Crab Rangoon (3 and last)
Sep. 10th, 2011 11:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolAgony. The moments of my consciousness stretched out into days, months, ages of pure pain and misery. I lay in a dank hole and writhed on the stone floor, incapable of trusting the input of my eyes and ears, terrified at every noise real and imagined.
I wanted drink. At first, I remembered, I had called out for it. I had requested, demanded and begged for rum, for vodka; then gin or whisky; and then I abased myself further. At my nadir I remember pleading in a cracked voice to be brought a non-alcoholic beer – yes, so low I fell. And then the madness took me.
I sweated and moaned, striking out all around me, clawing the stone floor and kicking over the food and water they delivered. I saw crazy things, impossible things. Eventually I saw the stones at the back of my cell ripple like the surface of the ocean. I laughed and pointed at them, my face a mask of perspiration.
The stones undulated again. Or, rather, one stone towards the bottom rippled. No, it pushed outwards, grinding in its joint an inch at a time until it could be pushed aside. A tiny monkey face peeked through.
I laughed again. "Sorry, Churchkey," I said, "there's no booze here. No work for you. Go find a beer, monkey."
Chattering, Churchkey scampered up on my chest. He had a small bottle around his neck. In my state, any bottle was an object of great interest, but my fingers lacked the skill to unscrew the top. Churchkey did it for me and poured the bottle's contents in my mouth. It smelled heavenly, of cherry juice and coconut and rum, and something else.
"Blue Hawaiian," I croaked, my tongue stained cobalt. "Blue, blue blue, blue like the waves." Somehow I found the presence to summon up the ancient techniques, and I was water, a blue wave, coursing down the tunnel in the stonework, splashing and lapping at the sides with chattering Churchkey wetting his feet in me. I poured out a hole and reformed into myself, lying panting on the ground in a storeroom with Churchkey on my shoulder, and Chuck Badd and Ululani staring, amazed.
"Rum," I croaked. "More rum."
When I was properly under the divine influence once again, we talked. "Thank you for saving me," I said.
"Ain't no thang, little brother," said Chuck Badd, ever cool, even when squatting in storerooms. "Didn't think it would do good for me to try to fight you loose when they caught you. Figured I'd play it slow, see how it came out on the long game."
I nodded. "What's she doing here?" I asked, pointing at Ululani. She looked embarrassed, but shuffled a tiny step closer to Chuck Badd. Chuck Badd grinned.
"Shoot, baby," he said, putting an enormous arm around the hula dancer. "With the ladies it's only a matter of time for Chuck Badd."
The parrot opened its beak but Ululani shushed it. "We must be remain quiet," she urged. "Cargo Phil's guards are very alert. We could be detected at any moment."
"I have endangered the both of you," I said, standing up. "I must go about my mission now on my own. Cargo Phil will never know that you helped me."
"Sit your bony little ass down," purred Chuck Badd. "We know all about your little lady. Why didn't you tell Chuck Badd it was all about a lady for you? I dug your style before, little brother, but now I think it's dynamite!"
Ululani nodded. "Besides, you'll need our help to save Hibiscus Sue," she said. "Cargo Phil has arranged to marry her in a traditional ceremony tonight!"
"Marry? What?!" I demanded.
"Oh, yes," said Ululani. "Cargo Phil is most old-fashioned." She blushed.
"Then we must get started," I said anxiously. "We must find a way to stop this wedding before nightfall!"
Chuck Badd and Ululani exchanged glances. "Little Brother," Chuck Badd said quietly, "it's already nighttime."
"Yes," added Ululani, "it was only because of the wedding preparations that security relaxed enough for us to… to…" Her voice trailed off as she saw the expression on my face.
Seen from the outside, the Tiki Fortress of Cargo Phil seemed peaceful at sunset. Guards walked the parapets and balconies, exchanging a friendly word here and there. The torches had been lit, and they flickered gently in the evening breezes. Wind chimes tinkled musically, and the surf lapped at the outriggers tied up at dock.
This placid scene was disrupted by a guard flying, screaming, off one of the middle balconies. He landed with a muffled thud in the sand and lay still. The guards on that tier looked at each other, then ran into the building. More screams and shouts resulted. There was the tinkle of broken glass, the smashing of several expensive objects. A collection of oval ceremonial shields flew out a window. Somebody fired a gun; the bullet caromed off something metallic and wounded a toucan in a cage outside. Its screams joined the general ruckus.
The sounds of melee seemed to travel slowly up the building. A floor at a time, determined guards ran into the building from the terraces and platforms, then came flying and rolling out again, usually in somewhat poorer condition than when they started. The gunfire became sustained, the shouts more frantic. The air was rent with the noises of shattering glassware, panicked housepets, and the unmistakable noise made when a person is thrown bodily onto a grand piano from a great height. The cacophony reached the highest level of the stone faux-lanai. I ran out onto the balcony.
