A black mass cannoned the door into the publisher, winding him in the process. Robert was suddenly on the ground too. “What the …?” said the publisher as he picked himself up.
A donkey stood in the middle. It was made from dark stained wood and it's varnished gloss rippled reflections as it rotated it's head to examine the surroundings. The creature pulled it's painted red lips into a clown's grin then spoke, “Hi Tog,” Cold polished black stone eyes fixed on me, “it's real good to meet again, I see you have company.”
Robert still on the floor, had assumed a seating position and watched the wooden monster with wide-eyed curiosity as it strode toward him like an amateur clay animation. “ don't like this man,” it said, “he is vain and obnoxious because he cares too much about how others perceive him, but he makes a good servant as he will do anything for money … don't trust him.”
A weight pulled my upper body towards the ground for an instant, I didn't realize what it was until I saw that a sizeable sledgehammer had materialized, quite snugly, into my hands. The tool looked brand new, the Khan brand logo was crisply emblazoned in black on the bright yellow shaft. The metal head glinted like a wink at me. A thought broke into my head like a fat cat burglar squeezing through a window frame. A grin spread like molten cheese across my face. Laughter erupted from my mouth. The donkey had recoiled, eyes exposed like the fear that trembled beneath it's smooth grainy exterior. A shadow writhed over it like a snake and I saw the reflection of a man possessed by madness in the cold stone eyes. There was a loud crack, and wood chips shrapnelled into the air.
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Darkness with a fuzzy orange glow. The sound of car horns and engines, somewhere else. I opened my eyes. I was in my hotel room, lying on the dusty timber floor. A warm morning light invited itself into the room. I couldn't remember how I got back, but the guilt of the previous day's assault on an innocent man nibbled at my conscience – why oh why? The room span for a second as I got to my feet. There was a dusty dressing table, I wiped it's tarnished mirror, then examined myself. Okay, I looked close to mint condition, no visible signs of damage – the body is once again ready for exploration in the physical realm, maybe the other guy was not so lucky; I can't believe I kicked that guy in the butt.
I've got to get out of this place. Can't stay, the local police will be keeping an eye out for me. They probably won't throw me in the slammer, no, they're too smart for that - they don't want scumbag tourists occupying their oh-so-precious jail space. More than likely, they'd be scary horndogs who like to play it cool, but they like to teach out of town troublemakers a lesson that they won't be forgetting too quickly; you know, these moustached guys that join this small town law enforcement are all closet homosexuals anyway, waiting to wreak all those years of pent-up sexual frustration on some poor chap who just had one drink too many.
My stuff! I've got to gather my belongings … that's what they do in the movies, anyway. I grabbed my battered suitcase and threw it on the bed. A colourful assortment of travel labels adorned the case which reminded me that I had been given an “I [heart symbol] Buckaboo!” sticker upon arrival, I pulled it from my back pocket, quickly uncrumpled it, then adhered it in the largest unoccupied area, taking a split second to admire it by tilting my head at a slight angle to one side. I smacked the side of my skull with the palm of my hand, “Think! THINK!” After a momentary pause, I switched into action mode, flipped the suitcase open and flung my clothes into it.
to be continued ...
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