Why hello, there. How are you doing? Good? Good.
It's been awhile, but I can explain. See, my laptop gets borrowed a lot, and on one such unauthorized use of my computer, the screen was completely smashed from the inside. So, I couldn't navigate, and it took a month for the Apple "Geniuses" to stop being idiots and get me the right parts to connect the harddrive to a separate screen and... it was annoying.
Not much Japanese in here, so rejoice, because I won't mess it all up. This is all about Muds :D
R&R, and enjoy!
Murdoc Alphonce Niccals needed to die. Twelve times, in fact, and counting. He was beaten, hit by a car, choked, beaten, cycle crashed, pushed off a roof, beaten, shot, beaten, crushed by an oak tree, involved in a failed ram-raid, and beaten. God frowned upon the man intensely, which was a good enough reason for Murdoc to hate the man in the sky. He didn't want him, so He wouldn't have him. Somehow, though, that didn't keep Satan from trying to be rid of him as well.
"Noodle, you Wasabi bitch, I'm on fire!"
It may or may not be an odd sight to a nine year-old to see a middle-aged man in just his underwear screaming down a hallway with flames in his hair. All Noodle had been doing was playing around with a trike she found in the basement. All Muds had been doing was experimenting with an air horn, electrical tape, propane and Russ's second pet eel.
And so, the previously lukewarm kind of day had been marred by an explosion, screaming, and sights not to be seen by most kids.
"AGGGH, bitch, get me fucking water!"
Noodle screamed and ran around in circles as well, arms flailing, occasionally looking for a bottle of water. The two were basically crying for two different reasons by the time Russel stepped out of the smoke in his workshop, frustration on his face and a flame extinguisher in hand, and painted the entire scene in white. He found them underneath the sea of foam, gagging on it, and was welcomed by a big hug from Murdoc.
"Oh, mate, thank you. Noodle wouldn't do anything, and I thought I was a goner."
"There's still time for that," the big guy grumbled, hoisting his former kidnapper into the air and leveling him with his eyes. "You owe me a new eel, cracka-ass."
The bassist laughed nervously. "Of course, mate, anything. I-I-I'll go get changed and get on it right away, I will."
He wasn't let down, he was dropped, onto the ground and banged his head. In a daze, the old man watched his savior walk away, reach into a pile of foam, lift out a big white blob that must've been Noodle, and take her away to clean up. Murdoc was left on the floor, staring at the ceiling.
I just wanted to see what would happen, he thought. Too bad it wasn't an electric eel, that would've been fun. Now I have to buy the dullard a new one, bloody Yank. No fun, they are, it's proven. And little Miss Mitsubishi can't do shit, neither.
He tried to get up and looked inside the nearby bathroom to see a refrigerator sitting in a corner. His first thought was why was there an icebox in the loo? His second thought was that he put it there. Stumbling over and opening it, he discovered the entire machine to be full of giant soda bottles.
"Idiot girl," he mumbled, opening a Coke and taking a long swig. "This counts as water."
He felt around on his scalp, running a hand over it gently. Almost immediately, though, he had good reason to panic and rush to the mirror.
2-D had heard some ruckus upstairs and decided to check it out, wary of any surprises. It did come as about half of a shock, however, for him to find the entire second floor hallway covered in some sort of froth that looked somewhat like snow. Shrugging, and with pleasant childhood memories of winter snowball fights running through his mind, he took a running start to slide on his stomach all down the passage, his face covered in the white stuff. Laughing, he got up and made another pass, got trampled by a screaming gentleman that dispersed any remaining nostalgia, and crashed into a refrigerator. His last thought before passing out was, why is there an icebox in the loo?
Murdoc grumbled loudly and kicked puppies out of his way as he tried to navigate the sidewalks of Braintree in search of the exotic pet store that Russel had mentioned. And underneath the loaned afro wig, his scalp was freezing in the December air. Sure it made him look like the hipster from Hell, but it was a lot better than the alternative red, angry, oh-my-God-he-was-obviously-burned look that his mottled head would display to the judgemental public. Maybe he should've just shaved it all, Lord Voldemort style… oh fuck no. Murdoc Niccals was many things, but he could never pull off being a skinhead.