"WHERE IS SHE??" I screamed.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Chuck Badd said wearily. "They already left for the beach."
"WHAT???" I shouted, rushing back inside the building.
Now the uproar travelled slowly down the building. Fresh cadres of guards and Tiki trainees streamed into the building. Regular eruptions of broken, battered men flew out, generally through windows, occasionally through doors, and on more than one occasion through solid walls. The sounds of shredding aluminum, bending steel and the uprooting of trees echoed across the lagoon. It was just possible to hear somebody fire a gun until empty, click in a panic through the empty chambers, throw the weapon and then swallow it. The travelling melee reached the ground level, and then the gates exploded outwards.
"Where?" I asked simply.
"There," replied Chuck Badd. Ululani pointed out across the open lagoon.
I ran to the end of the dock. A lamplit outrigger was more than halfway across the water, making for a stretch of beach on the arms of the atoll. Chuck Badd joined me.
"Man," he said sadly, "she gone."
I looked around in a panic. At the foot of the dock there was a seaside kiosk-bar, of the sort that serves drinks to tourists relaxing on beach chairs. It was closed up. I ripped a hole in the wicker siding and dove through.
"Vodka, vodka, vodka," I muttered.
"I don’t think you heard me right, man," said Chuck Badd. "Techniques ain't gonna change the fact that they're over there, and we're over here."
"Grenadine… where?" I cursed. Bottles broke.
Ululani put an arm around Chuck Badd's waist. "He's in love," she said sadly. "It makes a fool out of anybody."
"Grapefruit juice!" I proclaimed triumphantly. Fortunately not all of the ice had melted.
"Man," called Chuck Badd, "you need to chill out. So she'll be married. Ain't no thang. Chuck Badd done a married chick." His sidelong glance at Ululani marred his otherwise perfect cool.
I emerged from the kiosk, glowing a brilliant green. "But I am chilled," I said. "The Firefly has cooled me off nicely. And now, if you will excuse me, I have a wedding to attend." I sprinted down the sand, running full-tilt at the calm water of the lagoon, and leaped outwards at the water's edge. My feet skipped off the surface and my momentum carried me forwards, a glowing apparition skipping like a stone across the water.
"Damn," said Chuck Badd, watching me shrink to a bobbing pinprick of green light. Ululani joined him.
"Tell me about this 'married chick', will you?" she asked archly. Chuck Badd grinned sheepishly.
"Shoot, lady," he purred. "You know the name, you know the whole story. Chuck Badd!"
"That's right," added the parrot smugly, bobbing his head along with the violins.
**
On the wings of boat drinks and Tiki technique I flew, my arms windmilling, hundreds of feet separating each light footfall on the water's surface, the ripples linked together with arcing spans of emerald green. The salt air whipped through my hair. Oh, hold out, Hibiscus Sue, I pleaded. Hold out. Do not say yes. I am coming.
I could see the outrigger drawn up on the shore. Beyond it, beyond the high point of the tree-lined atoll, great beach-fires burned. The wedding party was thrown into sharp relief as they climbed the inner slope of the crest. They were clearly hurrying. One of them was being dragged along, but was balking. She was thrown over a shoulder of a man larger than the rest. So Great White Shark has been invited, I thought. No great surprise.
My green glow was fading as I reached the sharp coral beach of the atoll; I actually splashed through the water as I ran the last few feet. I did not stop running, but continued up the fern-strewn slope of the crest. At the top I looked down into the wedding camp.
There was a great pavilion down on the sand. It appeared to have been pitched over the wreckage of an enormous aeroplane – a B-17 Sky Fortress, its enormous propellers and tail both jutting upwards, its back broken in some bygone wartime wreck. Outside the tent were tall fires about which fire-spinners danced. A great banquet had been prepared, and trestle tables were loaded with pork skewers, and Crab Rangoon, and pupu platters. Everywhere attendants ran about in a frenzy, their ordinary wedding preparations disrupted. Several persons pointed up at me.
I ran down towards the encampment. The fire spinners ran up into the darkness to meet me, cubes of flaming matter spinning in chains held in both hands. Each spinner who left the light of the bonfires turned into twin circles of flame sprinting out into the night.
The spinners met me, and their flaming circles became odd spirals, semicircles, jagged irregular shapes. Two chains intersected, tangling with each other, and then dropped hissing into the sand amidst a flurry of meaty-sounding blows and anguished grunts. One chain seemed to wrap itself around its owner, and as his hair burst into flame, he ran screaming into the palm tree stands with his arms pinned to his sides. The flaming pinwheels in the darkness all faded to nothing, like the end of a fireworks show, and then I was in the midst of the banquet.
