Rook's Lucky 13

With a look of disgust he pushed his way into the hotel lobby. He grunted at the deskman as he passed. He walked up the stairs. A minute later, another man came rolling down the stairs and lay at the bottom, unconscious.

Rook walked through the door of his room and sat on the bed. He jerked the phonebook from the night stand and flipped to section M- moving his finger down the page until he got to an ad marked "Escorts: women for all tastes. Exotic needs our specialty." He picked up the phone and dialed.

He lit a cigarette as the voice on the other end of the line started speaking. "Slow down, I don't speak spanish," he mumbled into the receiver. "Yeah, Ingles. Listen, I want a girl... Make that two girls. I want them sent to my hotel room at the troc- room 310. And I like 'em tall. Yeah, you heard me, I want the tallest ones you got. Two tall girls with nice legs. Half an hours fine." He sat the phone down.

He got up and walked to the window. He looked out into the afternoon rush. "Fuckin' ants. Worms. They aren't men they're worms."

He threw his clothes onto the bed and walked to the bathroom to shower.

When he got out of the shower he put on a hotel bathrobe and came back into the bedroom. His jaw dropped when he saw the two girls sitting on his bed. He stood there, dripping on the carpet, his mouth agape.

"Hi there big boy, the help let us in. Are you just going to stand there? I know you want some of this..." She raised the skirt on the girl next to her, exposing her leg up to the thigh.

He looked at the two call girls, both just over three feet tall in high heels, contemplated the sex act under these conditions, in this town, with these girls, and then passed out.

2.

"He should be fine," said the doctor as he turned off his light. "His eyes look good, he doesn't have a concussion. It seems to be some sort of shock. Let him sleep it off." Having made his diagnosis, the doctor hopped off the stool that allowed him to examine the patient on the bed.

"Thank you doctor," said the hotel's deskman. At nearly four foot he towered over the doc, but had much less status due to his height. "I'm glad to hear it. I shall keep people out of the room as he recovers."

"My bill will be in the mail. I assume his company will cover the expense?"

"I'm sure. They say he is the best."

"We shall hope so. For all our sakes."

The doctor was off quick as he had arrived. He bolted down the cast iron spiral staircase. He ran as fast as his stubby little legs would carry him.

Jumping in the black sedan he screamed, "Hit it Sneezy- that joker fell for it!"

"Kachoo!! Oday bozz whad ebah you day."

The sedan sped off. Just as it rounded the corner on Electric Ave he could here a voice screaming... "MIDGET, DWARF I don't give a fuck what you call him he's no doctor... Didn't you see the coal dust on his pants for Christ-sake! Real boy or no real Boy, I'll be damned if I leave you in charge again." Doc turned with a grin and said, "objective one complete boys; what's next on the list?"

The sedan rode into the sunset.

3.

When Randal strode into the hotel he saw Rook driving in the second nail. The sound of the hammer blows on the head of the nail ricochetted around the lobby, drowning out the strident protestation of the deskman.

Rook sang out with every blow, "You... Don't... Let... People... Into... My... Room... Do... You... Understand..." It was clear from the look on the deskman's face that the message had been received.

Rook stood back and examined his work. The deskman had been crucified on the wall beside the rack of incoming mail. He was a little crooked, but it would do.

"And you'll hang there until morning, or until your conscience gets to you. And I wouldn't count on that, being that I've enclosed that blasted cricket in that plastic paperweight on the desk."

All eyes moved to the paperweight and the image of the cricket with the look of surprise frozen on his face.

"Jimminy?" whispered the deskboy. There was no answer.

Rook escorted Randal into the back office for his mission briefing. The sooner he was out of this town of midgets and talking animals the better.

4.

In the sparse back office, Randal took off his hat, a wide brimmed purple fedora, and fidgeted with it nervously.

"I'm glad you've come, Rook. I hope that we can conduct this mission in a short period of time and then let things get back to normal."

"Normal, NORMAL. That's a funny thing to hear a man say who can't even get his hands into his pant pockets." Rook took a swig from a small bottle that was on the desk. He looked at it in his hand. "Short Time Whiskey. Midget drink. Watered down and small portioned." he put it back on the desk.