And skinheads are the bane of the rocking world, he thought to himself, stumbling upon Fred's Funky Friends pet store rather than finding it on purpose. Just the name of the shop made him want to projectile vomit all over the bubbly female clerk, who was obviously a hippie and spent forever trying to soothe the eel into the net instead of nudging it. When I rule the world, he mused, the first thing I'm doing is outlawing inefficient beatnik shit like this.
Disgusting, slimy eel in hand and afro itchier than ever, Muds stomped back to the parking lot on the other side of town, ranting the entire way.
"I didn't need to waste mah money on ether and that guide to torture if the result was gonna be some fat roly-poly burning mah hair off and sucking cock at drums! Mate's gotta set priorities straight, he does, stop stuffing fuckin' carcasses with Mary Jane and get back to why he's livin' in mah house in the first place!"
He could see the buggy lying in wait near the pub.
"And the girl, what the bloody hell she do? If she wodn't no good at guitar, I'd have the princess on a one-way trip back to Tokyo… them Yakuza dopeheads. She'd be popular there! Virgins run good, right? Satan, I think I liked goddamn Paula better. Least she didn't screw shit up too bad. She just screwed. Ts'all, and it's all she needed to do."
As Muds came up on his ride, he saw a few people standing near it. Admiring it, he thought distantly, and then continued his personal rant.
"If that bitch had been smart enough to get me some damn water, I could manage with a quicky-do cover-up. But now, just two and a half weeks until the show, and I'm gonna hafta wear a hat. I haven't worn a hat out to public in years! It's not me, it's not Murdoc Niccals, but it's gonna happen cuz lard-o keeps buying eels and little Suzuki can't operate without a fuckin' translation book."
The closer he got, the more apparent it became the admirers of his buggy were not the kind of people who would actually obey the "Look all you want, but don't touch" sign on the side. Some of them carried monkey wrenches and crowbars. Never a good sign.
Murdoc hauled his heavy bag of water and scales behind some other cars in the lot and edged towards the group of ruffians cautiously. He had managed to find a cozy viewing from behind an old Volkswagon and stopped to get a better look, when the smallest in the group suddenly jumped up on the bonnet and with one quick thrust, impaled the windshield with the pipe he was carrying. Muds nearly cried out in pain for his car, but stopped himself. All at once, the entire mob swung their weapons and threw stones at the vehicle, altogether making its owner squirm with incredible panic and disgust. It was all he could take not to run into the fray and beat the shit out of all of them – or at least attempt to. But he'd have to wait.
The gang was yelling profanities at the buggy, destroying its exterior to the point of absolute incomprehensibility. It no longer could be accurately distinguished as a Geep. Murdoc was on the ground in tears, mourning his prized ride while also making sure not to bring attention to himself, when he managed to hear a familiar voice amidst the grunts.
"Here's to you, you bloody asshole!" It was high and nasally, with a twinge of a voice crack, like pubescence that never quite finished its job. It immediately spurred Muds to stand straight up, sling the eel bag over his shoulder, and yell.
"Tiny, you bastard?" The fury in his eyes was strong, but soon quelled by his former bandmate's even crazier disposition. All at once, the question became why the hell did Murdoc dare do that?
"Oi Doc!" The little man (being as politically correct as possible) screeched, jumping back to the ground, his posse crowding beside him. "Nice hat. Didn't take long, did it, fellas?"
The whole group nodded in agreement, swinging various weapons in their hands threateningly. Murdoc eventually recognized every one of them. Tiny, all 4'3" of him, stood with blood oozing out of his nose and saliva gathering on the corners of his lips. The poor guitarist had been arrested shortly after the disbanding of Timepiece, and as Murdoc understood, got the worst of it – he was obviously running on crack alone.
To his left stood the towering figure that was Billy Boy, a dark-eyed kid with dark hair and dark clothes. He was never much for drugs, but he seemed just as angry. Next to Bill was Crunch, the illiterate hulk of a teddy bear, who looked more playful than angry at the moment. Next was, of course, an ex-girlfriend. Samantha Talbot was a part of Murdoc's life that he'd rather keep locked away at the back of his mind forever, those memories full of endless kinkiness that eventually put the bassist in the hospital for a good six months… and put Sam on a rampage after she found him flirting with a nurse. The nurse was never seen again. And neither should Sam have been.
