Public transportation. The very words send shudders of fear or thrills of anticipation through the listener. Public transportation is supposed to solve so many of our urban problems, moving people around in an efficient manner, with as little pollution and traffic jamming as possible. Cheaper than owning your own car, even in the long run, presumably safer and faster (especially light rail), and best of all, you don't have to pay attention to the road while travelling, so you can get other things done, or even enjoy the scenery if there's any to enjoy. Sounds like a panacaea, doesn't it? So how come it's not working in the United States? Well, you could blame it on America's love affair with the car, but when you look at the current state of congested city freeways, it's got to be a sadomasochistic love affair. Some blame the sheer size of the country...you can efficiently move around Europe or Japan on light rail, but it's right out in, say, Montana, where the population of a Japanese city block lives on every hundred square miles or so. But while that explains the problem with nation-wide public transportation, it doesn't answer why densely populated areas like Los Angeles don't have more success in public transit. An argument can be made for the limited access of public transit. If you can't go where you want when you want, then to heck with it. If there was more public transit, this wouldn't be a problem, but because this is a problem, there's not likely to be more public transit. Catch-22. In cities predating the Automobile Age, like New York City, you can get a lot more places by public transit, but people still drive even there. So, why does public transportation do so poorly? Look at the first word in the term. Public. The "public" rides buses and light rail. Especially those parts of the public who can't afford their own cars, unsavory types like graduate students and professional writers. And if you can afford a car of your own, you might find it worth the investment in money and time spent in traffic jams just so you don't run the risk of being stuck next to, say, an Author for half an hour on the bus or subway. The psychiatric wards are full of people who made the mistake of stepping onto a bus full of Swedes, or a nearly-empty bus with one Rob Furr or Chris Angelini on it. All this was passing through the mind of "Eric Lang" as he and his hound stepped aboard the bus. Even if he knew how to operate a motor vehicle, the BMV tended to balk at giving licenses to people with seeing-eye dogs for some odd reason, and the bus represented a quicker way to reach Jack's apartment. As was typical for this time of day and year (whatever that happened to be at the moment, continuity being the mad mistress she is), the bus was jam-packed. Eric stood expectantly next to a young man sitting in front of a "Federal Law requires you surrender seats forward of this line to the elderly or disabled" sign, tapping his cane at the man's ankles as if to make sure the seat was, in fact, taken. A moment later, the man impatiently looked up from his magazine, looked at Eric's dark glasses, looked down at his dog, looked over his shoulder at the sign attached to the window behind his back. Then the man reached back and shoved the bus window open, moving the sign forwards to the next seat. "Not my problem," he sneered before turning back to his magazine. Suddenly the man found Eric's cane up his nose, almost far enough to obscure the red tip. "Oh, sorry, the bus jerked...and I'm just so unsteady *standing here* and all," Eric mock-apologized, pulling his cane out of the man's sinuses and wiping the tip on the man's pants leg. Then the bus lurched to a halt at a bus stop, and the man couldn't vacate his seat (and the bus) fast enough. Eric sat down and allowed himself a small smile. That had been beneath him, he knew. But it was fun. Coherent Comics UnInc. Presents: ___ __ __ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ _ _ CRAZY GUY #19 / '/ | / | / \/ / ' / / \/ "The Five Brothers" / /--' /--| / / / __ / / / copyright 1997 Dave Van Domelen `___ / | / |/__ _/ `__/ \__/ _/ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "You sure ya don't wanna go home?" Louie asked from his perch on Jack's shoulder. "Dat was a rough performance review, after all...I didn't know humans *had* that much blood." "Nah," Jack answered as he wandered the streets of Chinatown, the roaring crowd of a Dodgers game faintly audible in the distance. "With my luck, there's someone waiting there to try and kill me. Or worse, B.L.Z. Bobb with another job for me. Besides, the landlady might not let you in." "Eh, just leave a window open, I'll find my own way in. Or I c'n find a place ta crash outside, I know a few of the locals," the grey squirrel shrugged, looking far cuter in the process than he'd admit to being. "Say, things look nice and spiffed up here," Louie noticed. "Hm?" Jack hm'ed, looking around as if he hadn't noticed anything before. "Yeah, looks like they have. Of course, we did blow up a big section of Chinatown making the last movie, so I guess they kinda had to rebuild." "Gah, remind me never to look right at your mouth when you talk. It's dizzifyin'," Louie wavered back and forth, referring to the fact that Jack's lips moved in Cantonese while his voice was dubbed into English. "If you throw up on me, I'm drop-kicking you into the sea," Jack warned. "Nah, squirrels don't vomit, we just explode. Well-known urban legend," Louie countered. "I thought that was pigeons." "I ain't never seen a pigeon explode...well, except Big Dumb Len, but he was hangin' out too near th' Chinatown area around New Year's, and ate a string a' firecrackers. Boom! Boom boom boom!" Louie dissolved into hysterical laughter at the memory, sliding down Jack's back and only barely getting a grip before hitting the pavement. "Whoa, gotta watch that, keep forgettin' how slippery them silk tunic things ya wear are." Jack just gave Louie a "I'll be sure to buy more" smile, which fell the moment his cell phone rang. It's not just that he knew any call would have to be bad news, you see. Jack