Issue 10:
The City Smiles
The spectacular Professor Pyg finished connecting the Spectravision into his projector ready to settle in for a quiet night when Mr. Toad bounced excitedly into the room. Although the professor, Lazlo Valentin, completed downloading the sixth season of his favorite fantasy show a week ago, his hectic schedule allowed little time to sit and enjoy it. Now his subordinate and close friend Mr. Toad interrupted with what he believed to be important news. Lazlo raised his index finger towards his hopping companion until Mr. Toad settled while his boss juggled through remotes. Dressed in his pig mask and a pair of fraying grey boxers the professor finally selected the correct controller and looked at Mr. Toad.
"It took me three days using the Spectravision to download 'Zombies and Dragons' from the future. I simply couldn't wait for the next season so unless Doomsday is at the front door I probably won't want to hear this."
"Oi, it's much bettah then 'at, sir. The check finally cleahed from SECURE, and they weren't takin' ah piss about the money," Mr. Toad proclaimed proudly.
"All of it? By God Mr. Toad, all that money for a simple cognitive dissonance virus. Get your bowler's hat. It's time for a night on the town," Lazlo cried spilling popcorn across the floor as he sprung to his feet.
"Want me ah grab yah pant, Professor?"
"I'm so rich I'll never need pants again," Lazlo declared.
Regardless of income level Lazlo did put on pants, and they sped across the Diamond District in his classic, restored muscle car. Mr. Toad called out the names of their favorite clubs trying to plan the night while Lazlo drove shouting affirmatives and negatives. Their "corporation" Circus of the Strange had been in financial disarray for some time now, and a widowed elderly man in Albuquerque, New Mexico was receiving increasingly threatening calls from multiple, confused debt collectors. After agreeing to contracting work with SECURE Lazlo's accounts surged into the black for the first time in years and celebration seemed in order. However their first stop after the ATM waited at a dirty East End apartment.
That apartment housed the hunter Thomas Blake who was quickly rounding forty with only a tarnished name and a busted body to show for it. His blonde hair receding in disgrace and tired, blue eyes made him appear even more pathetic as he browsed job websites and watched Hall and Oates videos on YouTube. Once known as Catman even Tom had trouble remembering to which side he belonged. Originally a villain he'd done work with some antihero type groups and back to crime but nothing seemed to stick. Now attempting to go straight he found difficulties in interviews explaining a twenty year unemployment period and mostly blank resume. When a multilevel marketing company (pyramid scheme) passed on him he very nearly went back to robbing banks. Tom rose from his cluttered desk when he heard pounding on the door.
"Get your coat on and let's go." Lazlo began as the portly man barged into the small, one bedroom, "Whew it reeks in here. When's the last time you took out the trash?"
"Who's here to complain?" Tom shrugged.
"Me. Now get cleaned up."
"I can't Laz not tonight, plus I've got no cash for the bars," Tom protested gathering some empty bottles.
"Incorrect, you are now an employee of the Circus of the Strange. Here's your first advance," Lazlo dropped a thick wad of bills on the sticky, kitchen table, "Your first assignment is to come out with us tonight and paint the town pink." Tom laughed and flipped through the bills shaking his head. For a moment he was speechless.
"How did- I mean…"
"Do you accept?" Lazlo asked with a smile.
"Sure. Let's just take it a little easy tonight okay?"
By ten o'clock the three men sat at a tabletop in The Stacked Deck drinking beer out of monstrous boot glasses. The bar itself stood fifty years with little remodeling stinking of nostalgia and piss. Few customers drank there anymore, and Tom enjoyed the peace and quiet when he had enough money to get out once in a while. Mr. Toad peeled paint off the wall as Tom and Lazlo reminisced.
"I called Molly the other night," Tom offered as Lazlo sighed and shook his head.
"Why'd you do that? You know she isn't coming back. She married that white-collar asshole two years ago."
"I'm pathetic," Tom admitted.
