JESSICA

[0000]

Chad stared at the floating fat man, I guess not knowing what to think. My baby took one look at him and cried until Chad turned around and bounced him in the carrier.

I giggled and waved at the mirror. "Hello, Master Blaster. Or can I call you Blasty?"

Master Blaster scowled, his eyes traveling up and down my body in a not so subtle way. "Who is this, Miss Terious?"

"A lawbreaker. From the noid world."

The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What laws did she break?"

Misty told him.

"How about you?" I asked. "What have you been doing lately?"

He gave me this look that told me he did not appreciate this sudden familiarity from a complete stranger.

"I've...heard so much about you," I explained. It would do me no good telling him he was on TV, of that I was sure. "Have you kidnapped any more musicians?"

Master Blaster looked offended, like doing such a thing was a dirty little secret.

"I meant no offense. I think it's really cool that you grab random rock guys and turn them into cartoons. I was just curious who you got after Kidd Video."

"Oh?" he said, looking rather pleased. "I doubt you've heard of most of them. But their music is excellent. Of course, over time I've discovered that `forever' is a little too long to have any musical slave, so I've worked out a little slave exchange program with other slavemasters. Dilithium mines, magical crystal mines, seedy alien bars, brutal fights to the death, that kind of thing."

"Try me. I listen to a lot of music. Name a few bands. Or musicians or whatever."

Master Blaster cleared his throat. "Let's see...we've had Mindtrick, Crap Corps, Four Fried Chickens and a Coke...King Crimson...We've also had some long haired guys named Metallica, but they were a pain in the ass. Kept trying to sue me."

I giggled. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"The pleasure's all mine," he answered, and it probably was, considering the amount of staring I got.

"Where's your cats?" I said.

He frowned. "The last I checked, they were working on my newest acquisitions, Adam Sandler and Weird Al Yankovich. I admit I'm a bit skeptical, but I'm easily bored. Would you like to be my slave?"

I laughed. "I'm not really sure about slave, per se..."

I didn't want to go out and say that I wasn't interested in being a sex slave, but how to say this politely without stepping on any toes..."How about we define the role as `consultant' That way, nothing untoward is implied."

I could tell this didn't make the man very happy, but, frankly, I didn't think he deserved to be that happy.

"Jessica here has volunteered to help retrieve the Spikes of Power," Misty said. "And you are one of the most powerful beings in Cool World. I thought perhaps we could make an arrangement."

"Mmmyes," Sleez agreed.

Personally, I thought there were plenty more powerful villains, like Skeletor or Mum-Rah, but I decided she spoke talking in terms of affecting reality.

"Come to my jukebox," he said, spreading his hands.

Our bodies became surrounded by glowing light, then we found ourselves in a giant bubble, floating over a seemingly endless hilly landscape that resembled a topographic contour map.

I and Misty had our bubble, Chad, the baby, and Sleez floated in their own separate one, my boyfriend looking at me uncomfortably.

The baby, on the other hand, seemed to be having a blast (no pun intended), grinning and bouncing in its harness as it waved its little fists and fingers at the green expanse.

I've still got to name that kid. Chad Jr.?

We drifted over hills and valleys to the tune of new age electronica.

We didn't have a sneezing fairy to rescue us, but I didn't want to be rescued anyway. The thought of experiencing exactly what people went through when no one breaks them out of Master Blaster's bubbles delighted me.

He still had that giant flying jukebox for his base of operations. A Wurlitzer. The kind with the multicolored bubble tubes, and an actual turntable that played LP's instead of functioning as an expensive CD player.

Those vinyl records seemed to be the size of a small house. They must have been a pain to put in.

No rocket engines, propellers or hover machinery. I supposed only Good Vibrations, Mojo Risin' and Get On Ups kept it in the air.

The bubble took me down to a circular embellishment on the lower portion of the speaker cover, then down inside the colorful lava lamp type tube on the side of the machine.

The bubble stopped about halfway, its side opening to reveal a long tall ceilinged corridor.

The place was gold and spaceship-like, but its walls had been decorated like a Hard Rock Cafe, a plethora of musical memorabilia and framed pictures.

I saw all kinds of people posing with Master Blaster. Huey Louis (I hoped he was being kept in a dungeon), Flipp (Ditto-I was trying to tape their performance at a parade one time and the singer mooned me as I was running out of tape), Marilyn Manson, Lady Gaga, Busta Rhymes...I saw members of Korn posing with Master Blaster's hands on their shoulders like he were a normal road manager, and Rob Zombie with the Copy Cats.

