Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Shitty Ritchie,” I said, approaching him.
He was still cowering from Candy’s reaction to his query about Fonzie Three’s member.
“Is Shitty Ritchie in trouble?” he asked, eyeing me warily.
I sighed. “No, Shitty Ritchie is not in trouble,” I promised. “However, I’m going to strongly suggest you drop the subject of Fonzie’s junk.”
“For now, or for always?” he inquired.
He was truly an idiot. A lovable one, but an idiot.
“For always. While it was… umm… nice of Fonzie to make such a generous offer,” I began, searching for my words carefully.
Shitty Ritchie tended to be very literal.
“It’s not nice to take something that belongs to someone if you don’t really need it. ”
Shitty Ritchie pulled the waistband of his tiny pants out and examined the contents inside. “What constitutes really need?”
“Oh for fucks sakes,” Candy Vargo barked, throwing a box of toothpicks at his head.
“Life or death, jackass. A big dick ain’t a life-or-death situation.
You’re keeping the junk you were born with and I don’t wanna hear another dang word about it or you’re not gonna have a peen at all. We clear, shit for brains?”
Shitty Ritchie gulped. Loudly. “Shitty Ritchie is very clear. A new package is not happening. While I am sad, I understand that taking Fonzie’s junk is not friendly. Shitty Ritchie is working hard to be friends with everyone! NO PEEN FOR ME!”
“How is this real?” Gideon muttered, speaking the very words I was thinking.
We needed to move back to the topic at hand immediately. “So, Shitty Ritchie, I’m going to dive into your mind and hopefully talk with Tom Hanks.”
Shitty Ritchie’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Would it be easier if I crapped him out?”
“NO,” I yelled, before he could do it and screw everything up. “No. Letting Tom Hanks out is a really bad plan.”
“I quite agree,” Tim said, paling at the thought. “Plus, there’s the chance that Shitty Ritchie chewed more than he recalled and Tom Hanks isn’t reachable anymore.”
“He’s in there,” Shitty Ritchie announced, patting his tummy. “I feel very gassy.”
“And that means he’s in there?” I asked, grossed out by the question, but wanting the information desperately. It would suck to dive into Shitty Ritchie’s mind for no reason. I was certain that I didn’t want to see any of the little dude’s shady secrets. His real-life actions were shady enough.
“Oh yes!” the tiny guy assured me. “Tom Hanks is in there.” He tilted his head. “Will I be part of the chat too since It’s inside my body?”
I nodded. “Chances are, yes. However, let me do the talking.”
“Roger that!” he said. “Shitty Ritchie will add only necessary commentary.”
That didn’t sound terrific, but I would stop him when and if I had to.
Gideon cleared his throat. “I’m still not convinced that talking with Tom Hanks is safe for you, Daisy.”
“I’ve considered that,” I told him.
“And?” he pressed, trying to stay calm and not doing the best job of it.
“If the former Higher Power is truly inside Shitty Ritchie, what do you think It will want more than anything?” I asked.
Candy Vargo grinned. “To be pooped out of Shitty Ritchie’s bunghole.”
“Correct,” I said, disturbed by the visual, but knowing there weren’t a lot of other ways to describe it. “That’s my bargaining chip to get out if I need it.”
“You would let him out?” Tim asked, concerned.
“Most likely, no,” I admitted. “And definitely not after our first chat. Fake Tom Hanks is going to have to supply a hell of a lot of usable information before we’d ever consider letting him out.”
“Me likey,” Candy said, chewing on a toothpick. “Oh, and just so y’all fuckers know, after I expelled the Angels out of my butt, they were weak for about a century. I don’t think Tom Hanks has the power to trap anyone inside Shitty Ritchie’s intestines. Getting eaten really messes with a person.”
“Oh my god,” I said with a wince. “I’m not travelling to Shitty Ritchie’s intestines. I’m diving into his mind.”
“My bad,” Candy said with a chuckle. “But same dif.”
Gideon shot Candy a look that would have made most people run for their lives. Candy Vargo wasn’t most people. “That might have been helpful to know a whole hell of a lot earlier than right now.”
The Keeper of Fate gave the Grim Reaper a middle finger salute. “Just remembered it now, jackass. Pull your panties out of your crack. Daisy can go in and Daisy will be able to come out. However, I’d sure as fuck use the offer of letting Tom Hanks slide out of the bum hole as a bargainin’ tool.”
I was somewhat speechless after listening to and participation in the present discussion.
A good portion of it had left nasty visuals in my mind that were probably permanent.
Whatever. The goal was getting Alana Catherine and Jennifer back.
How we did it wasn’t as important as doing it.