"No, what you are is a fun sucking stick in the mud. Remember the great times we used to have? We'd rage all night across this city sticking our dicks in anything that moved. Now it's bills and alimony and massive hangovers," Lazlo explained.
"You don't pay bills or alimony," Tom pointed out. Lazlo finished his beer and burped.
"Well if I did it would suck." The snaggle toothed waitress shuffled up to the table looking absolutely haggard.
"You want another round?" she coughed. Lazlo pushed his empty glass her way.
"Yes dear. In fact a round for everyone in this bar, perhaps a nice 45 caliber? Something to put this depressing clientele out of their misery," Lazlo said giggling.
"Fuck you pig."
"Hey!" he shouted in anger, "I didn't teach at Pig College for ten years to not be called Professor!" Then he laughed again. The old woman ignored him and turned to Tom raising an eyebrow.
"Hmm, can I get about five gallons of gasoline to burn this shithole to the ground?" All three of the men broke up this time.
"Alright, everyone out," she declared.
Twenty minutes later they were stopped at the door of the Iceberg Lounge by a stern looking bouncer. The brick faced man radioed upstairs to inform Mr. Cobblepot that the pig had finally come back.
"What does he want?" Oswald growled through the walkie.
"Just came by to clear my tab, old friend. No matter though, plenty of other places to drink in Gotham," Lazlo proclaimed and turned toward the street.
"Let them in," Oswald ordered.
The Iceberg Lounge was quite possibly the most beautiful club in the city. Dark, rich colors over a postmodern interior subtly suggested money and sophistication drank here. On stage between heavy velvet curtains a young woman bobbed in a booth wearing headphones spinning electronic dance music over flashing neon lights. The dance floor was packed with sweaty, half-dressed bodies. Tom recognized a few big names around the futuristic tables both inside and outside the criminal world. Oswald met them at the coat exchange as he escorted a beautiful Asian woman towards the door.
"Hello Professor," she nodded at Lazlo who smiled uncomfortably.
"Good evening ma'am," he replied with his typically courtesy. As she exited Oswald turned on the professor.
"You know her Laz? What's her play?" he asked in earnest.
"I'm sure I wouldn't know. Simply some minor contracting work," Lazlo explained as they rode the elevator up to the VIP section, "And yourself?"
"The same. We aren't the only two either as you'll soon see. You can ask the other professor about her." The VIP room opened before them as an arctic landscape. White walls painted to go on forever gave way to a snowy floor. The bar wound down the room carved exquisitely from a solid block of sparkling ice. More liquor than Tom had ever imagined spattered the frozen shelf behind the gorgeous bartenders. Three women in go-go dancer outfits pretty enough to be models chased each other across the room throwing snowballs. At the back of the group Mr. Toad shivered.
"Gentlemen I hope you enjoy your evening. Let me know if there's anything you need and I trust we'll square up at the end of the night, Professor. I understand dealings with certain individuals to be quite lucrative," Oswald alluded bowing graciously. Their first stop was the bar where the three took shot after exotic shot of every colored liquor known to man. They chatted up women and men from Gotham's elite and shamelessly flirted with all the entertainers. Eventually Mr. Toad spotted the dartboard in the corner.
"Never expected Mr. Cobblepot ah keep ah game like this up 'ere. Tom yah gotta play 'gainst us," Mr. Toad begged.
"Alright, alright, set it up and I'll be over," Tom laughed finishing his cocktail. Mr. Toad scurried off double-time.
"You know I never in all these years asked how you and him got together," Tom said. For the first time that night Lazlo's face dropped as he inspected his drink.
"You don't want to hear it and frankly I don't want to tell it."
"Come on. Is he really from England? He almost sounds like somebody just putting on an accent."
"Honestly I'm not sure if even he knows. I met him many years ago while leaving a hideout of a business associate. My exit led me through a shooting gallery. There I found him cocked and ready to fire enough junk into his arm to kill a man five times his size. I ordered my men to pull him out and I took him home."
"Why him? This city is full of junkies."
