| HOG TOWN TWO By Paul Corman |
| Dirk Davies didn't wanted to kill anyone, but he knew he didn't have a choice. The alarm went off at 3 AM. He showered, had breakfast and was waiting for the pre-ordered taxi to arrive at four. It was hot already-the hottest August in California in a decade. As he looked out the window of his condo, he saw a faint light above the San Gabriel Mountains. It was either the sun or another raging brush fire about to sweep down on the outlying communities of LA. Pervs and firebugs everywhere you looked these days. While he waited Dirk sat at his drawing board and began some rough sketches. What would the man he was about to kill look like? Caucasian. Not too tall. A bit overweight. An average looking taxi driver, with a picture of three small children taped to the dash of the car. His breath might smell of garlic and there would probably be a paper coffee cup in a holder and a crumpled donut bag on the floor under the seat. Dirk gave the driver a name. Larry seemed fine. The name of the fashion model his ex-girlfriend had gone to Paris with the day she'd walked out on him. Although Larry the taxi driver looked nothing like the sissy-boy girlfriend stealer. Larry the taxi driver needed a haircut. His dark curly hair grew down the back of his neck, as Dirk would see it from the back seat. It curled under the edge of his worn and stained T-shirt and met seamlessly with the thick pelt that covered his back. Dirk drew a quick sketch of him in a bathing suit at the beach; his body hair slicked down with suntan oil. A white deodorant ring under each armpit. Two young girls in bikinis notice him leering at them. Dirk gave Larry an imagination balloon that showed him in a tuxedo chatting to one of the girls at a party. The girls on the beach had a joined dialogue box filled with derisive laughter. At exactly four the buzzer went, and Dirk pushed the intercom button. "Taxi," the driver said in a deep Easter European voice. That surprised Dirk. But why should it. "Gonna have to put your bag in the front seat," Larry told him when he got to the curb. "Trunk's broke. Snapped the key off in the lock." Dirk noticed a perfectly good trunk key hanging from the key ring in the ignition. Good excuse he thought. But a real professional would have taken care of that detail. It was then Dirk realized he was dealing with a second string character. Killing Larry would not be the end-only the beginning. He smiled with anticipation. Let the battle begin. Dirk expected the driver to take the 405 south to LAX. He had to do something before they got on the highway. It was still dark. Few cars on the road. No witnesses. "I have to use a bank machine, he said to Larry. "Pull in this plaza." As he opened the back door Dirk heard a noise from the trunk. The driver started coughing to cover it up. "I think I'm getting a cold," Larry said. Nice try, Dirk thought. How stupid do you think I am? Dirk watched the reflection of the cab, in the plate glass window of the bank, as he walked up to the door. He saw Larry get out of the car. Dirk doubted that he'd follow him into the bank foyer. Too confined. Too many chances that something would go wrong. Too many homeless people sleeping on the floor. Dirk lost sight of Larry while he pretended to use the ATM. Good enough he thought. I'm ready. But for a moment the thought occurred to him that this could be his last battle. He'd killed enough men to know that none of them ever believed they'd loose. Maybe Larry was smarter than he looked. Dirk lifted the long dirty overcoat off of one of the sleeping men. He picked up his empty wine bottle and left two twenties sticking out of his tattered shirt pocket. Dirk pushed open the bank door and looked around. An old fashioned ambush straight out of a B movie. Well, he thought, nothing's new in this business. Dirk felt Larry coming at him before he saw him. It was one of his gifts. Like knowing the real Taxi driver was tied up in the trunk. That he was scared and had long since run out of bodily functions to empty into his pants. Dirk turned. He saw Larry jump off the roof of the bank. Larry had changed into his real self. The gigantic razor sharp claws at the end of his long scaly toes were aimed right at Dirk's head. The Reptilian's eyes were shinning bright red and his long reptilian tongue darted out between a pair of deadly fangs. He let out a blood-curdling SCREAM as he fell. Dirk intuitively knew every move his opponent would make. Understood in an instant where the Reptilian had studied martial arts. Who his major influences were and how he would respond to each of Dirk's moves. Dirk decided to innovate. As the claws fell towards his head he stood with his mouth open as if petrified with fear. His feet were turning to be in position. At the last second he stepped aside and The Rep CRASH into the empty sidewalk. The lizard leapt to his feet. In his true form the Reptilian's eyes were small and squinty. Far sighted. A genetic trait the finest minds on his home planet had been unable to eliminate. It took him a few seconds to locate Dirk. They circled each other. "You will die Human. There is no use resisting." "Not after my friend behind you shoots you," Dirk said. "HUHHH," the Rep said as he turned to see who was behind him. "Where do they get these guys from," Dirk thought as he backed away quickly toward the road. "Over here fish breath," Dirk taunted the Rep. He flapped the tattered overcoat to the side like a Bullfighter's cape. The Rep charged at the fluttering coat and as he turned for another pass Dirk smashed the wine bottle on the sidewalk in front of him. The Rep stepped on the sharp glass a large piece slicing into the soft pad of one foot. YOWWW, he screamed and hopped around on one foot trying to pull the shard from the other. He teetered on the edge of the curb and Dirk threw the overcoat over his head. As he stumbled about on one foot, blind and YELPING with pain, the rep fell backward onto the warm pavement. As the Rep lay on the road, struggling to get the overcoat off his head, a flat bed truck carrying an Abrams tank, bound for the war in Iraq, ran over him. The following convoy squashed the Rep into a featureless green slime As Dirk let the shaken taxi driver out of the trunk, an early morning street washing machine flushed what was left of the Rep into the sewer. The scaly assassin had ripped the radio out of the car, so the driver wondered off to find a pay phone. Dirk hailed a passing cab and told the Jamaican driver to take him to LAX. The driver lit a spiff and passed it back to Dirk. "So far so good," Dirk thought, his dialogue balloon floating over the smoke filled taxi. |
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