//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: Going to town* // Story: Bailing Out // by PhillyCh3zSt3ak //------------------------------// Chapter 6: Going to town I woke up a good eight hours later, mainly because a ray of sunlight had gone right between my curtains and landed right in my face. Annoying as hell, but not as annoying as an alarm clock. Or a bugle at the crack of dawn. I sat up and why was I on my recliner again? Oh right, I have an interdimensional guest staying here indefinitely. That and I was too lazy to set up the guest room. I’ll set that up before the night’s out, I sort of want to sleep in my own bed again. I quietly opened the door to my room and grabbed some clothes from my dresser. In hindsight I should have grabbed them before I called it a night. Sneaking into a room while a lady is sleeping is, well, creepy sounding. I go into my bathroom and start up the shower, the hot water does wonders for those knots in my muscles. Before closing my door I looked out at Spitfire, she was sprawled out on the bed spread eagle-like. Looks like she got a good “night’s” rest. I closed the door and proceeded with my morning ritual. *** Spitfire was roused from her slumber by the sound of running water and a radio coming from the bathroom. ‘Andrew must be up,’ she thought. She sat up and stretched her arms and back before getting out of bed. Lifting up the back of her shirt she exposed her wings and stretched them out as well. Satisfied that she was limber enough from her sleep, she wandered into the kitchen trying to find something to eat. Opening the fridge she found nothing inside except for some chilled alcoholic beverages and heavily preserved items like jam, and oddly enough peanut butter. ‘The hell does this guy eat?’ she asked herself. ‘But on the other hand he was away for six months so it makes sense all the perishables are gone.’ Just out of sheer curiosity she picked up one of the beers, a Guinness, and looked for any indication of an expiration date. She saw that it was well over two months beyond ‘best by date. “Eww,” she muttered as she put it back. She opened the freezer and found frozen bread. “Well it’s better than nothing,” she said closing the door after taking it out. She found a microwave oven that, instead of having dials, had buttons with numbers and different settings; and started defrosting the bread. *** As I walked into the kitchen I could hear the TV on in the living room. I entered the kitchen and saw Spitfire at the table eating toast. “Good morning starshine, the earth says hello,” I say, which gets a confused look from Spitfire. “It’s a song- never mind. Shower’s open, towels are on the rack.” “I don’t know what goes through that mind of yours. And thanks, I’ll jump in when I’m done eating,” she replied. “Did you know you have some bad beer in your icebox?” “Really? That sucks. I was planning on-” I started. “Wait… that’s great news!” “Now why would you be excited about skunky beer?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Duh, beer bread,” I answered as if it were the answer to ‘what is 1 + 1?’ She gave me a dumbfounded look, “My God. You’ve never had beer bread?” She shook her head. “Well we’ll have to remedy that later.” She finished eating and left to shower. “Oh and I left some clothes on the bed,” I said to her as she walked away. I had left some old clothes that didn’t fit me anymore, but she could use them until she got her own clothing later today. I went through the cupboards and fridge to see what I had in stock for food. Now that two were going to be living here for an indefinite amount of time I have to double up on food stores. That and I have no idea if I have the necessary ingredients for beer bread, and if I do I have no idea if the stuff’s spoiled or still good. While looking my ears wandered over to the TV which had the local news on. “And in other news another mutilated body was found last night in downtown Las Vegas. The victim was twenty-two year old Phoenix resident Jenna Glitzman. The Las Vegas Police Department put out a statement earlier today offering condolences to the family as well as stating that the Vegas Strip Slasher, as the Vegas press has come to call the killer, took his fifth victim and that they’re doing everything possible to bring the murderer to justice,” the anchorwoman went off on to another story. “Damn the news is depressing today,” I said out loud changing the channel to TNT, apparently they were having another Bones marathon. The next episode was just starting. The episode started just like they always do: innocent bystander goes and does something, discovers dead body/mutilated corpse, starts screaming, and then they cut to the title and theme song. “Classic,” I