The regularly scheduled pre-episode digression will not be seen tonight. Instead we bring you a special presentation of, "It's South Park, Charlie Brown!" [Excuse me.] What? [I'm with the lawyers for United Media. If you go ahead with this, we'll sue you so far down the evolutionary ladder you'll have trouble making your own proteins.] Errr...okay. On with the episode. Coherent Comics UnInc. Presents: ___ __ __ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ _ _ CRAZY GUY #21 / '/ | / | / \/ / ' / / \/ "Mach Go Go Go Away!" / /--' /--| / / / __ / / / copyright 1997 Dave Van Domelen `___ / | / |/__ _/ `__/ \__/ _/ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ The safety straps hung almost loosely on Jack's body...at the moment, they were pretty much redundant. The force of several gravities was pushing him back into his chair, and Louie was already spread-eagled against the back of the driver's compartment/cockpit behind him, the acceleration making him do a convincing imitation of roadkill. 1/8 scale MiG-25 fighter jets were just visible alongside, pacing Jack and trying to line up a good shot. The only real question seemed to be whether they'd blow him up before he ran out of desert. It was times like this that Jack really had to wonder why he bothered getting out of bed in the morning.... * * * * [Shortly after getting out of bed that morning] Jack looked nervously around the private gallery, at the priceless carvings and unique paintings. Most people would feel serene and at ease around such subtle beauty, but most people didn't tend to have massive disasters happening around them at the drop of a hat (aside from anyone living near Megapolis, that is). And Jack couldn't help but mentally add up all the damages which would result if someone decided to pick a fight with him in there. He was running our of room for the zeroes. At least he didn't look too out of place...his usual attire would have made it rather difficult to get the time of day from the gallery owner, much less a lead on one of the Five Brothers. But he'd discovered his contract had a clothing allowance built in, and he was now neatly attired in a light grey suit with neon purple tie from the Kent Clark Fashion Collection ("It's Mighty Fashionable!" said the tailor while hiding behind a welder's mask). The contrast of subdued and impossible-to-subdue-with-a-small-army would hopefully proclaim him as someone serious about the art business. "Ah, yes, Mister..." the gallery owner said as he approached. "Yuen. Jack Yuen," Jack replied. The last name, like the suit, was another false front to help him get taken seriously. "Mister Yuen, yes. My assistant told me you were looking for a particular piece of jadework?" "Four particular pieces, actually, but my employer would be grateful for even one, and consider further patronage if you were able to help in this matter," Jack lifted a corner of his mouth at the thought of Satan T. Lucifer Jones as a patron of the arts. "Of course. I run one of the finest establishments dealing in jade on the West Coast...if I cannot help you directly, I probably know who can. Which pieces, then?" The owner seemed slightly disconcerted by this point, and looked like he was trying not to look at Jack's lips, which weren't moving in synch with his voice. "Are you familiar with the Five Brothers?" The man paused, realized the question was over even if Jack's lips hadn't quite finished moving, then assumed a thoughtful expression. "Hmmm. Five interlocking statues carved from the same block of pale jade?" When Jack nodded, he pulled out a small electronic assistant and tapped at it with the stylus for a few seconds. "My employer has the Fifth Brother secured, if that helps," Jack volunteered. The owner nodded absently as he scanned down a list downloaded from his nearby desktop computer. "A lot of jade was illegally removed from China during the last century by the British and Portuguese, and more was looted during the Japanese occupation fifty-odd years ago. The Five Brothers are known to have left the country in this manner, but didn't end up in any museums, like much of the other jade," he said, in the tone he might use when explaining the history of a piece to one of the nouveau riche looking to spruce up their new mansion with some art. "Sorry," he corrected himself. "I'm sure you know all that. My onsite records show the location of the Fourth Brother, though." "Is it nearby?" Jack asked, figuring that if it was, he could swing by and get it while the gallery owner checked into more obscure sources. "Physically, no. It's in a private collection in England." Before Jack's shoulders could slump, he added, "Isn't *this* interesting...yes, it's the same man...I guess it *is* near, in a way." Cocking his head slightly, Jack asked, "How so?" "The owner is one of the investors in that land speed record team out at the Black Rock Desert in Nevada. Oh, I'm sorry, I guess you're not an avid follower of such things...it's not exactly big in the news. Setting a record for land speed using only normal Terran technology isn't a major event in a world where Superguys and aliens zip around at insane speeds, like in that road race a while back, but some people are still willing to put in the effort. You know, show that we regular people can do amazing things as well. I suppose that's why I got into art when I did...beauty is beauty, and you don't need fancy powers to make it or appreciate it." Hoping to avoid hearing the unnamed gallery owner's life story, Jack interrupted, "Could I get a name for this private collector?" "Ah, yes. Sorry, I tend to ramble, it's a bad habit my usual customers encourage by being so interested in the minutiae of the pieces they want to buy, and when I get on a roll it's hard to stop myself, sometimes to the point where...." SLAP! "Thanks, I needed that," the owner gasped. "The collector's name is John Upton. He's probably not at the desert site full time himself, but they would be able to contact him, I presume." Jack nodded. "I would be deeply gratified if you would put you resources into finding the remaining three Brothers, I will return once I have discussed matters with Mr. Upton." Jack strode out of the gallery to where Louie was sitting in a tree branch. Louie pulled on a tiny pair of sunglasses as Jack approached. "Yo, could ya lose the nuclear power tie? I c'n feel my fur fallin' out here," Louie complained. Jack nodded and pulled the tie off, stashing it securely in its own lead-lined