Interstellar RV

Interstellar RV

by

Adam C. Richardson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Adam C Richardson on Smashwords

Interstellar RV

Copyright © 2011 by Adam C. Richardson

http://www.adamcrichardson.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - The Power of a Slim Jim

Chapter 2 – The Billboard Lawyer

Chapter 3 – Elvis Songs

Chapter 4 - Meanwhile, in Outer Elsewhere

Chapter 5 - Bedtime Stories

Chapter 6 - The Dodgeball Champion

Chapter 7 - McGarry's Cafe

Chapter 8 - Night Vision

Chapter 9 - Gil's Bar

Chapter 10 – Beer Nuts and Pretzels

Chapter 11 – Sasquatch

Chapter 12 - Elf Patents

Chapter 13 - Agent Cooper of the FBI

Chapter 14 – Trashing the Greenbaum Estate

Chapter 15 – Confessions

Chapter 16 – Sunshine in Tahiti

Chapter 17 – The Quarry

Chapter 18 – Showdown

Chapter 19 – Loose Ends

Chapter 1 - The Power of a Slim Jim

When Tyler Moss got fed up with his problems, he’d hide from the world and throw rocks. He had a lot of problems, he threw a lot of rocks, and he became quite good at it. From ten yards, he could knock a ladybug off a ‘no trespassing’ sign. From twenty-five yards, he could hit the weather vane on a barn.

His deadly accurate aim made him the first pick at any school-yard baseball game. In general, he was lousy at sports, usually tripping over his own feet. He shunned the football field and basketball court, where at best he’d be invisible and at worst he’d embarrass himself severely. But on the pitcher's mound, Tyler almost felt like a hero.

On the chilly spring afternoon, just before he first encountered the broken down RV from another planet, Tyler felt like anything but a hero. The instant the final school bell rang, he fled his classroom and ran across streets and fields to the deserted fringes of town near Picha Park. Once there, Tyler threw rocks across an icy creek at the broken down carnival rides.

He hammered the rusty Tilt-A-Whirl for several minutes. Then he threw harder, trying to reach the distant Ferris wheel he had never ridden, the fun house he'd never played in. He pretended the carnival rides were his worries, fears and regrets, hoping that if he hit them hard enough, they’d collapse and disappear.

When his arm got tired, he slumped and sighed and watched the creek. Chunks of ice flowed by, evidence of the frigid Minnesota winter that still hung on into spring. He skipped a stone across the calm waters, stirring up reflection of the old carousel beyond the neglected park's chain link fence.

Unwanted memories of the day's events plagued him: The playground, a baseball game, and one wild pitch that would inevitably lead to his doom. The cruel eyes and cold sneer of Cory Flynn, the meanest kid in the universe, burned in Tyler's memory. He was doomed. He flung a stone across the creek, trying to ignore the cold knot in his gut. He stooped to retrieve a flat stone, cocked his arm and prepared to throw.

Tyler, my man! a voice called from behind him. There you are!

Tyler nearly shrieked; his arm swung wide. The rock missed the creek entirely and clanged against a fence post.

Whoa, wild pitch, said the boy behind him. You know, you’ve really got to work on that!

Go away, Tyler said.

The boy stopped at Tyler’s side. He was shorter than Tyler by almost a foot, with dark, messy hair. His skinny face bore an obnoxious grin. Hey, he said.

Tyler retrieved another stone, ignoring him. He tossed it sideways, and it skipped three times across the creek.

Cool, the shorter boy said. He grabbed his own stone and flung it overhand at the water. It hit the surface with a wet sploink and disappeared.

You’re doing it wrong, Tyler said. You need a flat stone, and you’re supposed to throw it sideways like this. He tossed another one.

’Supposed to,’ huh? Are there rules to this game? I just like to hear it splash. He tossed another rock at the water, and reveled in the wet sound.

What do you want, Banzai? Tyler sighed.

Banzai chuckled. What’s the matter with you?

Tyler aimed the next rock at the carousel. It thumped one of the horses in the face.

