The Swamp Donkey, page 2
“What?” Gooch said blankly, staring at her voluminous cleavage.
“A bartender,” she repeated, smiling. “I’m applying for a job, Big Daddy.”
Gooch slowly came back to himself and realized that the entire place was frozen, all eyes on the mysterious woman.
“What the fuck are you humps all staring at?” Gooch shouted, and the spell was broken. Everyone went back about their business, but with plenty of sidelong glances at her.
“So,” Gooch said, leaning forward on the bar and offering her a smile of his own. “You got a name, sweetheart?”
“Nebra Sky,” she said, blinking slowly.
“And you wanna tend bar?” Gooch asked. “Here?”
“That’s right,” Nebra Sky nodded.
“Hey Syphilis!” Gooch shouted across the bar, and Sifliss appeared at his side in a heartbeat.
“Yesss sssir?” Sifliss said.
“This is Nebra Sky,” Gooch said. “She wants to be our bartender.”
“I ssssee,” Sifliss said greedily. “Well, she’sss certainly an upgrade … er, over the bartender we have now.”
“She certainly is,” Gooch said. “Even if she can’t mix a drink worth a damn, the line would be out the door every night just to get a look at those jugs.”
“Well, as it happens, I can mix a drink worth a damn,” Nebra Sky said. “Jugs notwithstanding.”
“Hm. What do you think?” Gooch asked Sifliss.
“My only concern isss for the young lady’sss sssafety,” Sifliss said. “Thisss place can get a little … rough.”
At that moment, a great roar came up from the crowd of humans, cyborgs, aliens, and unclassified life forms as The Moist Towelettes stepped up to the front of the stage.
“Onetwothreefour!” the lead singer howled, and the band began playing loud, fast, aggressive music, the lyrics of which were barely distinguishable over the distortion:
Took a trip to Ceti Alpha Five
Barely made it out alive
That ammonia-oxide breath
Got me praying for my death
The assorted life forms on the dance floor immediately began slamming into one another until in no time at all, a good-natured mosh pit had formed in front of the stage. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, jumping around and bouncing off one another, but then a tall yellow-skinned alien got shoved hard into a tall red-skinned alien, knocking the red-skinned alien to the floor. Red jumped up and shoved Yellow hard in the chest, and then fists began to fly.
The rest of the crowd seemed to sense the escalation in violence and everyone began lashing out with wild punches, thrusting kicks, and savage headbutts. Bones cracked loudly enough to be heard over the music. Blood poured freely and flew in all directions, staining the ceiling, the walls, and even The Moist Towelettes. The band paid no attention and kept on playing.
Took a trip to the Phantom Zone
Thought I’d be there all alone
Then I met a guy named Zod
Now I’m feeling pretty odd
Gooch, Sifliss, and Nebra Sky watched the chaos for a few moments, and then Nebra Sky turned back to the two men.
“Concerned for my safety?” she asked with a seductive smile. “Watch this.”
And with that, she leapt gracefully into the pit. For a minute or so she was lost in the sea of brawling, undulating creatures, but then a great hole opened in the middle of the crowd. There was Nebra Sky, swinging a sparking cyborg leg in a wide arc, taking out everyone within the limb’s radius. On the floor near her lay the now-one-legged cyborg, who gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up and egged her on. Bodies and body parts flew in every direction as she lashed out to the left and right, in front and behind.
When the band finished their song, the crowd—broken, battered, and bloodied—seemed to be cheering as much for Nebra Sky as they were The Moist Towelettes. She threw the leg down on the floor and made her way back to the bar as the next song started.
“Well?” she asked. She wasn’t even out of breath, nor had she broken a sweat. Gooch smiled.
“You’re hired,” he said. “BackJack!” he bellowed.
BackJack appeared, looking terrified. “Yessir?”
“You’re fired,” Gooch said. “Fuck off.”
If anything, BackJack looked immensely relieved as he took off his waist apron and laid it on the bar.
Gooch turned back to Nebra Sky. “I can only pay you in Copernican Credits. That a problem?”
“Not at all, Big Daddy,” she said sweetly. “I have a funny feeling you’ll be making plenty.”
