The Click

Oliver Hitchcock left Charlottesville on a high. When he first saw Elana Wu

standing under the red umbrella everything fell into place. He was invited there to talk

about the Click. Why hadn’t he figured that out earlier? Everything he learned about

Barnaby Bloom from Julian begged him to reach that conclusion as soon as he received

the invitation. Elana had been a student of Bloom’s, and an associate before the professor

was forced to retire. But even had he made those connections, in his wildest imagination

he could not have predicted he would be flying home with such allies on his team. What

started out as a fight by one, a single grandfather, against the gods, had increased to

three—the professor and his student were critical, most critical indeed; the three

Musketeers and Julian, their d’Artagnan.

He hadn’t driven more than twenty minutes when the sky began dumping waves

of precipitation against his windshield. Nevertheless, he felt good, relaxed, as he hummed

over the news on the radio. But suddenly what he heard got his attention.

“... the Virginia senator is planning to ram the bill through with the full backing of the Cūtocracy. It requires all tax returns to include religious affiliation and actual church membership.”

Hitch glanced in his rearview mirror and spotted a VAMA hearse coming up fast.

“Senator Boudreau and like-minded followers believe the bill will withstand a constitutional challenge considering that eight of the nine justices on the court owe their allegiance to the Cūtocracy.”

He quickly jumped onto the next exit ramp and accelerated hoping to put more space between himself and his tail.

“Everyone knows that the pagans are multiplying, particularly American Muslims and atheists, a scary thought for the Cūtocrats who rule the spiritual world. Obviously they want to know who their enemies are and where they live...”

Once again VAMA jumped into his rearview mirror, this time approaching much faster, soon filling up the entire mirror. Hitch slammed down the thrust controls on his brakes and watched the black hearse zip past him as he veered over.

“... especially their enemies in the United States, the ones who could do the most harm.”

He shut off the radio and was about to pull back onto the road when he saw through his windshield two tail lights race toward him. The VAMA hearse SCREECHED to a stop and slid sideways. Seeing he was blocked in front, he dropped into reverse thrust but then a quick glance in the mirror let him know he was going nowhere. A beige SUV came barreling up to his rear bumper. BAM! Clearly there was no way out.

As hard as the rain pounded against the windshield, his wipers were of little help. He could hardly make out someone with a weapon drawn coming toward him. It was Oedipus. At the same time, through his rearview mirror he could barely see another VAMA thug jump out from a second hearse behind the SUV.

Then came the amplified voice from within the SUV. “Looks like you’ve got nowhere to go, Oliver,” Rousseau chided. “Get out with your hands in the air.”

With his right hand, Hitch grabbed his laser gun and a flare from the console next to him. With his left hand he opened the driver-side door, partially. “Okay. I’m coming out. Please don’t shoot. I’m too old for this shit.”

Using his left leg, he pushed the door open, ignited the flare, and tossed it onto the ground. It exploded into a FLASH temporarily blinding both Oedipus and the other thug who shot wildly into their blind spots, ZING, ZING. Red laser tracers ripped through the air. In the meantime Hitch rolled over the console, pushed open the passenger door, and FIRED at the thug who went down.

He rolled back over the console as Oedipus raced around the other side and fell out of the driver’s door, spotting Rousseau hovering over the downed man. Seeing Hitch she reached for the gun on the ground, but before she could get to it, he pounced on her. Oedipus fired, ZING. Hitch took it in the upper left arm but held on to his own weapon in

his right hand. From behind, he wrapped his wounded arm around Rousseau’s chest with his hand inside her jacket pressing against her bare breast.

He put his gun to her head. Blood from his arm trickled into her cleavage. Oedipus approached demanding Hitchcock let her go.

“There are two things that can happen here, dipshit,” Hitch said as the barrel of his gun pressed against Rousseau’s temple, as his left hand pressed tighter against her breast. “Either you pick up your buddy and take off, and don’t look back, or I put a large hole in the head of this very sexy lady.”

“You don’t hav da ball,” Oedipus snarled back.

“I say he does. Now do what he says,” Rousseau snapped.

Hitchcock laughed. “See. Smart lady.”

Oedipus hesitated, then dragged his wounded, semi-conscious partner to his hearse. Hitch held Rousseau tight until Oedipus disappeared. Only then did he let her go. She spun around to face him and was greeted with a famous Oliver Hitchcock grin.

“The last time I saw that smile, we were in bed together. … Better days.”

She stepped closer, pushed his gun aside, kissed him with passion, then stepped back and strolled to her SUV. Once there, she turned back around and with one finger stroked the bare part of her breast, wet with rain and Hitches blood. She then circled her mouth with the same finger, licked her lips with her tongue, and gestured for him to come close. He approached as excitement built within his loins. She kissed him passionately once again … then pushed him away.

“Be careful.” With that, she climbed into her SUV and drove away as Hitch laughed.