| On to Chapter 7 |
Chapter 6 � Lost in a World of Fantasy It's a cluster fuck, Sir. Gunnery
Sgt Tom Highway: Heartbreak Ridge Hargrove holstered his Webley as he raced down the famous street, his
motley trio of companions in tow. Pasty tourists stared awestruck in his wake
assuming from the frenzied pursuit that he must be a director, an actor, a
producer or maybe even a Variety columnist. �I love you Keanu,� cried out a sunburned woman. Hargrove shot an
enraged glare in her direction. Shirley broke stride long enough to void a
nostril into the delusional fan�s tangerine gelato. �Oh thank-you!� the
tourist squealed. �Wait till I tell everyone back in Wichita!� Eventually he could run no further
and slumped against a wall. Wrapped in a deep ennui he closed his eyes in a
futile attempt to block out the sight of the bloated, consumerist,
self-aggrandizing Hell called Hollywood. Even his seamlessly-executed extraction
from the carnage and mayhem and disappearance was no comfort. Racking in deep
breaths, he felt like sobbing. Not since he�d lost his treasured
Engles-embossed key fob in the desperate rooftop gun battle in Bonn had he felt
so bereft. It was clear he was out of his element. He could barely function in
the cloying miasma. It was not unlike the time he�d waded neck-deep through
raw sewage for the better part of a night � but that had been for the noblest
of causes. This was nearly intolerable. He needed assistance. He needed a guide. Just then he heard Moxie. �This is got block buster written all over
it!� he exclaimed. Hargrove cautiously half-opened an eye. The aspiring writer
in his Beefeater costume proffered the bedraggled manuscript. An idea began to
form in Hargrove�s mind, cutting through the clouds of despair and decades-old
rhetoric. He opened his eyes and stood to take stock of the situation. Shirley
batted her eyelashes coquettishly and wiped her nose on her arm. Stabble looked
determinedly nonchalant while something writhed beneath his shirt. Clearly this
ragtag crew was not the usual crack commandos and Tolkienesque warriors he was
used to dealing with, but they would simply have to do. As always he would adapt
and overcome. Hargrove cast off his depression and seized the moment. Calling on his
uncanny ability to adapt and blend into any situation, he became the producer
Moxie so desperately wanted him to be. He brushed down his soiled linen jacket.
Assuming the bored yet harried demeanor of a heavy weight Hollywood producer, he
snatched the screenplay from the ecstatic tour guide. �You understand of
course I do not usually accept unsolicited �err� Babe. But we�ve got a
�um� relationship.� Hargrove felt lightheaded. He didn�t think it was
the smog. �So you are a producer!� �I am Hargrove famous producer and agent to the stars. These are my
assistants: Ms. Smith and Mr. Jones,� Hargrove dissembled, ingeniously
protecting their anonymity. Hargrove scanned the title of the script. �Karl Marx Dot Com.� Veins
he never knew he had began to throb. He clenched the offending material in
white-knuckled fists. �Catchy, isn�t it?� prompted Moxie. Hargrove fought back the rage, reminding himself that this toad was
required if he was to solve the case. �Dynamite,� he managed to choke out.
He began flipping through the script. Repeatedly arrested by the libelous
indignities, he battled to stay in character. Marx: So then I thought, What the Hell. Revolution doesn�t appeal, but
these books really move. Agent: It�s the academic market. Disenfranchised but wealthy kids eat
up that solidarity stuff! Hargrove experienced the olfactory
hallucination of burning toast. Agent: Karl Baby, this is big. I�m thinking feature film here! Marx: Call up Stallone and we�ll do lunch Fearing to read any further he quickly closed the script and struggled
to slow his thundering heart. He pointedly kept his hands at his sides to avoid
drawing his Webley. He reminded himself that he needed Moxie to get to Wapkaplet.
Until then he was safe, at least from Hargrove. �Yes, yes. Excellent.� Hargrove forced out the words of praise.