“I have a funny feeling you’re right,” Gooch grinned.
With rumors of new bartender Nebra Sky’s beauty circulating the underground community, along with glowing reviews of The Swamp Donkey’s new house band and their ultra-violent fans, the speakeasy was jammed to capacity every single night. Gooch could easily have slipped back into his office, but he enjoyed being out front, watching Nebra Sky flirting with the customers and seeing the piles and piles of Copernican Credits they left as tips. And, of course, he enjoyed watching Nebra Sky.
“How’d we get so goddamned lucky?” Gooch asked Sifliss one night as Nebra Sky raked in piles of money.
“It’sss a myssstery,” Sifliss said vaguely.
On the occasions when Gooch did slip away to his office to count out voluminous piles of credits, Nebra Sky would visit him, tease him, flirt with him, and ask questions about The Swamp Donkey—how it had come into existence, how the finances worked, whose palms were being greased, and so on. Gooch never hesitated to answer her questions, but when he wondered aloud why she was so curious about such things, she merely shrugged her shoulders, smiled, and said, “I just want to know about the place where I work, Big Daddy.”
A week later, Gooch was sitting in his chosen spot at the end of the bar when Ballbuster approached him—which was highly unusual, because Ballbuster never left his perch by the entrance for any reason.
“Hey boss,” Ballbuster’s digitized voice modulator said.
“What?” Gooch asked.
“Billy Sprockets is at the door,” Ballbuster replied.
Gooch turned a sickly shade of green and felt sweat stains forming down his spine, under his arms, and around his ball sack.
“Billy Sprockets?” Gooch repeated windlessly, his breath seemingly knocked right out of him.
“Yeah,” Ballbuster said. “Only he ain’t got the passwoid.”
Gooch’s eyes went suddenly wide. He moved with the speed of a man half his size and jumped up to stand on his barstool so he could slap Ballbuster’s head.
“You fuckin’ halfwit!” Gooch hissed. “Billy Sprockets is the biggest goddamned crime boss in this whole godforsaken fuckin’ city!”
“So should I let him in?”
“So should I let him in?” Gooch mocked. “Of course you should let him in!”
Ballbuster turned to go, and Gooch had a sudden inspiration. “No, wait! I’ll let him in! Get outta my way!”
Gooch scrambled across the room and nearly collided with the door. He smoothed out his shirt and his hair, took a deep breath, and rolled the door aside.
“Welcome, Mister Sprockets,” Gooch said, bowing low. “You honor us with your presence.”
“Ahhh haah haaaaah!” he heard, and looked up. Xanthasmoidea was rolling in, laughing and looking immeasurably pleased with himself. “You fell for it, you fuckin’ blob! Hah! Like Billy Sprockets would ever visit a shithole like this!”
He pressed his laugh track button as he rolled toward the bar, and this time the rest of the joint joined in laughing. Gooch’s face had turned bright red with mingled embarrassment and anger.
Gooch turned to Ballbuster and made a small slashing gesture across his throat. Ballbuster nodded, rose, caught up with Xanthasmoidea, and stomped down hard with his giant cybernetic foot on the rolling tank tracks. They shattered.
“Hey!” Xanthasmoidea cried, but Ballbuster had already seized him under his arms, and with a mighty yank, separated the man’s top half from the mechanical bottom. Xanthasmoidea howled in agony as his blood stained the entire bar area in gore.
Ballbuster threw the twitching, bleeding top half of Xanthasmoidea over his shoulder, picked up the wrecked tank tracks, crossed to the door, and threw both outside. The bar was filled with wide eyes and pure, stunned silence.
“Anybody else think they’re funny?” Gooch asked.
Two weeks after Nebra Sky had been hired, Commissioner Gorton paid The Swamp Donkey a visit.
“Commissioner!” Gooch cried as the man entered and the door rolled closed behind him. “What a pleasure!”
“Hmph,” Gorton said, settling on a bar stool next to Gooch and folding his arms.
“We have a new member of staff I’d like you to meet,” Gooch simpered, and Nebra Sky appeared. Gorton’s jaw immediately dropped and he extended his hand, dreamlike, to shake hers as she offered it. She shook his hand vigorously, and her half-exposed breasts jiggled in time.
