JLU 2001 Fanfiction -World's Finest 7

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The World's Finest Team...

JUST ANOTHER MUTHA-$%@&!-ING TEAM-UP STORY

World's Finest #7 - January, Year Four by Bertram Gibbs

BATMAN

SUPERMAN

APOLLO

MIDNIGHTER

SEVEN

A needed and merciful interlude in Keystone City

    Hartley Rathaway arrived at The Equus an hour before the appointed time. As he entered the bar, he spotted the rectangular Budweiser clock above the long wooden bar and took a stool directly in front of it.

    “What can I get you?” asked an athletic looking young man in black slacks and a crisp white open collared shirt. He had thick brown hair with gold highlights that was styled in a not-styled fashion that accented his hazel-colored eyes. His perfectly straight, near luminescent white teeth, and the Kirk Douglas dimple in his chin was the icing.

    “Whatever’s on tap,” Hartley answered easily.

    “You like it light or dark?” asked the bartender.

    Hartley smiled. “I’ve had both,” he said. “I’m into light these days.”

    “Cool,” said the man pulling out a large frosted mug and poured a perfect mug of beer with a frothy perfect head. He placed the mug on a napkin in front of Hartley, and smiled at him expectantly.   “Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

    Hartley stared into the bartender’s eyes and used his chin to point at the bowl of shelled peanuts. The man nodded and swiveled at the hip and brought the bowl to Hartley. “Want to check the menu?”

    Hartley shook his head. “Not right now, thank you.”

    The bartender grinned. “Waiting for someone?” he asked.

    “Old friend,” Rathaway said, taking a sip from the mug, his eyes never leaving the young man’s.

    “Cool,” the bartender repeated. He spied a couple sliding onto a pair of stools at the far corner of the bar, shot Hartley another smile, and strode over to where they sat.

    Hartley watched his departure then glanced at the clock. “Well, that took a whole five minutes,” he muttered. He glanced at the door and saw a group of well-dressed men walk through. They were talking and laughing and jokingly pushed and nudged each other. Rathaway noticed another couple coming up behind them.

    He arrived at the bar early to beat the cocktail hour/after work rush. He watched as people jockeyed for position at the bar, or near pillars, or against the wall and began hailing waitresses and the bartender for drinks. At the end of the bar was a roped off dance floor on a raised platform. Built into the upper sections of the walls were large rectangular speakers, aimed at the best acoustical angles, and hanging from the ceiling were several rows of lights of various colors to enhance the music. He took a sip from the mug and wiped a mustache of foam away with his tongue.

    “How you doing?” called the bartender as he passed in front of him to get another frosted mug.

    “I’m cool,” said Hartley. His gray eyes locked with the man’s hazels. “What’s your name?” Hartley asked.

    “Roy!” he grinned and dashed with two filled mugs to waiting patrons.

    Hartley Rathaway arrived at the bar early to beat the cocktail hour/after work rush.

    And to see what was on the menu.

    It was five minutes before the appointed hour and the Equus was packed to near capacity. Booths were filled, people standing in groups around the bar, milling about talking and meeting new and old people. Black skirted waitresses dodged the customers with trays of filled and empty drinks, and stopped to take orders on the fly. There was a small line of people at the entrance, trying to get in. Yet, despite the crowd, there still was the open stool next to Hartley Rathaway. Several patrons had either tried to sit there, or move the stool to where their group sat, but Rathaway stopped them by saying he was holding it for a friend. Hartley took a sip from his third beer and raised his half filled mug to the passing Roy.

    “Let me buy you a drink when your shift is over!” Hartley called above the light techno music and the conversation filling the bar.

    “I’d like that!” called Roy back and grabbed a shaker and moved down the bar.

    From the corner of Hartley’s eye, a large man plopped on the stool next to him. He adjusted his jacket and the belt of his pants to allow his gut a little freedom and continued his conversation with a much thinner man who looked very drunk and was trying to remain upright.

