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CRANKYBLANCA
Chapter 21: "...if I'm going to make sense out of this dizzy affair."
RBB [voiceover]: I've read lots of private-eye novels and seen lots of noir movies, and I know how the genre works. The private eye is always tired, cynical, world-weary, and on the edge of being fed up with his clients, with the cops, and with everyone around him. That's why he cracks wise. People don't realize that John Adams was in some ways the prototype for every wisecracking private eye since Philip Marlowe. Most people think him of as the second President, and some remember him as a key advocate of Independence, and a few know that he was a leading constitutional thinker. But, while I admired all that about John Adams, what I loved about him was what he called his "little capillary vein of satire" that ran through his entire being. He once wrote, "Sometimes looking at the world I do not know whether to cry or to laugh. I choose to laugh." He was good at cracking wise -- especially about himself. I always did like the guy.
But, the morning after helping to defuse the Crankyland riot, I didn't like myself very much. I was fed up with the whole damn case and just about everybody involved with it. And that morning tested my patience almost to the breaking point.
First, the phone rang, and it was Doc Rochelle
DOC ROCHELLE [on phone]: Richard, you and Princess have to get down here. I found something useful for you.
RBB [voiceover]: She hung up without waiting for my answer. So I put aside the book I was trying to focus on while waiting for Princess to wake up, and I woke her up. We each choked down some coffee and did some rudimentary cleaning up, and then we headed over to her lab.
When we got there, we found chaos, with Doc Rochelle somehow acting as ringmaster. I'd never met her team of lab techs, but they contrived to make the Marx Brothers look like Crick and Watson analyzing the structure of DNA. The head tech, who called himself sickevilbastard, was juggling Erlenmeyer flasks (empty, thank heaven), and the other two, whom Rochelle introduced as pipe and Cry_Havoc, were giggling hysterically while using Doc Rochelle's overhead projector to show obscene finger-puppet skits.
DOC ROCHELLE: Richard, Princess, never mind them. I've got something useful for you.
RBB: What's that?
PRINCESS OF PMS: Do you have coffee for us?
DOC ROCHELLE: Where are my manners? Boys ... BOYS ... *BOYS!* Rustle up some coffee for our guests, will you?
SICKEVILBASTARD: Right away, Doc.
PIPE: Immediately, Doc.
CRY_HAVOC: Good as done, Doc.
RBB [voiceover]: Of course, they kept on doing what they were doing. I saw Princess's knuckles turn white as she gripped the back of a chair, and I figured I had to do something before she got medieval on them. I grabbed the whirling Erlenmeyer flasks and put them down, and then I seized sickevilbastard and glared at him, eye to eye. He stopped giggling and focused on me.
RBB: Coffee. Black. Hot. Wet. Now. Make some. Got it?
SICKEVILBASTARD: Got it, sir.
RBB: And make sure you rinse out whatever you make it in before you make it, and make sure that you serve it in clean mugs that you didn't use to analyze semen samples, got it?
SICKEVILBASTARD: Got it.
RBB [voiceover]: He scurried off and started making coffee. Princess sighed and relaxed, and Doc Rochelle smiled ruefully.
DOC ROCHELLE: Sorry, it's just that they're hyperactive, and I was too focused on what I've found to rein them in. But -- remember that nanovirus that killed Bulworth?
RBB: Yes.
DOC ROCHELLE: And remember how it was engineered?
PRINCESS OF PMS: Yes.
DOC ROCHELLE: I've done some work on it, and I've re-engineered it. It now counters the effects of the original form of the nanovirus. All you have to do is inject it into the patient who has the nanovirus and it neutralizes the dangerous effects.
RBB: Great work, Doc. How much can you have made up for us?
DOC ROCHELLE: If these clowns would stop fooling around, I could have enough for a dozen people by the end of today.
PRINCESS OF PMS: How do we inject them?
DOC ROCHELLE: That's another thing, but I have an answer for that as well. Remember those old hypoguns that you used to see in STAR TREK reruns? They really exist now. I have half a dozen right here.
RBB: Doc, you're a miracle worker. Could you get my rent lowered?
DOC ROCHELLE: On a New York apartment? Even I have my limits, Richard.
RBB: Never mind. What you've done is just fine.
CRY_HAVOC: You're short.
RBB: I know that. So the hell what?
CRY_HAVOC: Nothing -- just making an observation.
RBB: Go observe something else.
PIPE: My turn, my turn! And you read too much. No real private eye wears glasses.
RBB: Say that again.
PIPE: No. You heard me the first time.
RBB: Doc, get these clowns in Ritalin as soon as you can before I give in to my desire to knock heads together.