Rocky stood off behind her, his blue eyes like wet stones, a big pressurized air tank under one arm, and a dangerous little trigger in the other. A year later, an accident the pianist would have with an unfortunate Boy Scout would inspire a guy named Cormac to create an antagonist for a horror story – one that Rocky belonged in. Next was the overly-happy Munch, who hadn't wanted to come today anyways. He was perfectly fine with a job he'd gotten designing album artwork and posters for the independent Streetlight Records, but he decided that he could take a day off to keep Rocky's fun doohickey from lodging itself in his head. When Murdoc eyed him, the captive artist made a small wave to his former friend.
And last but not least… that bitch. Paula, looking even more medicated than usual, slumped against the back bumper of the buggy, eyes drooping but furrowed. She made no move to threaten Murdoc, but she wasn't another Munch. She held quite a grudge in that suicidal heart of hers.
Murdoc blinked, then actually dared to chuckle. "What is this, The League of Ditzy Crackheads?"
"I like to think of it more as a righteous hit squad, brotha," Rocky growled.
Tiny patted his friend's back. "There'll be time for that, no worries." He strode up to the demon bass player, stretching as far as he could to look him in the eyes. He was nowhere close. "So, it seems that everyone here has a pretty damn good reason to tape you to that car and drive you off the cliffs."
Munch tried to speak up. "Well, actually…"
"Can it!" Tiny didn't even turn around, but he shut the artist up immediately. "I've been waiting a while to see your face and hold this up to it." He brought a switchblade out and held it against Murdoc's neck. "Five fuckin' years. Just got out last week. There are a lot of gay pervs in there. And you got what? Community service!"
Despite his size, Tiny was a strong son of a bitch. He managed to throw Muds back onto the Volkswagon, giggling madly. "Still got to live, still got to walk around and actually do shit!" He subtly motioned towards Paula. "Still got to fuck."
"Now listen here, you dullard!" Muds got up and stood challengingly, eyes blazing now that the knife wasn't close. "I paid my dues, I paid for a lawyer! I carried a brain-dead twit around for a year, and I'm still working off the time I need to look after 'im!"
"Oh, come now! Little Stuey can look after himself!" Paula finally woke up and was able to stand on two feet long enough to point and talk down to the Satanist. "Little bastard doesn't need an even bigger bastard like you! You've ruined his life before."
"Let's not forget who fucked who, love," Muds grinned smugly. Paula shared the grin and shook her head robotically.
"I hear you guys got a new axe queen. She good? Apparently good enough to play at Dukes."
"She's a helluva lot better than you ever will be. And she's nine."
Paula's face got ugly and furious. "Well, don't be surprised to find her in the canal someday."
"What the fuck is this?" Billy Boy pushed. "You guys reminiscing? Just stick a goddamn axe in his head!"
"I agree, brotha." Rocky grumbled with him, and both stepped forward. Tiny, realizing that the situation had reached the breaking point, went along with them. Soon the whole group, with the exception of Munch and Crunch, had Muds surrounded and pinned against the VW. They pushed the bass player against the metal, afro falling to the ground, revealing the burn scars. His attackers didn't notice.
For a moment, in the gleam of the sharp edge of Billy's hatchet, Murdoc felt something he hadn't felt in forever. It was so alien to him, he almost told everyone to stop what they were doing so he could figure it out. But before he died, he realized that he wished he could do something. He wished he could go back to Kong and pick Noodle up and tell her that she's ten times better than the alternative standing in front of him. He wished he could go up to Russel and thank him for breaking his nose twice when he had done something absolutely stupid, to teach him a lesson. And he wished he could tell 2-D that he beat on the kid because Stu was like the dorky, vulnerable brother he never had. With no weapon and no black belt to speak of, Muds knew that he stood no chance against the assholes from his past. At least his real brother wasn't here – quick death was preferable to torture.
Billy began to raise his axe, ready to strike the first blow. He smiled devilishly and with an unimaginable fire in his eyes. This was it. This was the end.