I tumbled over a trestle table, spilling platters of food on the sand, seized a great carving knife out of a roast pig, and used it to behead an idol of a squatting God that had somehow been carved from an enormous pineapple. "Where is she?" I shouted. "Hibiscus Sue, where are you?"
There was a roar, and one of the bonfires turned into a pillar of sparks as somebody bulled through its midst. It was Great White Shark, who was using technique. He probably had drunk some kind of volcano bowl. Tacky, I thought.
"Jumping Spider!" he growled. "We have yet to cross fists, but I have heard a great deal about your fighting prowess. Let us provide this wedding with an amusement, before the inevitable nuptials!" He posed, his formidable musculature straining the ability of his skin to contain it all.
"There will be no wedding," I said. "And also no amusement. But, if you like, I will teach you a lesson about the techniques. Power does not come from muscles, nor from alcohol, but from embracing the Tiki nature!"
"Spare me the lecture, and on with the dissection!" roared Great White Shark. He sprang at me with deceptive speed for one so large.
I dodged under a table. Great White Shark smashed it. I crawled under some benches. Great White Shark smashed them too. I rolled behind the gift table and threw an elegantly-wrapped box at the psychotic koa. He caught it, balled a fist, and smashed it to bits as well.
"Was that necessary?" I asked.
"No," replied Great White Shark.
I skipped atop the dessert table and ran its length, throwing pies and flaming bananas. "Stop running and start fighting!" shouted Great White Shark, who deflected the worst of these missiles but was incapable of keeping some amount of coconut cream from smearing his face. "But this is how I fight," I replied lightly, cartwheeling off the table and throwing a huge bowl of fruit. Great White Shark lashed out with his hands a blur of speed, and every piece of fruit fell, cut neatly in half.
I caught a half of a coconut. That gave me an idea. I snatched a cherry brandy off the remains of the dessert table, then saluted jauntily and ran towards the largest fire, where all the guests of honor were still sitting in their chairs, uncertain where to go or what to do.
I ran up to two elderly retired military types, wearing spotless medal-bedecked white uniforms and pith helmets. One of them held a neat whiskey in his hand. "I beg your pardon," I said, snatching the glass from him; he was so surprised his monocle fell from his eye. Then Great White Shark barreled through them heedlessly, tumbling the two walrus-mustached colonels to the ground. "I say!" exclaimed one of them irritably.
I poured the whiskey into my coconut half as I ran, dumping the glass. Then I poured in a considerable amount of cherry brandy. I chucked the remains of the bottle over my shoulder without looking back or slowing down. I heard Great White Shark grunt, and for some reason found that very satisfying.
Next stop was the punchbowl. As I had hoped, one of them contained lemonade. I grabbed the dipper as I ran past, trying to keep it full of liquid while running, a task that would have been difficult had I not practiced it every day at Fat Sam's Tiki Dojo. I poured the lemonade into my coconut. Behind me I heard the punchbowl crash to the ground; Great White Shark seemed to have a philosophical objection to avoiding obstacles instead of running through them.
Towards the far side of the guest clearing was a martini bar. I sprinted towards it. The bartender's floral shirt was a vivid lilac. "Cocktail, sir?" he asked nervously.
"Just a dash of vermouth," I asked politely, holding out my coconut. He obligingly sprinkled a few drops in as I ran by. I seized up an olive jar and threw it over my shoulder; I heard it smash and Great White Shark curse, hopefully as he got brine in his eyes. I nicked a straw off the end of the table.
My drink was nearing completion. The last stop was an ice sculpture. True to form, it was carved in the form of a gargantuan Cargo Phil standing astride Tikitown, stomping on the tall buildings. There was no time for subtlely; I performed a Leaping Jaguar kick and smashed the thing to bits. I seized up a handful of crushed ice and added it to my coconut, shaking vigorously.
And then we were at the last fire. I put the bonfire between me and Great White Shark, knowing it wouldn't hold him long, waiting for my drink to come together. He leered, breathing heavily, as we circled the flames. Then, all at once, I heard the strains of ukulele music, and I heard voices singing faintly:
This is the moment
Of sweet Aloha
I will love you longer than forever
Promise me that you will leave me never
The Wedding Song. That was the Wedding Song. My eyes narrowed.
"This was just a distraction," I said. "A distraction meant to keep me busy while the ceremony went on."
"To be fair," Great White Shark said, "I also really want to kill you."
"Touching," I said. I took off towards the pavilion at a sprint. I heard Great White Shark's heavy footfalls just behind me.