    Hartley leaned close and tapped the man on the shoulder. The man had to shift twice on the stool to turn around.

    “Yeah?” he asked spraying an odor of bourbon and tacos in Hartley’s face.

    Rathaway blinked from the smell. “That’s seat’s taken,” he said politely.

    The large man smiled a nasty grin, showing a chunk of lettuce sticking between his teeth.

    “Yeah,” he said. “By me.”

    Hartley sighed. “My buddy should be here in a second,” he said.

    The man stood and towered over Hartley. “Look, man,” the man said, extending his finger between Rathaway’s eyes. “Your buddy isn’t here, so the seat’s fair game.”

    Hartley glanced at the thinner man standing at the larger man’s side. The man sidled closer, flanking the barstool. He drunkenly glared at Hartley. Rathaway looked up at the clock. About thirty seconds, he thought.

    “So do we have an understanding?” asked the large man, lowering his face to Hartley’s.

    “Would you mind removing your sizable hindquarters from my face?” said a voice over his shoulder.

    The heavyset man spun (as much as someone with that girth could spin) and saw a redheaded man in a polo shirt and jeans sitting in the seat. His partner’s mouth dropped open after a few seconds, his pickled mind slow on the uptake as to how the man got past him. When that synapse sparked, the thin man turned to look over his shoulder, and back to the red headed man. Hartley took a sip from his mug, his eyes in the mirror, absently scanning the partiers.

    “Like, could you slide over a bit?” asked the newcomer.

    “How’d you get here?” asked the large man.

    Wally West sighed and in the blink of an eye, both men’s trousers were around their ankles.

    The men involuntarily screamed, causing everyone to see their condition and begin to laugh hysterically. The fat and skinny man tried to juggle the drink in their hands, pull up their pants and scamper out of the bar. Of course, they only made it three feet before their feet got tied up in the material and they fell forward, colliding with other drinkers and bar stools.

    Wally turned to Hartley, who was looking back smiling.

    “Now was that necessary?” he asked.

    “Dude smelled, man,” answered Wally. He signaled Roy who was coming in their direction and pointed at the mug Hartley was holding. Roy, understanding the silent request, filled a frosted mug and placed it in front of West. Hartley and Wally clinked mugs, nodded and took a deep pull from the brew. On cue, both men sighed. Hartley turned in his seat to face Wally who had done likewise.

    “Now what’s the emergency, Wal?” asked Hartley. “You sounded . . . not yourself over the phone.”

    Wally took another sip and used his free hand to finger comb back his thick red hair.

    “Just trying to get my mind around something, Hart,” he said.

    “Like?”

    Wally’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He sighed.

    “It’s about your lifestyle,” he said.

    Hartley, who had raised his mug to his lips, stopped just before he could take a drink. He half smiled and frowned at West.

    “Which one?” he asked.

    Wally did a double take.

    Hartley drained the mug and signaled for another. He turned back to Wally.

    “I mean,” he began, “Which one? My being a reformed super-villain, or my being gay?”

    “Uh,” said West, “the last one.”

    Hartley broke out in a huge grin. “You want the dirty details?”

    West blanched.

    Rathaway held up his hands. “Forget I said that, okay?” He reached out and grabbed his fresh beer and took a deep gulp. “What brought up this line of questioning, by the way?”

    “It has to do with a case I’m involved in,” West answered.

    Hartley’s eyebrows shot up. “The League is up against a fag with powers beyond those of mortal men? Mighty Mary; the Super Poofta?”

    Wally, for a brief moment, stared back with the expression of someone who had been the receiver of a two by four to the back of the head. He blinked and gave his friend a you-know-the-deal look.

    Rathaway sighed. “And you can’t name names, correct?”

    “Correct,” said Wally.

    “Damn,” said Hartley. “How are thing between you and Linda?” he asked suddenly.