Sirens wailed, shocking the muggers as several cop cars tore down the street, spinning tires into the parking lot. All at once, the broken musicians scattered into the alleyways, most never to be seen again. The coppers were too slow, and those who tried to chase them down lost the race quickly. The rest crowded around Murdoc, took one look at the scene, then at him, and arrested him immediately. Chances are, with his record, he had something to do with this.
Three hours later the sun was setting, and Murdoc Niccals came out of the precinct tired and irritated beyond belief. He had been interrogated and processed by a fat man with balding hair who looked upon his prisoner like the criminal of the century. It wasn't a pleasant relationship. Once the report came that Murdoc was innocent, the cop looked disappointed as he let the former felon go.
Muds was none too happy about the waste of time. He got the eel back, but his buggy was being held until further notice, so a black cab with a funny-smelling Arab man who likes cats was in order. Back to Kong he went. Back to the dirty house of idiot Japanese girls, fat black guys who can't drum, and the medical mystery.
He got out and slammed the door angrily, throwing random bills at Ahmed and leaving him there to sort it out. Murdoc could see the lights on, nothing was burning, and music was pumping from the second floor. As soon as he turned the knob and opened the door, creeping in carefully, he was nearly thrown back out of the house by some screeching creature that knew his name. Guess who?
"Yay, Murdoc-sama home! Gus what? New word! Butterfly! So pretty, butterfly. Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly. Weird, no made of butter. Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly, butterfly!"
Noodle was dancing on Muds' chest, and she was so light that he wasn't really bothered by the dancing. Rather, his already annoyed brain couldn't take another butterfly, her voice once again scratching at his sanity, until he snapped.
"Git offa me, bitch!" he shouted as loud as he could, tossing her off of him and into the dirt. Noodle was quite surprised, and was still saying "butterfly" even as she flew up and down, then landed with a high-pitched "oomph." Murdoc stood over the girl, unsympathetic, yelling harder.
"I don't need your whiny shit or no damned new words! Just shut up and play guitar, and don't fuck with me, or I'm shipping you back to Hiroshima! Understand? Or are you just gonna shit with me again?"
With that, the old man took off, slamming the door and leaving poor Noodle in the dark. She didn't make a sound, she was in shock. She couldn't see anything aside from the cab lights down the driveway, and wasn't sure of what just happened. Murdoc's screaming face was still in front of her, eyes bloodshot and spittle flying viciously. In no time, the reality of what had happened hit her like a brick, and she started to cry. There could've been zombies out there, and she wouldn't have cared. The tears poured and she couldn't stop them.
Inside, Muds stumbled into the kitchen and pulled out a beer. Some American shit, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to drain himself of feeling. He had other, quicker methods of doing so, but that was behind him. He spread himself out over the sofa, the beer can on his forehead, MTV slowly putting him to sleep.
"Yo, Muds!" The Satanists's eyes snapped open, unhappily turning towards the voice that interrupted his forty winks. Russ continued. "Did you get mah eel, like you said?"
"Yeah, yeah I got it." He tried to go back to sleep.
"Well where is it?"
"Ugh, in the kitchen."
While the American searched the room next door, Murdoc was once again close to a snooze.
"I can't find it Muds, where the hell is it? Don't tell me you killed it on the way over here."
Anger gland pulsing, if there is such a thing, the bassist growled. But Russel was unperturbed.
"Shuttup with dat, help me find it. Now."
"And if I don't?"
At first, eyes closed, it seemed like Russ had left, but soon Murdoc was two meters above the ground, hanging by his shirt. Once he was up on his feet, Russel pushed him towards the kitchen.
"You're finding mah eel, Muds."
They stared at each other angrily, Russ obviously the more menacing, but they squared off all the same. But then Murdoc smiled and stood up straight.
"Alright Russ, you want your eel? Alright." He rushed into the kitchen, pulled the serpent out from behind the fallen trash can, and held it up to Russ. "Here it is, big boy."
"Good, now give it to- what the hell are you doing?"
Murdoc carried the bag over to the sink, tore it open and let the eel fall in. "You want your eel?" he snarled, picking it up. "You come get it." Pointing it down the drain, Muds slowly slid it down and turned on the garbage disposal. Russ was too slow, and he swore that he could see a tear drop from the animal's eye as its head fell into the gaping jaw of thrashing teeth. The American was unable to stop the inevitable.
