Chapter 14

Roger's financial secret is revealed, and he prepares for the arrival of an old enemy.

Roger hummed contentedly as he walked through his own personal warehouse, which, much like his office, resembled a one-stop shop superstore that had been hit by a tornado. Scrap metal piled high, pieces of electronics scattered around the floor, wires, car motors, and crates filled with any number of random junk.

Right now, Roger’s focus was on several huge wooden crates clumped together in a corner of the room. He held a crowbar, one end wedged between the top and side panels of one crate. With a grunt, he heaved his weight onto it and the top of the crate came loose with a loud creak. A damp smell began to waft through the air. Peering inside the crate, Roger took a deep breath.

“Smells like money,” he said with a smile.

Inside the crate, stacked neatly and filling all the available space, was box after box of fish sticks. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Roger opened one of the boxes. He pulled out the plastic bag filled with frozen, smelly fish, processed and breaded just the way mom used to make. He unfolded a knife, opened the bag, took out one of the stick, and used the knife to scrape away the breading until only the pale, sad looking fish remained. He pulled the glove off of his right hand and poked the fish with one finger.

“Boink,” he said.

As he watched, the stick began to turn a shiny, golden color, spreading out from the point of contact with his finger until the whole stick had changed. Roger tapped it against the wood of the crate with a dull, metallic thunk. Satisfied, he threw it over he shoulder and pulled out another fish stick.

This went on for some time, Roger humming and performing his alchemical transition on the fish, until the door connecting the warehouse to the building opened up and Knuckle stepped into the room.

“Uh, hey, boss,” Knuckle said.

“What is it, big guy?” Roger said, still at work on the fish.

“You know how you told me to watch those secret security cameras and come and get you when that thing happened?”

“Yep.”

“It’s happening right now.”

Roger tossed the near-empty bag of fish sticks back into the crate and folded up his knife.

“Well, alright, then.” He smiled.

Roger sat in the desk chair in his messy office, headband around his forehead and a bag of microwave popcorn on his lap. His favorite music, Norwegian penultimate hadalpelagic viking electric abyss metal, played furiously over the sound system. His eyes were closed and he absentmindedly nodded his head along with the music, munching loudly with a grin on his face.

“Ooh!” he chuckled. “That had to hurt.”

He nodded some more as the keytar player began a blistering solo. Eventually he popped another handful of popcorn into his mouth. Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed uproariously, spraying popcorn shrapnel across the room.

“Oh my god,” he said. “That’s absolutely brutal. Time to switch channels.”

Placing his hands on the sides of his head, he took on a look of deep concentration. After a moment, he shook himself out, relaxed, and immediately tensed up again.

“The hell? What are they doing?” He jiggled his leg in agitation. “Come on, start hitting each other.”

Some time passed. He ate pieces of popcorn one at a time, and took a long, slurping sip from the straw of a soda on his desk.

“Ugh, this is boring-” he began, then stopped, raised his eyebrows, and smiled again. “Ooh, now it’s getting good again!”

He jiggled both legs, fingers drumming along with the music.

“I guess they were right,” he remarked. “That guy really is a pain in the a*s.”

He ate some more popcorn. He drank some more soda. He stopped suddenly, too engrossed to pay attention to anything else.

“He’d better not be trying to do what I think he’s about to do,” he said.

Drink in one hand, popcorn in the other, he did nothing but sit for a minute or two. He breathed slowly and evenly. Suddenly, he shot straight up out of the chair, dropping the items in his hands and punching the air.

“Whoooo!” he shouted. “That was the coolest damn thing I’ve seen in a long time! They freakin’ got him!”

He sat back down, ignoring the spreading puddle of soda on the floor. More time passed. The scattered popcorn was engulfed by the soda puddle, becoming little soggy icebergs of starch. It swirled around in the liquid, carried by the sugary current, which slowly came in contact with Roger’s incredibly expensive shoes. If he noticed, he didn’t seem to care.

“Yeah, they’re really more like pizza burritos,” he said to himself.

He folded his arms over his chest and nodded with the music.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on, now,” he said, unfolding his arms and grabbing the armrests. “Somebody’s got a big mouth…wait a minute. This could work.” His mouth opened in a grin of realization. “This could be it. I think I know what that look means…”

He stood up once more, removing the headband with a dramatic flourish. Taken by a sudden exuberance, he clapped his hands together and began to rub them. “That’s a shame about the kids, of course, but I guess you can’t win ‘em all.” Gleefully, he made for the door. As it opened, he exited the room, shouting “Streak! Knuckle! Faultline! Help me get this place tidied up!” He picked up speed into an excited march, his grin a mouthful of gleaming pearls. “We’re going to have company!”

Author's Note

He's pulling out the fava beans and chianti.