Spoke Wheelehan

» FishBox - Part 2

The chase was fast, tedious, and deadly. Spoke Wheelehan was breathing heavy now, trees whizzing by him as I.G.O.R.'s tires rumbled over the dirt trail. Spoke's nostrils discerned the pungent smell of pine, the odor of wood sap, and momentarily the smell of whippet feces. The sound of wind rushed around his ears, his hair flailing back as a flag on a breezy morning. Spoke carefully played the eye game of glancing down to survey the nearby path and then up to get which direction he needed to go. The trail wove at times with unseen obstacles waiting on each treacherous bend. Once he had to swerve expertly around a branch that was carelessly placed on the left side of the trail. Despite his suicidal pace, he could not catch up to Flap-Jack or the 13th Gear henchman.
Only occasionally would he hear the sputter of those playing cards fixed on Flap-Jack's rear wheel. The sound could barely be heard far in front of him. So a distance perimeter was being established whereby at select times, Spoke would get near enough to hear Flap-Jack, but most times too far away. This did not settle with Spoke one bit.
How fast are these two guys going? Has 13th Gear equipped his riders with new technology. Ultra low resistance lubrication? Aerodynamic wedges? Powered Pedals? And what about Flap-Jack? That little tricycle of his shouldn't be able to outrun I.G.O.R.!
Spoke needed the Spruce!

Quickly, without hesitation, Spoke closed his eyes, still racing madly across the windy path. Instead of eyes, Spoke opened his consciousness to wind and smell and sound absolutely. From minute calculations of wind pressure changes on his face he navigated the truest path. He listened to the whisper of nearby leaves and branches and how long it took the wind he himself was creating to reverberate against his eardrums to know if danger was near. His nostrils became super olfactory devices, detecting differences in odor as it related to distance. Then the energy started to flow. It was the Spruce, the Silent Power. It increased the efficiency at which oxygen was used by his blood cells. It released adrenalin in huge quantities. Spoke increased his speed to impossibility all the while maintaining a composure of calm concentration, making millions of calculations with 4 of his 5 sensory inputs. The Spruce required Spoke to sacrifice eyesight, but with the other senses this powerful, who needed it? Along with the sound of wind, Spoke now could hear the rattling of Flap-Jack's jacks. The sound was closer than it had previously been and soon he would need to release the Spruce.
Flap-Jack was close now, but he intended to go further still. Spoke, still Spruced, began to feel the counter-winds Flap-Jack was causing, and adjusted his course also, using his smell sensors to prevent him from angling into bark. Almost immediately after passing Flap-Jack, another counter-wind directed Spoke to the henchman. The wind was wilder then Flap-Jack, as if he were exerting more energy to keep his pace. Also, his nose was becoming flooded with an odor. Stagnant odor! No, too much! I'm losing the Spruce!
Five things then happened in split-second succession
First, as the Spruce released it's influence it left with its usual flash of prescience. Always as the Spruce left, It spoke a few words of the future. This time it said Commercials are dangerous!
Second, his eyes whipped open in time for him to see his impending collision with the 13th Gear henchman. There was no time to alter his course because Time and Momentum were his enemy.
Third, Spoke noticed five distinct cosmetic products on the henchman's face. Around his astonished lips which were forming an "O" was a nice shade of red lipstick. Under his bushy brown eyebrows was a daring crimson eye shadow. Caked upon his eyelashes was plain black mascara. Dotting his checks was a pinkish blush. All of this stood atop a whitish foundation. Despite the make-up, Spoke could discern scraggly scars along his cheekbone and forehead as well as a nose red but not by his blush. Pot marks were spotted along his checks and chin. It reminded Spoke of someone he had seen on TV late night watching a documentary on homosexual clowns.
Oh my Wheels, I'm going to splat into this guy's face and end up looking like a cosmetologist's nightmare.
Fourth, close behind him he heard Flap-Jack screaming,"Beware, Evil Dude, you are now in the clutches of Spoke Weelehan, Defender of the Wheel!!"
Fifth, as the front wheel of I.G.O.R. closed it's distance to the rear wheel of the henchman's black racer, a whippet, who's feces he had smelled earlier, tried unsuccessfully to run through the gap. Spoke's wheel contacted and veered the whippet into the henchman's wheel. The wheels were forced at angles which caused Spoke and the henchman to lose complete control of their respective bikes and tumble bike over body onto the trail's dirt. Spoke was dashed on the forehead with the handlebars of I.G.O.R. He lost consciousness from the impact even before his battered body came to a complete stop, his last memory was of a distant thud as the whippet came crashing back to earth.