�It�s �um� high-concept �ah� material. Hargrove�s masterful
command of the local dialect allowed him to push the offensive propaganda to the
back of his mind and stay in character. He tossed the script in Moxie�s direction and surreptitiously wiped
his hands on his jacket. �It�s clear that only one studio is capable to
fully realizing the scope of this fine tome.� Moxie beamed excitedly. Hargrove
paused for dramatic effect and to choke back the bile building at the back of
his throat. �BFG Movie Studios. We must contact BFG Wapkaplet immediately.� Moxie rocked unsteadily on his feet. �BFD can deliver the �err..
package � Babe,� continued Hargrove. �Lead on to the Studio.� Moxie
flashed a blazing smile and headed off down the Boulevard. Hargrove took the opportunity to mentally regroup. Too all appearances
he was a bloodstained, grimy, petrol-soaked movie producer thinking only about
his next mega-hit. In reality his razor-sharp detective mind was tackling the
next problem. Once Moxie led them to the studio how were they to get access to
Wapkaplet? How much could he trust Shirley and Marty? How much would they be
able to help him? Shirley knew who was in control as far as the flight was
concerned but did she have any other information? He sidled toward her, from downwind, as they strode along. �How much
do you know about Wapkaplet and Offant?" he inquired carefully? �All I know is that Offant is Wapkaplet�s rival. Dewie and Link
wanted to get you to Sync. Ida Appel works for BFG Wapkaplet but she�s engaged
to Sync Offant. You�re supposed to be working for BFG. BFG Jr must have found
out about Link and Dewie trying to spirit you away. When he confronted Link, was
knocked out and dumped into the closet.� �Why did Link try to kill me?� asked the somewhat befuddled
detective. �Link never was too stable. I think he had a thing for Ida too, In
fact, the son of the movie mogul was trying to stage a � �Ooo!� she
exclaimed suddenly and raced forward toward some large statues. He walked
cautiously up behind her and examined the statues for a Lenin likeness. As if on
cue, Moxie appeared beside him and, sounding exactly like the tour guide he was
began �Directly in front of you is the Hollywood Walk of Fame Gateway Gazebo
featuring life-sized replicas of four of the most famous goddesses of the Silver
Screen. They are�� �Very good let�s move along shall we,� broke in Hargrove hastily.
Where were the murals of the noble workers of factory and field? Where were the
great statues of the nation�s heroes pointing the way to the glorious future?
Here there were only false icons of greed and excess. They continued eastward along the Boulevard. Despite the empty promises
of fame and riches, Moxie could not help but continue the tour guide speech. �To your left you�ll see Grauman's Chinese Theatre, the beginning to
the famous Walk of Fame. Look for your favorite actors footprints in the
sidewalk.� Shirley raced over to compare her dainty but odiferous feet to
Meryl Streep�s. Hargrove stared resolutely ahead. Aside from the occasional
propaganda film he got everything he needed from his Red Book. The only American
movies he had seen were Reds, F.I.S.T and Cannibal Women in the
Avocado Jungle of Death. The last one, he reminded himself, was the result
of a three-day vermouth and J�germeister bender. The horrific experience had
killed his taste for both herbal spirits and Hollywood productions. Leaving Shirley to her podiatric perusing, Hargrove approached Marty who
shambled along unperturbed as he stared at the hazy setting sun. �So Marty,�
he began, �Shirley tells me that the Offants didn�t get along.� �Well,� he replied disinterestedly, �if I may speak frankly, I
believe that was the case.� The late Mr. Link was trying to wrest the reigns
of control from his father. I don�t know the details of the dispute, but I
believe Mr. Sync will be most helpful once he discovers you brought about his
son�s demise. He shuddered slightly and lifted his arms as if to give his
torso more breathing room. Hargrove retreated cautiously. �He�ll help the man who killed his son?� asked Hargrove
incredulously. �Is there no family loyalty? Why back home I could count on my
neighbors for a cold bowl of borscht and a lump of moldy bread. They we�re
always eager to give me good, honest food while they suffered with their
decadent microwave frozen dinners.� �Loyalty in Hollywood!� exclaimed Marty �Vostatim, n�creck Ph'nglui wagn'nag�. The Lord honors
your naivet� sir. The Lord � Suddenly the man knelt and contorting his face
began chanting �n�sland ch�therk Ay! n�sland ch�therk Ay! Gronath
