Tourist Trap

Chapter 11

"Sure, sure," Max waved his hand dismissively. "Do whatever you want. So anyway, Zeke, I've been doing more thinking about this case and I have to say I'm beginning to question whether this uncle of yours is actually in any danger." 

"Uh, first of all he's Sarah's uncle, not mine. And what do you mean he's not in any danger? I heard Trevor Mastodon tell a roomful of bloodthirsty maniacs that they should kill him. If that's not the very definition of being 'in danger' I don't know what is." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know about the bloodthirsty maniacs. But between you and me, Trevor Mastodon's not very smart. Your uncle, on the other hand, is a brilliant scientist and apparently very good at hiding himself. It occurs to me that he's probably safe in hiding somewhere and that when we find him, which we inevitably will because of my unsurpassed detective skills, we may actually put him in more danger by blowing his cover, so to speak." 

"Are you suggesting that we abandon this mission and get continuously smashed at the local bars?" Zeke asked. "I'm not inherently against such a proposition, but I would hate to disappoint Sarah. I am still holding out the secret hope that if I help her find her uncle she'll become so overcome with joy and gratitude that she'll just throw caution to the wind and, I don't know, maybe give me a hand job? And I guess it would be good to find Dr. Octavius so that maybe I can get back to my home world." 

"I'm not suggesting we abandon the case, although I do suspect we'll have to drink more booze before all is said and done. I'm merely speculating as to the wisdom of our actions. That's what we detectives do after all, speculate about things. Right now I'm speculating on the idea that Sarah will extend her celebratory handies to me as well." 

"Well, okay, but I get first dibs," Zeke said. 

"Count me in on that too," Timmy called back over his shoulder. 

"Well good luck on that but she's not going to want to stop at a mere hand job with me," Max said. "I have a way of tiring chicks out." 

"Maybe they're just telling you that because they want to get it over with," Timmy volunteered. 

"Would you shut up and concentrate on the road?" Max snapped. "I swear, since when does the hired help think it's okay to inject their opinions into everything?" 

"Uh, Max, you're hired help," Zeke reminded him. "Sarah put you on the payroll, remember?" 

"Oh yeah. So she did. Well, carry on then." 

They continued on for a few minutes in silence when suddenly a loud snapping sound filled the air and the rickshaw came to a bumpy halt. "Crap!" Timmy shouted. "One of the wheels snapped off!" 

"Well, don't just stand there. Fix it, man," Max admonished him. 

"Okay, but I'm going to need you to get out for a minute." 

"Damn it," Max muttered as he climbed out. "I hope you realize you're not getting a tip now." 

Zeke stepped out behind him and stretched his legs. He looked around and noticed everything seemed to be run-down in this part of the city. There was no vegetation to speak of save for a few patches of dead grass scattered about here and there and a lone tree stump off by the side of the road. The buildings lacked the vibrant colors and intricate architecture that he had come to expect and all seemed to be box-like and painted in drab shades of gray and brown. Many of them had large chunks missing from them, revealing the skeletal frames underneath. Garbage littered the street and there was a vaguely putrid smell hanging in the air. Zeke also thought he saw some large bloodstains on the ground nearby. 

He also couldn't help but notice a pack of mean-looking boars standing nearby all dressed in black Hawaiian shirts, drinking from liquor bottles, smoking cigarettes, and staring menacingly in their direction. One of them smashed its bottle against a wall and gestured at Zeke while snorting loudly to its companions.