I burst through the thin fabric of the tent as the Wedding Song reached its climax:
Here and now dear,
All my love,
I vow dear
Promise me that you will leave me never
I will love you longer than forever
U-a, si-la
Pa-a ia me o-e
Ko a-lo-ha ma-ka-mea e i-po
Ka-'u ia e le-i a-e ne-i la
Cargo Phil and Hibiscus Sue stood at the front, in front of the open door of the broken aeroplane – a sacred altar, surely, to a beachcomber and cargo-cultist. Hibiscus Sue writhed and struggled, shaking her head, no no, as Cargo Phil held her cruelly by the wrists.
"Stop the wedding!" I demanded, sprinting down the aisle of shocked guests.
"Jumping Spider!" cried Hibiscus Sue, overjoyed.
Cargo Phil let go of Hibiscus Sue. He reached inside the wrecked aeroplane for something as Hibiscus Sue ran into my open arms.
"Oh, Jumping Spider," she said tearfully. "I knew you'd come."
"I'm a fool, Hibiscus Sue," I said. "It's me you should be marrying. I should have asked you a long time ago, but I was afraid."
She smiled through her tears. "I would have said yes," she said. "I always would have said yes."
I put the straw in my teeth and pulled it in two, then dropped the pieces into my coconut. "I'll drink to that," I said. "You too." We sipped at the drink. Hibiscus Sue nodded approvingly.
Cargo Phil came out of the plane with something strapped to his back. It was a flamethrower; a thin pilot flame belched out of the nozzle. Cargo Phil laughed insanely. I looked all around us; the guests were crawling out under the sides of the pavilion, and Great White Shark had us boxed in from the rear. There was no place to retreat to.
"Jumping Spider!" proclaimed Cargo Phil. "You have plagued me for the last time, puny Tiki Master. Oh, yes; you may have won the girl, but it's too late! You'll both roast now, and then my army will island-hop all the way to Tikitown and world domination!"
"Then do it," I said. "I am not afraid." I dropped the coconut, enfolded Hibiscus Sue in my arms, and bent to kiss her, long and enraptured, as I had dreamed of doing for many nights and days.
"A touching scene," Cargo Phil said sardonically. "But now, curtains." He pulled the trigger on the flamethrower, and a gout of fire vomited down the wedding aisle.
The flames engulfed Hibiscus Sue and I, but I held the kiss. We felt warm, but not hot, and certainly not burningly so, although that is more than could be said for the unlucky Great White Shark, who was standing behind us and was also caught in the flamethrower's track. His technique was insufficient to fend off the fires of technology, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. But Hibiscus Sue and I were safe, thanks to the Ceasefire I had hastily assembled.
I broke off the kiss and took Hibiscus Sue's hand. "Come," I urged her. We ran right at Cargo Phil. Frowning, unsure what was happening, he continued to pour forth liquid flame upon Hibiscus Sue and I as we dashed past him into the plane's open compartment. We ran out to the far side, and I kicked a hole in the fuselage over the furthermost wing while Cargo Phil bathed the aeroplane's interior in the flamethrower's inferno.
"Die, Jumping Spider!" he raged insanely. "Why won't you die?!"
I shoved Hibiscus Sue through the hole, then paused at the threshold. "Because it is not my turn to die, Cargo Phil," I said. "It's yours." We dropped to the sand and ran along the sandy verge into the darkness.
The flamethrower's fuel failed, and the torrent of flame slowed to a trickle. But there were still fires burning; an orange glow emerged from the back recesses of the B-17 bomber's bay. Something in the bomb aisle had caught fire. Cargo Phil's eyes widened.
Back on the dock at the Tiki Fortress, Chuck Badd and Ululani stood hand in hand. They watched the huge column of multicolored flame blossom over the arm of the atoll. Strong winds threatened to knock Ululani over, although they did not muss so much as a particle of her boyfriend's immaculate afro, and his coolness held them both erect. Chuck Badd's parrot fidgeted on his shoulder, while Churchkey meeped sadly from Ululani's back.
Chuck Badd chuckled softly. "Don't worry, little monkey brother," he said. "It take more than guns, bombs, fists and fire to take down Jumping Spider."
"Yes," said Ululani, "and true love will also win through against great adversity."
"True that, lovely lady," said Chuck Badd. "True."
"Do you think we will see them again, Chuck Badd?" asked Ululani. She had found the transition to first-name basis easy, but was having difficulties shedding the last name.
Chuck Badd grinned. "Hell yes, lady," he said, pronouncing 'lady' as two words. "Chuck Badd don't do no one-shots. You know there's got to be a sequel!" The scratch guitar and violins rose to a deafening crescendo, and the macaw fluffed its feathers to its fullest volume.
