Vikki Valentine – Part One

“Vikki Valentine – Part One”
By Dan Cheek
30 June 2007
© Dan Cheek 2007

 

Sam came shuffling into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee maker, which was already pissing out a thick, black, highly caffeinated substance into the pot.  Still wearing his robe and boasting dark circles around his eyes, it was obvious he had had a long night and hadn’t gotten much rest.  The four Sock Puppets, Bob, Doctor Sanity, Goblin, and Lost Cause, all sat at the table, silently watching Sam make his coffee in a zombie like trance.

Eventually, slowly, Sam made his way over to the table and plopped down into the only remaining empty chair.  As usual, Bob was the first to break the awkward silence.  “So,” he said in a cautious voice, “How did your date go, last night?”

Sam lifted his mug to his lips, took a slurping swig of coffee, and then set the cup back on the table.  He looked over at Bob.  “Oh, very well, thank you.  It was amazing.  Well, all except for the part where she savagely beat an elderly couple who were sitting behind us in the movie theatre.  Apparently people talking during a movie kind of ‘irks’ her.”

“Well,” Lost Cause said soothingly, “On the bright side of things, you may have missed the movie but you had front row seats to a fight.  So the night couldn’t have been all that bad.”

“I’m not even going to acknowledge that comment,” Sam said in a flat tone.  “After five ushers pulled her off of the old people, she was hauled off by the cops.  I ended up just going to a bar and having a few drinks by myself.  Again.”

“I drink alone all the time,” Doctor Sanity said defensively, “I find it relaxing.”

Bob looked over at Sanity.  “Yes, and you also find blowing up light bulbs in the microwave soothing, as well.  You do realize that you’re horribly insane, right?”

Sanity gave Bob a long, hard stare and then jumped off his chair and shuffled his way out of the kitchen.  “I’ll be in my lab,” he said in a cold voice, “Doing ‘horribly insane’ things.”

“Aw,” Lost Cause called after him, “Don’t walk away mad.  Come back.  I’ll make you some Windex Milk.”  At that, Goblin, the most savage and violent of the Sock Puppets, began chuckling to himself.

“I really hate all of you,” Sam said is a hollow voice, talking to none of them in particular.  “It’s bad enough my love life is something out of a gory, b-grade hack and slash film, but then I have to come back to my house.  And deal with you guys.  I mean, honestly, why me?”

“Well,” Bob said in a thoughtful voice, “I suppose not everyone can win the lottery.  Some people hit it big and live dream lives, other people, you for example, get stuck with four demented Sock Puppets.  And a neighbor who has a horny, rabid sheep for a pet.  God has quite the sense of humor, eh?”

Sam, not wanting to think about, let alone answer that question, decided to simply take another swig of his coffee.  Bob, realizing that the conversation was over, gave a little shrug and hopped down off the chair.  “C’mon Goblin, LC,” he called after the two remaining puppets, “Lets go baby sit the television.”

Sam sat alone in the kitchen, taking small sips of his coffee, doing his best to avoid sliding into a nervous breakdown.  After a minute of sitting there, he realized that he wasn’t blinking.  Making a mental note to correct that, Sam took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.  Perhaps today would be better.

Then the doorbell rang and Sam knew that thought was a pipedream that was about to come crashing down.  From the other rooms, he heard the Sock Puppets scrambling around with excitement.  To them, the doorbell signaled something fun.  Someone was here, for whatever reason.  Time to play.

Doc Sanity could be heard hopping down the stairs, emerging from his attic based laboratory where he was doing “horribly insane” things.  “It’s my turn to answer the door, swine.  Stand back or I’ll be forced to show you the wrath of my new diesel-powered, flesh eating vacuum!”

The doorbell rang again.  All of the Puppets were now racing for the door.  Normally Sam would do everything in his power to beat them all and avert the disaster, which usually resulted in some form of homicide, but today, he really didn’t feel like standing up.  Fuck’em.

Then a sound, which resembled a car crash, ripped through the house.  That sound was quickly followed by the sound of automatic gunfire.  Sam took another swig of coffee and set the mug down.  World War Three was taking place in his living room.  Swell.

Lost Cause came rushing into the kitchen.  “Uh,” he stammered in his usual nervous voice, “Sam, I think someone is here to see you.”

Another explosion went off in the living room.  Small pieces of splintered wood slid into the kitchen, pieces of some type of no-longer-existent furniture.  Goblin could be heard roaring and growling.  Laser blasts, probably from one of Doctor Sanity’s death rays, added their voice to the chorus of chaos.  Bob, ever the leader, was heard screaming above all of the noise, directing the battle.