“A pleasure,” she said. “My goodness, I had no idea police commissioners were so young and handsome.”
Commissioner Gorton was neither, but his mouth widened into an appreciative smile.
“And what is your name, young lady?” Gorton asked, when he returned to his senses.
“Nebra Sky,” she smiled, her silver lips catching the light and glinting seductively.
“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“A gal’s got to make a living, Commissioner,” she said, batting her eyelashes and wiping the bar in slow, hypnotic circles with a dish towel.
“Yes,” Gorton said, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. “Yes they do. Are you, er, skilled at mixing drinks?”
“I am,” she said, “but I have other skills that might be of more interest to you.”
“Is that so?” Gorton said, a lecherous smile across his face.
“Come out back and I’ll show you,” she said, beckoning him with her finger. Gorton was off his stool in a shot, following her like a cobra after a snake charmer. As they passed Gooch, she said, “You don’t mind, do you Big Daddy? I won’t be long.”
“No, not at all, of course not,” Gooch said. “You two kids go have fun. I’ll keep an eye on the bar.”
Nebra Sky and Commissioner Gorton passed through the holographic batwing doors and disappeared. Gooch heaved himself off his stool and crossed around to the other side of the bar.
“Syphilis!” Gooch shouted, and as always, the serpentine man appeared at his side.
“Yesss, bosss?”
“Did you see that?” Gooch said, so excited he could hardly contain himself. “Did you fucking see that? Nebra Sky is back there helping Gorton get his nut off! When Gorton’s happy, everybody’s happy! Hot damn! This is gonna pay off for me big in the long run!”
“Yesss, bosss,” Sifliss said.
Rather than an isolated incident, Nebra Sky’s behavior became a pattern over the next couple of weeks. All of the biggest names on both sides of the law in Quantum City made visits to The Swamp Donkey, and Nebra Sky was happy to take all of them—men, women, and multi-genders alike—out back for a good time.
“You’re more popular than I am in this town!” roared Gooch, who was running out of places to stash the credits that were pouring in. Nebra Sky merely smiled and went about her business.
Then one morning, as Gooch sat in his office, envisioning all of the improvements he was planning to make now that he was loaded with credits, there came a soft rapping at the door.
“Come in,” Gooch said.
In walked the unmistakable figure of Nebra Sky, followed closely by Sifliss, who closed the door softly behind him.
“Well, if it isn’t my credit-making wonder and my right-hand … whatever you are, Syphilis,” Gooch said genially. “What can I do for you?”
Nebra Sky and Sifliss merely stood there, staring at Gooch.
“Well come on, goddammit!” Gooch said. “I haven’t got all day! What do you want?”
Sifliss smiled widely, exposing the fangs that sat in front of his human teeth. Nebra Sky smiled as well.
“I’m afraid you’re done, bosss,” Sifliss said simply. “We’re taking over.”
Gooch chuckled. “You’re what?”
“Taking over,” Sifliss repeated.
“Taking over. And, uh, exactly how the fuck do you propose to do that?” Gooch said, his temper rising.
Nebra Sky stepped forward and did a handstand flip onto Gooch’s desk, knocking piles of credits in every direction. She kicked Gooch so hard in the jaw that he toppled sideways out of his chair and hit the floor with a resounding thump. She jumped gracefully back down. Gooch drunkenly raised his head and the lower half of his face had been forcefully moved around to the side of his head. He scooted on his massive backside away from Nebra Sky, effectively trapping himself in the corner of the office.
“Don’t you recognize me, Big Daddy?” she smiled, approaching him as he cowered. Then suddenly his own deep voice issued out of Nebra Sky’s mouth: “Everything in this place is junk! Junk! Junk! Worthless junk!”
Gooch’s eyes widened as he cradled his shattered jaw.
“You recall our old, rather shabby prossstitute droid?” Sifliss asked calmly. “The one you kicked around ssso calloussssly? The one you told me to deactivate?”
Gooch could only nod, terrified.
Sifliss gestured toward Nebra Sky. “Thisss isss her. I didn’t deactivate her. I got her an upgrade.”
Gooch froze in disbelief.