"Cos when the night is blackest," it sang in a rich baritone, "and the whole damn world's gone mad / then when your scene is at its worst – you know it's BADD!" The parrot bobbed its head to the rhythm of thefading music as the mushroom cloud created a second twilight.
I wanted drink. At first, I remembered, I had called out for it. I had requested, demanded and begged for rum, for vodka; then gin or whisky; and then I abased myself further. At my nadir I remember pleading in a cracked voice to be brought a non-alcoholic beer – yes, so low I fell. And then the madness took me.
I sweated and moaned, striking out all around me, clawing the stone floor and kicking over the food and water they delivered. I saw crazy things, impossible things. Eventually I saw the stones at the back of my cell ripple like the surface of the ocean. I laughed and pointed at them, my face a mask of perspiration.
The stones undulated again. Or, rather, one stone towards the bottom rippled. No, it pushed outwards, grinding in its joint an inch at a time until it could be pushed aside. A tiny monkey face peeked through.
I laughed again. "Sorry, Churchkey," I said, "there's no booze here. No work for you. Go find a beer, monkey."
Chattering, Churchkey scampered up on my chest. He had a small bottle around his neck. In my state, any bottle was an object of great interest, but my fingers lacked the skill to unscrew the top. Churchkey did it for me and poured the bottle's contents in my mouth. It smelled heavenly, of cherry juice and coconut and rum, and something else.
"Blue Hawaiian," I croaked, my tongue stained cobalt. "Blue, blue blue, blue like the waves." Somehow I found the presence to summon up the ancient techniques, and I was water, a blue wave, coursing down the tunnel in the stonework, splashing and lapping at the sides with chattering Churchkey wetting his feet in me. I poured out a hole and reformed into myself, lying panting on the ground in a storeroom with Churchkey on my shoulder, and Chuck Badd and Ululani staring, amazed.
"Rum," I croaked. "More rum."
When I was properly under the divine influence once again, we talked. "Thank you for saving me," I said.
"Ain't no thang, little brother," said Chuck Badd, ever cool, even when squatting in storerooms. "Didn't think it would do good for me to try to fight you loose when they caught you. Figured I'd play it slow, see how it came out on the long game."
I nodded. "What's she doing here?" I asked, pointing at Ululani. She looked embarrassed, but shuffled a tiny step closer to Chuck Badd. Chuck Badd grinned.
"Shoot, baby," he said, putting an enormous arm around the hula dancer. "With the ladies it's only a matter of time for Chuck Badd."
The parrot opened its beak but Ululani shushed it. "We must be remain quiet," she urged. "Cargo Phil's guards are very alert. We could be detected at any moment."
"I have endangered the both of you," I said, standing up. "I must go about my mission now on my own. Cargo Phil will never know that you helped me."
"Sit your bony little ass down," purred Chuck Badd. "We know all about your little lady. Why didn't you tell Chuck Badd it was all about a lady for you? I dug your style before, little brother, but now I think it's dynamite!"
Ululani nodded. "Besides, you'll need our help to save Hibiscus Sue," she said. "Cargo Phil has arranged to marry her in a traditional ceremony tonight!"
"Marry? What?!" I demanded.
"Oh, yes," said Ululani. "Cargo Phil is most old-fashioned." She blushed.
"Then we must get started," I said anxiously. "We must find a way to stop this wedding before nightfall!"
Chuck Badd and Ululani exchanged glances. "Little Brother," Chuck Badd said quietly, "it's already nighttime."
"Yes," added Ululani, "it was only because of the wedding preparations that security relaxed enough for us to… to…" Her voice trailed off as she saw the expression on my face.
Seen from the outside, the Tiki Fortress of Cargo Phil seemed peaceful at sunset. Guards walked the parapets and balconies, exchanging a friendly word here and there. The torches had been lit, and they flickered gently in the evening breezes. Wind chimes tinkled musically, and the surf lapped at the outriggers tied up at dock.
This placid scene was disrupted by a guard flying, screaming, off one of the middle balconies. He landed with a muffled thud in the sand and lay still. The guards on that tier looked at each other, then ran into the building. More screams and shouts resulted. There was the tinkle of broken glass, the smashing of several expensive objects. A collection of oval ceremonial shields flew out a window. Somebody fired a gun; the bullet caromed off something metallic and wounded a toucan in a cage outside. Its screams joined the general ruckus.
The sounds of melee seemed to travel slowly up the building. A floor at a time, determined guards ran into the building from the terraces and platforms, then came flying and rolling out again, usually in somewhat poorer condition than when they started. The gunfire became sustained, the shouts more frantic. The air was rent with the noises of shattering glassware, panicked housepets, and the unmistakable noise made when a person is thrown bodily onto a grand piano from a great height. The cacophony reached the highest level of the stone faux-lanai. I ran out onto the balcony.