    “Uh, fine,” Wally said somewhat confused at the change of direction the conversation took.

    “Fights?” Hartley asked. “Arguments over dumb stuff?”

    “Yeah.”

    “But you make up later, right?”

    “Yeah,” Wally repeated.

    “And you go out together?”

    “When the time permits,” said Wally.

    Hartley smiled. “And there’s never enough time to be together?”

    Wally sighed and took a sip. “You have no idea,” he said, then looked up at him and shot him a grin. “Actually, you do!”

    Hartley took a sip. “Same thing,” he said.

    “But . . . “

    “Now that’s if you have a relationship,” said Rathaway. “You do recall what it was like when you were dating, right? When you were not unencumbered by ball and chain?”

    “I’m not that married, buddy,” smiled Wally.

    “But you’ve been faithful to Linda?”

    “YES!” snapped Wally. “Of course!”

    “But there have been times you could have been led astray?”

    “Well, uh, yeah,” he said.

    He paused to take a sip from the mug. “But you remember the free and easy lifestyle of dating, right?” asked Hartley. “Taking names and numbers?”

    Wally’s face matched the hue of his hair. “Oh, yeah,” he said nodding.

    “Same thing.”

    “But . . . “

    Hartley turned and stared deeply into Wally’s eyes.

    “Why do you assume that we’re so different because we have sex in different ways? Because we’re attracted to our own gender in the same way you are to the opposite sex?” asked Hartley.

    “I don’t!” snapped West defensively.

    “Yeah, you do,” said Hartley. “If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

    Wally frowned and drank the remaining contents of the mug in one gulp and signaled for another.

    “I’m sorry, man,” Wally said softly.

    “Nothing to be sorry about, Wally,” Hartley said, putting a strong hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have sex that way, and being straight, the concept is a little repulsive to you. Trust me, brother,” he said smiling. “Some of us feel the same way about you guys.”

    Wally smiled.

    “Then again,” said Hartley smiling, “I’ve always known you could be a tasteless jerk sometimes.”

    Wally, who was drinking, choked on the suds and suddenly leaned forward, his eye sparking speed energy. “Now that was uncalled for, Hartley!”

    Hartley’s smile widened. “Okay,” he said. “Raise of hands who went to Video King and purposely rented Gigli?” Rathaway looked around, then leaned forward to Wally. “You’re supposed to raise your hand, Wal,” he whispered.

    “Linda wanted to see it,” Wally groused staring at his beer. “She wanted to see what the hoopla was about.”

    “Really?” grinned Hartley. “Then explain the second time.”

    “Uh . . . “

    “And Linda was out of town that week,” Rathaway said in a singsong voice.

    Wally glared at his friend. “How did you find out about the second time?” he asked in a dangerously low voice.

    “Well, Fastest Man Alive,” began Hartley, “You were quick enough to return the DVD before the midnight hour, but you seemed not to notice that you left your personal copy of Howard the Duck in the case as well, and the store called to let you know.“ He paused to take a sip and smile at the passing Roy. “Yeah, I spoke to Linda,” he said smiling to himself. “She had to go get your ‘SPECIAL EDITION DIRECTOR’S CUT’ of Howard the Duck DVD back from the video store. The DVD you spent a stupid amount of money on Ebay to get, I may add.” Rathaway turned and smiled at Wally’s stunned expression. “Which brings us back to my earlier comment that you were a tasteless jerk,” he said. “Life is so circular,” he added wistfully.

    “You’re a bitch,” Wally muttered.

    “So I’ve been told,” replied Hartley.

    “I mean it man,” West said trying not to smile. “You suck!”

    “In a myriad of ways,” Hartley said, tilting his head coquettishly and fluttering his eyes.

    Wally’s face twisted in distaste (yeah, bad choice of words . . . ). “Man!” he said, a shiver of revulsion running up his back. “You did not need to go there!”

    “I like to call it comic timing,” said Hartley.