You've got a talent for hitting dumb animals in the head, don’t you?

Tyler clenched his teeth. You think? Go stand over there and hold still. We'll find out.

Banzai’s grin didn't crack. "What’s wrong with you?"

Nothing much. You just ruined my life!

What?

Cory Flynn! That’s what!

Banzai shook his head. I wasn't the one who threw a baseball at his head, buddy.

Yeah, and if you had kept your mouth shut, I probably would have gotten off with a punch in the face. You made things worse!

"Huh?"

The lunchtime baseball game ran through Tyler’s head. He had thrown a wild pitch, one that sailed over the batter’s head, into the playground and knocked Cory Flynn on the head. The brick wall of a boy had actually fallen on his face. Tyler could still feel the silence that followed, the weight of the stares of every kid on the playground as Flynn spat out pebbles and glared up at him. Flynn still had pebbles stuck to his forehead as he stomped towards Tyler.

Tyler cringed, remembering. "Look Banzai, you’re new to this town, so I’ll explain it to you. You don’t mess with Cory Flynn, okay? If you keep off his radar, you’ll live a much happier life. He might have hit me. I wish he had. Then he would have been done with me. But you had to open your mouth…"

All I said was—

Tyler jabbed three fingers in the air. You said three words. ‘Hit—Him—Tyler.’

Well, you should have. You’re bigger than him.

Taller, Tyler corrected. Not bigger. Nobody’s bigger. And Flynn’s crazier than a … than a busload of crazies!

Banzai glanced up at the old carousel. You could do as much damage as he could, he said. And anyway, he never actually hit you.

"He did worse. He said he’d deal with me later."

How is that worse?

It’s worse because I’ll never know when to expect the attack. He does that to you—messes with your mind. Do you know Aaron Waits?

Banzai’s eyes sized up the Ferris wheel. He shook his head.

He’s a skinny kid with super-thick glasses. He once knocked Flynn’s bicycle into a pile of fresh doggie poo. Got it all over. Flynn didn’t even get angry. He smiled, just like he smiled at me, and he said, ‘How does it feel to be doomed?’ Then he picked up his bike and walked away.

That’s all he did? Banzai asked.

That’s all he had to do. For the next three weeks, Flynn barely even looked at Aaron, and Aaron forgot about it. Then one day, I walked into the boy’s restroom and found Aaron on the floor in one of the toilet stalls. His head was soaked, and he was coughing and sputtering. He wouldn’t say what happened, even after I went to get a teacher, but I saw Flynn walk out of the bathroom before I walked in. He must have held Aaron’s head in the toilet, probably for a while.

Banzai nodded absently. When Tyler stopped talking, he asked, So, what is this place? He nodded towards the carousel. Let’s go check it out.

Tyler groaned again. Matthew Banzai Benny’s family had moved into the affluent neighborhood of Carson Valley only a month earlier. Everything was still new to him, and he gazed at the old carousel with the eagerness of an excited puppy.

That’s Picha Park. Nobody goes there.

So it’s deserted? That’s even better. Banzai trounced down to the bank of the creek.

I’m not going, Tyler said.

Sure you are. It’ll be fun. Banzai scanned the creek for a place to cross.

Tyler turned and walked away. When he reached the road, Banzai shouted, Hey, Ty, wait up!

Tyler felt like running, but he suspected that running from Banzai, like running from Flynn, would only delay the inevitable. Banzai ran and stopped at Tyler’s side, panting hard and shaking water off of his foot. Geez Louise, that’s cold! How can you live in such a cold place? It’s April, and there's icicles in the trees!

"You live here," Tyler said.

"Anyway, we can check out the park another time. Right now, I've got something to show you."

Leave me alone, Tyler said.

Banzai grinned. Well, you won’t find it without me, he said. Or if you do, you won’t notice it. My old teacher, Mrs. Marks, said I was ‘a very observant young man.’ She said I noticed things that other kids and even adults missed. Of course, you don't have to have eagle eyes to notice the big old wart on her forehead. That sucker was huge…

Tyler sighed. I won’t notice what? What are you talking about?