He sat in the chair, looking ridiculous with his six foot frame in a chair meant for a two or three foot body. He resembled nothing so much as a mutant child, freakishly large, waiting for class to begin.

"Let's get some action going in this town. Why did you ask me to come here?" Rook asked.

"You're to the point, just as your reputation describes. I know that you're not a fan of little people. But I also know that you're not one to put your personal beliefs before a price. And I suspect that this is a job that only a man like yourself can accomplish."

"Go on," Rook prodded, ever cautious to keep the little man in his sight.

There was a sudden noise outside, like a horrific traffic accident had just taken place in front of the hotel, but neither Randal nor Rook really cared or took notice.

Amidst the clatter of metal smashing into glass, the plan that Rook had been conspiring on was starting to come to fruition as it was explained by Randal. All the while The little man with the purple hat thought of how easy it would be to kill the enemy....to have their pathetic lives fade under his well trained hands. Just to see the whimpering of that now famous flying elephant and his disgusting little rodent sidekick... That miserable bastard!! He was to have been star of the circus; not some freak pachyderm with oversized lobes and a penchant for peanuts.

Randal muttered under his breath of marxism and final destiny. Rook struck him squarely in the face.

"Damnitt Randal- You were thinking of that fucking elephant again weren't you!"

"No Rook... No, I just, well, you know how I want to get him back. He took my glory... I was to be a star."

"Pull your head out Randal, we're at war here. This is no time to be thinking of past days of glory," Rook said, his fist balled up and ready to strike again.

Suddenly, from the lobby, he heard a voice say, "Quick work lads. Get that boy down. Use your back you Sleepy bastard. And you, Grumpy- if you wanna bitch do it to Dopey. He's so fuckin' stupid he doesn't even realize you're mad. Happy, quit your fuckin' grinning and get that grasshopper out of that plastic block!"

Doc had the old passion back in his voice. Happy looked back smiling and said, "Cricket Doc, he's a cricket."

"Whatever, just make it quick- we have a destiny to fulfill."

Rook burst into the room holding his arm in the air and shouted, "Read and weep you pathetic little freaks! Read and weep! Do you see what I hold here in my hand, you filthy little people?"

The deskboy, newly freed and rubbing his injured wrists, looked up wide eyed and shouted, "Holy Crap, It's the last will and testament of Walt the D!"

5.

The frenzy in the room came to a sudden stop.

"Wait, no! It's worse than that! It's the actual map of where our lord Walt is buried!" exclaimed Jimminy as he emerged from his polymer encasement.

"Get 'im boys!" yelled Doc. "Get that map. Lord Walt himself has said to me in prayer that he needs to be with us!"

The deskboy had fallen to his knees and begun praying, "For Walt is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He leads me not into temptation but to perpetual re-release. He scramble thine products to ensure copy protection and better sales margins. He battles thine enemies in halls of injustice. His will shall triumph over all..."

The band of small men advanced on Rook, who stood ready to do battle. Randal stepped slowly toward the door.

"You spineless wimp! No guts! That's the real reason you could never be the star of the circus! The smallest strongman in the world may be a freakshow attraction, but not when the strongman is a gutless, yellow, wimp! Run you filthy midget! Run from the battle!" With this chiding from Rook, Randal turned and rushed out the door. There were tears streaming down his face.

Doc laughed a patented evil laugh. "Now that you have lost your employer, Rook, why not join us? We can all enjoy in the profits our Lord Walt has provided."

"You dirty midget. I'm all to familiar with your kind. You're offering me net profit points on projects where you'll cook the books in such a way that they will never clear a profit... Not on paper, anyway. Your business was built on lies. On cute songs. On fuzzy realities. It's no wonder it's corrupt to the core."

"There is no need to cook the books, Rook. This is field of unending profit. We sell the worlds children into the bondage of cute songs and fuzzy realities, as you put it. Our will is strong- We shall always triumph. Go back to your action flix and your erotic thrillers then. Leave the children's market to those who are willing to fully exploit its potential."

Then, to nobodies surprise, the whole local menagerie broke into a song and dance number. This was the opening that Rook had been waiting for. He turned and rushed out the door, knowing that the filth inside would be powerless to come after him until the closing notes sounded.