"That's a question I'm not drunk enough to begin to speculate on an answer, Tom. Regardless it's what happened and I proceeded to try to fix him."
"How?"
"These aren't fond memories. I don't-"
"How?"
"I locked him up in my cellar for months back when I owned the house. Regular meals and doctor prescribed minimum doses of methadone until he was physically clean. He absolutely hated me during that time and would have gladly killed me."
"And then you let him go?"
"God no. Once clean I gave him entertainment, education, women, companionship, anything a man could need. For another four months we talked about travel and things we wanted to do before we died, the dreams we had. When I felt he was ready one night I retrieved a tray I had waiting for the day in question. On the tray was the key that opened the cellar door as well as a needle full of the purest stuff I could get from some friends in Chinatown. I told him 'your life or the needle, but not both'. It took him a very long time, and he-he almost took the heroin. Thankfully he decided on the key, and he's been my faithful retainer ever since. The only other person I ever told that story to was Jon Crane who called it neanderthalish, which I don't even think is a word, and effective against all odds."
"Wow Laz, and he never…?"
"No, I keep a close eye on him." They spotted Mr. Toad waving with both arms across the room like a madman. Tom rose and paused.
"Look I'm sorry to have brought that up."
"No," Lazlo stopped him, "Fortunately and sometimes unfortunately it's our past that makes us who we are. Every choice we've ever made is due to what we've learned or not over our years."
"Are you coming?" Tom pointed.
"In a moment, I need to have a conversation with a certain professor first." Lazlo rose as well and headed to grab another drink. With solemnity Mr. Toad patiently explained every rule and scoring possibility to Tom before they began. After agreeing on stakes Tom proceeded to kick his ass up and down the board. When they started the third game they both knew Tom's sight and precision had sunk Mr. Toad.
"So what's your first name anyway?" Tom asked. Mr. Toad chuckled in his beer.
"Tryinah t'row me off or d'ye get ah bit teh much drink in yah? It's me Tommy, Mr. Toad."
"No I know that, I mean what's your real name? The name your parents gave you?" At first Mr. Toad seemed confused at the question until a blank look crossed his face. Tom observed his trembling that bore no relation to the cold.
"I'm just me now. Just Mister Toad," the small man whimpered. Tom quickly realized the dangerous path they were going down.
"Oh Mr. Toad, I'm sorry! I didn't recognize you for a second there. Guess I'm drunker than I thought," Tom faked in an attempt to save face. It took a few frightening seconds before Mr. Toad's face changed back to a wary grin, and he wagged his finger in shame.
"Bwahahaha ol' Tom try'na get ah bettah ah poor Mistah Toad. Yer fookin mad d'yah know et?" He seemed okay then but Tom noticed he was quieter that game and looked over his shoulder twice.
Across the bar Lazlo approached a semicircle booth containing Professor Hugo Strange and two young men half-dressed and covered in oil. Hugo motioned for them to leave and they sauntered over to the bar.
"Med school must be getting even more expensive these days," Lazlo commented.
"Enthusiasm of youth but sadly lacking in promise," Hugo replied, "Does it bother your traditional sensibilities, Lazlo?"
"I'm sure the Romans and Greeks would think you were a real ideas man. Anyway I hear you did some work for a certain lady in white. Based on my deductions they brought you on to alter and cloak a virus to be undetectable to most medical scans. They wouldn't answer any questions and sent you on your way with enough money to get hammered and pay someone to hug you. So tell me Hugo, pretty close?"
"How can you know that?" The bald man in glasses retorted, "Are you with them?"
"No, I just made the virus you worked on," Lazlo paused for a beat to let it all sink deeper, "And it's what I would do."
"What was the virus for?" Hugo pressed.
"That's above your paygrade," Lazlo replied and turned ninety degrees to talk to himself, "Ok so a semi-paperless trail where one hand doesn't know what the next is doing and-"
"Dammit pig, don't ignore me! I am Hugo Strange. If you draw my wrath I warn you-" Cutting him off in return Lazlo put his back to the man.