said with a smirk. “The hell was that?!?” Spitfire exclaimed from behind me, surprising me. “Well that is a TV show called Bones,” I replied. “But why would they allow dead bodies to be shown?” “Ah movie magic, you can’t even tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.” Spitfire looked at me as though I just murdered a cute baby animal. “It’s entertainment. In this case a crime drama where a forensic anthropologist and an officer of the law solve murders. I will say that it can be a little nasty at times, but you get used to it after a time. Plus this isn’t the worst in terms of gore and sex to be legally shown on TV.” I looked back at her and saw that the shirt on her was a little long, not to be unexpected, and that the jeans were a little loose. “Need a belt?” I asked. “It would be appreciated. These jeans are sort of slipping a bit,” she replied. I went back inside my room and found one of my leather belts, bringing it back out I handed it to her. She threaded it through the loops of the jeans and tightened it to a satisfactory tightness. “It’ll work,” she said straightening out the shirt. “Let’s go then,” I said putting on my shoes and grabbing my car keys and wallet. I looked behind me and saw Spitfire putting on a pair of borrowed socks and her boots she arrived in with. I walked into the garage and opened the garage door. As it opened I looked and saw my two vehicles just as I left them since I moved my things here. First up is my Harley Davidson Seventy-Two. A beautiful bike just by appearances alone with a classic design, but boy is it a joy to ride. The second vehicle is my Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution. It’s an older model, but it still has power under that hood and many more miles ahead of it. I unlocked it via remote sat inside waiting for Spitfire. I turned on the radio and found my favorite heavy rock band station. A good minute into “We’re an American Band” by Rob Zombie (cover), Spitfire finally came into the garage and got into the car. I turned down the radio since I was blaring it, yay subwoofers. “You might want to buckle up,” I say to her putting the car into reverse and turned around to see if the driveway was clear. “Wh-?” was all she managed to get out before I gunned it backwards into the street and turned to face the development’s exit. “That’s why,” I said. She then buckled up and I rocketed off towards the mall, which was a good half hour away. Now can you tell why I hate going there? *** Sonoran Desert – Middle of nowhere The military investigator overlooked the wreckage with an observant eye. There was a wing a few yards from him, and its twin a few hundred to the right of him. Scattered around him were parts of the fuselage of the plane, but he was standing right in front of the control panel and a bolted down seat. Sketchbook in hand he drew each part that was found for his notes. He could hear the whimpering and barking of drug dogs borrowed from the ATF to search the wreckage for any traces of any illegal substances. As he looked both at the wreckage and the sketch he drew the conclusion that the plane was a P-51 Mustang, or similar model. They weren’t illegal to buy, many hobbyist flyers and plane collectors could easily get one through legal channels. What wasn’t legal were the machine guns located on both wings. Even with special permits in certain states the sale and documentation of automatic firearms was monitored at an anal retentive level of attention. He walked over to the tent that had tables with smaller evidence and parts strewn about them. He set down his notepad and put on a pair of gloves when an item caught his attention: a headset. As he examined it he found that the microphone and transmitter was broken, but not from the impact of the sidewinder missiles, but from something else. “Any idea what caused this damage?” he asked one of the other investigators. A young woman came over and also examined it, “It looks as though the pilot wearing it may have smashed their head against the canopy, which would explain why the pilot didn’t respond to the transmissions from our pilots.” He knew what she was talking about, the flight log had stated the commanding officer had attempted communication but the pilot of the prop plane hadn’t responded with anything else other than hand signals and pantomiming. “Was there a corpse found?” he asked. “I heard that the cadaver dogs are still searching for anything. I doubt anything survived that though,” replied an older male agent. The investigator turned towards another piece of evidence when he heard a ‘yelp’ from one of the drug dogs. He turned around, like many of the other investigators and technicians at the site, and saw one of the drug