kyan V�orath!� Hargrove moved away from the chauffeur to join the
others. Moxie�s polished delivery sounded like a House of Horror roster to
Hargrove. �On your right is the spectacular Disney El Capitan Theatre. For the
price of a movie ticket, you can experience the romance of Old Hollywood, from
the live organist who fills the air with song before the show, right down to the
shiny gold braids on the shoulders of the brightly-costumed ushers �� Fascist vermin oppressor � �Coming up on your left is the he Hollywood Wax Museum. Among the 220
lifelike wax figures are Clint Eastwood, Sly Stallone, Elizabeth Taylor,
David Hasselhoff and Henry Winkler �� Hollow idolatry � �And, on your right,� announced Moxie gesturing with the bedraggled
script, �is the Fredricks of Hollywood featuring the Celebrity Lingerie Hall
of Fame � �Ooo!� exclaimed Shirley as she raced to a storefront dragging
Hargrove by the hand. �The collection of underwear worn by Hollywood movie stars includes
Madonna�s black and gold bustier, a fur-trimmed negligee and bra worn by
Cybill Shepherd, black lace panties from Zsa Zsa Gabor as well assorted
�unmentionables� from Mae West, Natalie Wood, Kim Basinger, and Pamela
Anderson Lee,� finished Moxie. Shirley mashed her nose flat against the windowpane and stared at the
wonders inside. She turned a sensuous pout in Hargrove�s direction.
�Couldn�t we go inside, just for a minute? I could try on some frilly things
for you in the private changing area,� she purred. Hargrove felt her warm
closeness and experienced a sudden pleasurable discomfort. He turned toward her,
taking in the sparkling eyes, the pouting lips, the heaving chest. Against his
better judgment he felt his resolve begin to crumble. His mouth opened seemingly
of its own volition. At that instant, an astonishingly loud gurgle emanated from within
Shirley�s delightfully curvaceous form. The sound was followed immediately by
tsunami of gasses, which blasted directly from between her luscious lips into
Hargrove�s face. Reeling and gasping Hargrove staggered away from the
onslaught, desperately wiping his streaming eyes clear of flecks of matter from
some bygone meal. Shirley watched his retreating form with a look of
exasperation and confusion. �Where are you going?� she called. He lurched over to Moxie. �It�s getting late. We must get to
Wapkaplet this evening,� he urged the aspiring screenwriter. Moxie led them
past the "You Are the Star" Mural and turned north on Vine. The
seediness of downtown began to give way to lusher environs. Turning another
corner, they were finally confronted by a large set of iron gates. Across the
top the words BFG Movie Studios were boldly engraved. �Here we are Mr. Hargrove. I�m sure you can use your credentials to
get us an immediate audience.� �Of course,� blustered Hargrove as he sauntered toward the security
guard booth. Before he could address the guard with a brilliant fabrication and
gain admittance, he was accosted by a vagabond. �Hey buddy, can you spare a buck for an out of work FX guy?� he
asked. Hargrove took in the man�s disheveled appearance and spent a moment of
reverie recalling the halcyon days of his own deprivation and destitution. �Ah
to be young and penniless again, free of material trappings,� he thought
longingly. �Hey buddy. Don�t pretend you can�t see me just because I don�t
have a job,� said the man, snapping Hargrove from his reverie. �I�ve been
evicted from my culvert and I haven�t eaten this week.� Hargrove examined the man more closely. His hair was long, his baggy
pants and shirt shabby and his shoes ragged. He looked like several of
Hargrove�s acquaintances from Berkley back when it had been the hotbed of the
counter-culture. Something was amiss though. Hargrove did not detect the
odiferous waves he expected from someone dwelling in the drainage system. He at
first assumed that his senses hadn�t fully recovered from the latest outburst
from the inflammatory Captain Will. But, that was not the case. The man did
smell � of soap. Instantly Hargrove�s deductive powers again leapt into action to
resolve this latest conundrum. �I deduce,� he declared, �that you are not
in fact a vagabond in search of pocket change.� Being himself a master of
disguise, he recognized the work of an expert when he saw it. �I further
deduce that you are in fact an out of work special effects artist plying his
trade on unsuspecting passersby. I salute you noble proletarian.� The faux vagabond was astonished. �You�re right buddy. That scheming
sonofabitch Syc Offant just fired me and I thought I could get in here at BFG.