"Shut up Hugh, you ought to know by now I'm not scared of anybody," the professor bragged. But that wasn't true at all.
When they decided to leave Lazlo sent Mr. Toad to bring the car around front. The waitress brought a bill that neither of them liked the look. After texting someone on his phone Lazlo examined the total again.
"Surely that's got an extra zero in there."
"If I were you I'd hope so. At least once this is paid you're clear with Penguin. He's not a guy you want as an enemy," Tom consoled.
"Oh we're not paying this bill tonight. I've got another form of payment in mind."
"Laz…"
"Come on Tom, we must give the people what they want. Just keep them off me until it all begins." Lazlo was halfway across the room with Tom close behind when the waitress noticed they were bailing. She didn't need to tip security as the owner himself was better surveillance than money could buy. In the control booth Penguin spotted them and the stairs and swung a spotlight on them. The music cut out as Penguin's amplified voice came over the loud speaker.
"Trying to cut out on your tab again, pig? Apprehend these men immediately!" he ordered. Two security guards climbed the stairs blocking their descent. Tom intercepted both fighting them back. Lazlo checked his watch finally stepping onto the stair railing in the middle of the spotlight over a stunned, motionless audience.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" he called hands spread wide, "I am the infamous Professor Pyg and we have a special treat for you. As a gift to the kind, generous Oswald Cobblepot, loving soul that he is, we present the greatest show on Earth. For one night only you will be a part of the best party in Gotham. Without further ado I give you The Circus of the Strange!" Lazlo signaled the DJ who wasn't about to miss a dramatic moment. She dropped a beat with a leading bassline, and the crowd went crazy. Hands pounding the air they turned and watched Dollotron performers of every kind pouring through the doors of the club. Security quickly folded back as the circus freaks overwhelmed them in a steady, unending wave. Tom fought them a path to the ground floor and they slipped against the stream straight out the front. Across the club impromptu shows sprang up from jugglers to fire breathers to contortionists. Although the roar of the crowd and the music was deafening, Lazlo could imagine Penguin's angry screams in the control room and smiled.
Outside they jumped in Lazlo's waiting car, and Mr. Toad drove them into Chinatown for some midnight snacks. As always Lazlo impressed by ordering and thanking the vendors perfectly in their own dialect. Afterwards Tom called Mr. Toad on their bet from the dart game. They dropped him off at the corner of Gotham Square and gave him a few moments.
"I swear I broke my hand on that bouncer's face," Tom laughed, "The look on Penguin's face up there though, that was great Laz." They passed Mr. Toad who was stark naked sprinting across the Square busy with tourists lingering below the neon lights. Many stopped to point at the streaker and some snapped photos. One hand covering his privates Mr. Toad ran his fastest towards a side street where his friends agreed to meet. Behind him two plainclothes GCPD officers pursued as Mr. Toad yelled the only phrase Tom would allow him to say during his exhibition.
"Oi, et can't be ah crime. Me cock and bollocks is too small!" Mr. Toad caught up with his friends who sped into the night howling with laughter.
"Strip club then?" Lazlo asked but Tom shook his head.
"Not tonight. It always feels weird paying women to hang out with us."
"But Prahfessah, I goh'ah stop 'er. Tazia, she'll be waitin' on meh. Ah tol' her I'd be by 'roun one. All ah girls love Mistah Toad 'er. Wan' be tah be 'er mascot, right?" Mr. Toad bragged.
"You're already contractually obligated to be my mascot," Lazlo reminded, "We'll drop you off for a bit and pick you up later." When they pulled up outside The Gilded Lily, Mr. Toad slipped Tom a joint and slapped him on the back.
"Catch ah buzz from yer ol' pal Mistah Toad eh? Ah'll meet up whicha inna bit. I got me phone, boss. Give us a jangle." Mr. Toad waved goodbye and slipped past the crowd straight into the club.