knew it specifically had to be VERY bad news...because he hadn't been *wearing* a cell phone a minute ago. Jack pulled the phone out of his belt, noticed it was embossed with the logo "Pacific Hell(TM)," and flipped it open. "Er, hello? How did I get this number?" "Ah, hello...to whom am I speaking?" oozed the voice on the other end. "Jack," Jack replied. "And you are?" "I'm the devil, now kindly undo these straps! Ha, that one always cracks me up. Seriously, Jack, this is Mr. Jones, and I have another job for you, one of a slightly more long-term nature. Stop walking...NOW," he commanded, and Jack pulled to an abrupt stop that sent Louie scrambling for purchase. "Now what? Wait for an anvil to strike me?" Jack asked. "No, nothing so obvious. Look to your right, there's a curio shop specializing in, surprise surprise, oriental antiquities. There's an item I've already paid for in there which I'd like you to pick up for me." "Some mystic talisman you can use to take over the world?" Jack asked, drawing odd looks from passersby. "No, no...nothing so dramatic. It's a statue, unremarkable on its own. Its name is 'Fifth Brother,' and it's made of jade. Just go in and pick it up, hit star-69 when you're done, it'll automatically call me back." With that, the connection went dead. "Guess yer performance review slotted ya as delivery boy," Louie snickered. "I just know the proprietor will be a demon and I'll have to fight him, but oh well," Jack sighed, pocketing the cell phone and walking over to the store. The door opened with an electronic chime, and a small-wizened man of the sort you'd expect to be running an oriental curio shop popped up from behind the counter. "May I help you?" he asked, his accent fairly thick despite the appearance of having lived in this same spot for decades. "Yes, I've come to pick up a purchase my...employer...made. The 'Fifth Brother' statue?" "Ah, yes, I was called and told to expect someone matching your description. Odd, I thought the man was crazy when he said he was sending someone with a squirrel on his shoulder, but when can you expect in this imperfect world? Especially since you have a monkey on your shoulder." Jack just looked at Louie, who shrugged and squeaked, "Near-sighted?" "But enough of what animals are perched on whose shoulders. Here it is," he hefted a small wooden crate filled with excelsior onto the counter. He carefully lifted the statue out of the wood shavings and held it up for Jack to inspect. "Flawless jade, you don't see that too often anymore." "If this is the fifth brother, where's the other brothers?" Jack asked. "Scattered to the winds," the shopkeeper swept his free hand to take in the entire world. "Even before the British started looting China's treasures, the Five Brothers had been separated for untold generations. It's not even altogether certain the other four still exist...if they ever existed. Legend has it they were all carved from the same perfect block of jade, and you can tell here and here," the man pointed to oddly-shaped parts of the statue, "where the other pieces might fit against this one. Legend also has it that whoever assembles all five pieces will gain immortality, but so *many* things in legend are supposed to do that, aren't they? Especially jade objects." He replaced the statue in the crate. "Still, it *is* beautiful," he added, sliding the box across the counter. "Just sign for it here," the old man placed a clipboard on the counter, with a pen. Jack put his name on the appropriate line, and the man nodded. "Enjoy your purchase, and please come again," he grinned. Jack grinned back uneasily and left, cradling the package carefully under one arm. "So, whaddya suppose Jonesy wants with the statue? He's already immortal, ain't he?" Louie asked. "I dunno, but I doubt he'll just tell me. Still, I guess I should call him back and see what he wants me to do with it." Jack pulled out the phone and used the automatic callback feature, just 75 cents per use, and it's already on your phone! Er, sorry, been watching too many TV commercials. "Hello, Mr. Jones? I have the statue, now what?" "Well, in the short term, take it down to a bank and get a safe-deposit box for it," Satan T. Lucifer Jones replied over the slightly staticky connection. "Then what?" "Come now, I'm sure the shopkeeper told you about the other statues. I want you to find them for me. Consider it a test of your non-combat resourcefulness." "When I find one, what am I supposed to do, steal it for you?" "Of course not," Jones replied in mock shock. "That would be morally repellent to you. No, I've had you issued a corporate credit card for this mission, although I'll expect you to get the best price possible for the remaining statues. Money may be the root of all evil, but even we don't have infinite funds." "Audit time..." Louie intoned ominously, or at least as ominously as someone who sounded like a munchkin on helium could manage. "When you've assembled them all, do not place them together right away. Call me first, so I can be present when it happens," Jones added. "Why?" Jack asked. "Humor me," Jones replied, hanging up before Jack could lodge any more protests. Jack pocketed the phone. "Gahhhh. Now I get to run all over the world searching for the lost parts to an ancient relic of uncertain power and I don't have the first idea where to start." "Well, we could head back and bug Potatohead," Louie suggested. "Besides, I'm gettin' hungry, and I think I smelled an egg salad sandwich back at his office." "I guess. Let's go." IS LOUIE REALLY PLANNING ON EATING *THAT* SANDWICH? WILL JACK LET HIM ANYWHERE NEAR HIS SHOULDER IF HE DOES? IS LOUIE REALLY A MONKEY? WILL ERIC LANG EVER FIND JACK AT HOME? WILL ANYONE NOTICE THAT WINTER HAS TURNED TO SUMMER IN SOMETHING LIKE THREE DAYS DUE TO THE AUTHOR'S LAX GRIP ON CONTINUITY AND/OR SANITY? WILL THEY CARE? Some of these and more, on the next....SUPERGUY! =========================================================================== Author's Notes: Maybe Louie's a squirrel monkey. OW! That hurt! Credit to Drogn for the basic inspiration for this plotline.