“Is it the SWAT Team,” Sam asked.  He had figured it would all end like this, someday.  Looks like today was the day.

Lost Cause gave a quick look towards the living room, which was now full of smoke, and then looked back at Sam.  “No,” he said, “I think it’s your date from last night.”

At that, Sam choked on his coffee and dropped his mug.  It hit the table, spilled its contents, and then fell to the floor.  “Vikki,” Sam asked in a choked voice.  “Vikki’s here?”

“I think she wants a second date,” Lost Cause offered.  “She brought flowers.  And three uzis, a couple of grenades, and an axe.”

Bob came hauling ass into the kitchen.  “Sam,” he said in a rushed voice, “Do you have a howitzer we can borrow?”

“No,” Sam said curtly.

“Then we have problems,” Bob replied.  “Some girl blew the damn door off the hinges and is now re-enacting the taking of Omaha Beach in the other room.”

Sam nervously tapped the table, shifting his eyes quickly back and forth as he tried to take everything in.  “Yeah,” he said at last, “That’s Vikki.  The girl I went to the movies with last night.”

Bob’s eyes widened.  “You went to the movies with her,” he asked in a shocked voice, “What, did you find her on the al Qaeda dating website?”

“Is that you, darling,” a female voice called from the other room.  “Sam?  It’s not polite to keep company waiting.  Come out and say hello, lover.”

More machine gun fire.  Bob and Lost Cause hopped over to the doorway and hazarded a peek out into the other room.  Bob looked back over at Sam, who was still sitting nervously at the kitchen table, his spilled coffee at his feet.  “I think she likes you,” Bob offered.

“That’s what frightens me,” Sam answered.  “Have Goblin eat her or something.  Anything.  Don’t let her see me.  Please.”

Bob nodded dutifully.  “We’ll take this bitch,” he said is a sure voice.  “Maybe you should sneak out the back.”

Back out in the living room, which was now an extension of the dining room as a result of a few walls being blown away, the situation was nose diving from bad to worse.  Goblin was hurling pieces of furniture, shattered chunks of wood and brick, and anything else he could manage.  Doctor Sanity was trying to hold his own by unloading his own, impressive arsenal.  Tazers.  Remote controlled flame throwers.  Laser blasters.  Diesel-powered flesh eating vacuums.

And Vikki Valentine, a slightly built twenty four year old girl who barely weighed more than a hundred and ten pounds, was not impressed.  She was double fisting two M16 assault rifles.  From time to time, she would lob a grenade or three in the direction of her attackers.  Her skin was milk white and heavily tattooed.  Her jet black hair, which matched her clothes perfectly, was pulled back into a pony tail.  Red eye liner and lipstick completed the ensemble.

Back in the kitchen, Sam opened the back door, screamed a curse, and then quickly slammed it back shut.  “She’s cut off our escape route,” Sam hollered over to Bob and Lost Cause, who were still over by the kitchen entrance.

Lost Cause hopped over to the sink, hopped up, and them peered out the little kitchen window, which overlooked the backyard.  “Yup,” he said in agreement, “It would appear she has.  “Where does one find that many pit bulls, I wonder?”

“I wouldn’t go out the back, if I were you,” Vikki called into Sam between machine gun bursts, “I brought some backup to cover the rear.  Cute, eh?”

“Okay,” Bob said, “Let’s get rid of this nut job.  C’mon LC,” he ordered.  The two Sock Puppets hopped out into the battle.  For several long minutes, the whole house shook as it was rocked by explosion after explosion.  Here and there, stray gunfire pieced the walls of the kitchen, forcing Sam to take cover behind the kitchen table, which he had flipped over on its side.

The sounds coming from the other rooms sounded like a cross between Saving Private Ryan, Star Wars, and Predator.  Above all of the noise and blowings-up, Vikki Valentine could be heard laughing.  She was actually laughing.  She was going up against four Sock Puppets who had, a few months earlier, taken on Satan and won.  And she was laughing.

A final, deafening explosion signaled the end of round one.  The four puppets came rushing into the kitchen and ducked behind the table along with Sam.  All were covered in soot.  Goblin was actually smoldering, probably having sustained a direct hit from a grenade blast.  Bob looked up at Sam.  “The girl’s got spunk,” he said simply.

Through a thick cloud of smoke, Vikki Valentine walked into the kitchen.  She was holding a machine gun in her right hand, the other was now strapped across her back.  A cigarette dangled loosely from her fire-red lips.  “Sam,” she said in a soft, sweet voice, “We need to talk.”

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