"WHERE IS SHE??" I screamed.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Chuck Badd said wearily. "They already left for the beach."
"WHAT???" I shouted, rushing back inside the building.
Now the uproar travelled slowly down the building. Fresh cadres of guards and Tiki trainees streamed into the building. Regular eruptions of broken, battered men flew out, generally through windows, occasionally through doors, and on more than one occasion through solid walls. The sounds of shredding aluminum, bending steel and the uprooting of trees echoed across the lagoon. It was just possible to hear somebody fire a gun until empty, click in a panic through the empty chambers, throw the weapon and then swallow it. The travelling melee reached the ground level, and then the gates exploded outwards.
"Where?" I asked simply.
"There," replied Chuck Badd. Ululani pointed out across the open lagoon.
I ran to the end of the dock. A lamplit outrigger was more than halfway across the water, making for a stretch of beach on the arms of the atoll. Chuck Badd joined me.
"Man," he said sadly, "she gone."
I looked around in a panic. At the foot of the dock there was a seaside kiosk-bar, of the sort that serves drinks to tourists relaxing on beach chairs. It was closed up. I ripped a hole in the wicker siding and dove through.
"Vodka, vodka, vodka," I muttered.
"I don’t think you heard me right, man," said Chuck Badd. "Techniques ain't gonna change the fact that they're over there, and we're over here."
"Grenadine… where?" I cursed. Bottles broke.
Ululani put an arm around Chuck Badd's waist. "He's in love," she said sadly. "It makes a fool out of anybody."
"Grapefruit juice!" I proclaimed triumphantly. Fortunately not all of the ice had melted.
"Man," called Chuck Badd, "you need to chill out. So she'll be married. Ain't no thang. Chuck Badd done a married chick." His sidelong glance at Ululani marred his otherwise perfect cool.
I emerged from the kiosk, glowing a brilliant green. "But I am chilled," I said. "The Firefly has cooled me off nicely. And now, if you will excuse me, I have a wedding to attend." I sprinted down the sand, running full-tilt at the calm water of the lagoon, and leaped outwards at the water's edge. My feet skipped off the surface and my momentum carried me forwards, a glowing apparition skipping like a stone across the water.
"Damn," said Chuck Badd, watching me shrink to a bobbing pinprick of green light. Ululani joined him.
"Tell me about this 'married chick', will you?" she asked archly. Chuck Badd grinned sheepishly.
"Shoot, lady," he purred. "You know the name, you know the whole story. Chuck Badd!"
"That's right," added the parrot smugly, bobbing his head along with the violins.
**
On the wings of boat drinks and Tiki technique I flew, my arms windmilling, hundreds of feet separating each light footfall on the water's surface, the ripples linked together with arcing spans of emerald green. The salt air whipped through my hair. Oh, hold out, Hibiscus Sue, I pleaded. Hold out. Do not say yes. I am coming.
I could see the outrigger drawn up on the shore. Beyond it, beyond the high point of the tree-lined atoll, great beach-fires burned. The wedding party was thrown into sharp relief as they climbed the inner slope of the crest. They were clearly hurrying. One of them was being dragged along, but was balking. She was thrown over a shoulder of a man larger than the rest. So Great White Shark has been invited, I thought. No great surprise.
My green glow was fading as I reached the sharp coral beach of the atoll; I actually splashed through the water as I ran the last few feet. I did not stop running, but continued up the fern-strewn slope of the crest. At the top I looked down into the wedding camp.
There was a great pavilion down on the sand. It appeared to have been pitched over the wreckage of an enormous aeroplane – a B-17 Sky Fortress, its enormous propellers and tail both jutting upwards, its back broken in some bygone wartime wreck. Outside the tent were tall fires about which fire-spinners danced. A great banquet had been prepared, and trestle tables were loaded with pork skewers, and Crab Rangoon, and pupu platters. Everywhere attendants ran about in a frenzy, their ordinary wedding preparations disrupted. Several persons pointed up at me.
I ran down towards the encampment. The fire spinners ran up into the darkness to meet me, cubes of flaming matter spinning in chains held in both hands. Each spinner who left the light of the bonfires turned into twin circles of flame sprinting out into the night.
The spinners met me, and their flaming circles became odd spirals, semicircles, jagged irregular shapes. Two chains intersected, tangling with each other, and then dropped hissing into the sand amidst a flurry of meaty-sounding blows and anguished grunts. One chain seemed to wrap itself around its owner, and as his hair burst into flame, he ran screaming into the palm tree stands with his arms pinned to his sides. The flaming pinwheels in the darkness all faded to nothing, like the end of a fireworks show, and then I was in the midst of the banquet.