It’s a camper, Banzai laughed. Like what some of the people in your trailer park live in.

Tyler glared at Banzai. Was the rich kid mocking him? So who cares about a camper?

You’ll see. It looks like one of those big metal bubbles.

At the trailer park, some of Tyler’s neighbors lived in campers, some barely big enough to fit a bed and a TV inside. Those campers might have once been used for actual camping, might have traveled the country. Now they were rusty heaps with flat tires and cracked windows. So you think I’m some kind of expert? Tyler asked.

Hey, we’ve got campers in my neighborhood, too. But this one is old and…you just got to see it.

Where is it?

At the junkyard over there.

Tyler frowned. You live on the other side of town? Why do you spend so much time over here in Dumpsville?

Banzai shrugged. There’s more to see in Dumpsville.

Tyler said nothing. Finally, Banzai blurted, Seriously, it shouldn’t be this cold outside in April. Why couldn’t my parents have moved us to Tahiti?

Tyler glanced down at Banzai’s coat, a heavy leather bomber jacket. Tyler's own jacket was thin, frayed blue nylon with paint splotches down one sleeve. You get used to it, he muttered.

They walked silently for a moment. Then Tyler said, There’s ‘No Trespassing’ signs all over that junkyard.

So?

And there’s a dog there named ‘Killer.’ I heard that dog ate one of Toby Fenton’s cats in one gulp. I heard it once bit a man’s foot off.

Banzai smiled. Don’t worry. I have a way with dogs.

Tyler continued, And there’s the old guy who works there. He practically lives there. I’ve seen him once, and he’s got an eye patch.

Not an eye patch! Banzai cried. What if he makes us swab the deck?

It’s not funny, Tyler said. They say he murdered someone or something. My mom told me to stay away from him.

Look, Banzai said, If he’s got an eye patch, then that means he’s less likely to spot us. I’ll deal with the dog. Nothing to worry about. You've got to see this camper, man!

Tyler mumbled, If I get in trouble…

"If you get in trouble, what? For the first time, Banzai looked serious. You’re a kid. Kids do things. You can never get into that much trouble."

Tyler’s bit his lip. He should have been home by now.

What do you say? Banzai said. You want to see it or not?

If Tyler was late getting home, his mother would be late for work. His younger sister, Kylie, was only three, and he had to be there to watch her.

But then Tyler remembered how late his mother had gotten home last night. His jaw tightened. Banzai's right, he told himself. Who cares?

What kind of camper is it? he asked.

Banzai’s grin widened. Don’t know. Maybe you can tell me.

Reluctantly, Tyler nodded. They turned left on the next road, away from Tyler’s neighborhood.

The road ran along frozen corn fields and iced over wetlands. The junkyard was not far, a fortress of high wooden fences concealing old appliances and compacted cars. When they neared it, Banzai led Tyler off the road, arcing around to the back fence of the junkyard lot.

In the far corner, furthest from the road, Banzai pulled a fence board aside, revealing a gap big enough to crawl through. "Open Sesame," Banzai intoned.

Tyler stared at the ‘No Trespassing’ sign posted above the hole.

From somewhere behind them, a twig snapped. Get down, Banzai whispered and tugged on Tyler’s sleeve.

A man trudged across the corn field behind the junkyard. Both boys crouched behind a crate and watched him. The man appeared to be studying some object in his hands, oblivious to his surroundings.

Well, that’s weird, said Tyler.

I know that guy, Banzai said. He’s a serious weirdo. Lives in my neighborhood.

"He doesn’t look rich," Tyler said, noticing the man’s faded jeans and denim jacket. His hair was almost as messy as Banzai’s.

He’s got the biggest house on my street, Banzai said. Probably the biggest in town.

Why is he out here?

Banzai watched the man stumble away. Don’t know. Maybe he likes Dumpsville too.

They waited for him to disappear across the next field before they moved.