“It’s true, Big Daddy,” she purred. “And you’ve told me how this whole operation works. I’ve made this place hugely profitable, and all the important people in Quantum City come to see me now. So what do we need you for?”
Gooch tried to speak, but a mushy grunt was all he was able to get out before Nebra Sky began viciously stomping and kicking his head. Again and again she brought her foot down and Gooch’s skull shattered under the blunt force, so by the time she stopped, what remained of Gooch’s head was little more than blood and pulverized brain and skull fragments sitting atop his flabby dead body. Nebra Sky wiped her gore-stained shoe on his shirt.
“I’ll get sssomeone to clean that up,” Sifliss smiled as Nebra Sky came around the desk to join him. “Well, my dear, The SsssSwamp Donkey isss all ourssss. What shall we do firssssst?”
“Just need to tie up a few loose threads,” Nebra Sky cooed, stroking Sifliss’ hood. She turned toward the closed office door. “You can come in now.”
The door swung open and there was BackJack, who looked tanned, relaxed, and completely at ease.
“BackJack!” Sifliss said, surprised. “How wonderful! We’ll need sssomeone to work the bar now that Nebra Sssky hasss moved up to management.”
Behind him, Nebra Sky rolled her hand back and a long, gleaming blade slid silently out of a metal sheath hidden under the skin on the bottom of her wrist. With a calculated thrust, she drove the blade into Sifliss’ back, the point of it popping out through the front of his white suit jacket.
“What—?” Sifliss managed to hiss.
“Sorry, friend,” Nebra Sky said. “I appreciate the upgrade, but I can’t forget that while Big Daddy was kicking the shit out of me, you stood by and did nothing. There was only one member of the team who ever treated me with anything resembling kindness, and you’re looking at him.”
BackJack shrugged, a knowing grin across his face. Nebra Sky hoisted Sifliss off his feet by the blade and he flailed, spasming in the air, gasping and wheezing, until with one last rattling hiss, he was limp and still. Nebra Sky dropped him and he fell to the floor with a wet, sickly thud. She retracted the blade and smiled.
BackJack looked at her fondly. “Glad I was always so good to you,” he said.
“You were,” Nebra Sky said. BackJack spread his arms wide and leaned forward to hug her, but her hand flew up like a shot and seized his neck. His eyes were wide with shock and fear as he desperately grabbed her wrist and tried to force her off of him.
“Unfortunately,” Nebra Sky continued, “The Swamp Donkey is mine now. And having you hanging around would just be a liability. Sorry.”
She squeezed hard and crushed BackJack’s windpipe. She threw his body against the far wall, where it slid down to the floor, very much dead.
“So much for loose ends,” she said brightly.
The following night, The Swamp Donkey was filled to capacity with only the wealthiest, most beautiful, and most important people in Quantum City. As the excited buzz and chatter reached a crescendo, Nebra Sky came rolling through the holographic batwing doors, riding a robo-chariot and dressed in the height of Quantum City fashion. The crowd roared their approval and she spread her arms wide with a flourish and was helped up to stand on top of the bar.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and miscellaneous, I’m pleased to announce that The Swamp Donkey is under new management!” she cried. Another roar went up from the crowd.
“Now grab a drink, make yourself comfortable, and enjoy,” she finished, “because we are open for business!”
ALSO AVAILABLE
BY STEPHEN LOMER
Hell’s Nerds and Other Tales
Typo Squad
Typo Squad Book II: Return of the Wordmonger
Belle’s Christmas Carol
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A grammar nerd, Star Trek fan, and other things that chicks dig, Stephen Lomer is the author of the popular novel Typo Squad and Typo Squad Book II: Return of the Wordmonger; the short story collections Stargazer Lilies or Nothing at All and Hell’s Nerds and Other Tales; and the holiday novella Belle’s Christmas Carol. He’s been a finalist in the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge numerous times, and has featured stories in the anthologies UnCommon Evil Once Upon a Time in Gravity City, and My Peculiar Family II.
Stephen is the creator, owner, and a regular contributor to the website Television Woodshed. He’s a hardcore fan of the Houston Texans, despite living in the Hub of the Universe his whole life, and believes Mark Twain was correct about pretty much everything.
