nose neat and trimmed short. "I stand before you because we cannot stand for any terrorist activity in our land."
"Yeah, and because you can't sit," laughed Nin.
"The terrorists need to resort their priorities and should only uphold the sort that is not traitorous."
"Huh? Oh, make him stop already, Nin."
"Shh!" Sam whispered. "Royalists! Sit here!" He sat down and abruptly pulled Nin and Nan down into a booth facing the giant screen face of Pinocchibush. "Copy their movements!"
When the patrons dropped to their knees, so did Nin, Nan and Sam. When the patrons swooned, so did Nin, Nan and Sam. When the patrons cheered, so did Nin, Nan and Sam. Well, maybe not Nan, who instinctively suspected any synchronized activity. But, even without being fully convinced, even Nan played along.
The speech droned on. "And so henceforth we shall seek death for all international terriers that try to get in our way!"
A couple of dog owners got up and hurried out of the place.
"Only terriers?" asked a reporter.
"Them and all those beasts that support them."
A few more pet owners got up, and among them was the shepherd. He hadn't noticed Nin, Nan and Sam.
What was really unfortunate was that this was the very weekend the World Terrier Championships were being held in the city. Dogs all over the place started acting strange. The terriers were being hunted. Sometimes packs of mongrels would turn them in.
The Emperor's popularity ebbed, especially in the new territory, but one would never have known that in the Crow Bar. Heck, that crappy Bruce Springsteen song "Born in the USA" was even playing on the jukebox.
"The Way of US or the Way of None!" read a biker's bottomrocker.
"Um, Nin?"
"Yes, Nan?"
"Did you see the direction he left in?"
"Don't worry. If he's hungry, he's going to be stopping at a restaurant soon," said Nin.
"That's right!" said Nan, relieved.
Chapter Eight: The 3 rd Restaurant, the 3 rd TV
"The Third Eye. I've been visited by something that doesn't want me to succeed."
"That's ridiculous, Nan," said Nin. "Superstitious hogwash."
"Like you'd know."
"Stop it, you two," intervened Sam. "It's bad when I have to be the mature one here. I'm a musician, damn it!"
"Wait! There's a flaw in the ointment!" interjected Nan.
"Meaning a fly?" interpreted Nin.
"Cut it out, you two," intercepted Sam. "I mean it. Or I'll have to intra-duce you two to my two dukes," he said, holding up a suspiciously-not-so-frail-looking pair of fists.
At this rate, by the time dinner's over, we'll have been to a dozen restaurants and Sam will be as large as
a bounty hunter? thought Nan.
or worse, thought Nin.
What's worse?
A stooge for the machine.
"And what evidence have ye?"
"Empirical, of course."
"Hey, guys," said Sam. "I know her," pointing to a corner table inside the Third Eye.
"That's a table, Sam."
"No—the woman who was sitting there a minute ago."
"Who?"
"You didn't notice her?"
"Not really, Sam. I'm not here to score with the Chicks of the System. We're here to get that shepherd."
"Don't worry. We got him. This time I got his distributor cap."
"If you had the right car."
"Of course I had the right car! Who do you take me for? A Pinocchibushy?"
"Okay. So he's here somewhere. This is a huge place."
"Well, duh. It's a casino."
They walked past an old patron at a slot machine who was so heavy into her addiction that she'd forgotten herself and had soiled her pants. Badly. One employee walked over to help, but a manager stopped him. "Not until she's finished betting, son. Then you can go get a mop and bucket since you want to be so 'helpful.'" And thank her for coming to Pinocchibushoil Casino, "where every handshake is greezy!"
They walked over to a roulette wheel looking for shoeblack.
The crap tables stank. Madam Comnist walked over to Sam, whispered in his ear, and took off.
"What was that?" asked Nan.
"Nothing. I couldn't even understand her. Nin, do you have a pen?"
"We're staying?"
"Let me just say I think I got us a room."