dogs cringing in pain and fear from the very front of the fuselage. The handler kept trying to bring it closer, but it kept pulling away, whining all the while. “What’s wrong Rex?” the handler asked. The dog pulled hard enough for the leash to get away from the hands of the handler. It sprinted straight for the SUV it arrived in. “Someone get a scanner over to that control panel,” the investigator yelled. “No you won’t,” came a male voice from behind him. The agent turned around to see an older man wearing an Air Force colonel’s uniform. “This wreckage is now under my jurisdiction. You may now go home.” “Under whose orders?” “That’s classified.” “Where are you taking it?” “That’s also classified.” The agents packed up their equipment and left. The colonel stood in front of the assembled wreckage with his hands folded behind his back. “Sir? The transport trucks are here,” a black clad soldier said with a salute. “Good. Have it all shipped to 51,” he said turning around walking towards his own car. *** Phoenix There’s a really good reason I hate malls, it’s the parking lots. You’ll spend a good forever trying to find a spot only to have it stolen from you by some yuppie bimbo in her pink SUV or Prius or something. And then you have to remember where you fucking parked and by what fucking store. And that’s before even getting inside the complex. This was the fourth lot we drove into and I’m pretty much at my breaking point. Then I saw it, the primo parking space. The one that one would kill over, well on a Saturday anyway. I gunned it and just as I got there a SUV took not only the space, but the space next to it due to being parked cockeyed. “MOTHER FUCKER!!!” I scream as well as beating my fists on the steering wheel in anger. Looking at the driver I saw one of those prissy women. You know the ones with the tiny dogs in their purses and wearing enough jewelry to make themselves a target in a bad neighborhood and talking on their phone with some other girl at the end? Yeah that type. “Andrew? You know there’ll be another space, right? Let’s try somewhere else,” Spitfire tried to console me, or well at least reduce my anger levels. I sat there for a moment letting my anger vent at the now walking away driver in the form of flipping her off. “Do you know what? You’re right. But before we do-,” I trailed off opening the glove compartment, pulling out a butterfly knife. I opened the car door after throwing on the e-brake. I flipped open the knife and walked over to the rear left tire and plunged it in deep. I quickly pulled it out and heard the satisfying sound of air escaping. I repeated the same thing to the front left tire. I flicked the knife shut and got back inside the car. “Happy now?” she asked, taking the knife from me and placing it back inside the glove compartment. “Yes. Yes I am. And to be fair she had it coming being a bitch like that,” I said disengaging the brake, driving yet again to find a spot. “More importantly why DO you have a knife in your glove box?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Two reasons. One in case I need to use it to cut my seat belt off in case I’m underwater and it won’t release.” I see another parking space and pull in. “Well that makes sense, and the second?” she asked taking off her seat belt and getting out of the car. I also get out and remotely lock the door, “The second being if I need it for emergency car repairs on the road.” We walked inside of the food court in the mall. “Ok so what do we need for me again?” she asked. I was looking at the map and directory, “Well you need a good week’s worth of clothes. Shirts and jeans and the like, maybe some shorts if you want. Socks and shoes, since I doubt you want to wear those combat boots the entire time you’re here. The last thing that would be on the list would be underwear, unless you’d rather be wearing my stuff,” I say teasing her with that last statement. I got a blush from her in return. We walked in farther to the main food court concourse. “Alright, if we get separated for some reason we’ll meet up here,” I say pointing to a Cinnabon on the corner. Damn I should go there later, it’s been a long time since I last had one. We first stopped into a JC Penny’s and I let her get whatever clothes she wanted. Women’s clothing changes so often that my mind would explode just trying to comprehend styles and such. Case in point, any celebrity. Men are easy. Just give us a pair of jeans or shorts, depending on the region, and a shirt with a funny graphic or phrase on it and we’re all set with a pair of skate or other casual shoe style. Surprisingly enough Spitfire’s tastes were pretty simple, well considering the styles these days. She grabbed multiple pairs of jeans of