His adversaries, for their part, saw their error immediately. They scowled and grimaced as Rook left, but were powerless to stop him. They continued to dance and mouth the saccharine lyrics about 'striving to do your best at what you do best' for the next four minutes.

He found Randal in the next block, cowering by a lamp post. He beat the little strongman severely before leaving for the next step in his plan- the resurrection of the prime mover himself and the final end to this curse against mankind.

6.

"That certainly was an unpleasant interlude," said the deskboy to the cricket after the seven little men rushed out. "I wonder what it was all about?"

"Shutup," answered the cricket as he lit his pipe and took several small puffs to get it going right. "Put on that dress I like and get me something to eat. And keep your trap SHUT big nose."

7.

As the air rushed around his head, Rook suddenly realized that, although he had escaped this last trap, he had landed in another for he realized he had no beer money. This was very important to Rook, as it would mean no beer. The thought alone froze him in horror. The lack of beer he may have been able to work out, but how was he ever going to get the viagra down his throat? He knew time was slipping away and he still had a destiny to fulfill. He was gonna get him some princess well before she woke up. Rook didn't care if she went full term while she slept. He just wanted some stink and he wanted it now.

He wiped his brow as he rode along in his Buick convertible. He would have to deal with his personal problems and needs at a later date. He realized that his conquest of a vestigial virgin princess, clad in white and uneducated in methods of denial, would be all the sweeter when experienced as a reward at the end of the day.

He flipped through the radio. "...put on a happy....love...flowers in...smile...bluebird o' hap...good cheer...there's always hope...Hackun..." He flicked the radio off. Out of the area broadcasts were jammed at several decentralized locations, all under a centralized control, though it was not clear at who's bequest. Doc's gang was not the dominant paradigm, but Rook didn't care to know what their revolutionary agenda was or who they were working for. They were small-time. Rook was after the big man.

He stared at the road ahead with an iron glare. Ever since that incident in his childhood he had dreamt of this time of just vengeance. It was a good day.

He needed to find the frozen capsule that shielded Walt from the present day and get him to retract the events of the last 35 years before letting the old man die with something close to dignity. This was all the choice he would allow the old man- but he owed him that much. After all, he was Rook's own great grandfather.

He needed to find that capsule. He turned right at SouthSong Lane and drove toward the mountain. He would need to meet with the most evil man in the world: Don Bluth.

8.

Bluth sat atop his mighty brass throne barking orders at all the animators who ran back and forth in a seeming resemblance of work.

"Get to work me laddo's, arghh! Do ye think it's easy bein' the pirate of the animation world? We be expectin' guests soon. Me spies inform me of this, arghh!"

The animators, for their part, shuddered in fear and apprehension. There was a quiet whisper from the men as they talked of Bluth in the old days; back before the 'pirate' phase in his life. Back when leaving Walt's kingdom was a glory within it's own right.

Just as soon as the men got back to their animating chores, the door burst wide open. It was Rook, the hated arch enemy's grandson himself.

"My liege; Lord Bluth, I would have words with you," said Rook as he prostrated his bow as low as he dare.

"Arghh! What be your business here, grandson of the basest of villains?" retorted Bluth as he bit into his thin sliced cheese and bread sandwich.

"I beg audience with your greatness, on a matter most urgent. Doc and his foul band of freaks are setting to release my grandfather into this world again. I need fifty of your finest cartoonists and pencillers to help in the battle which is sure to ensue," Rook answered in his worse possible impression of regality; for Rook, being ever the clever one, knew Don Bluth to be passionate about the ritual of the king's court.

"I shall consider this request..." Bluth said, resting his boney chin on his left hand, as if deep in thought. Then, in a seeming afterthought, he added, "Oh, Yes... have you seen the Secret of Nihm?"

Rook knew this was coming and yet he was still unprepared. For all knew this was the one thing Bluth always spoke of in his court. Looking Bluth straight in the eye with a gaze that could kill a water moccasin, Rook said, "Sure. Several times, as a matter of fact... That's the one with the gay dogs eating spaghetti, right?"

Then the crowd swallowed him up, and everything went black.

9.

"I Sho Do Wish this wood all wo'k out," said one of the workers digging in the hard earth at the side of the mountain.

"Cose it will. Cose it will," said his sidekick as he leaned lazily against his own shovel.

