Chapter 4

Joey lifted his head. Blood stained the sidewalk where his face had been. He licked his teeth and at least they were all still in his head. He wiped his face with his jacket sleeve. He was bleeding badly, but that was to be expected from a head wound. His eyes came in and out of focus. He knew once they did the real pain would start.

He got on his hands and knees, and then wished he hadn’t. From the angle he flew at the sidewalk he’d struck it hard and rolled several times. His hands were all scraped up from trying to stop himself and his knees were poking through fresh holes in his jeans. As he sat on the grass he checked to see if any of the cuts on his face were really bad. They weren’t. All were minor, but he’d banged his head really hard and he felt a headache brewing.

His backpack! He’d rolled over onto it. Several times in fact. He winced as he took the pack off and had to shrug it off his shoulder. There wasn’t a square protrusion inside any longer. He shook it and could hear the pieces of vinyl rattle together. It was in at least twenty different pieces. Scratches Carlos could fix. This, well, no one was ever going to be able to fix this. He tossed the pack to the curb.

Joey got up and groaned. He wasn’t going to cry. No one liked to see a groaning man cry. He hurt all over. He cursed Brad under his breath because it hurt too much to do anything else.

The bike lay in the gutter, the front wheel still lodged in the storm drain, but the rest of it had twisted off and smacked into a parked car.

“I should just walk away.”

Joey looked at the bike. There was no way he’d be able to carry it home. He would have a hard enough time getting himself home. He was going to hear it from his mom and dad about how he needed to control his temper and not get too stirred up over such a minor thing. They just didn’t get it. They never would.

In fact no one understood him. Least of all those jerks Brad, Chad, and Thad. Joey wasn’t even sure if they had last names but he was sure they would be equally as lame. Carlos understood him and they spent a lot of time together. Perhaps they’d spent too much time together. They were prone to getting into trouble when they weren’t actually working on something.

“Young man!”

The voice came from a woman who waddled down the front walk of the house he’d crashed in front of. She was short, even shorter than his grandmother, and old, even older than his grandmother. She wasn’t wearing her teeth, that was easy to see from the shortened jaw line. Her house dress was something straight out of the sixties; brown with large orange flowers. Even the pink fuzzy slippers she wore helped define the lady’s agedness. She had to be at least eighty.

She wrinkled her face when she got closer and looked him up and down. “I was watching out my window when it happened. Come inside and let me help you get cleaned up. No sense in you heading off in the shape you’re in.”

“I’m fine.”

Joey winced when she tugged on his arm. It was easier to just follow her in rather than be pulled at. At least she didn’t walk quickly.

“I’ll have no argument about it. You’re bleeding all over the place.”

She handed him a towel which he used to sop up the blood on his face and then hold it to the general area where it hurt the most. He had to say something.

“Um… thanks.”

“Thank me later when we figure out what all is wrong with you. Probably got a sprained wrist at least. I see you’re up so I doubt you broke anything. Fancy flying you did, but you need to work on your landings.”

He was going to say thanks again, but the walking was taking a toll on his body. Now that he was moving he could feel each scrape, scratch, and bruise. His head throbbed with the pounding pace of a Metallica concert.

“So what’s your name? You’ve got to have a name before I let you in my house.”

The old woman stopped on the stoop of the house and looked up at Joey. Even though he was slouched at the shoulders he was still a good foot taller than the woman. Her eyes were bright and intelligent and pale blue. A deep line creased her forehead as she furrowed her brow. Not at all what he was expecting in a rescuer. What had he been expecting? Certainly not this woman to come to his rescue that’s for sure.

“Joey.”

“Joey. That’s a good name. A very fine name indeed. Well, come inside. Let’s get you all fixed up. I think you’re going to need stitches on the cut across your eye there. I’ve got everything to do it if you’re not squeamish. Come in. Come in.”

She opened the door and led Joey inside the house. The inside smelled of fresh apple cider and cherry blossoms. It had an instant healing effect on his psyche as he was wafted back on memories of his grandparents on his father’s side. In the winter she would always make apple cider and he would warm his hands on the mug before he would take a sip to warm his insides.

The house was much smaller than it appeared to have been from the outside, but it made a certain sense though. She was a small woman and having everything scaled down would have been helpful.

She seated him in a large, high-backed chair that had a large, lace doily across its back. With a gentle push she eased him into it.