PRINCESS OF PMS: He's serious, Doc. I can tell. And teach the other one how to make coffee, will you/? This tastes like hot water in which somebody has been soaking a brown crayon.
SICKEVILBASTARD: Let me taste that. Hmm. You're right. I'd better go put in another crayon.
RBB: Doc, seriously, thanks. This is great work. But do me a favor. Next time, get us over here when the Three Stooges are *not* here, OK?
DOC ROCHELLE: OK, but now you see how much of a miracle worker I really am, right?
PRINCESS OF PMS: Right. -- STOP THAT, YOU DIRTY-MINDED BRAT!
RBB [voiceover]: In case you ever meet Princess and feel the temptation to pat her on the butt, let me give you a word of advice -- don't. sickevilbastard found out the hard way. He howled in pain as she grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard, all the while staring him down. Meanwhile, the phone rang and Doc answered it.
SICKEVILBASTARD: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Ouch! Can't you accept a compliment?
PRINCESS OF PMS: All you had to do was to say, "Nice ass." I would have let you live for that.
RBB: Let him live, Princess. We don't want to turn the Doc's lab into a crime scene, right?
PRINCESS OF PMS: I suppose so.
RBB [voiceover]: She let him go, and he retreated hastily, whimpering to himself. Meantime, Cry_Havoc and pipe had drawn near to watch, and they looked at us with eyes wide as saucers. I know it's a cliché, but you had to see them.
DOC ROCHELLE: While you were playing, something weird seems to have happened back at Crankyland. You'd better get over there now.
PRINCESS OF PMS: Ping pong balls, that's what we are.
RBB: And I hope that neither of us likes being paddled.
RBB [voiceover]: I checked in with Eamon J Doyle, and all he said was that we had to get back as soon as possible. Princess and I sprinted for her car, and we roared through rush-hour traffic to get to Shadowculture Drive, and then pulled up in front of Cranky's Cafe Americain.
What greeted us was not to be believed.
I saw Lieutenant JYD, looking surlier and more exhausted than ever, standing there with his arms folded looking down at something. Beside him was one of the new guys from Cranky's security detail, a young bookish sort named lentil. I had had several talks with him in Crankyland; he was a bit green but his heart was in the right place and his head was on straight. Right now, he was looking angry and fed up.
LENTIL: It had to happen on my watch, didn't it?
LT. JYD: Calm down. Nobody's blaming you. In fact, you did exactly the right thing calling it in.
RBB: Calling *what* in? Morning, Lieutenant. We've got to stop meeting like this. People will talk.
LT. JYD: The hell you say. Morning, Prof, Princess. We've got a real doozy on our hands. Come inside; I have a call in to the paramedics already.
RBB [voiceover]: He led us into the main room, which was cordoned off by the most hard-nosed of the Crankyland cops from the previous night. I nodded greetings to them and they nodded back. Before I kept going, I stopped to have a quick talk with Eamon J Doyle.
RBB: What is it?
EAMON J DOYLE: I can't find the words, Professor. Wait and see.
When I got through the police cordon, I stopped dead. Doyle had been right; I could not believe what I was seeing. Floating in the middle of the room, near one of the new forum tables, was something that hurt my eyes to look at. It was like one of those ugly moiré patterns that people liked to dump into every op-art painting and silk-screen back in the 1960s, when I was about ten years old. But this was no piece of art. It was floating and turning slowly, majestically. It was about six feet in diameter with the center at waist level. And there, caught in the center, was a Crankizen, screaming for help.
It was Smitty Marine, one of the rioters from last night. I don't know whether he was a real marine or not, but he always affected to wear Marine fatigues when he was in Crankyland, and the part of him that I could see was clad that way. He was cut off at the waist and he was rotating slowly, with the moiré spiral pattern. I walked around to see the other side, and all I saw was the pattern -- no Smitty Marine's lower half.
Nearby was another of the rioters from last night, a Southern belle type named Violet Beauregarde. She was sobbing into a lace handkerchief that looked as if it would disintegrate with one good sneeze. She looked like a cross between Elly Mae from the old BEVERLY HILLBILLIES sitcom and Pamela Anderson Lee before the breast-augmentation surgery. She was clad in the usual for a Southern belle in Crankyland -- hip-hugging denim shorts, cropped T-shirt with the Confederate battle flag across her shapely chest, and a good deal of hairspray cloaking a mane of blonde hair. She was cute if you like that sort of thing, but just then I was in such a foul mood that I would cheerfully have given General Sherman a box of Zippo lighters with instructions. Princess went up to her and tried to get her to calm down, while I focused on Smitty Marine's predicament.
RBB: This is one for the books.
SMITTY MARINE: You have to help me!
RBB: Calm donw, Goddamnit.
