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From: pleasecain@aol.com (PleaseCain)
Subject: {ASSM} [PleaseCain] Sunset Scarestory (2/2)
Date: Thu, 30 Oct 2003 05:10:03 -0500
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EXPLICIT MATERIAL NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS.

Copyright 1998 PleaseCain@aol.com and Femmes Obscure -- Commercial use
prohibited without author's consent. Removal of this notice in any case is
prohibited.

Sunset Scarestory (The Beautiful Bowl of Stars With Some Smoke in It) (2/2)
by PleaseCain


Kennedy slammed the door of his unmarked and jogged to the entrance.  Charles
"Hondo" Heston was waiting for him inside the glass doors, and followed
Kennedy's brisk pace through the foyer.

"How you holding up, mick?  How's Andie taking it?" he asked while Faye the
brunette receptionist buzzed them in.

"Well, Hondo," he spun into the breakroom and pulled a styrofoam cup, "I could
say that we haven't had sex in months and this won't help things," and the
three chirping rookies standing in front of the television fell silent and
looked.  Kennedy scowled and poured some joe.  "But we'll pull through this,
dammit.  She's a tough little girl.  And I'm gonna get that boat, and we'll
leave this stinking town."

Heston gave him a beefy pat on the shoulder.

The convenience store videotape played, now computer-enhanced.  Kennedy
wandered near.  The sequence repeated and repeated, fast, slow, backward,
louder, forward, with and without expert commentary.  The officers sized up the
situation.

"Will you look at the pumpkins on her?" commented one shavetail.

"That's not where I was looking," said another.

"You sons of bitches, that's my daughter!"  Kennedy cold-cocked the first one,
then threw coffee in the other's face, spun and landed a roundhouse kick to the
side of the head.  He would have gouged the third's eyes out, if Heston hadn't
locked his arms.

"Get the hell out of here!" he yelled at the youngster, straining against his
berserk partner.  In a minute he let go, both men huffing.

Kennedy tossed the empty cup at the prone bodies.  "Thanks Hondo, I owe you
one," he said and lit a smoke.

"You gotta cool down, mick.  The Old Man's just waiting on you to slip up, you
know."

"I know, I know.  Come on, we haven't got all night," and he was off down the
hallway.

"Mick, the Old Man expressly said he doesn't want you anywhere near the War
Room on this one.  He's going to bust your ass down."

"Don't you worry, I'll behave myself.  Besides," he paused outside the door,
"it's my daughter they're talking about, and he's got nothing to say."  He
slipped inside.  Heston shrugged and followed.

The room was dark but for the lamp of an overhead projector.  Frazzled by the
momentary interruption, a pear-shaped officer in thick glasses stood
open-mouthed in the glare.

 From the conference table, Chief Borgnine glowered at the newcomers standing in
the corner.  "Detective Hackett, you were saying?  About the forensic data?"

"Yes?  Oh yes, the most fascinating aspects of this current situation may be
found in an apparently unrelated homicide occurring this afternoon a few blocks
from this cluster of earliest sightings.  Hadda Teller, white, early eighties,
found bludgeoned in her living room, laying in a pool of blood and Halloween
candy.  Teller was the widow of renowned cryptozoologist Anton Spelczech ..."

"Cryptozoologist, Detective?"

"An expert in mythic and disputed fauna, Chief Borgnine.  Spelczech immigrated
from Hungary after the Soviet crackdown in '56 and settled in California, and
died in 1989.  He signed a yeti track casting for me at my first conference, a
truly brilliant specimen that ..."

"Yes, yes, Hackett, get to the point."

"Indeed.  Spelczech was renowned for his studies of the North American
sasquatch, popularly known as Bigfoot."  With his fingers, Hackett framed
caustic quotes around "Bigfoot."  "Spelczech consistently produced evidence of
the sasquatch arcanus that was distinguished for its biologic uniqueness.  In a
field where concrete evidence is rare if not spurious, his samples were never
shown to be hoaxes."

Impatient rustlings traveled around the table.  "Hackett ..."