“You just sit right there while I get what’s good for you. I know just what you need that’ll fix you right up.”

Joey smiled at her. “What’s your name? I don’t recall ever seeing you around the neighborhood.”

“Elsa Gallegos. Call me Elsa. Now just stay put and I’ll go get my medical kit.”

Medial kit? Whoever called it that? Joey didn’t care as long as she had something in there that would take this throbbing in his head away.

He looked for something to put his feet up on, but there was no coffee table or stool in the room. There was, however, a large cabinet filled with hundreds, no, thousands of tiny figurines. At first glance they looked like chess pieces from a fancy chess game, but there were far too many of each. There were gladiators, knights, army men. In fact it looked as if everyone of the pieces was a fighting man of some kind. Even boxers.

The room was decorated with heavy draperies covered over with lace curtains. Each chair and couch had a lace doily draped over its back. The flower patterns on the furniture was all mismatched and clashing in color. Nothing even matched the maroon, shag carpet.

Elsa returned with a medical kit alright. It wasn’t a box, but a large case with legs. She also brought with her a small stool. Joey wanted to get up and help her but she shushed him when he tried to sit up.

“Just stay put. I may be slow, but I’ll get you taken care of no matter how long it takes.”

Joey chuckled then winced.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Well, isn’t that what people are supposed to do? Help each other out?”

“Not if you ask Brad, Chad, and Thad.”

“And who are they?”

“The guys in the car.”

“Oh. Them. I didn’t figure they were any friends of yours.”

Joey sucked air between his teeth as she touched an iodine dipped rag to his temple. She held his chin up and didn’t let him shirk back.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s no trouble. I was a little lonely and it’s nice to have company. I just wish it were under different circumstance. It’s not often anyone comes to visit me.”

“Don’t you have any children?” Joey’s eyes wandered around the room and didn’t notice any pictures of family.

“My son went off on his own a long time ago. I’m sure he’s doing well. I wonder if he ever got married.”

Joey tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean? Don’t you talk to your son anymore?”

“I haven’t been able to talk to him in over forty years.”

“What kind of son leaves home and doesn’t talk to his parents in forty years.” Joey was mad at his parents, but he could never imagine never speaking to them again.

“Oh, it’s not his fault. It’s mine really.”

Elsa finished cleaning and dressing the wound on Joey’s head. She put a stick that had been soaking in some liquid into his mouth. It tasted strongly of peppermint, but instantly took away the terrible pounding in his head.

“If you’d like to hear that story, I think it’d be best over tea. Do you have time to stay for a while and chat with an old woman? It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone to talk to.” She said this without ever looking up from the work she was doing on Joey’s knees. She cleaned each carefully and bandaged each. Joey felt obliged. He had been planning on staying at Carlos’s until late in the evening so why not here.

“Sure. I’d love to hear about your son.”

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Chapter 3

The brisk air blew through Joey’s hair. It was only mid October and the leaves had mostly fallen off the trees. Joey had spent most of the weekend in the yard raking leaves when he’d rather have been getting the turntable working. Now all he wanted to do was take the Iron Butterfly album to Carlos’s house and see if there was any way to repair it.

He’d placed the album into a backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Walking would help him work his anger out, but he instead went around to the garage and got out his mountain bike. How ironic was it to have a mountain bike in suburban San Diego? It wasn’t like he could find a mountain anywhere nearby.

He did a quick check before heading out. He had his house keys, his pocket knife, wallet.

“My sunglasses! Dang.”

Even though it was already quite dark outside, he still liked having them with him. They weren’t in his jacket. He’d just have to make do without them. Deep down he’d planned on staying the night at Carlos’s house just to tick his parents off. He could still stay there.

Right now he didn’t want to see his mom. Dad was almost as bad as her with his trying to fix the problem with money. This wasn’t something that money could fix. This was weeks of his life that he’d given up in pursuit of something and to have them just dismiss it like he was being an over-reacting child.

Am I over reacting?

Joey pedaled out onto the street. The rows of skeletal trees backlight by the reddish-orange glow of the streetlights was disturbing. This time of the year many of the houses bore strange Halloween decorations and lights, but no one was outside. He let a chill slide down his spine, shivered, and picked up the pace. Carlos’s house was nearly a mile away and it wasn’t going to get any warmer.