VIOLET BEAUREGARDE: Ricky-poo! You have to save my Smitty!
RBB: If you want yourself and Smitty to live, you will *never* call me that again.
PRINCESS OF PMS: Easy, Richard. She's just living up to her stereotype. OK, don't worry about him. He's grouchy because he hasn't had enough coffee.
RBB: Neither have you.
PRINCESS OF PMS: That's right.
EAMON J DOYLE: Coffee will be right out, folks.
PRINCESS OF PMS: Thanks. Now, Violet, let's pretend that it's just you and me, and you tell me what happened here.
VIOLET BEAUREGARDE: Oh, it was horrible. Smitty was convinced that nobody was doing anything to help save Crankyland, and he could do it, and I agreed to help, and we started trying to figure out what the threat was, and Smitty found this weird place out there -- another Crankyland...
RBB [voiceover]: I cursed under my breath. Another bozo who thought he could play with fire and not get burned. God alone knows what damage he might have done -- and how much he might have tipped off the other side to what we knew about the clone Crankyland. Meanwhile, Violet was continuing to spill the story, and Smitty was whimpering in despair.
VIOLET BEAUREGARDE: We found it... and Smitty decided that he'd get in there and confront the people who were going to destroy Crankyland, but something went wrong and ... and ...
PRINCESS OF PMS: And he got caught.
VIOLET BEAUREGARDE: Yes. He was coming back to bring me through and suddenly the portal he'd made closed on him and he was caught.
RBB [voiceover]: Now that she said it, I realized what he reminded me of. It was like every Monday morning rush hour when some goddamned yuppie-puppy acts as if getting on the subway is a life-or-death thing. One once pushed me so that I fell with one leg dangling between the platform and the train; if a tired security guard on his way home hadn't reached down and pulled me up, I'd have been short one leg. Usually, they got themselves trapped in the door and started cussing and swearing. They wouldn't pull their arm or leg or briefcase free because they hoped that the motorman or conductor would open the doors so that they could get on. Or they would panic and start carrying on as if they'd been attacked by a school of piranha. Smitty's predicament was no different -- except that I'd never seen so bizarre a trap before.
OK, I thought to myself. Let's figure out what to do without tipping jen and her pals off. I was betting that the clone Crankyland was a big enough place that they couldn't monitor every square inch of it.
At that moment, the damn radio kicked in again.
VINYLMAN: Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Crankizens of all ages, sexes, races, and conditions. This is your Master of the platters, Vinylman here at WKRK, Radio Crankyland. And now, for this morning's music to get you up out of bed and out the door, listen to this orchestral medley from CAROUSEL....
PRINCESS OF PMS: Is he psychic or what?
RBB: Smitty, stop crying and listen to me.
SMITTY MARINE [moaning]: I'm getting dizzy.
RBB: Then close your eyes, goddamnit. Now listen to me. Where did you try to get into that other Crankyland?
SMITTY MARINE: It was in the DOUBLE JEOPARDY forum.
RBB: Do you remember if you were going into a specific thread, or if you were just heading into the forum?
SMITTY MARINE: Just heading into the forum. I was going to go in via a new post. And suddenly the whole thing collapsed. I'm going to die, aren't I?
RBB: You're not going to die ... but you'll wish that you had when we get through with you, *after* we get you out of this.
LT. JYD: Prof, ease off on him.
RBB [voiceover]: I stepped away and looked at the Lieutenant.
LT. JYD: We have nothing to charge him on.
RBB: How about interfering with a police investigation, the charge you keep threatening to dump on me?
LT. JYD: Oh ... you've got a point.
RBB: I know I do. Think it over, Lieutenant, and so will I.
RBB [voiceover]: I glanced over at lentil, who was looking scared and angry. I shrugged and beckoned him over.
LENTIL: Yes, Professor?
RBB: You found him this way?
LENTIL: Yes, Professor. You know that the place never closes. I was just put in command of the morning security shift, and I had just briefed my men, and then I heard a yell, and we looked over, and we found ... this ... with the boopsie over there screaming and crying as if she'd seen a ghost. I took one look and called the boss and the cops, and Mr. Cranky tracked you down at the medical examiner's office.
RBB: And you've been working with the Lieutenant after that?
LENTIL: Yes. He brought in the police, and I figured that they had more experience than the guys I could call on. I am so screwed.
RBB: No, you're not. Not at all. You're doing fine. I'll put in a word with Wolfman and Cranky for you.
LENTIL: I thought they'd blame me. Nobody's supposed to screw around like this here in the cafe.
RBB: Crankizens are like that, and we all know it. Don't worry. Nobody's going to blame you.