"It sho be good to get some wo'k at long last! To think it be doing for the old man, too, after he be so resolute as to never use us in his productions again since the war."

"LESS TALKIN' AND MORE DIGGIN'!" shouted their supervisor as he looked up from his copy of the Wall Street Journal. He took his cigar out of his mouth and tapped away the ashes.

"Yassah, Misah Black Bart Suh." The digging continued at a somewhat faster pace.

A matronly woman emerged from the shack off to the side and approached the work site carrying a platter loaded with cold sandwiches. She lay down the platter and wiped her face with the kerchief from her head. "Lunchtime! I'll go get a bucket o' water!"

Black Bart snorted an amused snort and quipped, "Sure as hell is a better place since that mouse committed suicide. Things are looking better all the time." He took a bite of his cold duck sandwich and watched his men dig.

10.

Rook woke with a throbbing headache. All was quiet but the thumping in his own head. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see the local constabulary gazing down at him.

"Clancy's the name, buddy, officer Clancy O'Hara. I'm just in the area trying to get some information on some abductions. Could you tell me if you've seen any of these seven boys?"

Rook scanned the throne room. It was in disarray and, except for himself and officer O'Hara, quite void of life. Seems Bluth had finally fled the sinking ship.

"They disappeared a while ago and were last seen with some freak who wore tights and hung around with a fairy. Claimed he was heir to the power to fly. This happened a while ago, so we fear the worst, I'm afraid."

"Yes, well..." Rook answered, trying to figure out his next move, "I'm afraid I'm not from around here." He stood and gathered his wits. "But maybe we can be of some help to each other."

11.

Doc and his men peered through the bushes at the activity on the side of the mountain. Grumpy held his hand over Sneezy's mouth.

Where there had been a few men digging earlier there was now a full crew being supervised by Don Bluth Himself. It was clear that he was making even Black Bart participate in the physical labor, and he paced back and forth yelling at one and all.

"You lazy bastards! Dig. DIG! All of you have gone soft from unemployment and desk jobs. You're all weak. Soon will come the time when only the strong will survive and the weak will be snuffed out!"

"Sir! We have hit the entrance! We are in!" shouted a short pencil jockey wearing striped suspenders.

12.

It was clear that the chamber room had once been well lit, but now half of the lights were burnt out and the other half were dim and flickering. In the center of the room was a glass shroud, and inside the visage of none other than Lord Walt. Mist swirled around the area.

"Pappa, I'm home," whispered Bluth. "Disconnect the power," he said to his men.

Doc's men charged into the room, armed to the teeth.

"Everyone stand back," ordered Doc. "These boys have been runnin' booze in this area for long enough to be crack shots. One wrong move and 'bwe...bwe...brwe.. that's all folks.'"

"Blaspheme!" screamed Bluth, pointing a finger at Doc.

Happy took Bluth out with a wide grin slopped across his face. Doc ordered the others against the wall.

"There will be a few changes around here," he told them as Grumpy frisked them all, confiscating pencils, pens, shovels, and an odd assortment of weapons.

"Aye, and the biggest change will be a change in scenery. Looks like you're all going away for a little while." It was officer O'Hara. He had come in the back way with Rook, who still held the master map in his bandaged hand.

It took twenty minutes to cuff everyone and read them the Miranda.

"Oh, and while I'm here, has anyone seen these seven boys?" added O'Hara, as an afterthought.

"It was Bluth, It was all Bluth's idea," cried one of the animators. "We couldn't stop him. Damn pirate fixation. We were just following orders..." Several of the other men tried to hush him, but it was too late. Too late for all of them.

13.

"Rook, good to see you before you leave town," said O'Hara warmly as he saw Rook approach the hotel.

"Officer. A drink to a new day?" offered Rook.

"I thought you'd never ask. After you." He opened the door for them both.

The lobby was in disarray and occupied by the deskboy and his sidekick, the boy and his cricket.

"Dance for me, slut, dance," sang out the drunken cricket as he weaved around on the top of the front counter.

"Degenerate," muttered Rook as he tucked in his shirt, still out from his rendezvous with the sleeping princess.

"If there's one thing I've learned, never, NEVER, let your conscience be your guide," O'Hara said to Rook with a knowing wink.