Jazz, Monster Collector in: Welcome to Nittsburg (Season One, Episode Four)

missiles. “Come on you pile of rot!” Gritting my teeth I kicked the lever as hard as I could. The engine roared to life, blowing a cloud of black smoke from its twin exhaust pipes. “Stowe the gun and hold on!” I gave DJ a half a second to get Mother Goose in its custom sheath before I stomped the bike into gear, let the clutch fly and ripped the throttle open. The bike took off, weaving back and forth with the sudden application of horsepower. The tire spun in the dirt, kicking up a roster tail of dust forty feet high.

  Ignoring the clutch, I jammed the transmission through second and into third gear, as I did we caught some traction and the bike bucked up on its rear wheel. DJ screamed, but I was back in my element. “Yee-ha!”

  The front end slammed down, bottoming out and sending a ringing pain though my wrists. I kept the engine revved into power-band, working my speed through slam-shifting gears. That was no time to be delicate. I kept the bike weaving right and left, cutting a zig-zag across the dry lakebed. DJ clung to me so tightly she was choking me. I’d endure it for now.

  I presented an erratic target and was kicking up as much dirt as I could manage. A moment later and proton charges started exploding all around us. But they only managed to add to the growing dust cloud. Before I knew it I was racing though a thick fog of dirt.

  The explosions stopped. They’d probably been ordered to hold fire until they had a clear shot. Damn. In the quiet their sonar-sweepers would be able to pinpoint the sound of the engine. That bit of tactical genius could only have come from Sherman Toerang, the Kriscrossa leader, probably the one crank who actually had a chance of taking me out; that fat bastard.

  I began to cough, but the cloud had gotten dark enough that my shadow-sight began to kick in.

  DJ released her grip and began drumming on my back. “I can’t see! We’re gonna crash! Again!”

  I ignored her and kept looking. I could hear a single fighter approaching me from behind, being careful to stay above the cloud and keep the dust out of its intake ports. It was a big plane, and moved with confidence, it even sounded dangerous. In my heart I knew it was Toerang. I needed an out and I needed it quick. “There!” I shouted, killed the engine and leaned the bike over hard.”

  “Jazz, the engine died!”

  “Be quiet!” I shouted, leading the bike through a sharp left turn. Just as I began to straighten out two proton torpedoes exploded in a huge flash of fire right where we would have been had I been going straight.

  The bike, with the engine off, rolled along silently. We still had a lot of momentum. I held my breath, partly from the dust, and partly afraid that the crank’s sonar might detect me. I could hear the fighters overhead, crisscrossing above us in a well-practiced pattern, and now and then spotted a shadow drift over us like a shark in murky water. I felt like a guppy, and I didn’t like it a bit.

  “Jazz—”

  “Quiet.” Poor DJ, in that instance she was blind, and, although she understood my shadow sight, was still on a motorcycle moving fast through a dense dust cloud. She was too scared to imagine that I had a plan; but I did. The bike began to shutter and shake, and was still moving a little too fast, but I didn’t dare slow. I had to keep my nerve, and keep us fixed on my target. I hoped we’d fit. “Duck,” I said, dipping my head down as I guided us through a large, concrete culvert. All at once the ride smoothed out and the sounds around us went echoy and close. A moment later and bright light enveloped us as we emerged from the other side. The sounds of traffic, and music, and conversation were noisy above us.

  “Hey! You did it!” DJ shouted, and I knew her teeth were shining as bright as the sun above.

  “Yeah, we made it,” I said, trying to hide my surprise. “Hang on.” I pulled in the clutch lever, popped the shifter up into second gear and let the clutch fly. With a brief growl the engine fired up. My head snapped back and I applied a little more throttle. We were in a deep trench made of crumbling concrete, an old storm basin left over from before Mirth gave the merged planets complete weather control. At the third street underpass I hopped the front tire over a curb and drove the bike up a steep embankment.

  “Hey, watch it you jack-ass!” a troll in a tailored business suit shouted when I appeared on the sidewalk, his coffee spilled down his tie.

  “Bugger off bigfoot!” I shouted back, giving the throttle a small twist that would blow foul exhaust in his hairy face.

  “Grack-off!” he shouted showing me one of three fingers on his free hand.