* * *

"I got em, Spoke, don't you worry!"
Bees. Everywhere Spoke seemed to think there were a thousands bees swarming inside his skull. He was still trying to make sense of what had happened when a voice through the swarm spoke again.
"That was incredible, Spoke! How were you able to catch up to him so fast?"
Instinctively, Spoke started to say "Spruce" but thought better of it and what came out was "Spoose". He didn't know if Flap-Jack knew of ROLL and he didn't feel he was ready for the Spruce yet and he certainly did not want to give it away to the 13th Gear henchman! Slowly Spoke became aware of his surroundings. His head was lying on dirt and when he opened his eyes, light pierced his vison sending gray darts wiggling around his eyeballs. He sat up but not without a feeling of much pain and vertigo. He took in his surroundings quickly.
He was still lying on the bike path, his spandex pants covered in dirt. To his left I.G.O.R. was lying in tall grass essentially looking undamaged. On his right he saw Flap Jack sitting on the 13th Gear henchman. Flap Jack's expression was one of pride and awe. The henchman did not appear to be moving as Spoke approached them.
"OK, Flap Jack. You can get off him now. I will handle this."
Reluctantly, Flap Jack stood up eyeing the man suspiciously. He then glanced at Spoke's face and was aghast.
"Spoke! What's that stuff all over your face?"
"Lipstick, blush, and mascara, I believe."
Flap-Jack looked at Spoke queerly like there was a trig problem he couldn't quite figure out. Then he glanced back at the henchman and inquired, "What are we going to do with him, Spoke?"
Spoke glanced down at the man in black and replied, "This evil demon-spit will be interrogated and tortured if necessary and I will force him to tell me the location of 13th Gear's current hideout. 13th Gear is able to amalgamate with nature so well and with his hideouts as well. Once, he was camped inside an empty Hardee's. Another time I flushed him out of a yuppy's Winnebago where he had bludgeoned the father, raped the soccer mom, and had the kids collared and chained to an outside tree. This time, I will ambush him and capture him and pray the police don't give his lawyers loopholes for him to avoid incarceration."
Flap-Jack grinned with excitement. "I could give him some good paper cuts with one of my Jacks!"

Spoke looked at Flap-Jack with surprise and admiration.
Perhaps the whelp is not so innocent as I first believed! I can see a righteous gleam in his small round eyes!
Just then the henchman stirred. His blush, lipstick, and mascara were smeared to one side like skids in a man's underwear. He sat upright quickly and stared at Spoke with a maniacal grin.
"Tell me, swine, where might I find 13th Gear and his other henchmen?"
The man continued to stare at Spoke his right eyebrow now furrowing lower and his grin widening.
"All right you piece of inferior cast metal" Spoke walked up taking a handful of his black shirt. "Do you know who you're talking to? I am Spoke Wheelehan, Defender of the Wheel, and I demand you reveal the location of that spineless toad 13th Gear!"
Spoke's face was inches from the henchman and spittle had cascaded on the henchman's face but he didn't seem to realize it. He just continued to look queerly at Spoke. Spoke began turning red and his hand shook slightly. Then the henchman opened his mouth.
"Nothing beats a great pair of legs."
"Arrggg!" Spoke bellowed as he threw the henchman backward and his head hit the ground.
Flap-Jack then interjected "Spoke, I think I know-"
Spoke kicked dirt into the henchman's face.
"WHERE IS THAT MURDEROUS RUST-BRAINED LYCANTHROPE! YOU'LL TELL ME OR I'LL PUT YOUR TESTICLES THROUGH I.G.O.R.'S LOW GEAR!"
"Calgon, take me away!"
"WHAT?!!" Spoke screamed. His hands were shaking and his left eye was blinking rapidly. He was losing it and losing it well. He felt the heat of anger wash through him and only in the far off distance from his anger buzz did he hear Flap-Jack.
"Spoke, I know who this-"