"Of course.  Judging from the massive trauma to Ms. Teller's body, the
perpetrator had to be tremendously powerful.  In fact, superhuman.  And
Homicide too discovered hair samples at the immediate site that are thus far
unidentifiable, not belonging to any creature, human or otherwise.  We found
more of these samples here, in the basement, which smelled particularly rank,
and where we also uncovered other evidence, including these oversized stool
specimens, which I'd recognize anywhere as similar to this, Spelczech's famous
Sample #12/77, which he claimed was the verified stool of ... sasquatch, the
Bigfoot!"  He switched to a transparency showing side-by-side still frames from
the convenience store tape and the famous Patterson-Gimlin film of the
sasquatch.  "I believe that further examinations of the Teller premises will
confirm my hypothesis."

The room was in an uproar.  "Detective Hackett, are you proposing that a mad
biologist brought one of these Bigfoot creatures to West Hollywood, and it's
now running loose in our city?"

"I am!" he thundered above the din, riding the wave of discord the grandest
manner.  "It is obvious to me that Spelczech held a sasquatch specimen in his
home for years, and for whatever reason the creature has now escaped and is at
large in our fair community!"

"This is all rather outrageous ..."

"Gentlemen, we are presented with a historic opportunity to capture a live
sasquatch.  With proper planning and care, this day may prove a boon to science
and to our own department."

"You freak."  The lights glimmered on; it was Kennedy's hand on the switches. 
He staggered forward, clumsy with rage.  "There's a monster out there, damn
you!  We already have one body on our hands, and you propose we coddle this ...
this ... thing, until we have bodies stetching from here to Pasadena."  He dove
across the table, where he struggled with a dozen pairs of arms, and the
lecturer hopped atop the projector.  Dragging out the door, Kennedy spat, "We
need to destroy this monster, before it rapes more of our women and children!"

A minute later, the men straightening their uniforms, Borgnine emerged and
signaled over his shoulder.  "Kennedy, my office," and kept walking.

"You're in it now, mick."

"Yeah, time to face the music.  Thanks, guys, l got drinks later."

"Good luck, Kennedy," they muttered as he shambled away.

The heavy door was ajar at hall's end.  Kennedy rapped.

"Come in.  Sit.  Cigarette?  Meredith and the doctor'll have my balls if I
don't quit soon, but they don't work 15 hour days and answer to the mayor. 
Know what they have me eating?"  He lifted a plastic bag like holding a mangy
rabbit.  "These.  A chief of police, eating fucking rice cakes."  Leaning
forward, his voice became grave.  "You probably think I'm going to tear you a
new asshole, but I'm not.  You must be going nuts with that girl out there,
what's her name ..."

"Melony."

"Melanie.  Kennedy, we're on the same side."

"I appreciate that, Borg."

"You want your family back, and we both know all the copy-catting this is
stirring: there's no way all those flags come from the same perp.  This monster
(if that's what it is) has got every nutso and dimestore johnny out on our
streets.  It's a world of evil out there, and we've got to shut it down."

"I realize that, Chief, but what are you going to do about it?  Go out there
with white gloves and leashes and bring back a little something for the zoo? 
Collect our guns and make us wear control-top pantihose and ..."

"Kennedy!  Kennedy!" the other interrupted.  "Kennedy, you've got to trust us,
we'll get the girl back, but ... you're off the case.  I'm sorry, but you're
too damned close to it, and the last thing we need with all this bedlam on our
hands is ..."

"Is an honest cop who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty.  Or don't you
remember cop work, Borgnine?"

"Now Kennedy, let's not get nasty about this."

"People are getting torn to shreds, windows breaking, out there, and all
everyone talks about around here is bureaucratic rules."

"That's enough out of you, Kennedy.  You're off the case, and that's that.  And
I'll bust you down to janitor if I find you anywhere near it."

"Oh yeah?"  He rose, his scarlet forehead and ears turning his crew-cut hair
lighter.  "I want to give you a shoe up the ass, but I'll give you this
instead."  He slammed his badge on the desk.  "I don't need it anymore."

"Yeah?  Thanks."  He fingered the famed bullet-ding on the shield.  "I've been
looking for this a long time.  You've been marked ever since you planted that
glove!"

"You son of a!" he rushed, but Hondo pounced from his listening spot outside
the door and pulled Kennedy from the chambers.

A lieutenant sidestepped the entwined wrestlers and entered the head's office. 
Inside, he reported, "Sir, we have positive confirmation of the perpetrator's
forty: the Hollywood Hills, the vicinity of the sign, sir.  We also have
another body and an apparent sexual assault."

