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DOOM MAGNETIC! - CHAPTER TWO:
THE PURPLE TELEVISION
William Pauley III
A shiver of pain shoots up Maundin’s arm as he attempts to twist the doorknob on the door of Motel Vera’s room 187. Due to his injured palms, he’s forced to use the fingers of both hands to open the door.
As he enters, a musty stench fills his nostrils. The room has been home for the last two months. Pizza boxes and empty beer bottles are littered throughout the room. He tosses his dusty black Stetson onto the bed and runs his fingers through his hair like a boney comb. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
They’re after you.
His eyelids unsnap. THE VOICE. THE VOICE has returned.
They know where you are. They know what you’ve done.
“By god,” Maundin mutters. The last time he had heard the voice was back when it had instructed him to steal precious merchandise from the Japanese government, nearly three months prior. Since then, he has stolen the goods, but has yet to receive any further instruction, before now.
You’ve done well, Maundin. Very well. Hell, until tonight, I’d thought you had gotten away with it scot-free. But they are looking for you and they’re mighty pissed off, too.
“I’ve been waitin’ for you. What in hells bells was the hold up?”
Business is business, Maundin. I’ve still got to mind the business, don’t I?
Maundin sticks the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth—his tell sign. He does this unconsciously whenever he’s feeling uneasy. This is why he must always wear a handkerchief over his mouth whenever he plays poker. Eyes like steel, but a mouth like a fucking open book.
As you already know, they’re after you. You’ve got to get on the move. I’m going to need you to bring the merchandise down to the Ice Cap as soon as possible.
“The Ice Cap? Are you shittin’ me?! You want me to take the fuckin’ thing back to Japan?!” Maundin says, now tonguing the corner of his mouth as if it were cherry flavored.
They’ll be combing the galaxies for your ass. The safest place to go is right underneath their noses. Trust me, they’ll never suspect a thing.
Maundin pulls out a hand-rolled cigar from his shirt pocket and pins it between his lips. He strikes a match and takes a draw, holding the smoke at the end of his throat. The smoke dries his saliva almost immediately.
“What ‘bout Doogan? I can’t do this alone. Hell, if it weren’t for ol’ Doogan, I never would have made it outta there alive in the first place. The sumbitch was a goddamn deadeye.” He pauses to exhale. “I need a partner. Shit, maybe even three.”
I’ve already made arrangements. She should be in your vicinity within the hour.
“She?! Heh, as much as I could use a good fuck buddy right ‘bout now, dontchu think it’d be smarter to take somebody who ain’t gonna tempt me? I don’t need no woman t’slow me down. Maybe when this is all said and done, then, you know…we can talk.”
Maundin, don’t be so shrewd. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised with this one.
A patch of static fills Maundin’s brain, like a radio seeking through stations, then there is silence.
THE VOICE is gone.
Maundin takes a final draw from his cigar, drops it to the floor and stomps the flaming weed into the carpet with his dusty black boot. He exhales slowly, savoring the last of it.
A light from outside his room shines in through the window. Car headlights. He throws his body against the wall and withdraws his gun. His heart is in his throat. The lights go out. Maundin pushes the curtain aside with the barrel of his pistol, just enough to sneak a peek.
Two men get out of a shiny black car and step up on the wooden platform just outside of Maundin’s front door. Maundin pulls back the hammer of his pistol, preparing for the worst.
The two men turn to each other, embrace, and begin to kiss each other so deeply they could probably taste each other’s stomachs. They pull away from each other, take a quick look around and retreat behind the door of the room next to his. Maundin uncocks his gun and places it back in its holster.
He has to move quickly; they could be here at any moment. For all he knew, they were already outside, waiting for him to make the first move. They could be out there right now sitting in their cars, skinning an apple with the same knife that they intend to peel the skin of his ass with.
Sweat beads on his forehead as he walks into the bathroom and removes the towels from the cabinet below the sink. He knocks his fist against the wall until he finds a hollow spot, then punches. The section of wall crumbles and behind it lays a brown burlap sack. The sack looks to contain some sort of large cube. The merchandise. The goods. He pulls the sack out from behind the wall and dusts it off. It’s much heavier than he remembered it being.
He unties the sack and removes its contents: a purple 19” television with yellow twist-dials and a bent antennae attached at the top. The glass screen is convex and has a golden hue to it. Three cool blue fins run across its width on both the right and left sides.
A loud rapping echoes throughout the room. Maundin shoves the purple television back into the sack, jumps to his feet and redraws his gun. The rapping continues to grow louder.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
Faster.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
The rapping is so fast that it’s now keeping pace with Maundin’s heartbeat. He jumps out of the bathroom, points the pistol and blindly pulls the trigger. A bullet darts out from his cannon and splinters the wood around the doorknob of the front door.
The rapping continues, but slower now. A faint moaning is barely audible over the pounding. It’s coming from the room next door. The two men from earlier are having sex. The headboard of the bed is pounding into the wall with every pump of their hips.
“Jesus, god,” Maundin exhales and clutches at his heart. “A couple more scares like that and I’ll be pushin’ fuckin’ daises by the time the Japanese finally catch up to me.”
The door swings open. A beautiful, pale-skinned, tall drink of water stands in the doorway, holding a double-barreled pistol aimed straight between Maundin’s beady black eyes.
“Bang Bang. You’re dead,” the woman says, smiling. Maundin tries to swallow but can’t quite manage it. The woman lowers her gun. She’s wearing a tight red leather suit that shows off her shapely curves. Her large breasts are nearly spilling out her top. She has long flowing blonde hair that nearly reaches the top of her apple bottom ass.
“You must be my new partner? Maundin, is it?” the woman asks. Maundin laughs and walks over to the bed. He picks up his black Stetson hat, dusts it off, and plants it proud atop his head.
“I don’t think so, sugar, this man rides alone.” He walks over, wraps his arms around her and grabs her ass. “Maybe another time though, huh?”
The woman looks up at him and smiles, then reaches behind her, takes a firm hold of his hand and bends his middle finger back to meet his wrist. He drops the burlap sack and struggles to free himself, but she has too good a grip on him. She twists his finger like a bottle cap until his bone snaps.
“Ah, shit! You bitch!”
The woman loosens her grip. He covers his broken finger with his right hand, to protect it from any further damage.
“Now, I do believe that we got started on the wrong foot,” the woman says in a calm tone. “My name is Marley. And you’re Maundin, am I right?”
She extends her right arm, offering a handshake. Maundin, his face full of pain, reaches out and greets his partner respectfully.
“You might want to get some ice for that finger.” He nods and grabs the ice bucket from the top of the dresser. Marley slides a white motorcycle helmet over her head. Her visor is too tinted to see her face.
“Let’s ride,” she says, dangling her keys in front of his face. He picks up the sack containing the purple television and mutters something under his breath.
“Fuckin’ bitch.”
Paid subscribers! The next chapter of this story will be posted on November 15th! Stay tuned for Qoser’s Return!
The Purple Television
© William Pauley III, 2009
All rights reserved.
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