RBB [voiceover]: He managed to smile, and I patted him on the shoulder. Then I stepped back to stare at Smitty Marine, who was still rotating. The moiré pattern was silent, but he wasn't; he was blubbering and cursing and praying all at once. Some Marine, I thought.
RBB: Stop that noise or I'll stop it for you!
RBB [voiceover]: He shut up. Meanwhile Badtz Maru had joined us. He was looking fresh and chipper, as if he'd had a good night's sleep. Part of me hated him for it, but I was too smart to show it.
BADTZ MARU: Wow. This is strange.
RBB: He found the clone Crankyland and tried to get in there and got caught. Can we get him out?
BADTZ MARU: I think so, but it will be tricky. Let me talk to him a bit.
RBB [voiceover]: I tuned out the technobabble while Badtz Maru quizzed Smitty Marine and Princess comforted Violet Beauregarde. I was tired; for a moment I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. Then I felt Badtz's hand on my shoulder and turned around.
BADTZ MARU: I'm going back inside to try something. It should work.
RBB [voiceover]: He headed back to the control room and closed the door. For a moment everything was as it had been. Then the damn moiré pattern started turning faster, and faster. Smitty started screaming and praying, and the cops motioned everyone to get farther back. A noise like a dynamo running wild began to fill the whole room. Smitty was spinning faster, and beseeching us to shoot him, and then, with a loud pop like a cork on a bottle of second-rate champagne, he shot out of the moiré and caromed off the far wall, sliding to the ground. He was knocked cold. Violet ran over and gathered him into her lap, rocking back and forth and weeping. The moiré then slowly, elegantly irised shut, leaving nothing behind. Badtz Maru came back, smiling happily.
BADTZ MARU: It worked, didn't it?
RBB: It seems to have worked. We'll find out how he is when the paramedics get here.
BADTZ MARU: The bozo did us a favor. Now I know how we can open a pathway to the other Crankyland. The guys who got Crankyland to clone itself didn't realize that they cloned just about everything about Crankyland.
PRINCESS OF PMS: Including?
BADTZ MARU: Including all the back doors that Jason Cranky and Hans built into the place so that they could not be locked out of it by a hacker, or so that they could shut it down and work on it while the forums were retooled. We can use any number of those back door portals to get into the other place.
RBB: Will we be caught halfway like Smitty Marine?
BADTZ MARU: No chance. He didn't use any of those portals -- he tried to make a new one, and the clone Crankyland mousetrapped him. All I had to do was to turn the mousetrap subroutine against itself, and, instead of drawing him in or cutting him in two, it spat him out. But we can use the portals and they'll never know what hit them.
RBB [voiceover]: Meanwhile, the paramedics had arrived and the cops had let them through. With a start, I recognized two of them as two more of the panicked Crankizens from last night -- Bickle and JabBerwoCk.
BICKLE: OK, we have a white male, early 20s, medium height and build, unconscious and possibly concussed.
RBB: What about internal injuries, waist area?
JabBerwoCk: Checking -- no tenderness, no sign of internal bleeding, nothing like that.
PRINCESS OF PMS: Check out everything below the waist.
JabBerwoCk: I'm not that kind of guy.
BICKLE: She means is he injured in any way from the waist down to his feet?
JabBerwoCk: I know, I know -- it was a joke, goddamnit.
BICKLE: Just do it, OK?
JabBerwoCk: OK. Done. He's fine.
BICKLE: And he's coming around.
SMITTY MARINE: What ... what happened ... wait a minute ... I'm not caught. Oh, thank you, God. Thank you. Violet ... are you there?
VIOLET BEAUREGARDE: I'm right hear, Smitty.
BICKLE: No time for old home week, folks. You seem OK, pal, but we have to take you in to check you fully before we can greenlight your release.
SMITTY MARINE: Oh, thank God, I'm alive....
LT. JYD: Get him out of here.
VIOLET BEAUREGARDE: Can I ride with him?
BICKLE: Yeah, you can ride with him.
JabBerwoCk [leering]: Good call, Bickle.
RBB [voiceover]: As they took him away, I borrowed Princess's cellular phone and called Badtz Maru. He answered quickly.
RBB: Badtz.
BADTZ MARU: Here.
RBB: I need you do do a quick scan of the clone Crankyland, however you can manage it. Do they know what happened and are they going to do anything about it?
BADTZ MARU: Checking ... so far, all is quiet, Professor. From what I can tell, they have no idea what's been going on, and it should stay that way for a while.
RBB: Thank God.
RBB [voiceover]: The pieces were starting to fall into place. As yet, I had no word whether Wargasm had succeeded in making contact with jen. But slowly, painfully, we were getting into a position from which we could fight back to save Crankyland.
[...to be continued...]
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