"There," the bassist said with finality, tossing the mutilated piece of meat and scale into the drummer's arms, and leaving the kitchen for the basement. Russel just stood there, staring at yet another possible work of art, gone.
Murdoc couldn't get to his Winnebago fast enough. He met 2-D on the way down the stairs, but before the singer could say anything, he was kicked and tumbled down the flight. Not waiting for Stu to recover, Murdoc was locked inside his private domain instantly, where maybe he could finally get some peace and quiet.
When Mr. Niccals woke up, it was early in the morning. He had forgotten to close the garage door, so he was freezing in the windy December chill without a blanket. Stumbling from his icebox of a vehicle, he dragged his feet to the giant button on the far wall, slamming it with his palm and watching the doors slide down. Without so much as underwear on, he tried to pull some pants on and half succeeded. Satisfied, he moved for the stairs.
For a moment, his eye caught a new blood stain under his feet, below the first step. He continued without giving it much thought – everything around was out of focus, and would stay so until he'd had his coffee. But later, maybe, maybe he'd remember that it was Stu's blood.
It was a slow climb to the kitchen. For eight in the morning, long after the rest of Great Britain had gone to work or school, Kong Studios was dead silent. Not a peep. Just the occasional snore if you were too close to Russel's room. Half of Murdoc wanted to turn on the intercom and blast Black Sabbath at max volume throughout the hallways. Half of him just wanted to tip toe to the coffee machine and a box of doughnuts, and sit on the balcony. More often than not, the first half won. Today, it was too tired to even try to resist the second half.
Such as the rest of the unoccupied rooms of the building, Murdoc expected the kitchen to be devoid of any life but the insects, quiet and calm so he could sit and eat in one more hour of peace before the day started. Alas, as the door opened and he shifted his darkness into the room, the refrigerator was already open, and coffee already cooking. He half expected Russel, at the very least, to be awake. But instead he found nine year-old Noodle, standing on a chair, concentrating hard on pouring just the right amount of milk into her Cheerios.
When she heard Muds enter, she looked up for only a moment before moving her eyes back down, frowning ever so slightly.
"Konnichiwa, Murdoc-sama."
The bassist rubbed his eyes and tried to formulate a response. "Harumeh, Noodgh," is all that came out, blindly grabbing for the coffee and pouring it into the nearest soup bowl. As he sat there, sipping away, his grogginess began to clear away, and he focused on what was going on.
His pupils shrunk and he squinted at Noodle. "What are you doing up so early, doll?"
The girl replied without looking at him. "I wake at 7:30 always, sir."
Sir? He thought. I kinda like that. "Why? Y'don't needta."
She kept eating her cereal with her head down. "Science, I read on computer. Doctor James Maas say human brain re-re… tain more energy and informatation if you sleep seven hours, that it, but wake early, and never change sleep schedoole." Her head rose to give him a subtle look of disdain. "And sure no noise wake up in night."
Murdoc stared into her emotionless eyes for a few seconds, then blurted out laughing, "That's the heaviest load of shit I've heard in a while!"
Anger suddenly burst into Noodle's eyes, and she threw her spoon down into her bowl, spilling cereal and milk everywhere.
"You just not care! Never want to be wrong! Murdoc is God, eh? You so wrong, all time!" Her finger was in his face, her normally pleasant smile turned into something resembling an angry frown, but he wasn't quite sure. He pushed her hand away and frowned harder.
"What? You want a sorry, love? Okay. I'm sorry you're such a sensitive little bitch! Good?"
Quite sure that his own outburst must've scared her, he sat back in his chair and let a smug look spread across his face. In a flash, his coffee was out of his hand and on the floor, smashed.
"And caffeine stunt growth!" Noodle screamed, running out with tears just about to fall. She didn't want him to see, though. If Murdoc saw her crying, he'd never take her seriously. She already knew that.
Her room was right across the hall, and she hid there, in the only place she ever remembered as her own. It was hers, where she could be safe, and nobody could be in her world if she didn't want them there. It was the only place she could really cry by herself.
