.
THE DAY AFTER
11. Tricked-out ride.
[TAILS, David Macintyre]
"Fuck you too."
I'm still insulting her as I bitterly stomp out of the apartment, swiftly descending the stone steps. At least I put her in her place, I think. Scaring Amy Rose is like shooting fish in a barrel. Pun intended.
Now, though, I am in a pretty difficult position to be in at… 12:47 am. Damn. I've been out longer than I thought.
See, I had expected that Amy would need me to stay and protect her all night. It wouldn't be comfortable, I'll admit that, but it was what I had partly based my actions on back at home; the assumption that I wouldn't be returning any time soon.
So now what the fuck do I do? I can't go back, unless there are some 'fur is murder' signs my parents keep around the house somewhere I don't know about. I'm a hobo for the night. And around this part of town that isn't safe.
Hell. Wouldn't be safe anywhere, unless I hauled my ass up to the yuppie part of town, but that's at least an hour from here.
So now what? I can't think of anywhere to stay. I lean exhausted against the metal banister of the stone staircase. I glance at it and check for rust. None. This place sure looks a lot better maintained than is evident from the insides of the apartments.
Hey, pool… doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it…
…
…Oh.
Anyway.
There are more important things to be thinking about. I just realized I was thinking of squatting here. Stupid me.
Something strikes me. Inspiration, I think.
I must act on this.
I trot over to the purple-with-orange-highlights Typhoon motorcycle and climb on, knocking the kickstand back up. I try to remember where I would have seen a convenient payphone.
With a somewhat smaller amount of butterflies in my stomach than last time, I turn the keys and twist the handle, kicking the bike into gear. I rev it loud enough to pretend I don't hear Amy screaming from upstairs as I pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road.
I should help…
…
Nah.
It didn't take long to maneuver out of the lot. Admittedly I still have to get the hang of this thing, but my mind is still on piloting it since I didn't hang around at Amy's long. Always good to get onto things fresh.
Out.
I cut loose on the empty suburbian streets, taking advantage of the 1 am traffic, or lack thereof. As my mind subconsciously picks up on Sonic's drug issues again…
…
The bike slows down.
…
I..
KNEW something bad would happen.
See, I knew at some point he was going to fuck up. It was only matter of when, not if.
I kept trying to warn him about it. Don't go get high, Sonic. It's fucking with your head, Sonic. Your intelligence is slipping, Sonic. You're going to screw up, Sonic. You've already started to, Sonic. But almost every day he'd take a 'constitutional' and come back either holding a handful of tinnies or stoned off his ass. He tried to get me on it once. I refused.
Eventually it got him fired from his job; he was a rental clerk at the skate park, if I remember correctly. Not much of a career to begin with, anyway, but it's not like he had time to get qualifications. By then I was too exasperated to bother anymore.
Still wouldn't quit though.
I think you know what happened next.
Can't think about now. There's the payphone.
Not having any (small) change on hand, I risk calling collect. I punch in the number and wait.
"Bloop, bloooop…"
"Bloop, bloooop…"
"Bloop, bloooop…"
Yadda yadda… automated message… You're quite welcome, the number is…
"Please say your name at the sound of the tone…"
I hear the phone ring again. Kays answers it. I expect a tired, annoyed, sloppy voice.
"Kays Prower."
Instead I get an alert, awake, caffeine-enriched reply after just one ring. What the fuck is he doing up at this hour?"
"Hello, Mr. Prower. You are receiving a collect call from—"
Beep.
"KAYS! TAKE THE FUCKING CALL OR I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL—"
Beep. He talks to himself.
"Jesus, Tails, you're up late…"
"Will you accept the charges."
"Hmm, lemme think about it…"
"KAYS! FUCK SAKE, TAKE IT, TAKE IT, TAKEITTAKEITTAKEITTAKEIT!" I yell, even though I know he can't hear me.
"Um, n… okay. Yes."
God… I just pray the machine didn't interpret the 'n…okay' as no.
The machine deactivates, and I am left to yell at Kays.
"What is your fucking problem?!"
"Hey, you'd have called back anyway."
"Yeah, and what if some guy with a gun was chasing me down and I NEEDED you to answer?"
"Hypothetically?"
Damn. He sussed me.
"Yes."
"I dunno."