box and pocketing it. "So, no luck?" the squirrel asked. "Yes and no. They didn't have one in there, but I have a lead on where Brother number 4 is. Let's go." * * * * [Later in the day] The Black Rock Desert was, like most deserts, rather dry. Also, like most deserts, it was not sandy. A sandy desert would have made for a really horrible test track for breaking land speed records, after all...three seconds into the run, you'd have enough sand in your jet intakes to choke a llama. Not to mention, sand tends to form dunes, and plowing into a dune at the speed of sound is not recommended. No, the surface was hardpan, or desert soil. A little dust is kicked up (okay, a LOT of dust) by the cars, but the surface is remarkably flat. Flat, and thanks to El Nino, unseasonably hot. Especially for someone with fur. "I'm dying out here," Louie complained. "Why can't we go somewhere nice and air conditioned, like a casino?" "We have to wait for the car to make its second run, Louie. If they don't make two successful runs within an hour, the record doesn't count. I guess it's to keep them from designing a solid fuel rocket car that explodes at the end of the run. Anyway, if you're so hot, why not change into something with less fur?" Jack countered. Louie shook his head, looking cute despite all his best efforts not to. "Don't work like dat. I ain't up on all th' 72 Transformations...I'm just a monkey who can turn into a squirrel or into a big squirrel. And a couple'a other things I don't wanna talk about." "Why not?" Jack asked as he watched the big jet-car being prepped. It basically looked like a jet fighter without wings and with some wheels on it. "Jack, when yer dad taught ya kung fu, what was da foist stuff ya did?" Jack pondered for a second. "Cracking walnuts, moving water from one jar to another with tea cups, squatting with outstretched arms over a burning ember, stuff like that." "And do ya ever want ta do dose things again?" "Not unless I have to," he admitted. "Well, same sorta thing happened when my master taught me magic. There's a lotta embarrassin' and uncomfortable spells ya learn at th' start so ya get the right basic skills. NOT stuff ya wanna do in public. Any... DIVE FER COVER!" Louie shouted as he leapt from Jack's shoulder towards the meager cover provided by a supply shed. Jack looked up and saw two small dots coming out of the sun, but heard nothing. Then the explosions mixed with sonic booms rocked the hardpan around him and he barely avoided being crisped by the incendiary missiles fired by the jets which screamed overhead. Something was wrong about those jets. For one thing, the explosions of the missiles were awfully small. For another, unless his depth perception was WAY off, the jets themselves were too small to be the real thing. They looked a little like F-15s, but not quite. "Jack, it's the stinkin' Reds! They sent their Squirrelbat fighters! Get outta th' open!" Louie squeaked in agitation. A few dozen meters away, the crew had noticed the explosions and people were running for cover in the control shack, muttering prayers that the car would be okay. Some were cursing the "damn Yanks" for playing unfair and trying to eliminate the competition. As the tiny squirrel-piloted fighters wheeled about to strafe again, Jack pulled out his magical fighting stick and shook it out to normal size. Then, just before the fighters could launch another salvo, he commanded the staff to extend to several hundred feet long, forcing the Red Squirrels to break off and avoid collision. "Louie, come on! There's no cover worth mentioning, we gotta get out of here!" Jack shouted. "Yeah, like our rental's gonna outrace jets!" Louie squeaked from under a bucket. Jack ran over and scooped a protesting Louie up in one hand while collapsing his staff down to needle size with the other. "No, it won't, but I know something that will...." * * * * "Memo ta self," Louie grunted with effort. "Don't steal supersonic cars with linear accelerations a' more den one gee." "Addendum to memo," Jack forced out, "make sure that it can steer without flipping over. No way can this thing maneuver...so unless we can outspeed those jets, we're toast. If those jets are as fast as the full scale models..." he trailed off ominously, tired from the effort of talking. "Can ya still see 'em?" Louie asked. "No...I think they dropped back intentionally so they can send a missile up our tail. Hey, can you feel it?" There was no answer, simply a light thump as Louie dropped to the floor of the cockpit. Louie crawled up onto Jack's shoulder. "Yeah, Einstein. We stopped speeding up. Man, if dere was anything ta see out there, it'd be going by too fast ta see anyway." He peered back through the canopy. "Uh oh, laughing boys are back on our tails and gotta be arming missiles." "Hey, something just flashed by on the righ-igh-IGHT!" Jack's eyes went wide as he noticed a black rock formation coming up a little too quickly for comfort and guessed the "something" might have been a "last chance to hit the brakes" marker. "Gah! Where's the doohickey that lets us pass through the mountain by way of the 8th Dimension?" Louie screamed. "Wrong movie!" Jack yelled, hitting a blinking red button and hoping it was what he thought it was. Three things happened all at once. 1) Parachutes deployed. 2) The brakes kicked in. 3) Louie streaked forward into the canopy and hit with a painful THUD! A fraction of a second later, blinded by the cloud of dust kicked up by all of this, two tiny jet fighters slammed into the rock formation at Mach 1.1 and created a fireball visible for miles around. Jack said nothing during this, as he was busy being strangled by his safety harness. But he did wonder how much this was all going to cost him, and when he'd actually see any leftover money from a paycheck. HOW MUCH WILL THIS ALL COST JACK? WILL HE EVER CLEAR SOME MONEY ON HIS PAYCHECK? WILL HE EVER GET PAID? IS MR. UPTON LIKELY TO SELL ANYTHING TO JACK NOW? HAS LOUIE LEARNED A THIRD TRANSFORMATION, INTO ROADKILL? All this and possibly more, on the next...SUPERGUY! ============================================================================ Author's Notes: Yuen is actually a surname taken by Jackie Chan during his early days as a child actor. Everyone in his troupe, the Seven Wonders, was renamed Yuen to honor a current big star of that name. Yuen Baio, another of that troupe to hit it big in Hong Kong cinema, was the only one to keep the Yuen, everyone else picked other names.