"He's a good man," Tom muttered to himself digging through the glove box for a light. Sparking up he took a deep hit and attempted to pass it to his friend. Lazlo waved it away so Tom burned on his own while they sailed the pock-ridden streets of their city.
"There's nowhere more exciting than right here," Lazlo began staring down the long road ahead, "I never figured out why it couldn't last. When I was a boy-" He stopped dead when he saw Tom. His friend leaned back in the passenger's seat completely catatonic, eyes rolled back in his head and white foam slipping out the corners of his mouth. Everything happened quickly then. Lazlo pulled over jamming the car in park. He shook Tom to no response and hit number one on his speed dial. A familiar voice answered on the other line.
"Ullo Prahfessah, quickah than ah thought yah'd ring."
"Shut up and listen. What was in that joint you gave Tom?"
"Wha'ya mean? Jus' bud. Ah picked 'er up today when ah wen' ah get groceries. Bloke on ah street came up witit. Sed she was ah greenest of ah green. Why? Was goin' on?"
"The greenest of the green? You incompetent shit! That's street terms for marijuana dipped in Venom!" Lazlo hung up at the moment Tom roared back to life. He pounded the dashboard screaming unintelligibly until he stopped and turned to Lazlo. His pupils doubled in size and his eyelids twitched.
"Heeeey buddy," Lazlo said, "so there was a little mistake, and you've been accidentally dosed with something." Tom paused huffing and stared at his friend. Inside his head lit up like a strobe light and he felt stronger than he ever had before. His heart beat against his rib cage at what seemed to be triple speed.
"There's no mistake, Lazzzzzuh," he trailed off hitching like he had the hiccups.
"We've got to get you some help. You're out of your gourd right now." But Tom simply shook his head.
"No, you wanted a night on the town and that's exactly what we're going to do. I'm perfectly fine so drive the car." Reluctantly Lazlo took off again while Tom gave him directions. When his hands began to hurt Lazlo realized how hard he was gripping the wheel. Abruptly Tom ordered him to stop and pop the trunk. It was then Lazlo noticed where they were, a bar called Finnegan's. Every night the bar catered primarily to Gotham's police force off duty and thirsty. Tonight it brimmed with grizzled veterans hovering over sticky, glass mugs. Tom began crossing the street by the time Lazlo exited the car and reached the trunk. Immediately he saw what was missing and slammed the lid.
"What's the chemical compound for alcohol?" Tom grunted as he twisted dials on the gun in his hand.
"Not that, Tom. I haven't even completed beta testing," he begged. Tom held one of Lazlo's many dangerous inventions called the Rottenizor. When programmed to a specific chemical compound, the ray gun would decay its structure to its natural end. Tom brushed him off walking in front of the window with the gun against his coat jacket. It made no sound but Lazlo saw the reaction pass like a wave across the bar. The beer and liquor turned thick and spouted from every glass in the room. Behind the bar bottles exploded open in a cascade, and Lazlo heard blasts he presumed were kegs erupting. Finally he saw men and women doubling over in agony and the vomiting began. Lazlo marveled at the sheer amount of liquid coming out of the cops. At that instant Tom kicked the door open and screamed.
"Enjoy your drinks, officers! Courtesy of Catman and Professor Pyg!" When he heard his name Lazlo hung his head and never felt more thankful for his mask. Most likely the designated drivers a few cops who weren't puking tried getting out of the bar after them only to slip over and over on the fluid floor. Lazlo felt cemented outside the window looking in and between vomiting every face in the bar looked up into his. Suddenly a honking came from the curb and he saw Tom waving him over. With a clean getaway Lazlo looked at Tom in disbelief. Tom gritted his teeth and leaned over the wheel.
"What? So you'll piss off Penguin but cops are off limits? That's your problem Laz. You see the line, you walk up to it, you lean over to hand them a flower. The women swoon and the men bristle but you don't cross. The reality is you've got lines all around you. You're boxed in like a mime in a glass case you blew yourself. Tonight I'm going to break you out."
"Tom, you're high as hell and you don't know what you're doing."