Aside from those and a few other notable exceptions, the guy mostly captured musicians who had at least temporarily faded from the limelight. Annie Lennox, Gloria Estefan, Tommy Twotone, Devo, Billy Thorpe, Chris De Burgh...

I suspected some of the faces on the wall had never been in the limelight, but I supposed that's a moot point.

Misty tapped a framed picture of Humpty Hump. "Master Blaster likes to flaunt his acquisitions."

I grinned. "Sounds like a fun place."

Her lip twisted at the corner. "Perhaps not as much as you might think."

Hearing a chirping sound, she pulled pair of insect-like antennas out of her neck and held up a makeup mirror, which apparently served as her video phone. I could see a faceless blue man inside the little circle.

"Yes?" she said. Then she frowned. "Drew Deebes beat up my staff?"

I chuckled, both at the thought of Drew beating up anyone, and of the comic book cliche of telling everyone the content of your call instead of keeping it to yourself.

"You say he and his sister blew up the machines? All of them? And freed all the birds?"

She clenched her hand in a fist, smashing a framed picture of Ed Sheeran.

She covered her mouth in embarrassment.

"It's okay," I said. "Nobody will miss that photo. I know I wouldn't."

Misty scowled, eying me with suspicion, but she didn't say anything to me.

"Send in Myxo!" she barked at the circle. "I don't care if he's a noid! I want him dead!"

She paused. "And send in my sister Insectia to clean up whatever is left."

Misty put the phone away, scowling at me. "It's because of you that this is happening. If you hadn't pulled your..." She glanced at Chad. "Ex boyfriend off that cutter, none of this would have happened!"

I shrugged. "I'm sorry, Misty. I seriously didn't know he would do that. I'm really shocked that he could even accomplish everything you described. I never thought he was that brilliant, to tell you the truth. Or that he had balls, for that matter.

"I'm really sorry he robbed you of your livelihood. If there's anything I can do to make up for it, I will."

She sighed and gave me a nod. "Don't worry about it. If he's as dumb and cowardly as you say, Myxo should be able to take care of him."

"Cool beans," I said with a smirk. "By the way, what does Myxo mean? Is he like a killer chef or something?"

"It's short for a disease that blinds rabbits," Misty replied with a shrug. "Myxomatosis. He gets very upset when anyone calls him Mix Master or Drink Mixer, anything mixer, for that matter. I think the name causes him to feel inadequate, which makes his desire for death and bloodshed more acute."

I laughed. "I see!"

The jukebox was fascinating, like sitting in a booth at one of those neighborhood bar and grills. I would have kept staring at the pictures, but then I heard someone playing Boogie Woogie Wu, and a portly bouffant wearing cat dressed in a Sargent Pepper outfit came out, gesturing at a doorway with a sandwich, implying I should go that way...and maybe eat?

We marched down a long, winding and architecturally confusing corridor, arriving at a dark throne room with a high ceiling and gargoyles hanging over the rows of pillars leading to the dais.

I didn't see any other cat besides Fat Cat (incidentally no relation to that pinstripe wearing Dom DeLouise sounding guy from Rescue Rangers).

The floating fat man sat in his zero gravity throne, listening impatiently to...

The actual members of Insane Clown Posse, playing Hokus Jokus.

Grinning like a fool, I snapped my fingers and danced as the two fat guys with the black makeup and spiky hair rapped and did their resampling thing, their clown drummer and technical support guy adding to the groove.

Their equipment appeared to be Master Blaster's property, judging by the M.B. logo on the drum.

I liked their music, but I wasn't a groupie. Some of their songs smacked a little too much of misogyny for my taste. But others, hey...

Regardless of the sexism, it seemed they did play with extra enthusiasm when I came in.

The rappers had blinking electronic collars around their necks, like prisoners in Escape From L.A., devices which, come to think of it, also appeared in all those photos I just examined.

I was indifferent about that, for, after going Platinum and buying a mansion in Beverly Hills, you had to be good humored about the bad things that come your way, and take your lumps. When I cry over spilled milk, the milk doesn't come from my own personal farm of imported Sri Lankan donkeys.

Chad smiled and danced with me a little. The baby, well, I'm not sure what he thought, exactly.

Misty's phone...ish thing rang again.

She listened for a moment, then screamed, "What!"

She glared at me. The music stopped.

My baby started crying. Chad tried his best to console him.

"Bitch is crazy," one of the clowns muttered.

I smiled nicely at Misty. "Is there a problem?"