It�s all this CGI. They don�t use FX artists, just programmers,� he spat. �Ah yes, the heroic laborer cast aside by the czarist bourgeoisie,�
the detective lamented. �I�m Felix Lechat,� the unemployed FX artist introduced himself. �And I am Hargrove, producer extraordinaire en route to see BFG
Wapkaplet himself,� the detective replied never once lapsing from his
carefully constructed role. �These are my assistants Ms. Smith and Mr.
Jones.� Shirley beamed at Felix and began exploring an ear vigorously with her
delicate pinky. Stabble inclined his head politely and made an involuntary
hissing sound. Hargrove realized that his cover was wearing very thin. Shirley
and Stabble were Offant employees and may become a liability within the walls of
BFG Studios. He would have to act quickly to get inside. Diverting Felix from his two �assistants� he introduced Moxie.
�This man is the reason for our business. Moxie has written a script which is
�um�� �Golden!� blurted Moxie, unable to contain himself. �Yes, exactly, golden� Hargrove carried on. �It�s imperative we
make our � pitch for BFG immediately. I could whisk us through security in an
instant but I believe that with Felix�s expertise, we can surprise BFG and
give him a pitch he will not be able to resist. Catching his unaware will make
this a ..um �done deal.� Moxie danced in place in his Beefeater uniform in
his excitement. Shirley looked skeptical. Stabble walked in a small circle while
gesturing vaguely about him. Felix grinned broadly. �You want in?� he asked expectantly. �Think,� prompted Hargrove. �Given your special effects skills,
you could get us past the guard and into BFG�s office in no time. He�ll be
so impressed he�ll have to offer you employment. Why, I believe he�ll give
you a free hand on his next project.� �Let�s give it a try buddy,� said Felix warming to the idea.
�Everyone stay close and move when I tell you. I�ll get us past security and
into the boss man�s office,� he announced. They moved toward the gate. From somewhere within his voluminous
clothes, Felix extracted a small gym bag which he quickly rummaged through. He
pressed the call button and a guard ambled toward the small group. The guard�s
uniform commanded instant respect, or at least a reptile-brain wariness.
Six-foot-six, impassive expression, broad shoulders and bulging biceps straining
the pale green shirt. Massive thighs tested the seams of the shiny green
polyester pants. The leather shoes were size eleven. She adjusted the wide
gunbelt across her ample hips and rocked forward on her feet. She didn�t have
to speak. The cocked eyebrow was all that was necessary to convey her inquiry. At a hidden nudge from Felix, Hargrove launched into his unrehearsed
speech. �Ahem, Petunia,� he began, reading her shiny nameplate. �It is
essential that we see �� Felix doubled over in apparent agony. The guard took an involuntary step
forward. Horrible wet sounds emanated from the hunched form. Felix raised his
head and the guard recoiled. Blood fountained out of Felix�s mouth and nose,
splashing on her shiny black shoes. An impossibly high �Eek!� emanated from
the hulking form. Instantly grasping the intent of the brave artisan, Hargrove put a
protective arm around Felix. �We need state-funded medical assistance
immediately. There is no time to waste!� The guard hurriedly unlocked the gate and helped them struggle Felix�s
thrashing form to the small guardhouse. The six of them caromed about,
overturning the sparse furnishings. Blood sprayed in every direction. It was
impossible to determine where it was coming from. Felix and soon everyone else
were awash in red slime. They eventually managed to force him into a chair,
where he began an eerie keening as he continued to seep fluids. The guard grabbed the phone. �I�ve got a code �� She stopped in
mid sentence. �Shit!� she spat. �The phone�s dead.� �We�ll keep him quiet,� said Shirley finally getting into the act.