various styles and went off to a changing room, me in tow with the pile. Which weighed nothing compared to the gear I had to carry in 110+ degree weather. While she tried them on in the changing room I was on a bench, graciously placed by the company, on my phone looking up old friends, checking my email, and of course my text messages. She came out from time to time asking me for another pair in a different size or to throw the pair in the “buy” pile or the “return” pile. When she started choosing shirts she went with a combination of shirts with graphics and plain shirts. I don’t know how but apparently they use the same measurement system that we use here, so that’s convenient. After that was the shoes. The people in charge of design must be sadistic towards men because they put the shoe department right next to the women’s clothing department. We were there for maybe ten minutes tops. She walked in and grabbed three pairs, a pair of tennis shoes, a pair of high heels, and a pair of sandals, and then just walked out. That shocked me beyond recognition. The last relationship I was in it took my ex a good three hours just to try on different shoes, and trust me when I say I wanted to bash my skull in out of boredom. I had forgotten my phone in the car that day. “Hey I’m getting a little hungry, do you want to get something?” Spitfire asked picking out one last shirt and placing it on the pile. Maybe it’s going to become a nightshirt? “Sure. Let’s just pay for these first,” I reply. We did and we got those paper bags advertising where we had just shopped. Part of me hates it while part of me understands it perfectly, from a shoplift prevention perspective. We headed over to the food court and got a late lunch. I had settled for Panda Express while Spitfire went with a soup place I’ve never heard of before. We talked about our childhoods. It was interesting to say the least. *** Canterlot castle Four days had passed since Spitfire had disappeared in that tropical storm. Search and rescue ships from the Navy were dispatched as soon as the intensity of the storms had passed into safer parameters. Several squadrons of angels were dispatched for reconnaissance in advance for the slower moving ships. All had checked back in day after day reporting no signs of wreckage or a body, living or dead. Colonel Hickory Knot of the Equestrian Air Force stood in front of the Solar Diarch’s throne with his hands folded behind his back while standing at attention, he was dressed in the formal uniform for appearing at social functions or official meetings. They waited for the Lunar Diarch to arrive since the meeting was to take place before the daily ritual of keeping the moon on its course and the planet moving as it should. Princess Luna appeared a short time later after the moon had started rising from the west. While Princess Celestia was wearing a long and flowing white dress that complimented her figure, her sister was another story all together. Luna was wearing gray-black sweatpants and a spaghetti strap top with the graphic “I hate the bands you like.” “I apologize for my lateness sister, Colonel,” Luna said taking her seat as regally as one could dressed like her. “Now that my sister is here you may proceed with your report, Colonel,” Celestia requested. He mentally shook his head from the appearance from his boss and ruler. “Of course, your highnesses. So far the Navy and Air Force has not been able to find wreckage or a body, alive or dead, in the waters in which the rest of the Wonderbolt flight passed over. We are expanding the search but,” he gulped, “there may be a possibility that we may not find her. And if we do we might find her too late,” he finished and then lowered his head in regret. “Colonel,” Celestia said in a gentle voice, “you were the one that authorized that test flight, correct?” “I was, your highness,” he replied, the regret heavy in his voice. “Were you aware of the weather conditions,” Luna asked. “I was,” he answered. The silence after told him to continue, “I was told by an advisor that the area was going to experience a rogue tropical storm, but I insisted on the mission following through on the hope that the storm would either be weaker, or miss the flight route all together.” There was a silence that hung in the air so thick a knife could cut it. “Did you intend for this to happen?” Celestia asked with a scrutinizing tone. “No, of course not!” he raised his voice at the accusation. “I would never intend any harm on one of my flight teams,” he finished with a softer tone that the former. “Do not worry, Colonel. She is not dead,” Luna said. Hickory Knot looked at her in confusion. “When one of our subjects die their mana reserves leave our world for