Chapter 4
"This is Fred, how may I help you?" Fred had just begun to sip his perfect martini with extra olives when the ring of the phone brought him out of his blissful state. He had been having a dream where all things are perfect, peaceful, loving, and calm; Where Children of all races, colors and creeds danced, played, and sang gaily together beneath the sun shining in the wondrously cloudless sky. The phone ring then was like a wet bean fart blowing half-digested shit across the serene painting of the vision, and needless to say Fred's temperament was not that of a nun.
"Fred, this is Bob McGillicuty from the Rare Fish Society. We have a situation here that requires immediate attention." Fred put his drink down. He recognized the seriousness on Bob's tone and knew instantly fish were in trouble.
"Go on." he said.
"You see Fred, there is a rare fish, the only one of its kind... The Mississippi Spiny Fish..."
"My God, the stuff of legend!" Fred exclaimed.
"Yes, Fred. And this fish is in the collection of one Matheson Avenue, the Lemonade king."
"The man whose empire you almost destroyed as a young child?"
"The same. And keep that little secret to yourself."
"A legendary man!" Fred commented. "Please go on."
"Matheson Avenue is not aware of the fact that this fish is unique for another reason besides just being the only one in existence. Many years ago, a medicine man from an ancient tribe surgically implanted a valuable stone within the fish. A stone rumored to posses magical powers. The famous Gem of Life!"
"My God, the stuff of legend!" Fred exclaimed.
"Yes and there's more. The Adventure Team is going in."
"My God, the stuff of legend!" There was a pause.
"Will you please stop saying that? The Adventure Team means to get the gem and sell it on the open market. The problem is that I fear for the life of the fish. Despite the impeccable reputation of the Adventure Team, I am not confident in their unorthodox techniques. And there's the human danger factor. The barbs of the Mississippi Spiny Fish are supposedly so toxic, no one knows what would happen if somebody got speared. But really... the fish. We have to consider the life of the fish! They didn't make me President of the Rare Fish Society because I want rare fish killed. Next it will be rare birds, then rare mammals, then rare plants, rare insects, and soon we'll be the only ones left to die. Can you imagine the horror?"
"How can I help?" asked Fred.
"Fred, your unique survival skills make you the prime candidate for this mission. Your twenty years in the field, surviving with only a canteen of water and three berries, and fending off the wilderness with a tree branch, making a two-way short wave radio out of some grass and elastic string from your sock, taking on an entire army of enemy forces with only a spork and thus earning the Medal of Metal for two hundred and thirty-five registered kills, who else could I turn to. I'd do it myself, but if Matheson ever saw me, I couldn't be responsible for what might happen." Bob began to sob as he implored his long time friend. "Please Fred, you've got to do it. Think of the fish. What's that poor fish going to do if some slip shod adventurers get hold of it and tear it open to get to the Gem of Life? What I am saying is No more Mississippi Spiny Fish for ever and ever and ever... AND EVER!"
Fred pondered the implications of the situation for some time. He had tried to avoid this kind of work since passing his prime, but this was for the good of humanity. How could he turn down humanity?
"Bob, you are my best friend, and that means more to me than any fish ever could. I respect your work and your love of fish, but remember this. I will make this sacrifice for you and you alone, not for the Mississippi Spiny Fish. I'm going to do it. But I'm doing it for you."
"Thank you, Fred. Thank you. You'll never live to regret this, I promise you that."
"All right, Bob. I'll gather my things and meet you at the Good Good Balloon Saloon at quarter past eight. Don't be late. Good-bye, Bob."
"Thank you." Bob said again, "See you there."
Fred turned to gather his belongings and prepare for the long journey to Nebraska, when he slipped on a puddle of refrigerator water, tumbled down the steps to the basement and landed face first on a dull rusty ax blade effectively splitting his skull open and spilling his surprised brain to either side of his heaving cadaver.
I can tell you Fred's dog Lucky had quite the meal that afternoon.