    “Dude,” said Wally. “Go back to being a super-baddie, man! Give me a reason to throw you a beating!”

    “Ever tell you how much I liked it when Barry used to punch me from all directions?” asked Rathaway innocently.

    Wally’s jaw dropped. He shut his eyes and shook his head. “NO!” he cried. “Not hearing this! LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA. Can’t hear this! Won’t hear this!” His eyes peaked open. “You’re joking, right?” he asked in a small voice.

    The Pied Piper grinned. “Joking,” he said.

    Wally exhaled deeply.

    “Well, maybe . . . “ Hartley said, now thinking it over.

    “Dude!” Wally said calling for a refill. “Let’s change the subject, okay?”

    “But you wanted to know . . . “ Hartley said in a wounded tone.

    “Not any more!” cried West. He took a sip from the fresh mug and closed his eyes for a second. He opened them and stared at Rathaway and shook his head. “You went behind my back and talked to my wife! That’s low, man!”

    “What are friends for?” asked Hartley.

    “But you talked to my wife, man!” Wally protested.

    “Like you were going to tell me you rented Gigli?” Rathaway said. “Twice?”

    “You suck, man!”

    With a fake exasperated glare, Hartley put down his beer. “Now make up your mind, West!” he said in forced anger. “Either you want to know or you don’t!”

    Wally’s eyes went to the ceiling for guidance. “I don’t, brother,” he said grinning.

    Hartley adjusted his posture, and put both fists on his. “Well, thweetheart,” he said in a very effeminate way. “You’re just being a tease! You just keep bringing up the nasty, then change your mind when you catch my interest.” He leaned forward and placed a hand on Wally’s knee. “What’s wrong, sugar,” he whispered. “Afraid you may want a walk on the wild side?”

    Wally took up his beer and took a long sip. He stared at Hartley over the rim of the mug. “Two things, dude,” West said. “One: you ain’t getting any with a line like that. Two: wanna see how many fingers I can break before you move your hand?”

    Hartley grinned and sat back. “Now who’s being a bitch?” he asked.

    Both men lifted their mugs in a toast, then gave each other a quick hug.

    “Thanks for being my friend and believing in me, Wal,” said Hartley.

    Wally waved away the compliment and took another sip of beer. He leaned against the bar. “So, my mad inventor friend,” Wallace West said, quickly changing the subject. “What’s up in the land of sonics?”

    Hartley grinned. “Well,” he began, “I’ve refined my pipe to emit a sonic scalpel!”

    “Sonic scalpel?” repeated Wally.

    Hartley nodded, smiling. “Yup,” he said. “Sonic vibrations that can slice through five inches of steel plating and leave barely a mark!”

    Wally took a sip from the mug. “Very nice if you were breaking into a safe,” he said.

    Hartley’s grin faltered. “I’m wounded, Wal,” he said.

    “Just an observation,” West replied.

    “Speaking of observations,” Rathaway said, “It looks like you have two admirers.”

    Wally frowned and stared at Hartley, who used his chin to point at the large mirror behind the bar. Wally followed his gaze and saw the reflection of two women standing against the far wall, staring intently at them. Both were taller than average, one was a blonde wearing a powder blue pants suit with a white satin blouse, while the other who had auburn hair and shifted in place, wearing a knee length red dress with a smattering of white roses. Both had clutch purses and were talking to each other behind their handkerchiefs, trying not to be obvious.

    “What makes you think they’re my admirers?” asked Wally.

    Hartley was writing down a phone number on a napkin and called Roy over for a refill. When the bartender passed him his beer, Hartley passed him the napkin. Roy glanced down at the napkin and shot Rathaway a grin, shoving the small piece of paper into his pants pocket. Hartley turned to Wally. “What did you say?” he asked.

    “I asked,” said Wally, “How do you know that the chicks are my admirers?”

