died. It sounded pretty bad. Can you take a look?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says as he extends his hand. “Name’s Dillon, but folks call me Duce, on account-a I can get most cars running again in a couple hours.”

“Well, that’s great Duce ‘cause I’m in a real hurry. I have to get to the airport before the love of my life leaves for Paris,” I say, hoping my story will cause him to take pity on me.

“Now that’s a challenge I’m up for. Help me push it inside and I’ll see what I can do.”

Together we push my old mustang into the garage. I pop the hood and we both peer inside. I have no idea what I’m looking at but Duce grumbles and nods his head.

“I can fix it,” he says with plenty of confidence. “Let’s see if I can live up to my name. There’s a diner around the corner. They have great blueberry pie.”

He’s right, the pie is amazing. It makes me feel guilty enjoying it though when I should be heading to the airport. I tell myself there’s nothing I can do. My fate, our fate, is in the hands of Duce. I try to pass the remaining time by reading the local paper but it’s no use. The clock is ticking and I need to be on the road. I decide to head back and check on the progress. I round the corner and see Duce elbow deep in the machine. Before I can ask he slams the hood shut.

“Just in time,” he says.

He steps to the driver’s side and slides behind the wheel. The engine roars to life sounding better than the day I bought it.

“Duce, you are a god.” I say as I reach for my wallet. “What do I owe you?”

“Oh, let’s call it two hundred.”

I hand over my credit card and follow him into the office. He runs it and hands it back. I pull out a fifty to tip him for his help.

“I can’t thank you enough. If I leave now I can still make it.”

With a face splitting grin I jump behind the wheel, turn the key and shift it into gear. I smash the pedal to the floor and the engine races. It takes a second to realize I’m not moving. I frantically shift in and out of gear again. Still nothing. My transmission is gone. Duce is still in his office. He doesn’t know. I jump out of the car and race back in.

“Duce, the transmission isn’t working, I need you!”

“No, man. You need a miracle.”

Tony stared at his friend in total disbelief.

“So, what your saying is, you bought a pan flute at a store called ‘Pete’s Pan Flute N Things’ which just so happens to have had its grand opening this morning, right as you passed by on your way home from work.”

“Yup,” said Bob. “Cool, huh?”

Bob began to blow on his newly acquired pan flute.

Toodlie, doodlie, doodlie-doo.

Tony winced as Bob kept blowing across the pipes of his new musical instrument.

“Seriously, dude. What the hell?” said Tony when Bob’s bad blowing of the pipes finally ended.

“Come on Tone, you know I’ve always wanted to be like Sam Fear, Master of the Pan Flute,” replied Bob. “And when I saw that store, I figured why not. Lots of guys like the flute.”

“It’s Zamphir, you frickin’ moron” said Tony as he cuffed his friend in the back of the head. “And no, I had no idea that your life long dream was to play the pan flute as well as a guy, whose name you don’t even know, to a room full of screaming grannies and their emasculated husbands.”

Bob ignored his friend’s tirade and piped his way into his room. He practiced blowing his new pipes throughout the night finally falling asleep around 4:00 in the morning. Tony on the other hand was unable to fall asleep. He crept into Bob’s room and found his friend sound asleep, grinning ear to ear and clutching his damned pan flute. Tony was able to carefully pry the cursed musical instrument from Bobby’s clutches. His plan was simple, return the flute and tell Bob something stupid like space monkeys had broken into the apartment and stolen it. Bob would be pissed, but he’d get over it.

Tony returned several hours later, flute in hand and confronted his friend.

“Uh, hey Bob, I thought you said you bought your flute at ‘Pete’s Pan Flute N Things.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Why?”

“Well, when I went there, there was just a store called ‘Ronnie’s Roommate Finders’”

“What are you talking about?”

“The store were you bought this stupid flute doesn’t exist.”

“No, I mean why were you trying to find ‘Pete’s Pan Flute N Things’?”

“Doesn’t matter, the point is the place doesn’t exist.”

“That’s crap. Come on, I needed to stop there to pick up some pan flute music books and a swanky new carrying case anyway.”

They pulled up to the storefront and watched in disbelief as the sign that said ‘Ronnie’s Roommate Finders’ erased itself and became a blank piece of wood.

“I say we go in there and see what the hell is going on here,” said Bob.

“Word up,” said Tony as he did his best to get into a B-boy stance. It was Bob’s turn to do some cuffing.

They walked inside and approached the counter. The store was empty except for a small bell and a sign that said “Ring me”. Tony rang the bell and they waited for someone to appear.

“Can I help you?” said a creepy old man. He looked very cliché.

“What is this place?” asked Tony

“Well,” said the old man, “It’s whatever you want it to be.” He pointed to Bob. “You desperately wanted to play the pan flute, so it became a pan flute store, and you,” he pointed to Tony, “wanted a new roommate, so it became a roommate locating service.”

“Holy crap!” said Tony. He grabbed Bob by the arm. “Don’t you see what this means?!”

“Yes!” said Bob as he grabbed Tony’s other arm. “You want another damn roommate, but you ain’t getting my CD’s.”

“No you imbecile, we can finally get whatever we want.”

They were wearing mile wide smiles as they ran out of the store and across the street. They turned to face each other.

“OK, Tone, you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I think so, Bob. Ready? ”

They both closed their eyes and began concentrating really hard on what they wanted. A few seconds later words began forming on the store’s sign. “Petunia’s Peanut Butter Sandwich Shoppe”

Bob laughed hysterically. Tony slapped him across the face.

“This is serious you dink, now stop screwing around.” Tony’s face was stern. “We have a shot at riches beyond our wildest dreams, or a bevy of hotties just waiting for us and you want to piss it away on fluffernutters?”

“OK, OK, for real this time. Ready? Go.”

The sign blanked out then began to rewrite itself again. “Nancy’s Nudes”. Tony noticed a small sign in the window that read: “1500 Gold Bars Free With Every Nude”. Directly underneath a faded sign read: “Buy one nude person get two free”. The two friends, giddy with anticipation, burst through the doors of the shop. This time the creepy old man was replaced with fifty completely naked men.

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head. As he opened his eyes he slowly turned to look at Bob.

“Seriously, Dude?”

Bob just smirked and arched an eyebrow.

“Fine,” said Tony. “But after this we’re going back out there and this time you better think ‘New roommate’. And I get the CD’s.”

Author’s Note: OK this one was a departure for me. The story was inspired by the prompt: On the way home from work your character stops into a music store and purchases an unusual musical instrument that they’ve always wanted to learn to learn to play. Why today? I hope you enjoy this little tale. Please leave me a comment and let me know.