"Problem!" she yelled. "Your ex just beat my best soldier!"

"I always suspected he was an asshole," I said. "Now, you said, beat. Does that literally mean he killed your Mixy guy, or...?"

Misty shook her head. "No, he got away. A little wounded, that's all."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Yes. I need you to kill him."

I frowned. "Um...murdering someone in cold blood for destroying your building isn't exactly tit for tat." Mike E. Clarke was shouting something in disagreement, probably something about chopping Drew's head in half with an ax, but I ignored it. "Plus, I don't know where he is right now."

Misty sighed. "Then what do you suggest?"

"Me? Well, deep within you is an Inner Bitch. I'm sure, with a little work, we can use this secret weapon to come up with something that will make him wish that we just went out and killed him. All we need to do is a little research, and figure out how to hit him where it hurts."

"So...don't think like a villainess," she muttered. "Be...evil, and think like a psycho ex girlfriend."

"Bingo. Just like a Lifetime movie."

She became lost in thought.

"Of course, we should probably get the Spikes first..."

"Yes. Of course." Her answer seemed a bit noncommittal, though.

Whatever.

Master Blaster and the rappers continued to look at us with annoyance.

Misty waved at them. "My apologies. Continue."

The music started back up. I decided not to waste the opportunity, and danced some more.

I danced backwards toward the throne, bumping into it as I listened to the end of the song.

Looking rather sour, Master Blaster made a little gesture with his right hand like a mafia don, and the band and their stage lowered through the floor and disappeared.

He cleared his throat. "Are we ready to discuss business?"

"We're going into the real world," Misty said. "And we require your assistance. Let's deal."

Master Blaster took a deep breath. "You want a deal? How about this? I'm weary of these bands I keep shuffling through here. I want some fresh talent. You get me what I want, and I'll let you have access to all my mirrors."

"I thought you had Copy Cats to carry out that task," I said.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes at me. "There are certain acquisitions that require a certain amount of...finesse. Finesse that these cats unfortunately do not have. Perhaps because they lack an understanding of your world...and the World Wide Web, whatever that thing is."

He handed Misty a little computer, which looked like the eighties' idea of what a handheld computer should be. Kind of the grandmother of an Android tablet, I guess, something without a streamlined shape or a touch screen.

She stared at the monitor, pushing buttons. "This is a little vague. I thought you wanted something specific."

"If I wanted specific, I'd use the Cats. I want to be surprised, but more than that, I want to be impressed."

Misty clicked a few more buttons. "These are actors. Why do you want them?"

Master Blaster shrugged. "I'm branching out. Of course, I do want you to investigate a few things...such as whether Guns and Roses is getting back together, and Aerosmith's foray into country..."

"Actually," I blurted, but Misty shushed me. I guess it was better for the negotiation anyway.

That and the newly developed technologies that put any conceivable musician at your fingertips by means of the internet (musicians that play for you, any time of day, in concert, in the comfort of your own home). I decided to leave that one off the table, for added leverage.

"It's a deal, the villainess said.

"Very good."

Master Blaster pushed a button on his throne, and rows of full length mirrors emerged from secret compartments in the floor.

Intrigued, I examined one.

The mirror `reflected' an oddly familiar hotel bed, in a deluxe suite that could only be in the Union Plaza Hotel.

"You must be really bored," I stammered, somewhat relieved that I hadn't made use of that particular piece of furniture.

"You have no idea."

I looked at another, and found it to be someone's messy living room, a guy with a lizard t-shirt smoking while trying to play guitar in time with a Ramones video.

"I suggest you visit Mirror 9 first. In addition to being the location of one of the Spikes of Power, I believe you can find items 38 and 103 in that general vicinity."

"This may be a stupid question," I said. "But how do you know all this?"

"I have sensors. And bumbling cat spies."

Misty led me to the appropriate mirror. I chuckled at what I saw when I looked in.

A long underground concrete hallway, with rows of pipes and wires running along the ceiling. A sign reading `Space Mountain' had been painted on one wall, and the rattling of tracks could be heard.

A figure clad in a Mickey Mouse costume waddled down the corridor, removing its head to reveal the face of a dark haired cornpone of a woman.

I watched with amusement as the woman smoked and swore about something or another for a few minutes, put out the cigarette, stuffing the contraband back inside a secret compartment in one of the ears.

She donned the mouse head once more, hurriedly marching down an adjoining tunnel.

"The Most Artificial Place On Earth!" I giggled and danced with glee. "When can we start?"