The only sound on the street, besides the background noise of the freeway a quarter-mile away, was the sound of his bike. His shadow waxed and waned as he passed by each streetlight. Maybe he should have just stayed home. This close to Halloween there could be weirdoes out. The quiet was almost as disturbing as the nearly-full moon in the clear night sky.

No wonder it was so cold. There weren’t any clouds. Orion’s belt was slightly distorted by branches, but above the middle of the street the Big Dipper was easy to see. Along with studying how to fix things, he and Carlos were also members of the local amateur astronomy club. Despite the fact that light pollution made view any but the brightest stars possible, they still had fun.

The front tire of Joey’s bike smashed into a pothole. For a moment he was unseated as the rear of the bike lurched into the air. He was going to fall to the pavement. That’s all he needed right now was to land on the pavement, get all scraped up and go running back home to mom all hurt.

With gritted teeth he managed to hold onto the handlebars and bring himself down along side the bike. He teetered for a moment but didn’t let go of the bike. If he had, they would both have fallen into the middle of the street.

“Stupid! Pay attention to where you’re going. Get your head out of the stars.”

The front tire was wedged. Joey felt it and it wasn’t flat. That was one little blessing. He rocked the tire back and forth and was able to get it free without damaging it. He’d been going slow enough and that probably kept him from falling over as well.

Joey pedaled on.

Now he was angry with himself. This was supposed to be a good day. He was supposed to be listening to a fifteen minute long song with heavy bass, growling lyrics, and an incredible drum solo. He had the Frampton Comes Alive album and that was cool, but neither he nor Carlos had been able to get their hands on an Iron Butterfly album. Not the original.

His elongating shadow in the orange light disappeared for a moment in a bright white light. A car approached slowly from behind him and came along side. A hand reached out and took hold of the handle bars; a hand that was attached to an arm in a letterman jacket.

“Evening Joe.”

It was Chad. In the car with him were Brad and Thad. One of them was bad enough, but all three together spelled disaster. Not one of them saw guys like Joey as anything other than existing for entertainment purposes.

Joey still had a scar on his hand from when he’d been shoved in his locker and tried to keep it from getting shut by putting his hand in the way. That’d been two years ago and his persecution continued. Mainly due to his small stature compared to all the overdeveloped jocks.

“So where you off to? It’s dark outside. I thought mommy and daddy didn’t let you out after dark.”

Brad and Thad laughed and tossed empty beer cans at Joey. With Chad’s hand on the handle bars it was difficult to maintain his balance. At least the bastard wasn’t speeding up.

“What…what do you want, Chad?”

Chad gasped as if he was offended. “Why should I want anything? I just thought you’d like a hand where ever you were going.”

“I don’t need any help. Thanks.”

Joey’s voice quavered and he struggled to keep the handlebars steady.

“Hey guys, what do you say we see how fast Joey’s bike will go?”

There were cheers and more beer cans thrown. Chad stomped down on the gas pedal and Joey had to fight to keep himself upright on his seat. If he fell off Brad was sure to destroy the bike. Joey wasn’t about to let that happen.

Cautiously he removed one hand and prepared to punch Chad’s hand and get it off his bike. Before he could focus he saw headlights in front of him.

“Whoa!” Chad swerved to keep Joey from getting hit. The idiot was an asshole, not a murderer.

“Let go of my bike!”

“What do you think guys? Should I let him go?”

Chad never did any thinking on his own when he was with Brad and Thad.

“Let him go!”

There were no more beer cans this time. They must be out of empties. At least they didn’t throw any full beers.

“See you later Joe!”

Chad didn’t just let go of the handlebars, he instead gave Joey a push sideways.

Joey pressed on the brakes, but he was going too fast to stop in time. He was headed for a storm drain. All he could think as he saw the front tire disappear into the drain and he launched over the handlebar toward the sidewalk was…

Damn this is going to hurt.

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Part 1: Into the Great Unknown

Chapter 1

“Argmon! Power to the rear shields! Sensors detected they’re charging to fire at us.”

Vic didn’t watch to see if Argmon had completed the task; he knew it would be done. Argmon, after all, was a four-armed, bipedal, dog-like being called a Shathar, that piloted the SS Acid Rat. Vic knew Argmon was great at taking orders, even if he was a little temperamental at times.

They had precious little time to prepare. Vic adjusted controls that would keep the ship from veering out of control once they were struck. His plan was simple: use the blast’s impact to change course and jump to hyperspace before a second shot could be fired or their course projected. They would then be safely away and could change course once they were out of the solar system.