“A bartender,” she repeated, smiling. “I’m applying for a job, Big Daddy.”
Gooch slowly came back to himself and realized that the entire place was frozen, all eyes on the mysterious woman.
“What the fuck are you humps all staring at?” Gooch shouted, and the spell was broken. Everyone went back about their business, but with plenty of sidelong glances at her.
“So,” Gooch said, leaning forward on the bar and offering her a smile of his own. “You got a name, sweetheart?”
“Nebra Sky,” she said, blinking slowly.
“And you wanna tend bar?” Gooch asked. “Here?”
“That’s right,” Nebra Sky nodded.
“Hey Syphilis!” Gooch shouted across the bar, and Sifliss appeared at his side in a heartbeat.
“Yesss sssir?” Sifliss said.
“This is Nebra Sky,” Gooch said. “She wants to be our bartender.”
“I ssssee,” Sifliss said greedily. “Well, she’sss certainly an upgrade … er, over the bartender we have now.”
“She certainly is,” Gooch said. “Even if she can’t mix a drink worth a damn, the line would be out the door every night just to get a look at those jugs.”
“Well, as it happens, I can mix a drink worth a damn,” Nebra Sky said. “Jugs notwithstanding.”
“Hm. What do you think?” Gooch asked Sifliss.
“My only concern isss for the young lady’sss sssafety,” Sifliss said. “Thisss place can get a little … rough.”
At that moment, a great roar came up from the crowd of humans, cyborgs, aliens, and unclassified life forms as The Moist Towelettes stepped up to the front of the stage.
“Onetwothreefour!” the lead singer howled, and the band began playing loud, fast, aggressive music, the lyrics of which were barely distinguishable over the distortion:
Took a trip to Ceti Alpha Five
Barely made it out alive
That ammonia-oxide breath
Got me praying for my death
The assorted life forms on the dance floor immediately began slamming into one another until in no time at all, a good-natured mosh pit had formed in front of the stage. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, jumping around and bouncing off one another, but then a tall yellow-skinned alien got shoved hard into a tall red-skinned alien, knocking the red-skinned alien to the floor. Red jumped up and shoved Yellow hard in the chest, and then fists began to fly.
The rest of the crowd seemed to sense the escalation in violence and everyone began lashing out with wild punches, thrusting kicks, and savage headbutts. Bones cracked loudly enough to be heard over the music. Blood poured freely and flew in all directions, staining the ceiling, the walls, and even The Moist Towelettes. The band paid no attention and kept on playing.
Took a trip to the Phantom Zone
Thought I’d be there all alone
Then I met a guy named Zod
Now I’m feeling pretty odd
Gooch, Sifliss, and Nebra Sky watched the chaos for a few moments, and then Nebra Sky turned back to the two men.
“Concerned for my safety?” she asked with a seductive smile. “Watch this.”
And with that, she leapt gracefully into the pit. For a minute or so she was lost in the sea of brawling, undulating creatures, but then a great hole opened in the middle of the crowd. There was Nebra Sky, swinging a sparking cyborg leg in a wide arc, taking out everyone within the limb’s radius. On the floor near her lay the now-one-legged cyborg, who gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up and egged her on. Bodies and body parts flew in every direction as she lashed out to the left and right, in front and behind.
When the band finished their song, the crowd—broken, battered, and bloodied—seemed to be cheering as much for Nebra Sky as they were The Moist Towelettes. She threw the leg down on the floor and made her way back to the bar as the next song started.
“Well?” she asked. She wasn’t even out of breath, nor had she broken a sweat. Gooch smiled.
“You’re hired,” he said. “BackJack!” he bellowed.
BackJack appeared, looking terrified. “Yessir?”
“You’re fired,” Gooch said. “Fuck off.”
If anything, BackJack looked immensely relieved as he took off his waist apron and laid it on the bar.
Gooch turned back to Nebra Sky. “I can only pay you in Copernican Credits. That a problem?”
“Not at all, Big Daddy,” she said sweetly. “I have a funny feeling you’ll be making plenty.”
“I have a funny feeling you’re right,” Gooch grinned.