Period. Gideon was correct that it would have been good to know that the Angels had lost power after being ingested, but I knew it now.
Knowledge was power, or in Fake Tom Hanks’ case, the lack of.
“Shitty Ritchie,” I said, holding out my arms. “Come here. I’m going to hug you and dive into your mind.”
“Will it hurt?” he asked, approaching me.
“It won’t hurt you,” I told him.
He frowned. “But it will hurt you?”
I nodded. “I’m used to it. It’s okay.”
“Can Shitty Ritchie do anything to stop it from hurting you? I would be proud to do that, Daisy! It would help make up for the fact that I pooed a mountain and almost destroyed your kitchen potty. Plus, I love you like a mommy,” he told me.
I smiled at the little maniac who was millions of years older than me.
He was sincere and insane, and I was moved—a little grossed out, but definitely moved.
His new arm and leg were almost back to the correct proportions for his body.
Magic was mind-boggling. It was also mind-boggling how far the tiny guy had come from the bat-shit, out-of-control terror he’d been when we’d met him not too long ago.
He might be as old as time, but he had the temperament of a toddler.
“That’s a lovely offer, my friend,” I told him. “But let’s not try anything new on this one. I’m going to stick with what’s worked in the past.”
“As you wish,” he replied and wrapped his little arms around my waist. “I’m ready.”
And so was I. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” I announced aloud and then hugged Shitty Ritchie close.
It was time to move the mission forward.
The cold. The cold went all the way to my bones and tore through my body like sharp, frozen daggers made of ice. Trying to catch my breath, I gasped for air. In the past I’d screamed. It hadn’t helped. I knew the drill and did my best to stay loose and go with it.
My head pounded violently, and every single cell in my body screamed for oxygen. I knew exactly what was happening and I knew it would end. It was the same each and every time.
I’d entered Shitty Ritchie’s mind. Never would I have guessed that I’d end up here. Remembering Gram saying that sometimes weird things happened for a reason was helpful. Hopefully, we would learn something reasonable very soon.
Shitty Ritchie and I were floating on air in the vast nothingness. There were no walls or floor to speak of. It was a familiar place to me. My little friend looked around in amazement.
Tom Hanks was nowhere to be found.
Crap.
“Ohhhhh,” Shitty Ritchie said. “I’m surprised that I don’t have furniture in my mind. I wish I had furniture.”
As soon as he said it, a full-sized couch and two over-stuffed arm chairs appeared in a flash of silver crystals. I had no clue how he’d done that.
“Wonderful!” he screamed. “I wish there was a big screen TV and some cookies.”
Again, as quickly as he’d wished, the wish came true.
Double crap. If Shitty Ritchie wished for a freaking amusement park next, we’d be screwed. I’d never find Tom Hanks in an amusement part. That was… if he was even here.
“Dude,” I hissed at Shitty Ritchie, squatting down and whispering in his ear. On the slight chance that Tom Hanks could hear me, I kept my voice hushed. “Don’t wish for anything else. It seems that what you wish for shows up.”
His little eyes grew huge. He bounced up and down and then ran in circles so fast I got dizzy. “Can I PLEASE wish for one more thing? PLEASE?” he begged.
I closed my eyes. This was going to be a problem. “Tell me what it is without using the word wish in the sentence.”
He squealed and then leaned in close. “A big dong,” he whispered.
The impulse to step on him and squash him was intense.
Electrocuting him also sounded good. We were trying to save lives and he was obsessed with his junk.
There were several ways to handle the new and unsavory wrinkle.
Violence being one, or letting him have his way.
This had never come up before in the past dives I’d done, but I’d never gone into a mind as strange and warped as Shitty Ritchie’s.
I had no clue if he wished for a big dong in his mind if he’d have the same big dong in real life. Did it matter? No, but I didn’t want to be responsible for that.
Shitty Ritchie pled his case further. “It’s not like I’m taking it from a Fonzie,” he insisted frantically. “I would imagine it’s just some free-floating dong that no one needs just like the furniture, TV and cookies that showed up.”
The fact that his logic was kind of sound was alarming. Glancing around, I scanned the area for Tom Hanks. He was MIA. Shitty Ritchie was sure he was here. I quickly hatched a plan. It had pros and some big cons, but it might work…
“Listen to me, Shitty Ritchie,” I said. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“A dong deal?” he asked.
I blew out a long, loud breath through clenched teeth. “Sure. A dong deal.”
He giggled. “Lay it on me, Daisy!”
“Here’s the deal. You can wish for bigger junk, but then you have to wish for something I choose.”
“Boobs?” he asked.
“On my god. No, not boobs. Agree to the deal or no dong.”