  “Sorry sir!” DJ called back as I maneuvered between a mail-porter box and a glowpost then hopped off the curb and onto the road in front of a glide-taxi. I head DJ breath a sigh of relief. “Wow, I didn’t think even you would have gotten us out of that one. I couldn’t see a thing back there.”

  “Ye of little faith.”

  “What?” she asked in that all too curious about my past tone of hers.

  I didn’t answer, as frankly I was busy being amazed myself; too busy. I should have been paying more attention. I heard the fighter, the shot, and the explosion almost simultaneously and too late to do anything about it. I remembered a flash of light, the feeling of flying, and then I must have blanked out.

  I was lying on something hard, the street maybe, and my whole body hurt. My head was spinning and I couldn’t get my eyes to focus. I could hear screaming and shouting and sentient beings scrambling in every which direction. What I didn’t hear was a fighter’s engine. I had no idea how long I’d been out. I began taking quick, deep breaths, working my belly like bellows on a fire. It was a trick I’d learned years ago; it got the juices and currents of life all in motion. Within seconds I got my eyes opened and focused. I was looking up at a glowpost, broken in half, smoke and dust clung in the air around me. Then a face appeared, a goblin face, Clowns!

  I leapt to my feet and reached inside my coat for the macdaddy revolver. But my head swam and my knees buckled.

  “Steady there madam, just relax,” a deep, throaty voice said with a distinct goblin accent. I felt a strong arm catch me across the shoulders, and my burn stung.

  I got my eyes open and pushed away, catching myself on the still upright portion of the post.

  “You should sit down, you may be hurt.”

  “What?” I asked, partly out of confusion about what was happening, and partly because his accent was so damned thick. Then I got my eyes focused on the elderly goblin in the doorman’s uniform. It wasn’t a clown, just a servant. Sometimes, on the rare occasion that a goblin lived to old age, they’d mellow enough to catch a menial job. He looked like an oversized chimpanzee someone had dressed up as a goof.

  “I said you may be hurt.”

  Then I remembered. “DJ.”

  “What?” Now he was confused, no matter though. He must have thought I was delirious or something because he reached to steady me. “Come, come madam.”

  “I’m fine,” I snapped and started walking up the disheveled street on unsteady legs. A large, smoking crater had appeared in the middle of the road. A parked unicorn chariot was a molten mass, and a shattered storefront window was belching a plume of foul-smelling black smoke. I spotted the sportster on its side across from the burning store and heard sirens coming our way. “DJ,” I called, then again, “DJ!”

  People and monsters alike were milling about and staring. But no one was going to help; the lethargic citizens of Nittsburg were only spectators. Most had forgotten that life was something to be lived, not watched.

  “DJ!” I shouted, running toward the bike, the wheels were still spinning so I hadn’t been out long. “Oh crud,” I cursed as I spotted her, laying crumpled in a little ball at the bottom of the embankment. My long, pleated skirt had torn up to my thigh in the crash, but it made scampering down the steep grade a bit easier. I slid to a stop on my knees beside her. I rolled her over and didn’t like how her little head flopped back so emptily. “DJ, oh no, please…” I cradled her head in my hand, it was so small, her fair completion was filthy and smudged. I searched down her,
looking for blood or broken bones. Though her jumper was torn and tattered, I could see little more than scrapes and scratches. I’d have to get her out of that suit.

  “Jazz?” she said, her voice was soft, little more than a whisper.

  Thank goodness. “Lay still, help’s coming.”

  “What happened?” She said, lifting her head and blinking her eyes into focus.

  I helped her shift into a sitting position, and was happy to see that she didn’t look broken. I looked back over my shoulder at the rising smoke and saw the first enforcer glide touchdown. “I didn’t see it, but I’d guess that one of those cranks decided to blast us anyway and the consequences be damned.”

  DJ coughed a couple of times. “Toerang.”

  “Probably.”

  I heard feet sliding down the embankment, cop feet. “I’m an enforcer officer, are you two OK?” When I looked up recognition sullied his expression and he grunted out a, “Oh, it’s you.” Then his brow knitted tightly and his pitch rose as he spoke, “What did you do?”

  “Gee, thanks for your concern officer, but I think my friend here’s hurt; how about a little assistance?”

  “No, I’m OK.” DJ attempted to stand, and fell immediately back into my arms. “Or maybe not.” She gave me a little flash of smile, but I could see that her eyes were swimming. Then her weight went dead in my arms and I