A Fistful of Tannenbaum Chapter 5: Surprise Truck

Editor's Note: Previously, millionaire playboy Jed Foster and associate O'Reilly excellently escaped death at the hands of Fango, an operative for Ostrich. They got the lockbox. Now the crap hits the fan.

"That was a hell of a firefight," swore Reilly, mopping his brow, even though he hadn't done anything strenuous since the fight nineteen hours ago. "We're lucky we haven't run into any goons from Ostrich just yet."

"I agree," Jed agreed. "It's possible they don't know we have the lockbox yet—it'll take Fango hours to get word back to them. But when they do, make no mistake, old friend—they'll be hot on our tails."

"I'm not into that."

"They won't care, I'm afraid," said Jed, and he wasn't into it either. "No, Ostrich won't hear your pleas for justice and mind your hands when they try to get the lockbox away from us. What's in this lockbox could well hold all the evidence we need to blow the lid on the conspiracy."

"I'm not into that either."

"You know, Reilly, I'm a little tired of you taking everything I say as some kind of gay innuendo. I think you have issues."

But before they could delve deeply into the complex feelings Reilly held for the boys he showered with in junior high gym, they heard a loud beeping from down the street. It might have been more important to mention before now they had made their way down the mountain, taken a flight back to America, and were now standing in the middle of a bustling street of New York City—a street where they could hear a loud beep.

"Good will hunting!" snapped Reilly. "That didn't sound like any ordinary truck!"

And Reilly was right, for down the street, rolling at approximately two hundred miles per hour, was the largest truck in the world, not to mention the fastest, which I just mentioned. She (the truck) stood at twelve feet tall and had wheels big enough for entire schoolyards of kids to swing from a tree in, or perhaps go innertubing. Clever Jed Foster recognized the truck from all his files on secret underground projects.

"Shit on a Ritz cracker!" he yelled. "Surprise Truck!"

Surprise Truck, an automotive monster of nightmarish proportions, designed by a mad scientist, built by a mad mechanic and given a robotic will of her own by Tim, a mad graduate student in robotics. Only Ostrich held the keys, and accompanying fancy key ring, that controlled the will of Surprise Truck.

"Let's get out of here," said Jed, before I began my elaboration on the truck's history. They made their way down an alley, onto a side street, and then into a Starbucks, figuring even if Surprise Truck crashed into it, at least they would do some good in their demise.

"We've got to think of something, and fast!" said Reilly.

"I already did, while you were saying that," Jed told him. "Here's the deal: One of us gets run over by Surprise Truck, and while she's gloating over her victory, the other one sneaks up and lets the air out of the tires."

"Not—"

"Not it!" snapped Jed.

Reilly swore, and then prepared to carry out the plan, when a playful slap on the shoulder startled him. It was a woman, the kind with breasts, and she was quite attractive and looked a little like the one chick on Gilmore Girls.

"Still playing with toy cars, boys?" said Paulette Studebaker.

Jed laughed heartily, clutching the lockbox close to his bosom. Things had just become a little more interesting.



Next Chapter: Surprise Truck

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