Muds was still there in the kitchen, his hand still not quite realizing that there was no coffee anymore. His face was no longer smug, however, and he told his legs to carry him out the door, but nothing happened. When he regained control of his limbs, he felt brain-dead, and couldn't understand why he was so troubled. Murdoc Niccals never felt guilt, but Murdoc Niccals never truly dealt with children before. He left the smashed bowl of coffee on the floor. Russel will pick it up anyways.
By noon, all of Kong Studios was awake. It takes a lot to happen, but it happens. Eventually. By three, the band was ready to get to work on their music. By five, they actually started working. At nine, they broke and had dinner.
Stu was dying to give them a taste of his new masterpiece. It was all stuffed inside a big notebook, ready to burst out and blow away the world. But all day, Muds was hissy and kept swearing at him while they practiced Ghost Train and New Genius, Russel was on one of his silent moods again, and Noodle couldn't pay attention. He needed them when they were wide awake and focused, having fun, before he could unleash the song upon their poor, wretched souls. Besides, they had plenty of time before the gig, and his head still hurt tremendously from the night before.
At night, the entire band would usually eat dinner in entirely separate locations throughout the house. Russel made something odd but delicious, and everyone brought it in whichever way they felt like. It was a chaotic system, but no one complained. Noodle liked to eat in the café or her room, while Russel and 2-D would watch movies or stay in the studio. Murdoc preferred the shooting range or the bowling alley or any other obscure place where one wouldn't try to find him. There was a plasma screen in the lobby, and a bunch of pillows, so he just relaxed on the floor and watched Ocean's 11 with Frank Sinatra. Poor bastard died just the year before, and they were doing specials.
The Indian-spiced eel and rice à la king was finally settling in his stomach, and he was just remarking on how ridiculous Tony's death was, when footsteps started approaching from the stairs to the carpark. Noodle had been eating with 2-D in his room, but decided to bring both of their dishes to the kitchen for Russel. She seemed to have the worst luck at avoiding the demon bass player.
"Oi, girlie!" he yelled from his spot, making her stop short of the next set of stairs. He could see her clench the plates in her hands. Murdoc sighed and waved her to him. "Jus' come here, please. I wanna talk to you."
Warily, Noodle stepped towards her momentary enemy, laying the plates on the ground and edging closer. Muds stood up, paused the movie, and sighed. He had been thinking.
"Look, doll. I was real mad last night. There was a big problem yesterday, and you just came, and I wasn't ready to deal with you. I needed time for me. That's why I got mad."
The girl didn't respond, but instead just stood there, processing what he had said. He continued in her silence.
"Ya see Noods, I haven't been getting enough sleep." He looked at her and smiled, hoping the joke would make her laugh. But it didn't.
"Um… well, I just want ya to know, I promise that I won't hurt ya on purpose no more. Yer a right pain in the arse, but yer alright, Noods."
She shuffled around and looked at her feet. "What about TooDee-san and Russel-san?"
Before Muds could answer, a loud but formal knock shook the door behind him. No one comes around here this late, he thought, unless I invite them. He quickly motioned for Noodle to hide on the side of the door while he peeped through the hole. There on his doorstep stood the largest Asian man that the musician had ever seen besides Yao Ming, dressed head to toe in a crisp jet black suit. He had no emotion on his face, just a plain horizontal line for a mouth.
"I'm sorry, mate, no solicitors please."
The dark man simply raised his hand, holding an official-looking document from who-knows-where. Not wanting to find himself in an MI5 torture cell, Muds carefully opened the door to address the problem.
"Greetings, sir," the man started. "Are you Murdoc Alphonce Niccals, proprietor of the establishment?"
The proprietor gulped. "Uh, y-yes?"
"My employers have come to understand that you had received a package from an unspecified location by Federal Express on Tuesday, November 2nd. We have proof of such a mistake by records kept by the Essex branch of Federal Express Corporation." He swiftly flipped open a folder, showing packaging records, and handed it to Murdoc. While he pretended to read the list, the bassist glanced at Noodle, who hid behind the door. For some reason, she looked remarkably frightened. And she was. She just didn't for sure know why.
The agent continued. "I have been ordered to retrieve the package before the date of 2300 on Tuesday, December 7th, and you are hereby ordered to comply with all demands set forth by my employers. Do you continue to have the package in your possession?"