Kennedy and Heston were already in the parking lot.

"I must be nuts or something."  Heston gunned the engine.

"Just a routine arrest, Kimosabe," Kennedy answered and slapped the flashing
cherrylight on the roof.  Heston observed his jaw tapping the way it did
whenever there would be trouble.  He pulled away.

They passed no less than three roadblocks  They didn't need the scanner to know
they were on the right track.  The traffic leading there was astounding--VW
vans, Star Trek freaks and Entertainment Tonight, beside the usual throngs of
gapers and well-wishers.

"Scumbags," Kennedy hissed as they passed on the shoulder.  He hadn't seen so
many patrolcars in the field since Northridge.

Hondo expertly wove a route through relatively clear access roads.  Ironically,
despite all the activity on the hills, they passed a dark spot from which
stretched a panorama of the Valley, so beautiful on that clear evening that
Kennedy remembered for an instant why he had stayed in L.A. so long ago.  It
was like a reflection of heaven, a beautiful bowl of stars.  Except for the
smoke clouds billowing from the brushfires to the southwest.

They rounded a bluff and the scene unfolded before them.  Floodlights blasted
the Hollywood sign a few hundred yards uphill.  Flashing emergency vehicles
blocked the accessway, so they parked the squad and went on foot.  A tank
ground to a halt ahead, gun tilting skyward.  Snipers held at least two
positions in the foreground.  The cops who didn't notice and fall away from
Kennedy's approach, squinted through binoculars and elbowed each other,
searching.  The grizzled veterans pushed their way through to the command
center, headed by an old friend, Captain Brown.

"Jim, what do we have here?"

"Mick, Hondo, glad you're here.  They're up there somewhere, but we haven't
spotted them."

"Nothing?"

"We're doing the best we can.  Can't very well pack any more hardware and
manpower on this rock, can we?"

"I know.  Sorry, Jim."   A second later, the binocular boys snapped to, and
rifle carbines clicked.  The searchlights focused on a single spot, and the
crowd wailed its surprise.  Scaling the letter D, the hirsute man-beast stood,
carrying the shrieking nude woman.

"Holy god in heaven," gasped Kennedy.

Raising a hand to unsuccessfully block the glare, the gargantuan leaped to the
adjacent O and the next O, but he could not escape the swiveling beams.  With
each jump, the onlookers oohed.  It hurtled to the W, and then back again,
where it roared in frustration and challenge.  The captive shrilled louder.

"Don't worry, mick, my boys are under strict orders to avoid collateral
damage."

"Jim, does this thing respond to speech?  I mean, have you tried talking to
it?"

"No dice, but what would help is if you tried calming that little girl down,
make our job a whole lot easier, diffuse the situation."  Brown handed him the
megaphone.

Kennedy scratched his head, cleared his throat, lifted the horn.  "Uh, ahem,
M-Melony, Melony, this is your father, daddy, I'm down here."  His wide eyes
surveyed the cameras and watchers on both sides.  "Now listen honey, I know
we've had our tough times, and, see, but you've got to quiet down up there,
settle down, and you know I'm no good at this speaking stuff, and how can I put
this, well, I, I need you so, uh, Melony, that I could cry, yeah, and, and I
love you so, and that is why, whenever I want you ..."

But he was almost immediately drowned out by the deafening thumps of a
helicopter ascending the ridge.  It drew nearer the sign, trained its gaze at
the monster and hovered menacingly as a cobra.  Viper-quick, it buzzed the
swiping, defiant creature and circled around.

Monster and beauty disappeared from view, while the chopper scanned the length
of the sign for long seconds.

Brown spotted them in his night goggles.  "It's destroying the sign!" he barked
in his headset.  "Act now!  Do not hit her!" just as the copter's beams locked
on the crouching figures, the monster kicking at the support of the letter on
which he stood.  The first O wobbled and teetered.

The monster shook a fist at its foe, and the gun spit a staccato flurry of
lead, in only two seconds creating dozens of explosions of blood and fur, and
as many tiny craters in the girl's creamy flesh.  Red cascaded down the O, and
two bodies tumbled like a spider down the ravine.

They did not hit the sign. 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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