With rumors of new bartender Nebra Sky’s beauty circulating the underground community, along with glowing reviews of The Swamp Donkey’s new house band and their ultra-violent fans, the speakeasy was jammed to capacity every single night. Gooch could easily have slipped back into his office, but he enjoyed being out front, watching Nebra Sky flirting with the customers and seeing the piles and piles of Copernican Credits they left as tips. And, of course, he enjoyed watching Nebra Sky.
“How’d we get so goddamned lucky?” Gooch asked Sifliss one night as Nebra Sky raked in piles of money.
“It’sss a myssstery,” Sifliss said vaguely.
On the occasions when Gooch did slip away to his office to count out voluminous piles of credits, Nebra Sky would visit him, tease him, flirt with him, and ask questions about The Swamp Donkey—how it had come into existence, how the finances worked, whose palms were being greased, and so on. Gooch never hesitated to answer her questions, but when he wondered aloud why she was so curious about such things, she merely shrugged her shoulders, smiled, and said, “I just want to know about the place where I work, Big Daddy.”
A week later, Gooch was sitting in his chosen spot at the end of the bar when Ballbuster approached him—which was highly unusual, because Ballbuster never left his perch by the entrance for any reason.
“Hey boss,” Ballbuster’s digitized voice modulator said.
“What?” Gooch asked.
“Billy Sprockets is at the door,” Ballbuster replied.
Gooch turned a sickly shade of green and felt sweat stains forming down his spine, under his arms, and around his ball sack.
“Billy Sprockets?” Gooch repeated windlessly, his breath seemingly knocked right out of him.
“Yeah,” Ballbuster said. “Only he ain’t got the passwoid.”
Gooch’s eyes went suddenly wide. He moved with the speed of a man half his size and jumped up to stand on his barstool so he could slap Ballbuster’s head.
“You fuckin’ halfwit!” Gooch hissed. “Billy Sprockets is the biggest goddamned crime boss in this whole godforsaken fuckin’ city!”
“So should I let him in?”
“So should I let him in?” Gooch mocked. “Of course you should let him in!”
Ballbuster turned to go, and Gooch had a sudden inspiration. “No, wait! I’ll let him in! Get outta my way!”
Gooch scrambled across the room and nearly collided with the door. He smoothed out his shirt and his hair, took a deep breath, and rolled the door aside.
“Welcome, Mister Sprockets,” Gooch said, bowing low. “You honor us with your presence.”
“Ahhh haah haaaaah!” he heard, and looked up. Xanthasmoidea was rolling in, laughing and looking immeasurably pleased with himself. “You fell for it, you fuckin’ blob! Hah! Like Billy Sprockets would ever visit a shithole like this!”
He pressed his laugh track button as he rolled toward the bar, and this time the rest of the joint joined in laughing. Gooch’s face had turned bright red with mingled embarrassment and anger.
Gooch turned to Ballbuster and made a small slashing gesture across his throat. Ballbuster nodded, rose, caught up with Xanthasmoidea, and stomped down hard with his giant cybernetic foot on the rolling tank tracks. They shattered.
“Hey!” Xanthasmoidea cried, but Ballbuster had already seized him under his arms, and with a mighty yank, separated the man’s top half from the mechanical bottom. Xanthasmoidea howled in agony as his blood stained the entire bar area in gore.
Ballbuster threw the twitching, bleeding top half of Xanthasmoidea over his shoulder, picked up the wrecked tank tracks, crossed to the door, and threw both outside. The bar was filled with wide eyes and pure, stunned silence.
“Anybody else think they’re funny?” Gooch asked.
Two weeks after Nebra Sky had been hired, Commissioner Gorton paid The Swamp Donkey a visit.
“Commissioner!” Gooch cried as the man entered and the door rolled closed behind him. “What a pleasure!”
“Hmph,” Gorton said, settling on a bar stool next to Gooch and folding his arms.
“We have a new member of staff I’d like you to meet,” Gooch simpered, and Nebra Sky appeared. Gorton’s jaw immediately dropped and he extended his hand, dreamlike, to shake hers as she offered it. She shook his hand vigorously, and her half-exposed breasts jiggled in time.