Did I mention that the dog’s name is Killer? Tyler asked.

Did I mention that I’m gifted with animals?

As Tyler watched Banzai shimmy through the hole in the fence, he considered running away, leaving Banzai to face the dog alone. By now, Tyler was definitely late, and nothing good could possibly come of sneaking into this junkyard of horrors.

Come on, Ty! Banzai called.

Tyler groaned and crawled through the hole in the fence. There was a precarious pile of rusted bicycle frames just a foot beyond the fence, and Tyler squirmed into the cramped space between.

C’mon, Banzai said as he tip-toed over handlebars and sprockets. Tyler followed.

Beyond the bike pile was a loosely-organized wasteland of old appliances, car parts and gadgets in rough piles, separated by random twisting pathways. They passed a barricade of flattened cars, old washers and dryers stacked like blocks, and a row of refrigerators lined up like soldiers. Most spectacular was a wall of televisions, six to eight screens deep and more than two dozen wide. Tyler marveled at how perfectly the varying screen sizes fit together, like a giant jigsaw puzzle.

I was here yesterday, Banzai said, Checking out the televisions, thinking how cool it would be if you could turn them all on to the same station. Then I walked around this corner, and…

The moment they rounded the corner, a barrage of vicious barking froze Tyler's blood. He spun around and felt his heart seize. Across the lot, the biggest Rottweiler he had ever seen launched itself at them. It galloped madly, snarling through giant, jagged teeth.

As Tyler turned to run, he stumbled on an old toaster. Banzai caught him by the shoulder to steady him. When Tyler tried to pull free, Banzai held on.

Are you crazy? Tyler cried. It’ll kill us!

Maybe.

The dog was 25 yards away, closing fast. Banzai was unconcerned. She looks hungry, he said. She might make a meal of one of our feet. An arm might be a real treat. He snorted. Did you hear that? I rhymed.

The snarling, barking monster was almost on top of them. Tyler stood petrified, wide-eyed at the oncoming doom.

Or maybe, Banzai added as he reached into his jacket, She’ll settle for this.

He retrieved what appeared to be two brown sticks from an inside pocket. The instant they were out, the dog planted its front feet, skidding to a stop in front of the boys. It's growling ceased, replaced by drooling. The huge beast gazed up at Banzai with eager, hungry eyes.

Tyler gaped as Banzai tore off a piece of one and tossed it to the dog. The monstrous canine caught it and devoured it in three slobbery chomps. Slim Jims, Banzai explained. Killer can’t get enough of them.

Tyler’s tongue felt heavier than a sandbag. Th…this is Killer?

That’s what her dog tags say.

She’s…really big.

Sitting on her haunches with a quiver of anticipation, Killer’s bright pink tongue swathed across her upper lip. Banzai tossed another piece just over her head. She leaped up and caught it with shark-like teeth.

I didn’t know they made dogs this big.

Banzai smirked. This is the junkyard model. Hector must have ordered her special.

Hector?

Hector Garza. The guy with the eye patch. I saw his name on his shirt when he chased me off yesterday.

Tyler had been so startled by the dog, he'd forgotten to watch out for the eye patch man. Tyler scanned the junkyard, looking for threats.

Banzai tossed Killer another piece of the beef stick and scratched behind her ears. She wriggled happily.

What made you think of bringing meat here when you came here the first time.

Banzai grinned. "Like the Boy Scout motto says, ‘Be Prepared.’ He scratched down her broad back. She froze with ecstasy. And then there’s the Banzai Benny motto: ‘Never underestimate the power of a Slim Jim.’"

Banzai handed the second beef stick to Tyler. "You ought to feed her this, or she might eat you instead."

Tyler stared down at the piece of processed meat in his hand and then at the giant dog. Her jagged maw was big enough to take off his arm. I don’t want to, he said.

Killer sat and watched, grunting eagerly. She barked once.