    “Well,” said Hartley, “they’ve been here – against that wall, I may add - for the last thirty minutes. When you showed up, their attention was completely focused on you.”

    Wally face froze and his eyes lifted to the women’s reflection in the mirror. He shuddered. Even from that distance, in the dim light of the Equus, with the people milling about blocking his view, he could see that ravishing beauties they weren’t. He shuddered again. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he looked at Harley suspiciously.

    “You’re busting them, aren’t you?” asked Wally.

    Hartley smiled. “Two things, Wal,” he said, “And I will try to make it as simple as possible for your mind to process. Ready?”

    “I hate you,” West said.

    “Let me count the ways,” replied Rathaway. “One, the ladies only looked at me because you were talking to me, i.e. they were watching you.” Hartley paused to take a sip from his mug. “Two, they’re not ladies,” he added softly, smiling in his glass.

    Wally did a spit-take and choked on his beer, staining the front of his shirt. “What?”

    “Not saying they’re not nice people,” said Hartley, “but those ladies ain’t chicks.”

    “What?” Wally repeated, his voice croaking.

    Hartley sighed. “You know, I hate it when you’re thick,” he said. “They are transvestites. Men dressed as women. Cross dressers! Tony Curtis? Jack Lemmon? Some Like It Hot? Am I reaching you?”

    “Yeah, yeah,” muttered Wally, shifting in his seat. “I got the idea.” His eyes looked up at the pair standing against the wall, drinking drinks with tiny umbrellas in them. He frowned slightly. His eyes widened and he stared directly at the two ‘ladies’. With both hands holding the edge of the bar, he pulled himself out off the stool, into a standing position, and peered deeper into the mirror. “Oh, no,” he groaned. He stuck his hand into his pocket and rested his closed fist on the bar. In a blur of motion, Hartley’s shirt pocket was stuffed with a twenty-dollar bill, a ten and a five. He leaned close to Rathaway. “As soon as someone walks by and blocks their view,” Wally said, “I’m outta here!”

    Hartley looked at Wally. “You know them?” he asked.

    “If it’s who I think it is, someone is due a serious beating.”

    “Something to do with the case you’re working on?”

    Wally shook his head. “Not directly,” he said. “Not even indirectly. Or remotely.”

    “Need some help?” Hartley said looking down at the floor. Wally followed his gaze and saw his shoulder bag with the tip of his pipe sticking out of the opening.

    Wally shook his head. “No,” he said. “If they are who I suspect, they only know you in costume. Seeing you with me outside of the costume will only make it worse.”

    Hartley frowned. “Is this where I’m supposed to be insulted?” he asked.

    Wally shook his head. “I’ll call you at your apartment in about two hours and explain everything.”

    “Naming names?” Hartley asked hopefully.

    “And it remains between you and me, understand?” Wally said, his eyes glaring at the Piper. “No one else!”

    “You used to be fun, Wal,” Hartley groused.

    “Agreed?”

    Rathaway stared at West for several beats. “Okay,” he said. “Agreed.”

    He held out his hand and they shook on it.

    “Oh, Wally?’ said Hartley.

    “Yeah?”

    “Call me in the morning, okay?” His eyes met Roy’s. “I intend to be busy tonight.”

    Wally glanced over at Roy, who flashed him a grin. Wally rolled his eyes.

    “You be careful, Hartley,” said Wally.

    “Always, old friend,” he said smiling. “Always.”

    A waitress walked by with a tray full of drinks and in a small gust of wind, Wally West vanished from view. Hartley leaned forward and asked Roy what time his shift ended. Across the room, the two women stared at the barstool being filled by a man in a denim shirt and khaki pants.

    “Crud,” muttered the first. “I hate when he does that!”

    “Booster,” groaned the second who was rubbing his midsection, “This girdle is driving me crazy!”

    “No one told you to stop with the sit-ups!”

    “Skeets could have made a larger dress!” Ted Kord muttered.

