Li & Li, Inc., wasn't a large company, but it had enough employees that Trenton Li, CEO, could certainly have sent someone else on this strange mission across town. But, no, he'd gone himself. Because underneath his staid grey business suit, he burned with curiosity. He just had to see, with his own two eyes, the man behind the Cursed Account.
Perhaps "Cursed" was unfair, because for the most part the KO Burger franchise generated profits without drama. The owners had arranged for Li & Li to handle everything from the restaurant's supply chain to their TV commercials to their taxes. But once in a while the chain's CEO, Aston Swift, called the office. And his calls were always . . . memorable.
"Hellooo," he drawled in his deep voice the first time, the first call. "Swift here. Just wanted to see if you could transfer a little extra to my account this month. I feel like treating myself."
Well, of course they could. It was his money, after all. The Accounting department dutifully set up a bank transfer.
Within five minutes it was inexplicably reversed.
"I don't understand it," Marnie in Accounting muttered, pushing her hand through her hair as she stared at the screen. She tried again. Then Steve from Accounting tried. Then John from IT came over and tried. (Since John was a blowhard, Marnie and Steve grimly enjoyed his failure.) All very worrisome.
While the IT department investigated, Trenton Li personally called Mr. Swift to explain the situation and apologize for it. Adjusting his glasses, he assured Mr. Swift that they were still Working On It.
"I see," Swift grumbled, sounding more annoyed than angry. "It sounds like there's some glitch involved. Some nosey, faceless glitch . . . Give me ten minutes to distra—erm, to check things on my end."
So in ten minutes Marnie tried, once more, to transfer. This time it took longer for the money to be rejected—about a half hour.
Trenton Li called the client again, with new apologies readied.
"Oh honestly, he's just too petty!" Swift groaned. "Fine, fine, forget the bank thing. Just make it cash."
"C-cash?"
"Yes, any major Earth currency, take your pick. I know the coordinates to a very useful abandoned warehou—"
And that's when the line abruptly went dead.
Minutes later Li received an email:
To:
From: koburger
Subject: Disregard previous request
I have realized that it would be foolish to withdraw money at the present time instead of reinvesting it in the company which I so persistently begged for. I apologize for bothering you, and wasting the time of others. Please continue with your previous plans for Operation: Human Nourishment Facilities.
Further attempts at contact are unnecessary.
Sincerely,
Aston M. Swift
Swift's exit from the conversation was so abrupt and the email so bizarre that Trenton Li wondered if the man had been kidnapped or suffered some kind of medical emergency. To his relief, Aston called again a week later. The subject of the call was trivial—he wanted to know why KO Burger was giving out miniature wrestling figures with the kiddie meals—and Swift grew sulky when Trent cautiously asked if he still wanted a bank transfer.
"Oh, that. Nooo, there's no point in trying again, not at the moment." An exasperated sigh.
He then proceeded to ignore all of Li's explanations about how a wrestling toyline synergized perfectly with KO Burger's theme.
"Blah blah blah, you're wrong." Swift said. "Get rid of the silly human dolls, and that's an order. We want little cars. And trucks."
"Yeah!" said a gruff, previously unheard voice in the background, making Li jerk back in his chair. "And maybe one plane, for diversity. Maybe."
"Ooo!" Swift trilled. "How about a silver one with its nosecone up its afterburners?"
"Or a spooky dark one with giant ears welded to it!"
And then Aston M. Swift and Unknown Gruff Voice fell into peals of laughter like they were sharing the best joke in the world.
That was the last time Trenton Li heard from Swift. The calls just stopped. Li & Li continued to faithfully send a percentage of the profits to a certain bank account every quarter, receiving only a succinct email in return. Operation Bank Transfer: acknowledged. Status: successful.
Eventually even the emails ceased. It didn't affect KO Burger much. The employees still flipped burgers across the nation and Li & Li continued to include toy cars with the kiddie meals, just in case Aston M. Swift was still out there somewhere.
Which, apparently, he was. And Trenton Li was finally going to see him in person.
He slowly made his way towards the microphone. A few people in the plaza glanced over at him, and two applauded awkwardly. But his attention was focused on a figure climbed the stairs from the other side of the stage.
Well.
He had not expected Aston M. Swift to be so . . . fluorescent.
"Are you ready?" Knock Out whispered.
"I guess so?" Raf whispered back.