Their pursuers were, as had been their misfortune to have been detected, the fuzz. Despite their caution in getting the ship loaded, and following all the proper procedures in taking off from the planet, even with false confirmation codes, had done them no good. Someone had tipped the authorities off, and now they needed to get away.

“This is going to cost Verbiddi extra.”

Argmon growled a deep, husky affirmation. Vic looked at him. The pilot’s cream-colored hair bristled out, making him look much larger.

“Hey! Calm down and get ready for this impact. We’ll only get one chance at this. I don’t think we could take a second hit from a star class police cruiser. I think it’s a newer model, because they’re still charging, and it looks like it’s going to be one helluva hit.”

Argmon shuddered, and focused his attention on the controls; two hands on the helm and two hands on the controls to take the ship into hyperspace. Vic fastened his seat belt. He hoped the rest of the crew was already secured. There wasn’t time to make a general announcement, but they knew about the pursuit.

“Here it comes.”

The blast hit high on the starboard side. Stars blurred by as did the planet. The hit caused them to circle about out of control. Vic had to take his eyes off the view port and concentrate on the controls. He started hitting mini-thrusters and making adjustments while Argmon slowed the ship.

A warning light went off blinking blue then green.

“Tractor beam! We’ve got to move.”

Argmon chuffed.

“I don’t care if we’re still spinning. We’ve slowed down. Make the jump the next time you see the planet go by. Just a short blast to get us out of here. If we get caught we’ll definitely not get paid.”

The stars slowed considerably, but it was obviously the intent of the police cruiser to knock them out of control and thereby preventing a jump hyperspace. Vic couldn’t recall if the planet they were leaving had moons or not, but there was no more time to worry about that. It was time to jump.

The planet swung into view along with the blue and gold police cruiser. A port on its massive underside opened in preparation to engulf the SS Acid Rat and haul them back to the planet. Would there be a trail or would they get out of this one?

“Get ready, Argmon. Wait for it. Wait for it!” The planet flashed by. “Hit it!”

The engines hadn’t charged enough or they would have tipped off the police cruiser to their plans. The engines had only enough juice stored for a quick burst. They could be at least two light years away with time to charge the engines for a longer burst and be on their way. They would have to make three or four more stops to ensure they weren’t followed, and then they could head back and drop off the shipment.

God I love this job.

Chapter 2

Joey Provoski held the soldering iron carefully and lowered it ever so slowly to the junction of the resistor lead and the circuit board. A tiny wisp of smoke drifted up and into the air as the solder melted, its internal flux core melting away and leaving a shiny joining. Joey smiled.

He placed the iron on his work bench. It was really his desk and he was supposed to be finishing up his homework, but he was a high-school senior — he was also eighteen and capable of making his own decisions — and he didn’t feel he needed to finish it just yet. There was plenty of time. It wasn’t even seven. Why should he stress out about getting homework done when he could be fixing his grandfather’s old turntable?

If there was one thing Joey loved more than fixing things, especially electronic things such as televisions, radios, and record players, it was listening to music. When his grandfather had passed away he’d left Joey all his old stereo equipment as well as his entire record collection. Most of it consisted of great bands from the sixties and seventies. If he had a choice, he’d throw away his mp3 player and listen to records all the time.

But this turntable hadn’t been working properly. That’s what Joey was doing up in his room instead of homework. The last parts were in place and it was ready to try it out. He had several other turntables and record players he could play this particular album on, but this turntable and record belonged to his grandfather and he wasn’t going to put the album on just any old record player.

“Come on. Work this time. I really want to hear Iron Butterfly.”

All he’d ever been able to download was In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida and he really wanted to hear the entire album the way the band had put it out all those years ago. All the pathetic remixes and remakes of the song made him squirm.

“Give me the original vinyl.”

Joey plugged in the turntable and ran the cord to the tuner module. The speakers were already hooked up and ready to start pumping out the sounds.

The album was still in perfect condition despite his grandfather purchasing the original in 1968. In his hands was a piece of American History if there ever was one. The first platinum album ever. The biggest band of their era. The best sound anyone had ever heard. Finally after all the weeks he’d spent rebuilding the turntable, after all the trouble he’d gone through to find all the replacements parts, most of which could not be found at the local Radio Shack, and after all the care he put into making sure all the albums were preserved since his grandfather’s passing, he was finally going to be able to listen to the album.