“A pleasure,” she said. “My goodness, I had no idea police commissioners were so young and handsome.”
Commissioner Gorton was neither, but his mouth widened into an appreciative smile.
“And what is your name, young lady?” Gorton asked, when he returned to his senses.
“Nebra Sky,” she smiled, her silver lips catching the light and glinting seductively.
“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“A gal’s got to make a living, Commissioner,” she said, batting her eyelashes and wiping the bar in slow, hypnotic circles with a dish towel.
“Yes,” Gorton said, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. “Yes they do. Are you, er, skilled at mixing drinks?”
“I am,” she said, “but I have other skills that might be of more interest to you.”
“Is that so?” Gorton said, a lecherous smile across his face.
“Come out back and I’ll show you,” she said, beckoning him with her finger. Gorton was off his stool in a shot, following her like a cobra after a snake charmer. As they passed Gooch, she said, “You don’t mind, do you Big Daddy? I won’t be long.”
“No, not at all, of course not,” Gooch said. “You two kids go have fun. I’ll keep an eye on the bar.”
Nebra Sky and Commissioner Gorton passed through the holographic batwing doors and disappeared. Gooch heaved himself off his stool and crossed around to the other side of the bar.
“Syphilis!” Gooch shouted, and as always, the serpentine man appeared at his side.
“Yesss, bosss?”
“Did you see that?” Gooch said, so excited he could hardly contain himself. “Did you fucking see that? Nebra Sky is back there helping Gorton get his nut off! When Gorton’s happy, everybody’s happy! Hot damn! This is gonna pay off for me big in the long run!”
“Yesss, bosss,” Sifliss said.
Rather than an isolated incident, Nebra Sky’s behavior became a pattern over the next couple of weeks. All of the biggest names on both sides of the law in Quantum City made visits to The Swamp Donkey, and Nebra Sky was happy to take all of them—men, women, and multi-genders alike—out back for a good time.
“You’re more popular than I am in this town!” roared Gooch, who was running out of places to stash the credits that were pouring in. Nebra Sky merely smiled and went about her business.
Then one morning, as Gooch sat in his office, envisioning all of the improvements he was planning to make now that he was loaded with credits, there came a soft rapping at the door.
“Come in,” Gooch said.
In walked the unmistakable figure of Nebra Sky, followed closely by Sifliss, who closed the door softly behind him.
“Well, if it isn’t my credit-making wonder and my right-hand … whatever you are, Syphilis,” Gooch said genially. “What can I do for you?”
Nebra Sky and Sifliss merely stood there, staring at Gooch.
“Well come on, goddammit!” Gooch said. “I haven’t got all day! What do you want?”
Sifliss smiled widely, exposing the fangs that sat in front of his human teeth. Nebra Sky smiled as well.
“I’m afraid you’re done, bosss,” Sifliss said simply. “We’re taking over.”
Gooch chuckled. “You’re what?”
“Taking over,” Sifliss repeated.
“Taking over. And, uh, exactly how the fuck do you propose to do that?” Gooch said, his temper rising.
Nebra Sky stepped forward and did a handstand flip onto Gooch’s desk, knocking piles of credits in every direction. She kicked Gooch so hard in the jaw that he toppled sideways out of his chair and hit the floor with a resounding thump. She jumped gracefully back down. Gooch drunkenly raised his head and the lower half of his face had been forcefully moved around to the side of his head. He scooted on his massive backside away from Nebra Sky, effectively trapping himself in the corner of the office.
“Don’t you recognize me, Big Daddy?” she smiled, approaching him as he cowered. Then suddenly his own deep voice issued out of Nebra Sky’s mouth: “Everything in this place is junk! Junk! Junk! Worthless junk!”
Gooch’s eyes widened as he cradled his shattered jaw.
“You recall our old, rather shabby prossstitute droid?” Sifliss asked calmly. “The one you kicked around ssso calloussssly? The one you told me to deactivate?”
Gooch could only nod, terrified.
Sifliss gestured toward Nebra Sky. “Thisss isss her. I didn’t deactivate her. I got her an upgrade.”
Gooch froze in disbelief.