    “Yeah, right,” said Booster, pulling a few stray locks from his eyes. “You would have looked very attractive in a tent dress with a Ringling logo.”

    “Did we have to dress like this?” asked Kord in a whisper.

    “We’re undercover, man!” Booster replied. “You got to dress accordingly when you’re undercover!”

    Ted’s face drained of expression as his eyes, after going into slits, slowly and carefully looked around the bar. “Why is it I do not see any other men dressed as women in this bar?” he asked in his special need tone.

    “Well, Mr. Master of Disguise,” sneered Booster, “You’re idea of a fake beard and a shaggy wig sucked. And that fake nose looked like a potato!”

    Ted smiled benignly and brought his face close to his partner’s, fluttering the modified pterodactyl wings that served as eyelashes and dabbing his red pouty lips for effect. Then with the combined force of embarrassment, anger, and feeling like the embodiment of a word he couldn’t come up with, but whose definition stated that his was of such low intelligence, he would make an earthworm resemble Einstein in comparison, he hissed through clenched teeth, “Undercover means to wear the proper disguise in order to blend in with others of likewise dress, NOT go in drag, you moron!”

    A small beacon of understanding and clarity lit in the far rear of Booster’s eyes, only to be eclipsed by the genetic flaw in Gold’s DNA (see the research paper – Justice League Archive # 3769953 - submitted by J’onn J’onzz for further details). He shot Kord a bright grin. “You gotta admit we look good!” he said.

    A passing waitress paused in front of them. “You ready for something stronger?” she asked Ted, eyeing his almost empty glass of ginger ale.

    “You have nothing strong enough to take away the pain,” Kord said in a flat tone.

    The woman’s face flushed and her eyes went hard. “Lemme guess,” she said, her tone hard, “Guy problems?”

    “You have no idea,” Ted said.

    “I think I do,” the woman said knowingly. “You got a plan?”

    Ted nodded. “Stick him in a shuttle and send him into the heart of the sun.”

    The woman tilted her head back and laughed. “Honey,” she said, “if you can do that, call me! I can think of a dozen sisters that would pay you good money for that kind of service!” She shot Ted a wink and walked away.

    “See! I told you!” said Booster, giving Kord a soft elbow in the side. “These disguises work!”

    “Yeah,” muttered Ted to himself. “There’s that old shuttle in Cargo Bay 16. The one with the faulty life support system. Yeah.”

    A disco number blasted through the Equus speakers and the crowd cheered. The mad thumping of the bass brought everyone to their feet and they started to pair off.

    “We could have just told Wally what we know, and asked him for the rest of the stuff we didn’t!” protested Ted over the bone throbbing music.

    “Oh, right!” scoffed Booster Gold. “Like he would have told us about those dudes from another world who are light in the loafers. And one has a crush on the Bat!”

    “And that would’ve been wrong?” Ted asked. He looked down and his painted lips twisted sourly. “Versus this?”

    Booster turned to face his partner. “If we told Wally,” he began, “J’onn would find out. And if J’onn found out, what do you think would happen?” He swallowed. “It would be worse than the last time,” he whispered in an unsteady voice.

    Underneath the foundation, Ted Kord’s face paled.

    “Visions of being impaled on red hot spikes,” Ted gasped.

    “While being whipped by barbarians,” added Booster.

    “With Paris Hilton infomercials playing in the background,” finished Gold.

    Both men shuddered.

    “Okay,” Booster said. “Wally’s gone. We use the transport to get back to the Watchtower, and we continue the investigation.”

    Ted frowned. “I don’t know, Booster,” he said. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

    “It’s a great idea!” exclaimed Gold. “And when we find out the rest of the details, we will have the mother of all gags! One that will live in infamy! One that we will be remembered by!”

    “Like our horrible pain-filled agonizing deaths won’t?” said Kord.