In a panic, Tyler thrust the stick of meat at the dogs face, poking her in the eye. Icy panic flushed through Tyler, and he stiffened for the inevitable attack. Killer barely flinched, however. She attacked the Slim Jim, chomping off two bites in less than a second. Gently, she licked the last piece from between his finger and thumb, then licked his hand.

Tyler remained rigid, his eyes squeezed tight.

Banzai laughed like a hyena. Geez Louise, man! You should have seen yourself.

I’m not going to die?

"Heck, I thought you were dead there for a second!"

When his paralysis subsided, Tyler scratched the dog behind the ears, unsure what else to do.

C’mon, Banzai said. He led Tyler away. Killer followed dutifully.

They walked along a path between a wall of engine blocks and a kitchen microwave pyramid.

So why are we here? Tyler asked.

Banzai stopped and pointed. We’re here for that.

He pointed at a tall, rectangular object draped with black plastic. On top of it, an assortment of old tires held the plastic in place. Tyler stared. I don’t get it.

Come around to the other side then.

On the other side, the black plastic that skirted the top had fallen away, revealing the polished metal shell of a camper.

Tyler said, Yeah? So?

So! Banzai rolled his eyes. Isn’t it cool?

It’s a camper.

"It’s a cool camper."

It’s a waste of time. I should be at home. Tyler glanced around anxiously.

Maybe so, but while you’re here, let’s check it out.

Tyler regarded it disdainfully. "It’s just a camper. It’s…wait." Tyler stopped. Something was out of place.

What is it? Banzai asked.

Tyler pulled the plastic sheet back to get a better look at the front. It’s got headlights.

Yeah?

But it has a trailer hitch and no windshield.

Uh-huh?

Tyler glanced at Banzai. So if it’s supposed to be pulled by a truck, why does it need headlights?

Banzai shrugged. I told you it was cool.

No, this is weird. Tyler walked around to the back of the camper and pulled the plastic back. "This thing has tailpipes," he exclaimed.

Banzai nodded. Is that a good thing?

You mean you never noticed that before?

I might have. So what’s wrong with tail pipes?

Tyler studied the two shiny pipes. They were unusually large, and they protruded out of the molded metal, just below the taillights, rather than extending out from underneath the bottom of the camper. "Or is it a camper at all?" Tyler said.

What do you mean? Banzai asked.

A camper is just a trailer – something you pull around. An RV is something that drives itself. This is kind of a weird mix of the two. It has no windshield, but it looks like…

He stooped to take a closer look at a tailpipe, and Killer sat down beside him, panting happily. Tyler patted the dogs head. As he pressed against the RV’s tire to brace himself, he found another mystery. That’s not rubber.

What’s not?

He pressed against the black tire, which was miraculously free of dirt and cobwebs. It felt metallic. Banzai, is this a joke?

Why? Is it funny?

This isn’t a real camper. It’s some kind of…mixed up prop or something. Why did you bring me out here?

Because…well, look? He pointed at the door.

Tyler looked. The door looked almost normal. There’s no door handle.

That’s right. And I figured, since you live around older campers, maybe you knew how to open this kind.

Why do you want to open it?

Are you kidding? Banzai rolled his eyes again. Geez, Louise! This would make the coolest hideout! It’s in the middle of a junkyard, guarded by a ferocious dog, and there’s not a speck of dust on the inside.

Curious, Tyler peered through one of the porthole windows. There was a table, a couch, a kitchenette, what appeared to be a tiny bathroom. It looked out of date, but it was as spotless as if it were in a showroom, fresh out of the factory. The only thing unusual inside was a glass jar on the table, full of what appeared to be large white jawbreakers.

He placed a hand on the wall and felt a low vibration in the metal. He yanked his hand back as if he had been shocked.

Banzai’s face lit up. You feel it too?

Tyler stared. What was that?

Banzai placed his own hand on the polished metal surface. I guess this baby still has power. Maybe the refrigerator is running.

There were no power cables running up to the camper – not unless they were buried. Tyler crouched down to look underneath. There he found another mystery. There was no cable, but he thought he saw a faint blue glow. "How long has this thing been