"Silence!" he said whipping his reddened eyes upon Flap-Jack. The boy was frighteningly stunned by what he saw. "Whelps don't talk right now! No no no! Stand back and shut your trap! Jump up and down like you have to piss or lay on your stomach and pretend you're a fish but don't speak a word! Woop Wooop! I'm gonna get em! Yep Yep! 13th Gear is gonna squirm in anguish when I find him. I'll boil his eyeballs and tear out his eyelashes! I'll pour acid on his bicycle and watch it bubble all the while jabbing the heathen with a spoke. I will chop off his head with a quick chop of a sprocket!
He H-heee hee! The bells will ring merrily in the town square and people from far and near will gather there and cheer the death of 13th Gear. I will be the lead of a procession down Main Street with his head on my handlebars. Men will chant my name SPOKE SPOKE! Women will swoon and faint! Children will run around madly trying to get a glimpse of their hero."
Spoke leaned over to the henchman.
"Hear those bells!! Do ya?! Those are my bells! Got it?!! My bells!"
With smeared make-up and dirt on his puckered face the thug replied, "I'm cookoo for Coa-Coa Puffs!"
Spoke felt a pronounced snap somewhere inside of him, probably in the sanity room. His head shook and his mouth formed strange expressions. He emitted strange chirps and grunts. His eyes almost bled red and somewhere along the way, he urinated in his pants. And he needed to feel bones cracking under his fingertips. He wanted to kneed this man's brain into a gooey delight. He knew if he didn't do something soon he would explode and possibly never return from this madness.
Spoke moved quickly and picked up the motionless whippet. He held it high over his head, beaming like it was a trophy. Flap-Jack just looked on in wide-eyed bewilderment.
"Wanna do the dog?! Woof! Heeheheeheee! Woooof!"
"Aim high," was the man's only response.
"Is it real or it is Memorex?"
That remark was not spoken by the henchman but by Flap-Jack. Spoke stood there in puzzlement as he held the dog above his head, it's tongue dangling and dripping slobber on to Spoke's hair.
The henchman turned to the whelp and responded.
"Nu-Finish stands the test of time."
Again, Flap-Jack rebutted quickly.
"With Orkin, bugs don't stand a chance"
"It's the Law!"
"Help me take ahhhhh bite out of crime"
"Wha-?" Spoke said meekly looking at Flap-Jacks and the henchman's exchange. His eyes had dulled and the fever receded, for he perceived the kid was getting something out of this guy. A glop of whippet slobber splashed on his nose and he quickly threw the canine aside. It landed with another loud thud.

The henchman stared intently at the kid for a few moments then seemed to have arrived at a decision.
"South of the Border," he stated then "Wimpy, wimpy, wimpy!"
Flap-Jack looked excitedly at Spoke.
"Spoke, 13th Gear is hiding out at a dumpster behind Taco Bell!"
Spoke still looked stunned.
"How do you know that?" he asked suspiciously.
"AdvoCom told me."
"Advocom?" 13th Gear's right-hand man's right-hand man? The man who only spoke in commercial slogans? Of course! What a dense piece of gear lube he'd been! But enough with the small thought. He had a fix on 13 and time was of the essence!
"C'mon, Flap-Jack. We're off to Taco Bell!" Spoke ran over to I.G.O.R. picked him up briskly and quickly straddled him.
Flap-Jack also hopped on his racer and began to peddle.
"But, Spoke, what about Advocom?"
Spoke looked back at him fleetingly then said, "No time to lose, kiddo. Why waste time with a tricycle when the Glorious Racer is within reach?"
With that, Spoke Wheelehan, Defender of the Wheel, raced off down the path. Flap-Jack in a feverish hunt also followed but not before running over the fallen whippet making a Thump Thump with his tires......

To Be Continued.

-- posted by FishBox