"Not you, I'm talking to Jack. Jack? Jaaaack? JACK?" Knock Out huffed from his vents. "If he spoils this by forgetting to turn on the stupid thing—"
"He won't," Raf said earnestly. "He's really responsible."
"He'd better be." Knock Out paused. "The transmitter won't pick up your voice, will it?"
"If I was close enough. But I'll be quiet." Raf patted Knock Out's seat in what he hoped was a reassuring way.
"Maybe you should sit in the back."
"Okay, I'll do that. You can count on me. On us."
"He'd better remember to turn it on though," Knock Out muttered, twitching on his tires.
Jack marched towards the businessman, then remembered he was supposed to be Knock Out (or at least a human version of Knock Out) and turned it into more of a strut. Miko followed a short distance behind, her shoulders squared and her suit bouncing.
This was . . . this was for the Autobots. And it wasn't any worse than the school play. He didn't even have to worry about forgetting his lines. And yeah, he was dressed like a color-blind parrot who'd rolled in rhinestones, but so what?
I'm Knock Out. I'm Knock Out. Wave that boa. Swing those hips. Try not to choke on feathers. He tiptoed his fingers through the nest of yellow, turning on the transmitting device. But before he could whisper a 'let's go' signal to Knock Out, he reached the businessman—a middle-aged guy, glasses, a bit of grey in his hair.
They stared at each other in silence for a second before Jack jerkily stuck out a hand. The man slowly shook it.
Trenton Li tried to pry his eyes away from Aston Swift's outfit and focus on his face, although that was not easy given that Swift's visage was buried in a feather boa that ruffed around his face like a vulture's plumage. Sunglasses hid his eyes. His dark hair, lifted in spiky waves, was touched up with bright blue. There was a billowing satin shirt. There was a sequined vest. He glittered when he walked.
Despite the oddity of the burger mogul's outfit, Swift's thinness surprised Trent Li the most. Swift had a deep, resonant voice.
As Li took in the brightness of the man, a woman in a dark suit strode up beside them, her slicked hair a deep black with highlights of pink and blue. She too was wearing sunglasses. She probably need them if she spent any amount of time around this man.
"Heya," she growled in a low register. "Pleased ta make yer acquaintance. You must be Mister . . ."
"Mr. Li. Trenton Li." He gave her a cautious smile. He had always wondered if the mob might be involved in KO Burger. All those "extra" transactions Swift wanted. And speaking of . . . he turned to the brightly dressed man. "And you must be . . ."
Mr. Li paused, expecting an answer.
None came.
The woman cleared her throat and shifted her feet as the man stroked his boa. "Uh, yes, this is Aston Swift. He's just . . . very shy, ya know? Very quiet—"
"Hellooooo!" Aston Swift blared in a sudden, familiar voice, while he continued digging a hand into his feathers. His voice lowered to a reasonable level. "SO pleased to meet you in person, Trent. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Yes, it has." Li twitched a smile, reassured that this was indeed Swift, but well-aware that trouble tended to follow the man. "I hope you've been well."
"Fairly well. Had some roadblocks lately . . . Just minor ones."
The woman (a bodyguard?) snorted derisively and—had he caught a hint of an eyeroll behind Swift's sunglasses?
"Anyway," Swift went on, making stiff gestures with his arms, "I know KO Burger will be in good hands with you. You ran the day-to-day anyway, hmm?"
True, but Li didn't like to brag. "You were always there to give us input, Mr. Swift." Mostly about the toys.
"Yeah . . . Those were good times." Aston Swift sounded nostalgic. "But as with all good things . . . My associate sent over the paperwork, right?"
"What associate?" the bodyguard interrupted, leaning forward.
"Mr. None-of-Your-Business," Swift said. He glanced towards the woman and seemed to share a look that was more confused than derisive. "I'm talking to Mr. Li, thank you very much, not you—"
"My name's Supaikuuu! Supaiku Supīgeru, like in the anime!"
Li thought, he wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Mr. Swift mumble "oh my god" from the depths of his boa.
"I did receive the contract," he assured the burger tycoon, tactfully avoiding Mr. Windle's name. "It looks very agreeable. Perhaps we can find somewhere private to sign it?"
"You mean you don't want to give a speech?" Aston Swift said, his tone hurt. This time Trent Li definitely heard a groan from under the boa.
