Clang!
Clong!
Clang!
Badda-bing!
Rattatattatattatatta-ploink ploink ploink!
The racket grew louder and more frantic as Spike ran down the dimly lit corridor towards the pizzaria's kitchen, blowtorch and workshop temporarily forgotten. Skidding in through the out door marked "Employees Only" he switched on the near-baseball bat sized Maglight he'd been issued along with the fragrant slightly too large uniform at the beginning of the night shift, and shone it at the source of the noise.
Instead of a regrettably tasty (regrettable as in "he wouldn't be able to partake without a migrane") burglar trying to force open a cash box with a jackhammer, it was the glowering chicken - doing a drum solo on the pots and pans that the Ramones or even the Sex Pistols would have been happy to claim in their prime.
Pinned in place by the intense beam of the Maglight in the dark kitchen, the nasty thing looked up at him in mid pound, and gave a mechanical blink.
Then it giggled at him in a disturbingly human voice, like a small child caught doing something naughty but fun, such as flushing a man's woolen overcoat down the loo.
"All right Colonel's main squeeze, that's enough of that!" Spike took the thing by the sticky elbow and tried to steer it out of the kitchen and away from the cookware, "Anything you break comes outta me pay envelope. We don't want that, now do we?"
It was like trying to convince his DeSoto to start whenever its aging ignition system decided to act up the second an angry mob appeared on the horizon, only fuzzier.
The thing giggled again.
Spike tucked the Maglight under one arm muttering, "C'mon, out with you. An' no playin' wi' matches either!" as he tried to push the obstinate mechanical chicken towards the out door with both hands and into the hall where it could roam free without bothering him or endangering his take home pay.
"Dude," Jeremy was standing right beside him, "You might want to look behind..."
"Sod off!"
The chicken giggled, louder.
"C'mon pet, let's you and me go out into the nice passageway and stop banging on the nasty old… ungh, bloody hell, this thing's heavier than it, ungh, looks!" Spike sniffed as he shoved even harder at the obstinate entertainment unit, there was that dead mouse smell again, "When's the last time you had a wash?"
"Dude! Look! Out!" Jeremy sounded downright alarmed now.
"Bubby!" The chicken squealed.
"Yeah, dude, look out for Bubby!" Jeremy added with a sigh, ("Why do I even bother…")
"Bubby? Who the hell's Bubby?" Spike paused, "Jeremy, if you don't have anything useful to say, sod…"
Crash!
Splat!
Tinkle.
As Spike headed for the floor face first to land in a puddle of pickled hot pepper juice and broken glass, he caught a glimpse of something fuzzy and purple in the dim light coming in through the window over the dishwashing sink.
Alll right kiddies, Uncle Billy here again, what's purple, fuzzy, smells like stale pizza grease, and has long floppy ears and sharp pointy teeth and is dragging me by the ankles towards Parts and Service even as I black out?