    “You’re such a pessimist, Teddy!” grinned Booster. “Skeets, who I have monitoring Wally’s outgoing calls, said there was a 97% probability he was meeting someone who had something to do with the case . . . “

    “Case?” repeated Kord.

    “ . . . and we followed Wally West – the oh-so great super-hero; the Flash - to this bar undetected, who met with an unknown operative!”

    “Operative?” repeated Kord.

    “And he didn’t even notice us!” beamed Gold. “We. Did it! Wally’s gone. Mission accomplished. What’s the worst that can happen now?”

    Two large hands grabbed Booster and Ted by their wrists and dragged them to the middle of the open dance floor. Kord and Gold looked up to see two leering men who would not only dwarf linebackers, but were past the point of drunkenness and moving deftly into the realm of alcohol poisoning. Get Down (Boogie-Oogie-Oogie)! came through the speakers.

    “Dance with us!” screamed the first man into Booster’s face, watering his eyes. The man attempted a come-on grin and a wink and was drunk enough to confuse the two. He face was the complexion of raw beef.

    “We don’t dance!” Ted said, trying to raise his voice above the music.

    “Don’t worry about it, sexy!” said the other, his bloodshot eyes trying to focus on Kord. “Just follow us!”

    “And maybe we can go to my hotel room after!” grinned the first.

    “YEAH!” cried the second. “PARTY TIME!!!” He leaned closer to Ted. “And I got a thing for redheads!”

    Before either man could protest, they were swung in a circle, pulled back sharply and were pressed close to the men as they danced. The second rested his hand on Kord’s posterior. Ted did not move a muscle for fear that any slight shift in his body would be considered an invitation.

    “I hate you,” whispered Kord to Booster who was swung by. He looked up at the large leering man. “Uh, maybe you should know something,” he said.

    “What’s up, sweetcheeks?” he said a line of drool hanging from his lower lip.

    “Uh, don’t take this the wrong way,” he said. “But we’re not ladies.”

    The man lifted Kord’s hand and made him pirouette. “All the better,” he chuckled/gurgled. The man spun Ted into his arms and dipped him.

    “NO!” cried Kord, his face only inches from his dance partner. “I mean, we're not women!”

    Still bent forward, the man stared into Ted’s eyes (which focused and unfocused). “Really?” he asked.

    “Uh, yeah,” Ted replied. “We’re on a case and we’re . . . undercover.”

    The man stood, still holding Kord around the waist, and looked to his partner who was doing the Bump with Booster.

    “Hey, Harry!” he cried.

    “Yeah, Phil?” Harry answered.

    “They ain’t chicks!” he said. “They’re guys!”

    Harry looked hard at Booster, who was frozen to the spot. He then shot his attention at Kord in his partner’s arms.

    “Whaddaya think?” asked Phil.

    Harry’s bricklike face (in texture and hue) grinned back to Phil.

    “COOL!” he said, giving his buddy a high-five. “They’ll never hear about it in Seekonk, New Joisey!”

    Ted Kord un-squinted his eyes as his jaw, which had steeled itself for the incoming punch that never arrived, dropped to his chest. “Kill me now,” he muttered as he was lifted off his feet and swung around Phil’s hips like a hula-hoop.

    When Harry and Phil dipped Booster and Ted, Gold looked over to his friend.

    “Hey, Teddy!” he said grinning. “Go with the flow and look at the bright side!”

    "BRI . . . ?" stammered Kord, his eyes as big as saucers and his voice rising two decibels and three octaves. ”’Bright side’?? There’s a ‘bright side’??? Where the hell do you see a ‘bright side’!?!?!” gasped Kord as he was pulled up on his toes and spun around.

    “We’ll get free drinks out of this!” Booster replied, his hands on his hips making circular motions. “Maybe dinner!” he added happily.

    “Oh GAWD, I hate you!” Kord snarled.


AND NOW, BACK TO OUR SHOW!

To Be Continued…