�Hurry and get help. He could die at any time!� The guard looked at Shirley.
The pilot�s brief uniform was in disarray, her expanses of creamy flesh
smeared in cooling red goo. For once, errant odors were suppressed by the
cloying smell of blood. The guard wiped her eyes clear. She appeared to have
become deaf as soon as Shirley spoke. A slow grin started to spread across her
face. �Move it!� shouted Shirley. The guard started and looked about herself
as if seeing the abattoir interior for the first time and lumbered off.
�Good,� said Felix standing up. �I�ve been waiting for a chance
to test these toys.� From under his shirt he pulled a length of tubing with a
small pump attached. From each pant leg he pulled two now-empty large plastic
bags. �The SplatterGag worked better than I hoped.�
He removed a small magnetic disk under the desk phone. �Perfect,� he
proclaimed proudly. �The FuzzTone 2000 Sonic Destabilizer is a success.� �Let�s get moving,� commanded Hargrove. �We don�t want to miss
our chance at BFG.� Armed with security passes liberated from the guardhouse, they moved
quickly through the grounds. Despite being covered in rapidly-drying synthetic
blood, they blended in with actors in costume moving around the compound.
Darkness was descending rapidly, aiding their stealthy progress � until
Stabble saw the Alien 17 set. As they passed one of the hanger-shaped sound stages, they glanced
through an open door. Actors in rubberized monster prosthetics roamed through
what appeared to be a demolished K-Mart. �Apparently they make it to Earth
this time,� observed Moxie. Stabble stopped in his tracks and began a jerky
dance accompanied by a unsettling growling. People were beginning to stare at
the spectacle. �Can�t you make him stop?� asked Hargrove. �Nothing short of a tranquilzer gun will help now,� replied Shirley.
�Usually when this happens we just lock him in the gymnasium and hope he
doesn�t kill himself on the parallel bars. I�ve never seen it this bad
before though,� she added. Stabble began rolling on the ground and tearing up asphalt with his
teeth. Then, with a jubilant �Vostatim,
kyan V�orath!� he raced toward the startled director and cast.
Stabble lurched onto the set sending crew members flying in all directions. A
fearsome 7-foot tall alien saw Stabble coming and tried desperately to escape.
Hampered by the monster suit. The actor fell and instantly Stabble was upon it.
He straddled the prone actor and with a mighty �n�creck
Ph'nglui ch�therk!� he threw wide his arms. Tentacles burst through his shirt thrashing
wildly about the rapidly-emptying set. �The
Lord � �n�sland ch�therk Ay! n�sland wagn'nag Ay!!� �Great effects,� conceded Felix. �He�s got me
beat.� �Don�t worry Felix,� said Shirley. �That�s his only trick.� �Keep rolling!� shouted the director. Hargrove had no choice but to abandon the �chauffeur�.
His cover was blown. Theirs would be too, if they didn�t vacate the area
immediately. Hargrove quickly scanned the surroundings. His detective
perceptions were in overdrive. �Where would I be if I were a movie
executive?� he asked himself. Most of the lot was devoted to sound stages and
commissaries. Just then he spied a huge gold building brightly lit with banks of
floodlights. Over the entrance was a neon sign spelling out BFG Wapkaplet
Headquarters and Official Residence. �Follow me!� shouted Hargrove. �I
know where he is.� �How does he do it?� asked Shirley. The four raced over to the building. The entrance was guarded by a
doorman clad in full urban cammo battle dress uniform. One hand held a
Heckler-Koch MP5K submachine gun. The other held a length of chain against which
three pit bull terriers strained. The lettering on the doormat read Welcome.