God. Kays, being his typical fucking self. I pull the door of the booth tighter and continue.
"Kays, I need help."
"What is the problem, my young Padawan learner?" he says, probably still moving his mouth to imitate bad dubbing.
"I can't go home tonight, or my parents are going to cook me alive. I thought I was staying at Amy's but… uh, that didn't work out."
"Oooh, saucy."
"Shut the fuck up, Kays."
"And?"
"And I need to stay at your place, dumbshit."
Long pause.
"Okay, no questions asked. Do you know my address?"
"…Uh…" I feel like an idiot.
"Forgot, hm?"
"Um, yeah, sort of." He doesn't need to rub it in.
He tells me his address. I quickly write it down.
"Okay, thank you."
"Anything else?"
Hm.
My conversation with Sonic pops into mind.
Should I tell him? Should I ask for help?
…
"Your computer."
"What about it?"
"I need it tonight. Something VERY important. Will you be using it?" I suspect he is, because he's up this late.
"No… but neither will you."
"What? Why?"
"It's busted. I meant to take it in today, but I was too lazy."
Hmph. Kays, his usual self, of course.
"Get your laptop, or something," he says.
"What, and risk being the Merchant of Venice?!"
"…what the fuck?"
"Pound of flesh… the bond."
"You KNOW I don't listen in class."
"Fine, whatever."
Wait.
"Wait. If your comp isn't working, what are you doing up so late?"
Short pause.
"Do I have to make her leave?"
Short pause on my part.
"Bullshit, Kays."
"None of your business. Now, go get your laptop."
"But—"
"On your bike, son." With that, he hangs up.
But I'm still talking. Mostly four letter words, plus the suffixes.
…
Well, shit.
"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
I heave a great sigh and scold myself after realizing I actually expected someone to answer. I put the phone back on the hook.
Now what?
…
"…"
There's not much I can do, I guess.
I exit the phone booth and boot the kickstand up on the Typhoon. I climb on and check the address on the paper.
Watch, this is the cool part.
I push a button above the dashboard and every meter and gauge on it spins around. A panel near the base of the seat slides down underneath the frame and reveals a small screen. The speedometer becomes a smaller, circular screen, the fuel gauge a keypad. The mileage counter spins and clicks to read 0 in all columns.
"GPS."
Almost instantly the screens light up. The large one loads a full topographical map of Station Square, with a red dot to indicate my location. The former speedometer becomes a map of a twenty foot radius around me.
"Registered individual."
A short list—two names—of my other known GPS contacts appears.
"Kays Prower."
Searching…
I hope, pray he has his activated, or this could get a lot more difficult than it really needs to be. But since his comp is broken, it's doubtful.
"Not found. Could not establish link."
"Damn it." Probably tinkering with it again, left it on the ground of his apartment somewhere… asshole. He isn't much help tonight.
So now I have to search for the nearest information kiosk to his street. This is going to be a long night.
"Find info stands at—"
Immediately a number of blue dots with 'i' in the middle appear on the map.
"NEAREST or on Bedford avenue."
Three appear. Good.
I push one, and a box with all the necessary information appears. Street name, dista—
Groan.
"BEDford, not Redford!"
Nothing happens.
"Display I-kiosks nearest or on BEDFORD avenue!!"
One hit. I push it. The former mileage meter shows coordinates, the box shows address and distance. Perfect. 112 Bedford avenue. Kays is at 75, or so he says.
"Display shortest and safest routes."
One green line connects the red and blue dots.
"No, dammit, display shortest and safest as separate routes!"
I hate this fucking thing!
Two lines connect me and the dot. A blue one that identifies it as safest according to police zoning, and a shorter red one.
"Thank you! Set compass program to route A."
A small arrow appears above the red dot and points to the blue one, showing the front of the bike's direction.
"Secondary compass."
The arrow appears around the dot on the circular screen.
"Close primary—"
Before I can finish, everything has already signed off.
"Damn it!"
I repeat the entire process over again, this time careful to say 'Primary GPS, close." The main screen turns off. I manually shut the panel over it, not wanting to risk saying 'close' again.
FINALLY ready, I rev up the engine and drive off into the dark, swearing to myself. Useless fucking thing…
Got the whole night ahead of me…
.
To be continued. Reviews are appreciated. Oh, and visit our site: http://tdaproject.tripod.com.
.