The turntable spun smoothly and quietly. Along the side were rows of dots. He manually adjusted the speed by picking the correct set of dots in a slim band of light until it looked like those dots stood still.

The adjustments were made and he pulled the black album from its sleeve. He was careful not to touch anything but the sides and he slid the record over the middle spindle and watched as it started spinning. He lifted the needle and placed it ever so carefully onto the starting groove and all he could think was This is groovy, man.

The speakers hissed and filled the room with pending anticipation of the opening notes. Joey sat back in the bean bag that sat in the middle of his room, smoothed back his shaggy blond hair and …

And his mother, Alice, burst through the door with a loaded laundry basket and banged the door into the desk causing the needle to bounce and scratch its way across the record. It got caught on “…in a godda…in a godda…in a godda…”

“Mom! What are you doing!”

Joey struggled to spring from the bean bag, cursed, and rolled out of it in a vain attempt to save the album. He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to cry over the album. He wanted to… he wanted to… what?

“Honey, I’m just bringing you your laundry. You could be a little nicer you know. Oh! I see you got that old turntable working. You know that thing was in your grandfather’s garage for, oh my gosh, I don’t know, at least the past twenty years. That and all those God awful records he used to listen to. Oh the days he’d sit and listen; I’d usually just go out and ride my bike.”

“Mom! You ruined the album I was about to listen to!”

She had to understand how important this was, didn’t she? She’d just ruined a piece of history. It was forever ruined. Joey lifted the needle and dropped it back into the holder. He switched off the turntable and tried to asses the damage.

“Hey! Did I hear music coming from this room?”

Joey’s dad, Joey Sr., wasn’t much into music, but at least he hadn’t burst into the room and spoiled the moment of victory. He could at least fake interest in what his son was doing.

“Yeah, but mom bumped the desk and now the record is scratched.”

“Well let’s go down to the music shop and we’ll pick it up on CD. It’ll be much better quality than that old record. Those things have got to be what, twenty, thirty years old?”

“It’s not that simple, dad. This was an original album. I’ve got the CD. I’ve got it ripped to mp3 on my mp3 player. I’ve heard the digitally re-mastered re-mixed clear as a bell version. I wanted to hear the original. I wanted to hear what the band made it sound like way back in the day. Can’t you understand that?”

Joey shook his head as he looked at the album. It was never going to be the same again and so many people had thrown out their old records or not taken care of them that he was certain he’d never find a pristine one such as this again. Never. His mom had ruined it and his father didn’t have the slightest clue as to just how important it was.

“Honey, can you give Joey and I a moment?”

Alice, who’d all but ignored Joey’s outburst and had been folding laundry stopped and narrowed her eyes at Joey Sr. and huffed a sigh. She gave each of them a peck on the cheek and left the room.

“Joey, you know your mom didn’t intend any harm, right?”

“I know, but I’ve been working on this for three weeks now. I really wanted to hear this album and now it’s ruined.”

Joey Sr. put his hand on Joey’s shoulder. “This is just one reason why people stopped buying albums. I can’t tell you the number of times I had a record get scratched. Why when I was your age…”

“Dad, that’s not the point. The point is that I had an album that I really wanted to listen to and you and mom keep going on and on about your good old days. This record was from the good old days and it was in great shape. Grandpa really took care of his albums and I wanted to share in that piece of history.”

“But didn’t you do that by getting this turntable to work?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t even get to listen to one album before the experience was ruined. How am I supposed to get that back?”

“I really think you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Joey sighed. Perhaps he was, but then again perhaps his dad was just trying to downplay what had happened.

“I think I’m going to go for a ride on my bike. I think Carlos might have something to fix this with.”

“Carlos? You’re not still hanging out with him are you?”

Joey bit his lip. He and Carlos had gotten in trouble for shoplifting the year before and they weren’t supposed to be hanging out together anymore. Joey couldn’t help himself. Carlos was his best friend after all. Plus he had a massive collection of albums too. That’s why they’d become such good friends.

“Well, we haven’t really.” Joey slipped the scratched record into its sleeve.

“Joey.”

“Dad, just because he and I got into trouble doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Well, no.”

“See?”

“Joey, that’s not the point. Your mother and I told you not to hang out with him any more. He’s a bad influence on you.”

“I’m eighteen, dad. I can make my own choices.”

Joey grabbed his jean jacket off his bed and stormed out the door.

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