“It’s true, Big Daddy,” she purred. “And you’ve told me how this whole operation works. I’ve made this place hugely profitable, and all the important people in Quantum City come to see me now. So what do we need you for?”
Gooch tried to speak, but a mushy grunt was all he was able to get out before Nebra Sky began viciously stomping and kicking his head. Again and again she brought her foot down and Gooch’s skull shattered under the blunt force, so by the time she stopped, what remained of Gooch’s head was little more than blood and pulverized brain and skull fragments sitting atop his flabby dead body. Nebra Sky wiped her gore-stained shoe on his shirt.
“I’ll get sssomeone to clean that up,” Sifliss smiled as Nebra Sky came around the desk to join him. “Well, my dear, The SsssSwamp Donkey isss all ourssss. What shall we do firssssst?”
“Just need to tie up a few loose threads,” Nebra Sky cooed, stroking Sifliss’ hood. She turned toward the closed office door. “You can come in now.”
The door swung open and there was BackJack, who looked tanned, relaxed, and completely at ease.
“BackJack!” Sifliss said, surprised. “How wonderful! We’ll need sssomeone to work the bar now that Nebra Sssky hasss moved up to management.”
Behind him, Nebra Sky rolled her hand back and a long, gleaming blade slid silently out of a metal sheath hidden under the skin on the bottom of her wrist. With a calculated thrust, she drove the blade into Sifliss’ back, the point of it popping out through the front of his white suit jacket.
“What—?” Sifliss managed to hiss.
“Sorry, friend,” Nebra Sky said. “I appreciate the upgrade, but I can’t forget that while Big Daddy was kicking the shit out of me, you stood by and did nothing. There was only one member of the team who ever treated me with anything resembling kindness, and you’re looking at him.”
BackJack shrugged, a knowing grin across his face. Nebra Sky hoisted Sifliss off his feet by the blade and he flailed, spasming in the air, gasping and wheezing, until with one last rattling hiss, he was limp and still. Nebra Sky dropped him and he fell to the floor with a wet, sickly thud. She retracted the blade and smiled.
BackJack looked at her fondly. “Glad I was always so good to you,” he said.
“You were,” Nebra Sky said. BackJack spread his arms wide and leaned forward to hug her, but her hand flew up like a shot and seized his neck. His eyes were wide with shock and fear as he desperately grabbed her wrist and tried to force her off of him.
“Unfortunately,” Nebra Sky continued, “The Swamp Donkey is mine now. And having you hanging around would just be a liability. Sorry.”
She squeezed hard and crushed BackJack’s windpipe. She threw his body against the far wall, where it slid down to the floor, very much dead.
“So much for loose ends,” she said brightly.
The following night, The Swamp Donkey was filled to capacity with only the wealthiest, most beautiful, and most important people in Quantum City. As the excited buzz and chatter reached a crescendo, Nebra Sky came rolling through the holographic batwing doors, riding a robo-chariot and dressed in the height of Quantum City fashion. The crowd roared their approval and she spread her arms wide with a flourish and was helped up to stand on top of the bar.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and miscellaneous, I’m pleased to announce that The Swamp Donkey is under new management!” she cried. Another roar went up from the crowd.
“Now grab a drink, make yourself comfortable, and enjoy,” she finished, “because we are open for business!”
ALSO AVAILABLE
BY STEPHEN LOMER
Hell’s Nerds and Other Tales
Typo Squad
Typo Squad Book II: Return of the Wordmonger
Belle’s Christmas Carol
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A grammar nerd, Star Trek fan, and other things that chicks dig, Stephen Lomer is the author of the popular novel Typo Squad and Typo Squad Book II: Return of the Wordmonger; the short story collections Stargazer Lilies or Nothing at All and Hell’s Nerds and Other Tales; and the holiday novella Belle’s Christmas Carol. He’s been a finalist in the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge numerous times, and has featured stories in the anthologies UnCommon Evil Once Upon a Time in Gravity City, and My Peculiar Family II.
Stephen is the creator, owner, and a regular contributor to the website Television Woodshed. He’s a hardcore fan of the Houston Texans, despite living in the Hub of the Universe his whole life, and believes Mark Twain was correct about pretty much everything.