Raf couldn't help it. He was struggling not to laugh. He just kept picturing Jack and Miko's faces as they tried to play along. Not to mention this poor business guy. Currently he was stuttering that he didn't have a speech prepared, no one had told him anything about a speech, and Knock Out was trying to convince him to ad-lib.
I need some air, Raf decided. It would be awful if he ruined the whole deal by getting the giggles. He gently tapped Knock Out's door. The medic didn't pause from his argument-by-comm, but swung his door open as much as the narrow alley allowed. Raf wiggled out.
He squeezed past Knock Out, sat on his front bumper, then thought better of it and stood up. Bumblebee wouldn't have minded. But Knock Out wasn't Bumblebee.
More and more garbage was clogging up the front of the alleyway. A teenager dressed in an orange-emblazoned apron gave him a quizzical look as she dumped a stack of empty boxes onto the pavement.
Behind Raf, Knock Out's muffled voice faltered. Frowning at the mountain of cardboard, Raf gave Knock Out a reassuring thumbs up and ran over to toss the boxes out of the medic's line of sight. A man in a Dodgers hat spared Raf a cursory glance before wandering off, leaving only a thin trail of cigarette smoke in his wake.
Raf didn't pay much attention to him. But he froze when he saw Mrs. Darby and Arcee walk by.
June Darby's head was tilted down and to the side as she (obvious to Raf, obvious to anyone who knew Cybertronians) conversed with Arcee. They passed right by Raf (frozen, clutching a box nearly as big as he was) without seeing him.
That's good, he thought. And then, Or is it?
If he was honest with himself, he was relieved they were here. Yeah, hanging out with Knock Out was kinda fun. He was even nice, sometimes? But he wasn't Optimus. He wasn't Bumblebee. He wanted to do everything by himself. Or thought he had to.
He could run after Arcee. Fill her in.
Except . . .
He glanced back; Knock Out was chattering over the comm, unaware of the close call. Raf bit his lip. He was the reason Knock Out had been fired. Bumblebee said it wasn't his fault, but Raf knew it was.
Knock Out hadn't really brought it up during the trip. He didn't act resentful towards Raf, or angry. And that was pretty Autobot-y, wasn't it? For an ex-Decepticon.
I can't just spring Mrs. Darby and Arcee on him without warning him. It wouldn't be fair.
Raf slipped out of the alley and worked his way through the crowd, staring around for Arcee's tail-lights. He had a plan. Once he figured out where Arcee and the rest were, he would convince Knock Out to go over, of his own volition, and talk to them. Then the Autobots—the other Autobots—would be more forgiving about Knock Out's cross-country road trip.
(Except Ultra Magnus. But Raf couldn't think of a solution for that.)
He had to find them first, though, and that was proving more difficult than he'd hoped. Where had they gone in such a short time? Raf stared around, dodging bodies as the crowd jostled him. He was too short, that was the problem.
But . . . Knock Out can comm them with the radio transmitter I built! Then they can just tell him where they are, or vice versa. Yeah, that'll work . . . Raf nodded to himself and doubled back towards the alley.
His feet slowed as he reached it. Two police officers were putting up a semi-circle of yellow police tape. It wasn't directly in front of the alley, but it did block access to it.
Raf veered across the street and stood in line for orange juice, watching them. Their backs were to the alley. Raf squinted into shadows. Red was the hardest color to see in the dark besides the obvious ones like black and grey. He'd read that somewhere.
"Hey, what's going on over there?" Raf asked when he reached the front of the line.
The teenage girl shoved a plastic cup of orange juice at him. "Gas leak."
"Thanks." Raf stepped off to the side. He sipped the juice slowly, watching. A man in a Dodgers cap sidled up to the police tape. The police officers didn't stop him as he leaned against a telephone pole, staring down the alley. They didn't say anything about his cigarette.
Raf readjusted his glasses, his eyes darting. Really looking. There was a man on a fire escape, looking down. A man and woman on the roof, smiling at the revelry in the street below. But their eyes also kept shifting off to the side. Into the alley.
Raf gnawed his lip. He turned back to the orange juice girl, who was halfway through another transaction.
"Hey, I'm borrowing this," he said as he pulled a mostly empty orange box towards him, pulling it upright so the fruit rolled out. "Thanks, bye!"
"Hey, stop," the girl said in a voice filled with boredom. She did not give chase.