the next, and we can feel that change. In fact a grandmother just died of old age a few minutes before this briefing began. She is now with her ancestors and her husband.” “She IS still out there, Colonel. Find her,” Celestia finished. He saluted and left the room in a fast stride, one does not want to make your rulers pissed off. “So sister of mine, why are you dressed like that?” Luna gave her sister a sheepish smile, “Would you believe me if I said I were looking for our lost subject?” Celestia showed no amusement at her sister’s response, “No? Well I may or may not have been playing games last night.” Celestia pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, “Sister, I thought we had discussed this not too long ago. Everything’s good in moderation, but too much at one time is unhealthy, even for us.” “I know, I know. But this game is soooo good,” Luna started only to be cut off by a glare. “Fine.” “Now that this discussion is over, that better not be what you’re wearing to the night court tonight.” “Do not worry, Tia, we will change soon. I had just forgotten how early this meeting was.” *** Phoenix “Hey Andrew, have you ever had that feeling like someone’s talking behind your back?” Spitfire asked. I finished the bite I was taking. “You mean something like ‘chills down your spine for no reason’ or ‘sneezing though you’re not allergic to anything or are sick?’” I ask. “Yeah! Exactly like that.” “Nope, never have had that happen before,” I reply taking a large gulp of my Coke. “Alright so I’m checking the list and the last thing is underwear for you.” “Well I don’t need your help for that,” she replied with a slight blush. “I see a store over there,” she pointed over to a Victoria’s Secret store one level down. “And I figured that so I’ll be off doing something else for the time being. Plus I have the feeling that I’ll finish before you’re done anyway,” I countered with a smug look. “You’re on,” she said placing her hands on the table in an attempt to intimidate me. “How about we make this more interesting?” “What did you have in mind?” She rubbed her chin for a moment, “How about if I win I get to drive back to the house.” I thought it over for a moment. Could she even use stick? “And if I win you have to cook one meal tomorrow, breakfast or dinner, it’s your choice.” She thought it over, “Deal.” She stuck out her hand and I grabbed it with mine and we shook. “May the best shopper win. We begin in five minutes.” “Why?” “So that I can stash the stuff we’ve already purchased in a rental locker.” I went and rented a locker to stash the purchases. To the guy who figured that putting rental lockers in was a good idea was not only a man sent from God himself, but also a fricking genius. I stashed the clothing and returned to Spitfire in the food court with a new locker key in tow. “On your mark. Get set,” I started. “Go!” Spitfire finished sprinting off to the lingerie store. I calmly walked the other way towards the Verizon store with my hands in my pockets. “Hey, what can I help you with?” the female clerk said from the behind the counter. “Hey I’d like to add another line to my current plan,” I replied. “I think we can do that quite easily,” she said with a smile. *** Meanwhile… Spitfire slowed down entering the store to avoid running into a few people. She went deeper looking at the displays to see what would appeal to her. There were bras of various types, panties of various styles, sweatpants and sweatshirts, and many other non-lingerie related items as well. She went from rack to rack picking and choosing among the hundreds of choices and pairings placing a pair that seemed to go well together into a provided cart. She lost herself in the revelries of shopping and looking for that deal that would in the end cost less money than normal. She went over to the slightly more “sexy” section and picked something out. ‘You never know if I’m going to find someone here,’ she said to herself putting it onto the pile. As she went to another display she spotted a more risqué set that made her cheeks redden, ‘There’s no way in Tartarus that I’ll be caught in THAT.’ She walked further and found a nice looking sleep set, but then she looked at the price and cringed. ‘Ouch,’ was the first thought that came to mind and she placed it back. She looked over her entire pile of undergarments. She had gathered enough for eight days, plus the “extra special set” in case of romance. Satisfied with her haul, she started walking towards the check-out counter. *** Setting up the new phone line was pretty fast and easy. Oh how my parents probably loathe the phone companies now. Back then it took forever and a half just to get both signed up and to add a phone to a plan. I opened my bag and took a peek at my shopping spoils: a brand new iPhone 12s. Why Apple insists on releasing a new model every fucking year is beyond me. I still have a Nokia phone that runs Windows’ OS from two years ago and I’m happy with it. Then the sweet smell of cinnamon hits my nose. I know that smell. Cinnabon. I follow my nose and it leads me to one of their corner stores in malls right where the maximum amount of potential customers pass by and smell their delectable pastries. Clever bastards. But then again I don’t care since I was going to search them out a while ago. I walked inside and ordered two of their largest buns, one for me and one for Spitfire. I then walked right up to the lingerie store’s entrance and stopped. This was one of those forbidden zones that men do not like to go inside because of the awkwardness, ESPICIALLY with their girlfriends. I mean, come on. You might as well avoid being yelled at by looking at someone else by not being there in the first place. I walked up to the only cashier. “Excuse me, I’m looking for my friend that just walked in here not too long ago. About five-nine, lithe, flame like red hair, sound familiar?” She thought for a moment, “Oh yeah. I saw here come in here close to an hour ag-” “Andrew?” I heard a voice from behind me. Would you look at that, it’s Spitfire. “But how? But you? How did you beat me?” “A magician never reveals his secrets. Oh, and I have a snack, awesome cinnamon rolls,” I said pointing to the Cinnabon bag. Spitfire checked her choices out, and I put it on my card. We went back out to the food court and I brought the purchased clothes from earlier as well. We sat down and ate our snack. “So… how did you finish so quickly?” Spitfire asked for the umpteenth time already. “Fine, mainly because you won’t let this go,” I replied. I pulled out the phone from the bag and hand it to her. “Remember the phone I have? Well I figured that you would need one too just in case.” She took it, “I’ll activate it later, but I just added it to my plan. Then I stopped at the Cinnabon over there. It took me twenty minutes tops.” “Why would you buy me a phone?” “Well I’m thinking of picking up where I left off in school, that and I need to get a job again. I know a guy who can get me an interview. I have enough cash for a few months before I really need a job though. With the food costs of two now it’s going to be less than that,” I say with a sigh. “Well why don’t I get a job?” she asked in a guilt toned voice. “After all I am the reason that you’re going to run out of money faster.” “It’s a little more complicated than that. You need a social security number and at least one other form of identification as well as a job history, especially at our ages, to not set off any red flags,” I replied with a sigh. “We’ll figure out something.” We left with bags in tow towards the parking lot. One thing that I saw when walking outside put a smile on my face. The bimbo from earlier was at her car attempting, and failing, to put a spare tire on regardless to the fact she only had one for the two flat tires. Ah karma, she can be a bitch. Especially when you’re acting on the behalf of karma. *** Area 51 The colonel sat in his office looking over the reports from the wreckage that the investigators had started on. The console was giving off some sort of supersonic tone above the range of human hearing that freaked out the ATF dogs. The engineers had set all the parts where they would have originally gone in when the plane was originally constructed. The plane was pretty much a P-51, but in pristine condition. What made it especially odd were the parts, they were all from the 1940’s era. They had consulted an engineer with a history background and she had confirmed it. “Sir?” a woman in a white lab coat said entering his office. “Yes, Major?” he replied setting down the folder. “We found some biologicals in the cockpit.” “And this couldn’t wait until the report, why?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I don’t quite know how to say it,” she set the folder down and opened it to a medical analysis page. “The biological wasn’t quite human.” “What do you mean, Major?” “Well as you can see here,” she pointed with a pen at the alleles printed out, “all twenty-three pairs are here, but there is a variation in one pair that should be there.” “Speak English.” “What I mean to say is that the person flying that is human, but also has an extra physical trait: wings. We’ve been going through the sample and we’ve found two recessive genes of what seems to be extra muscle mass and the other is an unknown. The sample was too small to do much more without destroying it.” “Major, run the DNA reconstruction. We need to find the pilot of that plane.”