Murdoc shook his head and looked at the man with bug-eyed. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The package in question is of the utmost importance and absolutely must be returned to the original owners before the due date. If you do not comply, I will be forced to warrant a search of your home for said package."
He bit his lip and inconspicuously looked at Noodle. She sat there, knees to her chest, shaking her head furiously.
Looking back at the agent, Muds was even more suspicious. "What's your name, mister?"
"That information is strictly classified and will remain so unless ordered otherwise by my employer. If needed, you may refer to me Mr. Smith."
"Aight, Mr. Smith. So what you're sayin' is that if I don't cough up what you're looking for, you'll forcibly take it from me?"
"In a manner of speaking, that is the case Mr. Niccals."
"And this package, you say, is a classified secret from what is obviously some government you work for, eh?"
"Any information concerning my employer or such related matters is strictly classified and will remain so unless ordered otherwise by my employer."
"Well, ain't you a fancy record pressed play?" Muds thought to himself for a moment. "Alright mate, here's the deal. I received several packages from other shipping companies on that same day. Could you tell me what the package you're looking for looks like?"
The machine of a man stood still, and for the first time seemed confused. But he quickly composed himself and responded. "The package in question is a Federal Express Corporation-patented 5 by 5 by 5 international shipping crate, license number 098275666712, sent from an unspecified location in Japan. The crate has been custom ordered with air vents, often used in the transportation of live animals."
"Kay," Murdoc stalled, licking his lips. "And, uh, just what will happen to the package after it is retrieved?"
"Information concerning the contents and/or objective of the package is strictly classified and will remain so unless ordered otherwise by my employer."
"I see." Murdoc took one last look at the shivering Noodle, the annoying yet talented brat that came to his doorstep as if by an act of fate… if Murdoc believed in such a thing. He faced the agent squarely, and decided upon the next question.
"Mr. Smith," he began. "Are you Christian?"
Smith seemed surprised by this question. "I… I am not influenced by any sort of separate organization, spiritual or religious."
"That's not what I asked, Mr. Smith." Murdoc took a step forward and the agent took a step back. "Have you read the Bible lately?"
"I'm afraid that… I'm not familiarized with said article of text."
Murdoc shook his head in mock disappointment. "Too bad, mate. It might've helped some." He closed the door behind him, leaving Noodle sitting against the wall, nearly in tears.
As the bassist approached the agent, he removed something trusty of his from the back pocket, and growled, "Thou shalt bring no harm to children, for it is against the morals of the self."
Noodle waited there for a few minutes, not entirely sure why she was so terrified. But she was. The presence of the agent brought this fear from inside of her, worse than she ever felt for Murdoc, and even more than the monsters from Stuart's "special films." It welled up inside of her, bringing feelings she had never remembered feeling before. And she could not make them go away, no matter what.
The door opened, and the heavy footsteps of a dark figure struck the lobby floor. He looked back outside, and then continued in, closing the door behind him. On the ground next to him, he found Noodle in a ball.
"Hey there, luv. He's gone now."
All at once, the little girl jumped at Murdoc and hugged him tightly around the waist. She cried into his shirt but still hung on.
"Arigato, Uncle Murdoc. Thank you. Thank you."
He was surprised at first, but soon found himself hugging her back gently. Murdoc Niccals never felt guilt. He never felt truly sorry, and he never ever felt charitable. He wasn't sure what this was. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't familiar. It was really weird.
…
…
…
He hoped the dump workers wouldn't find the body in the landfill.
TRIVIA (cuz I felt like it)
- The eel is one of my favorite Gorillaz bitez concepts. I thought I'd elaborate on Russel's eel troubles a bit. Search "The Eel" on YouTube for the fate of the first poor serpent.
- All of the muggers in the parking lot are real former associates of Murdoc, except for Samantha. I made her up, as well as the personalities of most of the band members, but thought that most of them would have a little bit of the crap that Muds had gotten throughout his life.
- Rocky is meant to be the inspiration for Cormac McCarthy's sociopathic killer Anton Chigurh, who carried a similar air tank weapon in the book "No Country for Old Men."
- Mr. Smith is a Japanese weirdo.