"I know exactly what we're doing. Now grab me a gun from the back seat."
The Cauldron sat quiet below buzzing, yellow, street lights holding empty warehouses mostly used as fronts by the mobs. Slowly without headlights Tom navigated the car through the dingy roads until he spotted a group of men exiting a storage unit on their left. He put the top down as Lazlo reclined his seat back.
"Those are Shanahan's men," Lazlo warned while Tom growled as they drew closer. When they looked up Tom shouted.
"Hey you potato-eating fucks, Don Maroni sends his fuck yous!" Slamming on the gas he sprayed them with bullets before they had a chance to draw their guns. They shot off into the night again with Tom cheering and laughing maniacally. One of the gang's cars lit up and sped after them.
"You just started a mob war! What the hell is wrong with you?" Lazlo screamed against the wind. Bullets began whizzing by the car and Lazlo ducked down in his seat while Tom fired back.
"Now we're talking. This is how you live this city!" Tom proclaimed, "I feel like God looking down pulling the strings. Don't you feel it?"
"Nope," Lazlo replied nearly melting in his seat. In speeds excess of seventy they blew through stoplights and side streets with the Irish mob close behind them. Before long the car trailing them turned off abandoning the chase. Immediately Lazlo observed why; a police sobriety checkpoint lay ahead. Soon they were trapped between lines of cones funneling them into the waiting arms of the GCPD. Desperately he tore through his glove box searching for the ID card given to him by SECURE for his consulting work. They pulled up to the line when six officers surrounded the vehicle with guns drawn.
"Easy Tom," Lazlo warned while waving the white ID pass out the window. Eyes closed and teeth grinding Tom grunted and repeatedly tapped the steering wheel ignoring the cops' orders. Finally one noticed Lazlo's card and called a halt approaching the window.
"He's got a SECURE pass, Sarge," the officer relayed. The cops paused and examined the card before one radioed out to someone else. Another approached the driver's side directing them to pull over into a waiting lane to keep the line moving.
"Am I being deveined, sir?" Tom slurred at the cop.
"Huh?" the cop asked in confusion.
"I think he means 'detained' but no matter officer. My friend is a little slow," Lazlo apologized, "We'll pull right over there." With a laugh Tom did as they ordered.
"Don't screw this up, Tom. I can still get us out of this but you need to hold it together. Just don't say a single word." After some time sitting and waiting a man in a collared shirt and khakis approached Tom's window handing Lazlo's pass back to him.
"Sounds like you two gentlemen have had quite a night. GCPD is especially upset with you. I'm Jim Rodrick a liaison for SECURE. After consulting with some higher ups they've decided to look the other way tonight and only tonight due to your outstanding work for us Professor. However you can consider this your final warning," he explained.
"Of course, of course Mr. Rodrick, I can assure you nothing like this will ever happen again," Lazlo promised. The man nodded seemingly satisfied and began to turn leaving them to go on their way. Lazlo sighed and fifty pounds felt lifted off his shoulders. The second Tom spoke his stomach rose into his throat.
"Sir?" the SECURE man turned back in response, "I really like you tie." Rodrick looked down at his tie stamped in multiple colors of paint by a child's hand.
"Oh thanks, my daughter made this for me with a little help," Rodrick stated proudly smiling.
"She's very lucky to have you." Tom said emotionless. There was a pregnant pause that quickly became uncomfortable. When Tom raised the gun Rodrick attempted to turn wide-eyed and Lazlo screamed grabbing for it. Rodrick took three shots to the torso and fell while Tom floored it through the rest of the checkpoint. Soon the road behind them was filled with screaming squad cars and even a few SECURE utility vehicles.
"You stupid fucking ASSHOLE!" Lazlo screamed listing all the reasons Tom was a failure in life. The driver said nothing only sped up further ahead of the convoy. Turning onto Broadway, a wide avenue and five mile stretch that ended in the rundown slums known as Toxic Acres, Tom pushed the car up to breakneck speed.