�Quickly, around the back,� yelled Hargrove. They found a relatively dark
area under a tree outside the light perimeter. �What�s the rush buddy?� asked Felix. �And why all the secrecy?� demanded Moxie Shirley pulled off a high-heeled shoe and sniffed the interior. She
shrugged and replaced the shoe. Hargrove mopped sweat from his brow.
The din of battle and the rush of having executed another perfect clandestine
insertion had restored Hargrove�s self-confidence. It was time to drop the fa�ade
he had so carefully constructed. �I have something to say and I believe you
will all be gravely disappointed. I am not Hargrove Producer Extraordinaire. I
am in fact Hargrove the Marxist detective, here to locate a missing actress. I
do not know Mr. Wapkaplet but it is imperative that I meet him tonight� He
looked around expectantly for the crestfallen and angry expressions. There were
none. �So if we can get inside I can still make my pitch,� exclaimed
Moxie. �And I can show off my bag of tricks,� added Felix hefting the gym
bag. �If only we could get inside �� mused Hargrove. �I know a way in,� said Shirley as she used a fingernail to dislodge
something from between two teeth. �But it�s going to cost you Hargrove.�
Her tone had taken on a hard, dangerous note Hargrove had not heard before.
�When this is all over you are taking me shopping at Fredericks of
Hollywood,� she said, �or you can count me out.� All three men cringed. �But you work for Offant,� protested Hargrove. �How can I trust
you? You could have us thrown off the lot in an instant, or picked up by the
Ultimate Pictures Gestapo.� Those alternatives seemed oddly compelling given
the payment Shirley expected. �I haven�t given you away yet, and I know the way in,� she
defended herself. �You can agree to pay my price or you can stagger around in
the dark until security picks you up.� Hargrove again was out of options. There was nothing to do but agree. He
grimly pushed the inevitable shopping trip to back of his mind. �Private
dressing area,� he shuddered. He steadfastly trained his mind the mission.
�Lead on,� he said flatly. Moxie and Felix stared awestruck at Hargrove�s
demonstration of fortitude. Shirley slipped up to the BFG Headquarters and scanned quickly for
observers. Seeing none, she reached behind a small palm tree. The three men
heard a click and a small section of the wall swung open to reveal a dark
passage. She quickly motioned the three inside and stepped in after them. The
hidden door closed leaving them in total darkness. Shirley found a switch by
touch and dim emergency lights illuminated the passageway. �I am not just a pilot under contract to Offant,� she whispered.
�In Hollywood we don�t just have corporate spies, we have corporate covert
assault troops. I�m a field agent for Ultimate Pictures. We beat the
information about this tunnel out of a BFG stiffer last week. Your bumbling
attempts at getting onto the lot somehow managed to work. This gives me a chance
to check the information and do some more recon.� �So everything about you is a lie,� declared Hargrove aghast. �Not everything,� she replied. A highly-compressed stream of gas
passed between her perfectly rounded buttocks with the sound of door hinges
badly in need of oiling. �My name really is Shirley Will. It�s time to move
out.� Choking back coughs and wheezing in the abruptly toxic sewer gas
environment, the men heartily agreed. They ascended a narrow stairway and paused at a door. �This should
lead directly to Wapkaplet�s office. We know he works late. If our
intelligence is accurate, he should be alone,� she whispered. Carefully, the
seasoned movie studio field agent eased the door open. The four stepped into the
darkened interior. Suddenly lights blazed on leaving them blinking in pain and confusion.
Gradually their eyes adjusted. Guards dressed and armed like the doorman ringed
the room. Beside a desk stood a familiar looking man still in his rumpled black
suit and ten gallon hat. On the other side stood Petunia the gate security
guard. Behind the large desk sat a bald, wizened husk of a man. �Do come
in,� he invited them in a raspy whisper. �And close the door against the
draft.� They soundlessly complied. �I believe you�ve met my son Junior
and, of course, my trusty Petunia. I am BFG Wapkaplet.�
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