Raf crouched behind a bench with the top of the box over his head like the hood of a rectangular, cumbersome cape. When both the cops and the Dodgers guy were looking away, he scuttled up to the police tape, threw himself flat, and let the box fall over him. The cops glanced back at the sound. But their eyes passed over the box and soon they turned away again.
Raf took a deep breath and peeped through the oval handle-hole punched in the side of the box. There was Knock Out, still sitting in the alley. If Raf concentrated, he could faintly hear his voice, suave and persuasive.
"I don't think I'm asking too much, I just want you to extol my virtues—er, KO Burger's virtues—for twenty minutes or so in front of an adoring crowd. I don't think that's too much to ask as a last hurrah. I did do all those commercials for you . . . I didn't make a fuss during that whole salmonella thing . . . No? How about ten minutes?"
It was almost enough to make Raf smile. Laugh. Stand up and let the box fall off, know that everything would be okay. Maybe he was just being paranoid.
Better safe than sorry. Huddled under the box, he turned to check on the man in the Dodgers cap. He was still staring down the alley.
I wish Arcee was here.
They were close, June could feel it. That's why it was so frustrating that they'd hit a dead end. The vendors and street performers were no help. No matter who June asked, June shrugged and said they'd been called in by "an agency". They didn't even know the fair had any connection to KO Burger. But it HAD to!
"I swear this whole setup screams 'Knock Out'," June grumbled. "Just don't ask me how or why."
"Well, he does like excitement," Arcee said wearily, "and this fits the bill."
They paused, breathing in the nip of the autumn air as pedestrians parted and flowed around them. June's gaze roved, looking for those faces she knew she wasn't going to find . . .
And then, all at once she straightened.
"June?" Arcee asked, glancing around. "What is it?"
June Darby's lips moved, but no sound came out. Her hands unconsciously tightened on the handlebars (Arcee winced and allowed it) as she started up the inclined path to the central plaza.
They'd already explored the plaza. But that had been a while ago. Arcee didn't ask anything further, just kept her scanners on their most sensitive setting and kept an optic on June. The human was taller than she, right now.
June's lips moved again, and this time Arcee made out the words: "I'm going to kill him."
"Who?" Arcee asked sharply. Only the need to stay in disguise kept her from transforming and drawing her blaster.
But June kept wheeling her forward and Arcee saw.
It bothered her, later, that she recognized Miko first. But Miko just had a different hairstyle, different clothes.
Jack had . . .
Arcee didn't have the words for what Jack had, but it was very bright. He wasn't hurt. He wasn't a prisoner. Bryce hadn't caught him. And Knock Out wasn't even there. Jack was fine.
She realized she was shaking.
June made a broken, joyful sound and knelt down, hugging Arcee tight. "I'm going to kill him," she whispered tenderly.
"Can we flip a coin?" Arcee said shakily, but she continued scanning the plaza. She had to keep her head and assess the situation. Who was that man in the suit? Why were the kids dressed like that? Where were Knock Out and Raf? They had to find them before Bryce did.
Jack (it was so obviously Jack, how could she have recognized Miko first?) stepped up to the microphone.
"Ahem," he said, but it wasn't his voice it was that fragging ex-'Con. "Welcome, one and all. Please enjoy the festivities while enjoy a short speech from Mr. Trent Li commemorating the glorious history of KO Burger—"
June straightened, her eyes boring into Jack as she said what Arcee was thinking: "I'm going to kill him."
Jack didn't see her at first. He was stepping back, sagging with relief. Finally, a break from being Knock Out's ventriloquist dummy. Now it was up to poor Mr. Li (Jack really felt for the old guy) to make up a speech singing the praises of fast food burgers.
Miko looked off to the side and her eyes grew round. "Uh oh. Ja-ack, slag just hit the fan."
"What do you mean?" he whispered, following her gaze. He froze as his mother stalked towards the stage. In a flash he thought of all the ways he could have called her, and hadn't. Use a payphone. Borrow a stranger's phone. Rob a bank and use the money to buy a phone. Start his own phone company. His flimsy defense—but it was true!—was only "it didn't occur to me at the time."
"Jack, Miko." June Darby crossed her arms. Her eyes were wet but her lips were thinned.
"M-m-mom—"
"Oh, is . . . is Nurse Darby there?" Knock Out's voice floated out of Jack's neckwear, sounding nervous. "Tell her—"
The humans flinched back as Knock Out cut himself off with a warbling screech of pain.