I tumbled over a trestle table, spilling platters of food on the sand, seized a great carving knife out of a roast pig, and used it to behead an idol of a squatting God that had somehow been carved from an enormous pineapple. "Where is she?" I shouted. "Hibiscus Sue, where are you?"
There was a roar, and one of the bonfires turned into a pillar of sparks as somebody bulled through its midst. It was Great White Shark, who was using technique. He probably had drunk some kind of volcano bowl. Tacky, I thought.
"Jumping Spider!" he growled. "We have yet to cross fists, but I have heard a great deal about your fighting prowess. Let us provide this wedding with an amusement, before the inevitable nuptials!" He posed, his formidable musculature straining the ability of his skin to contain it all.
"There will be no wedding," I said. "And also no amusement. But, if you like, I will teach you a lesson about the techniques. Power does not come from muscles, nor from alcohol, but from embracing the Tiki nature!"
"Spare me the lecture, and on with the dissection!" roared Great White Shark. He sprang at me with deceptive speed for one so large.
I dodged under a table. Great White Shark smashed it. I crawled under some benches. Great White Shark smashed them too. I rolled behind the gift table and threw an elegantly-wrapped box at the psychotic koa. He caught it, balled a fist, and smashed it to bits as well.
"Was that necessary?" I asked.
"No," replied Great White Shark.
I skipped atop the dessert table and ran its length, throwing pies and flaming bananas. "Stop running and start fighting!" shouted Great White Shark, who deflected the worst of these missiles but was incapable of keeping some amount of coconut cream from smearing his face. "But this is how I fight," I replied lightly, cartwheeling off the table and throwing a huge bowl of fruit. Great White Shark lashed out with his hands a blur of speed, and every piece of fruit fell, cut neatly in half.
I caught a half of a coconut. That gave me an idea. I snatched a cherry brandy off the remains of the dessert table, then saluted jauntily and ran towards the largest fire, where all the guests of honor were still sitting in their chairs, uncertain where to go or what to do.
I ran up to two elderly retired military types, wearing spotless medal-bedecked white uniforms and pith helmets. One of them held a neat whiskey in his hand. "I beg your pardon," I said, snatching the glass from him; he was so surprised his monocle fell from his eye. Then Great White Shark barreled through them heedlessly, tumbling the two walrus-mustached colonels to the ground. "I say!" exclaimed one of them irritably.
I poured the whiskey into my coconut half as I ran, dumping the glass. Then I poured in a considerable amount of cherry brandy. I chucked the remains of the bottle over my shoulder without looking back or slowing down. I heard Great White Shark grunt, and for some reason found that very satisfying.
Next stop was the punchbowl. As I had hoped, one of them contained lemonade. I grabbed the dipper as I ran past, trying to keep it full of liquid while running, a task that would have been difficult had I not practiced it every day at Fat Sam's Tiki Dojo. I poured the lemonade into my coconut. Behind me I heard the punchbowl crash to the ground; Great White Shark seemed to have a philosophical objection to avoiding obstacles instead of running through them.
Towards the far side of the guest clearing was a martini bar. I sprinted towards it. The bartender's floral shirt was a vivid lilac. "Cocktail, sir?" he asked nervously.
"Just a dash of vermouth," I asked politely, holding out my coconut. He obligingly sprinkled a few drops in as I ran by. I seized up an olive jar and threw it over my shoulder; I heard it smash and Great White Shark curse, hopefully as he got brine in his eyes. I nicked a straw off the end of the table.
My drink was nearing completion. The last stop was an ice sculpture. True to form, it was carved in the form of a gargantuan Cargo Phil standing astride Tikitown, stomping on the tall buildings. There was no time for subtlely; I performed a Leaping Jaguar kick and smashed the thing to bits. I seized up a handful of crushed ice and added it to my coconut, shaking vigorously.
And then we were at the last fire. I put the bonfire between me and Great White Shark, knowing it wouldn't hold him long, waiting for my drink to come together. He leered, breathing heavily, as we circled the flames. Then, all at once, I heard the strains of ukulele music, and I heard voices singing faintly:
This is the moment
Of sweet Aloha
I will love you longer than forever
Promise me that you will leave me never
The Wedding Song. That was the Wedding Song. My eyes narrowed.
"This was just a distraction," I said. "A distraction meant to keep me busy while the ceremony went on."
"To be fair," Great White Shark said, "I also really want to kill you."
"Touching," I said. I took off towards the pavilion at a sprint. I heard Great White Shark's heavy footfalls just behind me.