"Sam, you're okay,"
"Yeah, and because you can't sit," laughed Nin.
"The terrorists need to resort their priorities and should only uphold the sort that is not traitorous."
"Huh? Oh, make him stop already, Nin."
"Shh!" Sam whispered. "Royalists! Sit here!" He sat down and abruptly pulled Nin and Nan down into a booth facing the giant screen face of Pinocchibush. "Copy their movements!"
When the patrons dropped to their knees, so did Nin, Nan and Sam. When the patrons swooned, so did Nin, Nan and Sam. When the patrons cheered, so did Nin, Nan and Sam. Well, maybe not Nan, who instinctively suspected any synchronized activity. But, even without being fully convinced, even Nan played along.
The speech droned on. "And so henceforth we shall seek death for all international terriers that try to get in our way!"
A couple of dog owners got up and hurried out of the place.
"Only terriers?" asked a reporter.
"Them and all those beasts that support them."
A few more pet owners got up, and among them was the shepherd. He hadn't noticed Nin, Nan and Sam.
What was really unfortunate was that this was the very weekend the World Terrier Championships were being held in the city. Dogs all over the place started acting strange. The terriers were being hunted. Sometimes packs of mongrels would turn them in.
The Emperor's popularity ebbed, especially in the new territory, but one would never have known that in the Crow Bar. Heck, that crappy Bruce Springsteen song "Born in the USA" was even playing on the jukebox.
"The Way of US or the Way of None!" read a biker's bottomrocker.
"Um, Nin?"
"Yes, Nan?"
"Did you see the direction he left in?"
"Don't worry. If he's hungry, he's going to be stopping at a restaurant soon," said Nin.
"That's right!" said Nan, relieved.
Chapter Eight: The 3 rd Restaurant, the 3 rd TV
"The Third Eye. I've been visited by something that doesn't want me to succeed."
"That's ridiculous, Nan," said Nin. "Superstitious hogwash."
"Like you'd know."
"Stop it, you two," intervened Sam. "It's bad when I have to be the mature one here. I'm a musician, damn it!"
"Wait! There's a flaw in the ointment!" interjected Nan.
"Meaning a fly?" interpreted Nin.
"Cut it out, you two," intercepted Sam. "I mean it. Or I'll have to intra-duce you two to my two dukes," he said, holding up a suspiciously-not-so-frail-looking pair of fists.
At this rate, by the time dinner's over, we'll have been to a dozen restaurants and Sam will be as large as
a bounty hunter? thought Nan.
or worse, thought Nin.
What's worse?
A stooge for the machine.
"And what evidence have ye?"
"Empirical, of course."
"Hey, guys," said Sam. "I know her," pointing to a corner table inside the Third Eye.
"That's a table, Sam."
"No—the woman who was sitting there a minute ago."
"Who?"
"You didn't notice her?"
"Not really, Sam. I'm not here to score with the Chicks of the System. We're here to get that shepherd."
"Don't worry. We got him. This time I got his distributor cap."
"If you had the right car."
"Of course I had the right car! Who do you take me for? A Pinocchibushy?"
"Okay. So he's here somewhere. This is a huge place."
"Well, duh. It's a casino."
They walked past an old patron at a slot machine who was so heavy into her addiction that she'd forgotten herself and had soiled her pants. Badly. One employee walked over to help, but a manager stopped him. "Not until she's finished betting, son. Then you can go get a mop and bucket since you want to be so 'helpful.'" And thank her for coming to Pinocchibushoil Casino, "where every handshake is greezy!"
They walked over to a roulette wheel looking for shoeblack.
The crap tables stank. Madam Comnist walked over to Sam, whispered in his ear, and took off.
"What was that?" asked Nan.
"Nothing. I couldn't even understand her. Nin, do you have a pen?"
"We're staying?"
"Let me just say I think I got us a room."
"Sam, you're okay,"
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