"They'll kill us now! Is that what you want? Your life's so pathetic it's better to go out in a hail of bullets? Answer me!"
"It's not about dying Laz. This is about living and telling fear to fuck off," Tom yelled over the whistling wind as a news helicopter swooped down tracking the car with a spotlight. Tom reached down and snapped the brake pedal off handing it to Lazlo. The professor swallowed hard and reached for a seatbelt that wasn't there. He found it cut and frayed on the floorboard, another victim of his best friend's madness. Ahead he saw Toxic Acres quickly approaching Broadway dead ending into what locals called the Maroni Money Pit. For years the massive pit laid empty promising low cost apartments coming soon. In reality it was another tool to launder money through the creation and destruction of construction companies that served as flimsy fronts for the Maroni Family.
"You can't live a life like this in safety, Laz!" Tom yelled amidst a hundred screaming sirens, "This city doesn't take kindly to cowards. She rewards those with the balls big enough to take a risk. Gotham doesn't hunger for people. She eats drama and stories. She shoots dreams and master plans like Mr. Toad shot junk, and I feel her aching for a fix." Lazlo ignored his rambling friend and fumbled for his phone. He could see the pit looming now as Tom increased speed redlining his engine. Behind them a cacophony of warnings wailed as the whole city seemed to follow. Lazlo hit speed dial two on his phone and prayed.
One of the most devious masterminds of all time, Calculator sat in his living room watching his four year old daughter play with her dinosaurs. The triceratops had recently turned the tables on the T-rex who now suffered possibly mortal wounds. On the TV he watched the high speed chase that broke in over his M.A.S.H. rerun. He glanced at his phone on the arm of his recliner waiting for it to ring. Sure enough it lit up and he quickly answered.
"You two have to be the stupidest sons of bitches in the entire world," Calculator began, "I'm not surprised you'd come crawling back, Lazlo."
"Noah, I do have regrets about how we left our relationship. I'm afraid I don't have time to truly express my apologies as we're about to crash into the Maroni Pit."
"You want my help I can only assume," Calculator finished for him. Lazlo saw street after street flying behind Tom's determined grimace. There was little time left now.
"I heard you came into quite a bit of money, Professor."
"Oh hell no, Orville, I'll give you two fifty large as usual."
"Absolutely not." The dead end was three streets ahead now.
"Fine a million. You know that's more than fair."
"All of it or you can fly."
"…you- you- but"
"Lazlo?"
"Fine! Take it all!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, yes, yes! It's got to be now!" Lazlo screamed as they hit the curb and fired across the sidewalk. The car shot out over the thirty foot drop and gravity began to pull.
"Now Kuttler, NOW, NOW, NOW!" Lazlo screamed as the phone line went dead. Calculator watched the end of the fierce dinosaur battle where the T-rex succumbed to his injuries. In her stubborn rage the victorious triceratops apparently turned omnivorous and loudly devoured the corpse of her aggressor. Although well past midnight the child refused all efforts to put her to bed while his wife was gone for the week. Calculator tapped a button on his phone and reclined back releasing a sigh. With a simple touch he'd made roughly twenty million dollars in the span of two minutes. Although a desperate professor may not have agreed, Orville Noah Kuttler felt his oncoming nap was very well deserved.
From above the helicopter tracking the car crash in motion a roar of jets sounded as Firefly blasted out of the clouds. After a descent on the car that took seconds he slipped a harness over each man's shoulders and took off again up and out of the pit. Lazlo's prized muscle car smashed into the ground while they gained altitude over Toxic Acres. After a short flight Firefly dropped them in front of Lazlo's apartment in the Diamond District and flew off without a word. The two friends sat on the steps as Mr. Toad pulled up in a cab.
"Tom?" Lazlo asked dejectedly.
"Yeah buddy?" he replied holding his head as the Venom quickly burned out.
"You're fired."
"I figured as much," Tom laughed. Mr. Toad skipped up the steps and adjusted his trousers in front of them.
"Oi lads, wotta yah wonna do tomorrah night?"