I burst through the thin fabric of the tent as the Wedding Song reached its climax:
Here and now dear,
All my love,
I vow dear
Promise me that you will leave me never
I will love you longer than forever
U-a, si-la
Pa-a ia me o-e
Ko a-lo-ha ma-ka-mea e i-po
Ka-'u ia e le-i a-e ne-i la
Cargo Phil and Hibiscus Sue stood at the front, in front of the open door of the broken aeroplane – a sacred altar, surely, to a beachcomber and cargo-cultist. Hibiscus Sue writhed and struggled, shaking her head, no no, as Cargo Phil held her cruelly by the wrists.
"Stop the wedding!" I demanded, sprinting down the aisle of shocked guests.
"Jumping Spider!" cried Hibiscus Sue, overjoyed.
Cargo Phil let go of Hibiscus Sue. He reached inside the wrecked aeroplane for something as Hibiscus Sue ran into my open arms.
"Oh, Jumping Spider," she said tearfully. "I knew you'd come."
"I'm a fool, Hibiscus Sue," I said. "It's me you should be marrying. I should have asked you a long time ago, but I was afraid."
She smiled through her tears. "I would have said yes," she said. "I always would have said yes."
I put the straw in my teeth and pulled it in two, then dropped the pieces into my coconut. "I'll drink to that," I said. "You too." We sipped at the drink. Hibiscus Sue nodded approvingly.
Cargo Phil came out of the plane with something strapped to his back. It was a flamethrower; a thin pilot flame belched out of the nozzle. Cargo Phil laughed insanely. I looked all around us; the guests were crawling out under the sides of the pavilion, and Great White Shark had us boxed in from the rear. There was no place to retreat to.
"Jumping Spider!" proclaimed Cargo Phil. "You have plagued me for the last time, puny Tiki Master. Oh, yes; you may have won the girl, but it's too late! You'll both roast now, and then my army will island-hop all the way to Tikitown and world domination!"
"Then do it," I said. "I am not afraid." I dropped the coconut, enfolded Hibiscus Sue in my arms, and bent to kiss her, long and enraptured, as I had dreamed of doing for many nights and days.
"A touching scene," Cargo Phil said sardonically. "But now, curtains." He pulled the trigger on the flamethrower, and a gout of fire vomited down the wedding aisle.
The flames engulfed Hibiscus Sue and I, but I held the kiss. We felt warm, but not hot, and certainly not burningly so, although that is more than could be said for the unlucky Great White Shark, who was standing behind us and was also caught in the flamethrower's track. His technique was insufficient to fend off the fires of technology, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. But Hibiscus Sue and I were safe, thanks to the Ceasefire I had hastily assembled.
I broke off the kiss and took Hibiscus Sue's hand. "Come," I urged her. We ran right at Cargo Phil. Frowning, unsure what was happening, he continued to pour forth liquid flame upon Hibiscus Sue and I as we dashed past him into the plane's open compartment. We ran out to the far side, and I kicked a hole in the fuselage over the furthermost wing while Cargo Phil bathed the aeroplane's interior in the flamethrower's inferno.
"Die, Jumping Spider!" he raged insanely. "Why won't you die?!"
I shoved Hibiscus Sue through the hole, then paused at the threshold. "Because it is not my turn to die, Cargo Phil," I said. "It's yours." We dropped to the sand and ran along the sandy verge into the darkness.
The flamethrower's fuel failed, and the torrent of flame slowed to a trickle. But there were still fires burning; an orange glow emerged from the back recesses of the B-17 bomber's bay. Something in the bomb aisle had caught fire. Cargo Phil's eyes widened.
Back on the dock at the Tiki Fortress, Chuck Badd and Ululani stood hand in hand. They watched the huge column of multicolored flame blossom over the arm of the atoll. Strong winds threatened to knock Ululani over, although they did not muss so much as a particle of her boyfriend's immaculate afro, and his coolness held them both erect. Chuck Badd's parrot fidgeted on his shoulder, while Churchkey meeped sadly from Ululani's back.
Chuck Badd chuckled softly. "Don't worry, little monkey brother," he said. "It take more than guns, bombs, fists and fire to take down Jumping Spider."
"Yes," said Ululani, "and true love will also win through against great adversity."
"True that, lovely lady," said Chuck Badd. "True."
"Do you think we will see them again, Chuck Badd?" asked Ululani. She had found the transition to first-name basis easy, but was having difficulties shedding the last name.
Chuck Badd grinned. "Hell yes, lady," he said, pronouncing 'lady' as two words. "Chuck Badd don't do no one-shots. You know there's got to be a sequel!" The scratch guitar and violins rose to a deafening crescendo, and the macaw fluffed its feathers to its fullest volume.
"Cos when the night is blackest," it sang in a rich baritone, "and the whole damn world's gone mad / then when your scene is at its worst – you know it's BADD!" The parrot bobbed its head to the rhythm of thefading music as the mushroom cloud created a second twilight.
